Reunion: Part 1
After a long hiatus post-breakup, a submissive returns to the scene...and reunites with an old flame.
I’ve been writing fiction somewhat regularly since 2019. I’ve taken a few classes, the last of which was Writing Spicy taught by Sinclair Sexsmith. I was a bit scared about sharing my fiction here, but I’m doing it afraid and sharing this story with you in installments. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you do, share it or comment below with your thoughts. I have a praise kink, after all.
Aye, where you at?!
As she returned to her apartment after her Saturday morning yoga class and Target run, Briar read a text from Tiffany Blue, her scene bestie. If there was one thing Briar knew for sure, it was that if Tiffany sent you the “Where you at?!” text before 8 pm, the rest of the evening was about to be a movie, one they would be talking about over brunch months later. Briar smiled as she sat on her couch to reply.
Just got home. I plan to chill for the rest of the day, but why are you asking?
Before Briar could put her phone down, it rang and Tiffany’s number popped up on her screen. If it’s a phone call, it’s an invitation to get into some shenanigans. Let the movie begin. She picked up the phone, “Girl, why couldn’t you just text me back? You know I hate phone calls.”
“Because it’s easier for you to say no over text,” Tiffany replied.
“Nah. Just depends on what I’m sayin' no to.”
“Well–I know you haven’t been on the scene in a while…”
Tiffany’s voice trailed off. She knew this wouldn’t be an easy yes, but she wanted to try at least. It is what Briar loved most about her. She always extended the invite, just in case Briar was ever ready to come back outside. She never forgot about her or stayed away unless Briar asked her to. Tiffany knew that sometimes, the answer to heartbreak is connection.
“...who’s party is it, and who all gon’ be there? Because bitch, if I run into Damien–”
“Me and my baby Jazz got you. If you want to leave, we will leave. If you want to stay, we’ll take you outside for fresh air so you can cry or smoke a joint in peace. We already got this part down. It hasn't changed, Baby Boo.”
Briar took a deep breath and exhaled a sigh. “I’m listening.”
“Aight so boom. Remember Mistress Sophia from Philly, who we met at Haux Hive Last Summer? Well, she’s hosting her birthday party here at the Dungeon, and I have it on good authority there will be hella tops there.”
“So?”
“So I know you’ve been sad about the breakup, Briar. And it’s okay to be sad. But who says you can’t get a good flogging in the meantime? You can’t cry in the bathtub listening to SZA forever. You know good and well Damien ain’t the only Top with skilled hands in this town. Isn’t it time to act like it?”
“Gotdamnit, Tiffany! I hate it when you’re right. Let’s go. I’ll be ready at 9 pm.”
***
Tiffany, Jazz, and Briar enter the renovated warehouse, just blocks away from Gallaudet University, in a neighborhood where gentrifiers attempted to strong-arm native Washingtonians to refer to as “NoMa.” Never in my Black-ass life will I do that, Briar quipped every time the subject came up in conversation.
This was Briar’s first time at the Dungeon since she and Damien ended their D/s dynamic. With tonight’s look, she took special care to pop out and show niggas, just in case they forgot. Or, just in case she forgot. She wore an oxblood-colored three-piece, lace lingerie set: a push-up bra that lifted her DD-cup breasts just a little higher to heaven, a matching thong that showed off a perfectly round ass and hips that people pay thousands of dollars for, but she was blessed with naturally. The intricate lace of her garter belt was trimmed with rose gold clasps and fasteners, glistening quietly against the deep brown of her thighs.
She was never a stiletto girl–only wore them when Damien told her to, which was more often than she would ever prefer–so today, she was back to her favorite: burgundy and cream custom 1s with the satin laces. She thought about wearing a 30-inch middle part bussdown wig with dark cherry highlights, but at the last minute said, fuck that wig, my blown-out fro with the side part is perfect for a special occasion.
Tiffany was rocking her signature Tiffany Blue-colored romper and Hello Kitty slippers, and, just because she could, a tiara with blue stones that Jazz bought her for Valentine’s Day that year. Jazz was less inclined to make an entrance–they let their rope game speak for itself. Tonight though, they had on the velour tracksuit and gold chain that Tiffany picked out for them the last time they went to New York for a quick getaway. Tiffany turned to her friend taking a good look in her eyes, and placing her hands by each of Briar’s shoulders. “Briar, we gotta set up, but do you need anything before we do?”
“Nah, I’m good, gonna head to the bar to grab some water and a snack.”
“Aight. If you need me, grab me. And if I’m a little tied up, just sit near our station.”
Jazz and Tiffany walked over to the rope suspension area, removing their shoes before stepping onto the mat.
Briar looked around, looking for more familiar faces. She scanned the room again, looking for her people, and just when she was about to retreat to the bathroom to quiet her nerves, she saw Sir Augustine walking toward her, grinning from ear to ear. He was a gentle giant with firm hands and soft hugs, one of the few men in the space she was happy to reunite with. She smiled back, and the two met halfway in a hug.
“It’s so good to see you, Briar.”
“Good to see you too, Sir. It’s been too long.”
“Yeah. I know you took a step back, but I’m glad you are here.”
“Thanks for checking in on me. Sorry I left you on read but–”
“Nothin’ to apologize about, B. You were taking care of yourself.”
“You’re right. Thank you for understanding.”
Sir Augustine ordered a bottle of Fiji Water, a pack of gummy bears, and a bag of white cheddar cheez-its from the bar. He slid the snacks and handed her the bottle of Fiji to Briar. He ordered an iced tea for himself, and they leaned against the bar to people-watch.
“Aye. Your lil friend is comin’ tonight,” Sir Augustine said with a slight grin.
“Who?” Briar’s eyes widened, praying he wouldn’t say Damien’s name.
Just as the question fell from her lips, Briar spotted a female figure out of the corner of her eye, and Sir Augustine’s eyes followed. “Your friend. The one who lives in Philly.”
“Michael? I had no idea she was back in DC.”
Briar looked in her direction. She wore black liquid leggings, a patent leather waist harness over a white ribbed tank top, and 4-inch stiletto booties. Her play bag, a peridot-colored duffel bag, was placed at her feet while she greeted a volunteer at the sign-up table.
“Naw, that can’t be Michael” But it was; a petite, medium-brown skin femme with long, honey brown locs that were now hanging well past her shoulders. The last time Briar first met her, they were co-workers at a shitty nonprofit, and her locks were barely out of the awkward growing-out phase. Now the locs, and the Woman Herself, were more mature.
“Well damn. That IS Michael.”