Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  “Good girl. Honor blindfold’s over. You can open your eyes. Can I clean you up a little and then get you a glass of wine?”

  She lifts her head and blinks at me. “Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

  “Nope. I like taking care of my bottom afterwards.”

  She smiles hazily. “Are you sure you’re not a Daddy Dom?”

  “Positive.” I nip her nose. Even her damn nose is impudent. “If you want to call me daddy, I won’t stop you.”

  “Not really my style.”

  “Sir works just fine.”

  “Would god work better?” The corner of her mouth lifts, stretching into that sassy grin. “Because I was loving being called goddess.”

  “You are my goddess in scene.”

  The grin melts off her face and her eyes slide away.

  “Bren, what’s wrong? Is it a religious thing? I’m sorry, I should have asked—”

  She forces a smile. “No, I’m not religious. Can you, uh—?” She jangles one of her wrist cuffs.

  “Sure.” I reach up and pop the snaps on one cuff then the other, helping her lower her arms to her side and rubbing each shoulder. Then I untie her ankles, leaving her suspended by just the chest harness. “Now tell me what that was, sweetheart.”

  She shrugs. “Just coming down from the high, sir.”

  I slip my finger under her chin and lift her face. She meets my eyes, but shadows are edging back into hers.

  “Brenna.” I stroke her chin with my thumb. “Don’t ever lie to me.”

  She closes her eyes; pink rises in her cheeks. “Sorry, sir.”

  “We’ll talk about consequences over a glass of wine, but I need to understand what that was.”

  She opens her eyes, full of shadows, and stares at me. There’s my bold, wounded girl. “Next scene, someone else will be your goddess,” she whispers.

  Is that what’s hurt her? How does she cope with it if she becomes attached to each Dom who tops her, and they abandon her after a scene? Why would she stay at the club if it’s wounding her over and over?

  “We can talk about that over a glass of wine, too, but I can promise you that I’m not rushing off to find my next goddess.” I drop my hand to her chest harness and give it a tug. “Let’s get you out of this. Must be damn itchy by now.”

  She looks down as though she’s forgotten she has a twisted mass of coconut fiber around her breasts. She gives me a sheepish grin. “Yes, please, sir.”

  Coir rope is cheap, and Logan buys it in bulk, so I grab the quick release blade off the table and cut her out of the harness instead of taking the time to undo all the knots. I fold her to me as she curls off the web and rub my hand up and down her sweaty back while I peer over her shoulder. There are two red spots on her shoulder blades where the knots must have pinched. I’ll put cream on those after I finish cleaning her up.

  Even after holding her for several minutes, she seems unsteady on her feet. Well, she did just have two orgasms in quick succession. I back her up a step to the web and lean her into it. “The web’ll support you, sweetheart. Grab hold.”

  She gives me a grateful smile and winds her hands into the rope strands.

  I grab a packet of wipes and work down. She has a little mascara smeared under her eyes and I blot that off first before continuing down her throat. The hide floggers have left her skin gritty and I clean that off with her sweat. There’s one weal along her ribs that’s beaded with blood. Probably the braided flogger wrapping since that’s got the nastiest edges. I clean the wound carefully and apply pressure until it’s no longer oozing. I’ll put some antiseptic gel and a light bandage on it once she’s clean.

  As I work down her legs, I get a close look at the double barbed-wire strand tattoo winding around her thigh. It’s composed of tiny letters and as I peer at the letters, I realize they’re names. Mostly men’s names. I find Theo’s name among many others I don’t recognize. Thankfully, I don’t see Logan’s. I’m not sure why that would bother me, but I still feel relief. And a pinch of jealousy. I blow out a breath and keep working down to her pretty toes. That’s her past. I can’t be jealous of her past, can I?

  Maybe if I was sure it was her past it’d bother me less.

