Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  There are two more house subs in their little clique: Pence and Tamsin. I don’t actually mind Pence. I’ve done a lot of group scenes with him, like the one this afternoon. He’s insecure and annoyingly attention-seeking, but he’s toned his ass down a shit-ton since Logan punished him over the summer in a fairly epic scene that the house subs are still whispering about. I’ve also noticed he’s started wearing a second collar recently. After seeing them interact several times, including today, I’m guessing the second collar is Master Harold’s, although they’re clearly not exclusive.

  Pence follows me into Chicklets, not exactly walking with me because we’re not that friendly, but within a few feet of each other, which makes walking in the City at night just that touch safer. Although Pence is a skinny reed of a kid wearing clothes that probably cost ten times my old leathers, so I’d probably be the one defending him if someone decided to mug him for his stupid Corthay loafers. He breezes through the door behind me and immediately throws himself at Briar as if they haven’t seen each other in weeks.

  Before I can check if Tamsin is lurking nearby, I get enveloped from both sides. Austin’s hug is gentle, which is good because he’s built like a line-backer. Hunter tackles me and he doesn’t know the meaning of the word gentle. It’s like getting hugged by an octopus. He is so freaking tactile. I hug Austin back and fend Hunter off the best I can.

  “I’m not a hugger,” I complain, although Mac’s wearing me down on that score.

  “Rachel’s coming. Sorry, B,” Austin whispers in my ear before he lets me go.

  I meet his eyes as he steps back and give him a rueful smile.

  Hunter tries to drag me to the bar, but I divert after Briar’s fake whisper of “Gawd, who forgot to take out the trash?” Two of the newer subs, Annabelle and Paula, are standing together, a little away from everyone else. I haven’t had the chance to get to know either of them, so I take the opportunity and walk straight over, trailing Austin.

  Talking with the two women distracts me from Rachel’s arrival. I see her sweep in out of the corner of my eye. She takes the barstool that Briar’s reserved for her, shakes out her honey-streaked brown curls, smooths down her Ralph Lauren leather wrap dress and launches into a loud monologue about all the ways her new club is better than Blunts. I turn my back on her and focus on the story Paula’s been telling us about her days as a cab driver.

  I manage to avoid Rachel and her Drow until it’s my round. Then I have to go to the bar to order and the only clear space is two spots along from Briar. Spitting distance, and I am so tempted.

  After I put in the order, I take out my phone and flip through it while I wait at the bar. There’s a message from Emily that I open.

  Austin says Rachel’s shown up. Do you want rescuing?

  I snort to myself and respond.

  Too late.

  “I had the most amazing scene with Master Ten last night,” Briar says, loudly enough that I know her words are aimed at my ears. “He said it was the best scene he’d had in weeks. I guess the last few were really . . . disappointing.”

  Knowing Ten as well as I do, I seriously doubt he said any of that. He doesn’t talk to his subs, not about anything meaningful. Not the way Mac does. But I hope Ten is having good scenes. I’ve had some of the best of my life since our failed scene and I’d like to think he’d be happy for me, although Ten can be such a bitter asshole that I have to wonder.

  “Everyone says that a bad scene is the Dom’s fault,” Rachel purrs through pouty, plum-stained lips, in her silkiest bitch-tone. “But something I’ve realized since going to Sacrum is that the success or failure of a scene really rests with the sub. Bad sub, bad scene.”

  I roll my eyes to myself and thumb through my social media notifications, chuckling at a kinky meme that Fleur, another nightclub sub who is conspicuously absent tonight, has posted.

  Briar twirls a red curl around her three-inch acrylics dramatically. “Master Ten will only have good scenes with me.”

  “I thought Master Ten only punished you,” says Third Bitch, Tamsin. She isn’t really a bad person either, just a follower, and not a very bright one at that.

  Briar shakes her hair haughtily. “I said Master Ten prefers punishment scenes with me. He knows I can take it, unlike some.”

