Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  Bren nods. “Thank you, Sir.”

  After our pow-wow, Bren joins the girls to watch their movie while she digests, and Logan takes me upstairs to see the renovation that’s underway. I know from the plans that the third floor’s being converted not just into my suite but also a guest room so that the current guest room can become the baby’s nursery. I wouldn’t object to having the nursery on my floor, but I’ll admit I’m happier sharing my bathroom with the occasional guest than with the baby. Naomi’s potty-training days are not my fondest memories.

  The builders have made big strides in just a few days and have framed out all the rooms, put up plasterboard and insulated. The bathroom’s the least finished, with wires sticking out of holes in the plasterboard and exposed plumbing, but even it has a sense of how the final room will look.

  “I had a thought for the screens,” I say, waving to where two shoji screens will close off the bath once it’s installed. “I thought I might get Bren to paint them. Sort of like graffiti. Might add a modern edge.”

  Logan lifts an eyebrow. “I like that idea, but if things don’t last between you, will you want the reminder?”

  “Lo, I’m not going into this with that mind-set. Did you feel that way about Emily?”

  He gives me a sheepish grin. “Not even for a second.”

  “Then stop projecting that shit on me and Bren.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  “And don’t push too hard on Bren moving in here, during or after this. She’s independent because she’s had to be. I’m being careful not to crowd her and let her come to me in her own time. She’s doing great settling into my control.”

  “I honestly wouldn’t have believed Bren could do it full-time.”

  “She’s not just doing it, she’s thriving. I haven’t seen any sadness in her eyes in days. She laughs so much more than when we first met. Some of that is we’re in the honeymoon stage, sure, but a lot of it is she’s finally getting what she needs instead of what she thought she wanted.”

  Logan scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I’m not sure what it says that she’s been at Blunts for over five years and hasn’t gotten what she needs.”

  “You know exactly what it means, son. You never paid attention to her.” I hold up my hand to forestall him when he frowns defensively. “You know it’s true. I saw it so clearly when we caught up to the subs at the bar last night. Bren’s never going to be part of the popular crowd. She’s too much of an outsider. You let her be an outsider and I’m not condemning you for that, but you know you weren’t keeping tabs on her and she’s never going to be one to complain. Without someone to advocate for her, the Doms gave her what she asked for, what she said she wanted, but no one was paying attention to her deeper needs. If you want me to help you manage the house subs, that’s something we’re going to have to address.”

  Logan’s mouth works for a moment. “You’re right.”

  I admire many things about Logan, but nothing more than his ability to admit when he’s wrong.

  “I know I am.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Don’t shoulder all the blame, Lo. There are what, thirty house subs?”

  “Closer to forty.”

  “That’s too many for any one person to manage. It never should have been a one-man job.”

  He nods. “I agree with you there, sir.”

  “You done anything about it yet? My membership or taking the reins back from your friend?”

  “No. Sorry, Mac, I’ve been pre-occupied.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Bren’s reward today is going to be a swimming lesson. I can take her to the gym near my apartment, but if you don’t have any plans this afternoon—”

  “Nothing this doesn’t trump. I need to make an appearance at the club every day during the festival anyway and Emily will jump at a chance to go swimming. I’ll catch one or two of the committee members while we’re there and start the sponsorship.” His mouth twists. “They never fail to pressure me about something, so I’m sure they’ll mention the training role.”

  “Feel free to use me as a buffer against their pressure, Lo.”

  He grips my wrist, where I’m still resting my hand on his shoulder, and squeezes. “I’ll hold you to that, sir.”

  We finish the tour of the renovations with a peek into the large closet that’s all that’s left of the formerly huge attic. It’s already stuffed with what looks like boxes of books, carefully labeled in Emily’s handwriting. Good thing I don’t need much storage. “What happened to everything that was up here?” I ask, remembering that Logan refused to part with anything belonging to his parents after their deaths.

  “Ebay,” he says. “Emily helped me sell it all. Some surprising things in there. They fetched enough for that new eighty-four-inch telly.”

  “You told Emily about that yet?”

  Logan shakes his head with a huge grin. “When I do, I’m blaming it on you.”

  I laugh as I follow him downstairs.

  I give Bren another half-hour to digest and finish the movie with Emily and Cynnie before I drag her into the basement. We’ve brought our own gloves and Bren’s pads. Logan has a speed bag and a heavy bag in his home gym. After several minutes of skipping, we each take a bag to warm up, swap, and then pick up the pads to spar.

  Bren’s bound her dreads back with a thick black band that holds them away from her face and she’s holding the pads. Otherwise, she’s naked. The warm-up’s given her colorful skin a gorgeous sheen and I’m already addicted to naked boxing.

  “Are we kicking, Sir?” she asks as we circle each other in the small, open space, bare feet squeaking on the mats.

  I consider my free-swinging junk and decide against it. “No, but knees are okay. I’d actually like to work on the knee combinations Kru showed us in the lesson.”

  I was surprised the combinations didn’t hurt me more than they did, given the state of my knee, and am wondering if it was the calisthenics Bren’s kickboxing instructor put us through at the beginning of class or just my knee fucking finally beginning to ease.

  Bren nods. “Combination eleven, then, Sir?” She adjusts the pads against the first two strikes, and I hammer them into the pads.