  I toss the used wipes into a garbage bin in the corner where Logan’s sitting and catch his eye. He grins and nods at me. Yeah, it was a great scene, and I won’t let jealousy sour it. Blowing out another breath, I retrieve the first aid kit from the shelves near the drain and treat her broken skin before drawing her forward off the web and spreading arnica cream over the two pinch points. When I finish, she’s standing steady on her feet and watching my face. I realize I’m frowning and quickly control my expression. I touch two fingers very lightly to the bandage on her ribs.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Skin’s broken here. I know you said you were okay with marks, but I didn’t mean to break your skin.”

  “It’s okay, sir. It doesn’t hurt and I heal quick.”

  I lean in and kiss her forehead. “Ready for that glass of wine?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She doesn’t look ready. She’s still watching me anxiously. I pull her into my arms and tuck her tight to my chest.

  “You okay, bold girl? Tell me what you need.”

  “Hug’s great, sir,” she says, but there’s a catch in her voice.

  “You need to go anywhere? I’m thinking we should take this hug to bed after that glass of wine. It’d be nice to sleep with you in my arms.”

  “You want to sleep with me?” There’s more than a catch. Her voice breaks on the last word and she clears her throat quickly.

  I stroke my hands down her back, molding her to me. “I definitely want to sleep with you, sweetheart. Unless you’re a cover hog. Then I’ll be sleeping in the bed and you’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

  She chokes out a little laugh. “I don’t hog covers, sir. And I don’t snore.”

  “Logan says the same thing and he snores like a fucking chain saw.”

  Logan snorts, showing he’s still paying attention. “Says the man whose nickname in the platoon was Convo. Enjoy the discussions he’ll have with you in his sleep, Bren.”

  That gets a full laugh out of her and I smile at the sound. “C’mon. Let’s have that glass of wine. You like red or white?”

  “Could I have a beer instead, sir?”

  Girl after my own heart. “Of course.”

  We leave the playroom as it is. Logan and I have already discussed leaving the web up for a few days so he and Emily can enjoy it. I might even get Bren back up on it before we dismantle it, although I have a few different ideas for our next scene.

  Once we’re settled on the couches in front of the TV, with the sports highlights playing quietly in the background, while Logan takes Emily upstairs and gets her ready for bed, I make sure Brenna wants another scene before I get my hopes up too high.

  “What’d you think, bold girl? Anything you’d have liked me to do that I didn’t?”

  She shakes her head before she takes a sip of her beer. She drinks straight out of the bottle, which almost makes her hotter than all that silky skin and sexy ink. “Did I earn sex privileges, sir?”

  The attitude’s back. “You did. You were fantastic with the honor blindfold. How did it feel?”

  “It was a challenge, sir, but I liked it.”

  I thought she might. “How would you feel about other kinds of honor bondage? Like being told to hold onto something and not let go until the scene was over?”

  She squirms on the couch and then locks her muscles to still herself. “I’d like to try that. Does that, um, mean you want to scene again?”

  Hearing her uncertainty makes me want to pounce on her, wrestle her to the floor, and lick another orgasm out of her. I restrain myself, running the knuckles of my free hand down her cheek. “Yes, sweetheart, I definitely want to scene again. When can you fit me into your busy schedule?”

  She starts to grin, but then her face falls. �
�Friday?” She sounds hesitant.

  “Friday’s fine. And if you need it before then, I’m just at the other end of the phone. Don’t look so heartbroken, Bren.”

  She gives a tiny shake of her head and presses her cheek into my knuckles. “This was really special, sir. Thank you. It’s made me feel . . . hopeful? That’s not the right word. I don’t know how to say it. I was just so afraid that I couldn’t submit anymore. That I’d never reach subspace again.” She releases a ragged breath and gulps her beer. “Thank you, Master Mac.”

  “You are very welcome, bold girl.”

  We talk for another hour before I lead her up to the guest bedroom, but I keep our conversation light and casual. She lied to me downstairs and there will be consequences for that, but it doesn’t feel like the right time to discuss them. Establishing that we’re both eager to see each other again has dispersed all the tension that built while I was cleaning her up. We talk about sports teams and she forgives me the Cowboys after I forgive her the Yankees. We agree on beer brands and disagree on politics. Her eyes go dreamy when she describes her ideas for my tattoo sleeves, and mine probably go the same way when she traces the outlines of her vision on my arm with the tip of her finger. She examines the portrait of Naomi on my shoulder and I tell her a few of my favorite baby stories. I don’t mention Naomi’s current problems and if my face reflects my concern, Brenna disperses it by asking about my pastimes. When I tell her about my bike and find out she’s never ridden on a motorcycle, I offer to take her for a ride on her next full day off.