  She is beyond full of shit. Ten likes to do punishment scenes with her because he’s happy to punish her even when she hasn’t done anything wrong. Or, as he’s said to me several times, “Thorny lives in a perpetual state of wrongdoing.” He also doesn’t give a single fuck about her pleasure and often makes sure she doesn’t come when they scene. Fortunately for her, she kinks on that, but even if she didn’t, Ten wouldn’t care.

  “It’s only a matter of time before he asks me to wear his collar,” Briar continues.

  She’s delusional. Ten went through a brief period where he seemed to be considering collaring another of the nightclub subs, Tessa. He scened with Tessa exclusively for months and took her home with him several times. Watching that unfold was what finally killed my crush on him. I’m still not sure what made Ten go off Tessa, but if he didn’t collar her, he’s sure as hell not going to get exclusive with any of the other house subs, particularly one he dislikes as much as he dislikes “Thorny.”

  I snort. Loudly.

  Briar turns on her stool and opens her mouth, presumably to blast me, then her eyes track over my shoulder and she just sits there with an incredibly stupid expression on her face.

  I turn and find Mac standing behind me. “Can I help you carry those, sweetheart?” he asks, nodding at the drinks the bartender has finally started lining up on the bar in front of me.

  “Sir!” I squeal and before I think about it, jump up on him so he has to catch me as I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.

  He chuckles before grabbing my ass with one hand and my nape with the other and kissing me breathless. “That’s how I want to be greeted every time from now on.”

  “Yes, Sir. I thought you were going to play pool?”

  After that scene that left me utterly wrecked and deliriously happy, we showered, ate at the Trattoria’s buffet at a huge table that included everyone we scened with, plus Maude, Sean and his wife, Moon, and, uncomfortably, Theo, who looked at me once, sitting in the crook of Mac’s arm, and never met my eyes again. Once we’d eaten, we watched the first round of the festival awards, in which Moon and the new pony-boy, Allyn, both won ribbons. Then I went to get changed while everyone else headed off to what Harry’s biker friends kept calling “fancy pool.”

  “It’s snooker,” a deep voice says from behind me as a hard smack lands on the ass-cheek Mac isn’t gripping. It makes the whip welts on my ass blaze despite the cream Mac slathered over them after our shower. “And we decided to crash and drag the lot of you off to play with us.”

  I turn my head and grin at Logan, despite the smack. I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy to see him.

  Emily’s a step behind her daddy, smiling hesitantly. I start to unwind myself from Mac to hug her because she’ll be extremely anxious coming into the group like this, particularly knowing that Rachel’s here. And I think I owe her a big hug for calling in the cavalry.

  Mac takes a firmer grip on me and walks away from the bar. “Oh, no, girl. I like you right where you are.”

  “Sir, I’m too heavy to carry.”

  Mac adjusts his grip on me to free up a hand to smack my ass. What is with these guys lighting up my ass when I was just whipped a couple of hours ago? It’s like they’re Doms or something.

  “Don’t ever say that to me again,” he growls. “I bench more than what you weigh forty times a week.”

  He does? No wonder he handles me so easily.

  He walks us back to the group I was hanging with and props me on an empty stool. I expect him to step away, but he stays pressed up against me, keeping me wrapped around him with a hot hand on my ass as he greets the subs he knows and meets the ones he doesn’t. Logan an
d Emily join us a moment later, carrying everyone’s drinks between them. As soon as they distribute the drinks, Logan draws Emily to him and stands behind her like a sentinel with his arms crossed over her chest. I’m glad to see him protect her so physically with Rachel and her clique just a few feet away.

  I offer Mac the Corona Logan’s put on the table for me.

  “Outta your mouth, girl,” Mac says, nodding at the beer.

  I take a mouthful and offer my lips to him. He sucks the beer out of my mouth through a deep kiss, to cheers and catcalls from everyone around us. When he releases me, I grin up at him and wipe a little overspill from the corners of my mouth. “I’m really happy to see you, Sir.”

  He gives me another kiss. “Pool’s boring without you.”

  I love him so much for saying that in front of everyone.

  I mean, I would. If I loved him.

  “You need a cock and ball girl, Sir? I volunteer as tribute.”