  “Sunday, sir,” she offers, much less hesitantly than she offered the day for our next scene.

  “That works for me, girl.” At this rate, we’ll spend the whole weekend together, which bothers me not at all. The idea of Brenna behind me on my Chieftain, her long legs in those leather pants, her arms wrapped around my waist, is enough to wake up my dick again. Before it gets too interested, I grab our empties and stick them in the recycling before offering her my hand and leading her upstairs.

  One of the bigger drawbacks of Logan’s townhouse is that it only has one full bath upstairs. The renovation plans he’s had drawn up—and evidently, he’s been planning to ask me to live with him for a while, because he trotted out a full set of blueprints already labeled “Mac’s Suite” to show me before dinner—add another full bath on the third floor. But until the renovations are done, we’re sharing a bathroom. When I reach the top of the stairs, I see the bathroom door is closed, so I can’t offer Brenna a shower before bed. I’m glad I took my time wiping her down. I might ask her to return the favor before I climb between Emily’s cotton sheets, because I’m still a little sweaty after the flogging.

  “Ever lived other than on your own or with your parents?” I ask as I open the door into the guest bedroom. She probably knows where it is, since she’s been Logan and Emily’s guest, too, but she lets me lead her, like a good little subbie.

  “Yes, sir. I lived in a couple of group homes when I was growing up.”

  That surprises me. Why was she in group homes? It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I remember when we were in her shop and she mentioned living in Lake Placid, it looked like a painful memory. I’ve just cleared the shadows from her eyes. I don’t want to bring them back with a careless question about her past. We’re on a high note now and this is where I want to end the evening, so instead of stepping into a potential minefield, I share as I open the door into the guest bedroom.

  “Logan’s asked me to move in after we renovate the upper floors. I haven’t lived in a real home, you know, not a barracks, with anyone but my parents and my wife and daughter. I’m not really sure how it’s going to work, living with other adults.”

  She gives me a muted version of her cocky grin and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s still recovering from the scene or because of painful memories. “Are you looking for tips, sir?”

  “Got any for me?”

  “Clean up after yourself in the bathroom and kitchen,” she says, perching on the edge of the queen-sized bed. “That’s always been the biggest rule everywhere I’ve lived.” Her smile turns sly. “Of course, living with Em, you’ll have to beat her to it.”

  I chuckle. “She is a little uber-hostess, isn’t she?”

  Brenna nods, her face alight with her affection for Emily.

  I dig around in the dresser drawers, which contain several complete changes of clothes, speaking to how much time I spend here already. I pull out two clean T-shirts and a pair of boxers. “Not sure how you feel about sleeping naked, bold girl, but I’ll have an easier time waiting until Monday to fuck you if we both have some clothes on.”

  “Is fooling around out of the question, sir?” She grips the edge of the bed and rocks forward a little, pushing her beautifully reddened breasts together. I’m not sure if she does it consciously or unconsciously. There’s no guile in her eyes. However she intends it, I’m immediately on-board with fooling around.

  “Not at all out of the question.”

  “Then can I just have the shorts?” She holds out her hand and I pass the soft cotton briefs to her. She stands beside the bed and pulls them on; the black fabric hangs a little loose around the indentation of her waist but hugs her hips just right. No lingerie for this girl. She wears my boxers or nothing from now on.

  “Those look ridiculously good on you.”

  She grins, then slowly sinks to her knees. “Can I help you undress, sir?”

  Fuck, she’s super sweet under that sass. I hold my arms out to my sides. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  She starts at my feet and unties my suede Oxfords. I toe them off and she rolls my socks down and pulls them off. It’s where I’d start undressing, too, if only to avoid the silliness of being a naked man in socks after taking off my pants. Something to be said for this girl’s experience.

  There’s also a lot to be said about how sensual she makes the task of taking off my pants. She runs her hands up the backs of my legs, lingering in the sensitive spots behind my knees, before she moves up to cup my ass. I let her play for a moment, stroking, squeezing, and pinching, while she grins that cocky grin up at me and I shake my head in amusement. Just as I’m about to stop her, she slides her hands around to the front, palming my very interested cock, and unbuckles my belt. Instead of pulling my pants down, she unzips the fly and reaches in. She closes her hand over my cock and my balls clench at the firm pressure and warmth of skin-on-skin.

  “May I take it out, sir?”

  “You may, bold girl. See what asking nicely gets you?”

  Her grin is pure vixen. She folds my boxers down under my balls and brings my cock out, licking her lower lip as she takes it in, consuming me with her eyes.

  “Sir, is there anything I can do to get you in my mouth tonight?”

  I reach down and slide my hand around her neck, thumbing her smooth jaw. “What’d I say?”

  “That condoms break, and you won’t risk my health.”

  “That’s right. So, as tempting as it is, and it is very fucking tempting, bold girl, the answer is no. What are you allowed to do?”

  “Use my hand. Could I have my mouth on your balls? There’s no risk to that, is there, sir?”

  She just keeps pushing. Amy would have obeyed without any argument. I thought I missed that, but Brenna’s flashes of defiance are turning me on like nothing I can remember.

  “Balls only. No further forward, or back, this time.”

  “Yes, sir,” she says, before she winks. “Maybe next time with that dental dam?”

  I squeeze her neck. “Ass-to-mouth’s a hard limit for you, no?”

  “Not with a dental dam, sir. No one’s used one on me before or offered to let me use one. I really liked that.”

  I stroke my free hand down her cheek. “Good. Let’s move to the bed if you’re going to use that smart mouth on my balls.”

  “Yes, sir.” She climbs to her feet without taking her hand off my cock. I wrap my hand around hers to keep
her from yanking my junk, but she moves smoothly. I step out of my pants and guide her the few steps back to the bed with my hand on her nape, then lower her onto her back and move over her, a position she didn’t anticipate by the flaring of her eyes but likes from their dilation.

  I settle over her head, grabbing a towel from the bedside table and spreading it in front of me as a landing zone. She scoots down a little and I spread my knees, so she doesn’t have to strain to reach my balls. “Get to it, girl,” I order, but there’s a smile in my voice and she answers it with her own before tipping her face up to lip at my balls.

  She’s good, this experienced girl. Stroking me slow to start, getting me used to the warm, wet pressure on my balls, before she increases her pace and suction. Her tongue stud adds an unexpected edge, and I can’t wait to feel it on my cock. My eyes cross when she jerks up hard with her hand and sucks down firmly with her mouth. I grab the headboard to brace myself and even then nearly collapse onto her face when she squeezes my base while rolling my balls in her mouth. I find myself chanting “fuck, yes, fuck, yes” as she jacks me and feel her amusement vibrating through my balls. She brings me to the edge and holds me there for long moments, sucking my balls down so I can’t quite go over, while I pant and curse. I let her have this moment of control and she relishes it, teasing me until I’m groaning, gritting my teeth against the command to finish me, unwilling to end this delicious torment.

  She eases the suction on my balls just as she reaches up and presses two long fingers against my taint. I roar as the unexpected pressure shoots straight through me and out of my cock in a burning rush. She keeps working me, stroke after stroke, hot squeeze after hot squeeze, until my balls are finally spent, and I start to go soft in her fist. She gives my balls a sweet kiss and pats my ass, which I take as a hint to get my junk out of her face.

  I collapse slowly onto my side, laughter bubbling up out of my chest. “Now that’s my idea of a hand job.”

  She smiles up at the ceiling, then rolls to face me and puts a hand on my hip. “Was that okay, sir?”

  This bold, bold girl still needs reassurance. I cup her cheek and rub my thumb across her flushed lower lip. “Much better than okay. I definitely want a repeat of that on Friday. I think that might be my new favorite form of aftercare.”