  Mac laughs. “Gimme another drink of that beer then, girl, and let’s go play some pool.”

  “Snooker,” Logan grumbles.

  The Sub Crawl turns into Snooker with the Doms and if I feel a petty thrill at leaving Rachel, Briar and Tamsin sitting at the bar sour-faced, well, I’ll just have to find a way to live with myself. Even Pence follows us. Master Harold and the three bikers meet us at the pool hall that’s a few blocks from the club. We take over the three unoccupied tables, and then the whole place after Mac and Logan have a talk with the owner, who they evidently know. The owner clears the other six tables for us, which turns out to be necessary when Dana, Javier, Maude, Bull and his two submissives, and Sean and Moon join us. Knowing what an utter pool shark Mistress Maude is, I almost defect from Mac’s team, but I’m glad I stay because it turns out Mac’s the Great fucking White of snooker players.

  After we win several hundred dollars and a weekend at Master Javier’s house in the Hamptons, Mac drags me to the bar for a drink. Once we have our bottles in hand, he tinks his against mine.

  “Better way of spending your night than with those bitchy-looking gals?” he asks.

  “So much better, Sir. So, so much better I can’t even tell you.”

  “I thought it was just Emily they gave a hard time. Have they been picking on you?”

  I shrug. “I’ve been dealing with Rachel and her Drow for years. I’m pretty good at tuning them out.”

  Mac tips his head at me. “Drow. Like—?”

  “Sorry, Sir. My geek is showing. It’s a dungeons and dragons thing.”

  “I know what it is. Boys in my unit in Africa used to play. Do you still?”

  “When I get together with the kids who were at Mother Kay’s, yeah.” I remember Ruby’s demand that I bring Mac to Thanksgiving, but I just don’t have the guts to ask. “I’ll actually be seeing them at Thanksgiving, so we’ll probably play a few games then.”

  “Will you?” Mac lifts his eyebrows. “Am I invited? I play a mean berserker.”

  I swallow hard, not sure if he’s saying what I think he’s saying. “Um, you want to spend Thanksgiving—”

  “With you, girl. Wherever you’re going to be.”

  I feel a rush of something so deep and warm I have to sip my beer to keep a tear from escaping.

  “I’d love that, Sir.”

  “That the best you got?”

  No, it’s not. I put my beer down on the bar and move into his arms as he opens them. I throw my arms around his neck and hug him hard. “I wanted to ask. I just didn’t want to take you away from your daughter.”

  “I appreciate that,” Mac says in my ear, his breath warm on my skin. “But let me worry about Naomi. You worry about me and you.”

  Ruby said the same thing. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I might have to start taking tops’ advice.

  “In that case, please come to Thanksgiving with me?”

  “I’d be honored, girl.” He pulls back enough to give me a deep kiss that curls my toes and makes me lift one leg without even being aware of it until I have to put it back down. No, no, no, I’m not turning into that girl, who is so lost for her guy she doesn’t even know when she’s being sappy in public. That is not me.

  When Mac releases me, I step back and clear my throat, intending to regain some of my shredded dignity. But Mac’s not that kind of Dom. He leans in and whispers, “Go to the bathroom, take off my damn shirt and your bra and bring them to me. I want you just in that cami you’re wearing. Those tits belong to me. I want to see them.” His long fingers trace the shadow of lace that’s visible through the shirt I stole out of his bag this morning so I could wear his scent all day. “Your jacket will keep you decent enough for this place. And the threat of me taking it off you will keep your sass under control for the rest of the night.”

  I give him a shocked-innocent face that’s about as genuine as Briar’s whisper before I scamper off to the bathroom.

  When I return in the camisole, Mac drags me back to the snooker tables and we square off against the older biker, Napa, and his wife, Tiana. Mac cops a feel under my leather jacket before his first shot—and I swear it only makes him play better, his aim is unreal—and I see the devilish gleam in Tiana’s eyes. She lifts an eyebrow at me. I nod.

  Game on.

  It’s not so much pool, or snooker as Logan calls it, from then on as a game of Tease the Doms. Every shot has to be considered from every angle, while bent over and wiggling our asses at our Doms. I pretend my jacket’s too tight and wriggle it off my shoulders while wrapping it around my boobs so I’m not flashing my hard nipples at the whole room before I shoot. Tiana fans herself like she’s hot before she strips off the sweater she’s wearing over a sheath dress. She struts over to Wreck and borrows his belt to cinch in her dress to keep it “out of the way” while she shoots, shortening the dress a good five inches, and damn does she have a figure on her.

  Mac watches our display with a wry grin and a growing bulge in his pants. When I next line up my shot, he walks behind me and smacks me right on one of the whip-stripes as I shoot. The cue ends up half-way across the table and I miss every ball.

  “Sir!” I protest. “That’s not going to help us win!”

  Napa roars with laughter. “Pretty sure neither of you girls is playing to win anything but whose Dom can pop more wood. Tee, you want your spanking now over the table or back at Harry’s?”

  Tiana sashays over to her Dom and runs her finger down the front of T-shirt. “You wouldn’t spank me here in front of all these nice people, would you?”

  He would. Mac would, too. They line us up against the snooker table. We hold hands as our Doms bend us over. Mac only gives me three hard swats. My leathers provide a little protection, but I swear he has X-ray vision because each swat lands right on a whip-wheal. The renewed burn makes me yelp and swear. Tiana doesn’t get off that lightly. Napa and Wreck take turns spanking her until her eyes are glazed with both tears and subspace. I stay bent over the table, holding her hand, throughout the spanking. Wreck finally leans over her, kisses her cheek, and whispers “good girl” before picking her up and carrying her to a booth.

  Mac helps me stand and gives me a kiss. “You ready to head home? Got something I want to show you.”

  Home? Is he calling my apartment home? I get that funny, warm bloom in my chest again. “Sure, Sir. Is it a surprise?”

  “If I tell you, will it still be a surprise?”

  Because I can, because my chest is burning up with all these stupid emotions, I lean into him and lick his lips, flicking his upper lip with my tongue stud. When I step back, Mac’s eyes flare.

  “What was that, girl?”

  “If you like it, you lick it. Everyone knows that, Sir.”

  Mac laughs and slaps my ass.

  “Say your goodbyes, girl. You’ve got five minutes before I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out.”

  I mean, I might not be a brat but who can ignore that sort of challenge?

  Six minutes later, as I’m
lingering saying goodbye to Emily, Mac grabs my arm, bends, and hauls me over his shoulder.

  “Sir, your back!” I protest, but inside, I’m glowing. When Mac says he’s going to do something, he does it.

  “You’ll be rubbing it for me later. And you’ll be doing it with a warm ass.”

  He follows through on that, too. Not too warm because, as Mac says, we’ve both been drinking, so we’re not doing a scene, but I’m definitely feeling toasty—on top of my whip-wheals which are have settled into a not-so-mellow burn—by the time we settle in bed. Mac has me bring my tablet and shows me how to navigate to a Cloud server he’s set up for us. The first thing he shows me, a picture of me sprawled naked on a couch after the scene this afternoon, brings surprised, happy tears to my eyes. It’s so perfect, how he’s captured me. Wrecked, despoiled, sated, and somehow beautiful. I’ve never liked a picture of myself more.

  But what he shows me next holds my attention for longer.

  “S-sir, this, this is—”

  “Rules, girl. I’ll let you negotiate them with me for until Monday. Then you accept what we’ve hammered out and we do this full-time.”

  Mac’s titled the short list, “Master Mac’s Rules,” just in case I was confused. It’s what comes after the title that’s stolen my ability to think.

  Rule 1. Snuggleslut will follow all of Master Mac’s instructions quickly, obediently, and without whining.

  I blink away the burning in my eyes. Snuggleslut? I mean he called me that the other night after he claimed my holes, but to write up a service contract with that dirty-sweet name—

  My brain short-circuits again.

  “Tuxedo,” I whimper.

  Mac takes the tablet from me and sets it aside. He pulls me onto his lap and tucks my face into his throat, stroking the fall of my dreads down over my shoulders and back again and again.