  My knee’s aching after a half-hour of sparring and I decide it’s a combination of Kru’s warm-up and the much better padding at his gym that kept my knee from bitching. I’m definitely joining my bold girl’s gym.

  Bren doesn’t look fatigued yet. Fortunately, kickboxing’s not the only way I can wear my girl out. “You’re looking a little sweaty there, girl,” I say when it’s my turn with the pads again. Instead of strapping them on, I begin wiping them down with a towel.

  “Not as sweaty as you, Sir.” She strips out of her gloves, pulls a pack of wipes out of her bag and cleans them. When I hold my hand out, she tosses me several wipes so I can do the pads and my own gloves. “Have I worn you out?”

  I tuck the pads into her gym bag and rest my hands on my hips in mock disapproval. “That what you think?”

  Grinning hugely, she nods. There’s so much light in my girl’s eyes; it hits me like a haymaker. Fills up my soul. And my cock, which she notices, her eyes flicking down and back to mine. Her grin gets, impossibly, wider.

  “Remember when you told me to tell you if you were being too old and boring for me?”

  “You daring to tell me now, girl?”

  She bounces on her toes. “Would I, Sir?”

  “You would. Let’s see how much sass you’ve got after I go nine rounds with that ass. Get in there, girl.” I jerk my head towards the playrooms. “Hope you know where the lube is, ‘cause if I find you before you find it, I’m taking that ass without any, and I’m only giving you a two-second head start.”

  Bren squeals and bolts, darting around me toward the inner playroom.

  “One. Two!” I shout after her before I follow her, wearing nothing but a huge grin of my own.

  *****

  “Breathe out,” I tell Bren. “And I’m goi
ng to take one hand away. I still have you. You’re not going to sink.”

  I slowly drop my hand from under her shoulders, leaving her body balanced on my left hand as she floats in Blunts’ huge pool. I’ve brought her into one of the many grottos in the pool to teach her to swim, so she’s not jostled. Although most of the festival is going on upstairs, there are some ponies being put through their paces underwater and the roped-off lap area is busy with more serious swimmers.

  Bren’s no longer clinging to my arm the way she was when I first got her floating, but there’s still a lot of tension in her face and body. Her eyes have never left mine and they’re full of a feverish light. It’s not those sad shadows, but my bold girl isn’t happy, either.

  “Tell me what’s scaring you, girl.”

  “It’s stupid, Sir. I know I can stand up.”

  “This isn’t about being smart or stupid. It’s not about logic. It’s about fear. Tell me what’s scaring you.”

  “That I’ll sink and drown. I know it’s not rational, Sir—” She tenses even further as she speaks and grabs for my arm again. I let her hold it for a minute until she begins to relax.

  “Both arms out again. Spread your body across the water. I’m going to count down from ten.”

  Before I reach five, she’s released my arm and is floating again, very nearly on her own. I’m sure I can take my left hand away, but I leave it in the small of her back, so she feels my support.

  “You know you can just put your feet down and stand up. The water’s not over your head. Why are you afraid?”

  “I shouldn’t be. I know that.”

  “Fear isn’t rational, sweetheart. Tell me why you’re afraid.”

  “I’m out of control,” she finally whispers.

  “That’s right. You feel out of control. And the water isn’t a Dom who will respect your safe words or check in with you. You have to take back control, sweetheart. Make that water your bitch.” That gets me a faint smile. “The first step to taking back control in the water is learning how to float. Once you can float, no matter what happens to you in the water, you’ll always be able to float. You’ll always have that measure of control.”

  “Floating’s my safe word,” she says.

  “That’s a good way to think of it.”

  “Okay, try it again,” she says.

  I drop my left hand a fraction at a time until I’m no longer touching her. As soon as she feels unsupported, despite the fact she’s floating on her own, she thrashes and grabs my arm. I let her hold it for a minute and then count down.

  It takes her three tries, but she finally floats on her own, without any support, without grabbing my arm. I let her float for ten minutes, to really get used to the sensation, before I call an end to the lesson.

  She stands up in the chest-high water, looking faintly disappointed. “But I didn’t swim, Sir. Not even dog paddle.”

  “You won’t swim next lesson, either. This is about getting you comfortable and confident in the water. Learning the strokes will come a lot easier if you know down in your bones that you’re not going to sink.”

  She brightens and follows me to a set of stairs up onto a platform that’s styled like a Grecian temple. I pick up our towels off the lounger and dry her off, then wrap her in one of the club’s robes before leading her around to the tiki grotto which has been commandeered by Logan, Max, their friend Warrin, and a cluster of littles who are currently playing with a huge beach ball. I drop down onto a deep cushion next to Logan and draw Bren into my lap.

  “You still not allowed in the water?” I ask Logan, nodding at the other two daddies who are splashing and playing with their littles.

  “Doctors want me to avoid immersion for another two weeks,” Logan grouses.

  His head injury over the summer has prevented him from doing a large number of things, including flying to London to be at his daughter’s birth. But the limitations are falling like dominoes as he recovers. Immersion and running with me have to be some of the last hurdles.

  “That’s not too long,” I commiserate.

  Logan’s dark eyes follow his little as she shrieks with laughter after getting a face-full of the soft ball. “I resent every second I don’t get to play with her.”

  I snort. “You’re such a daddy. Who’d a thought, the big, bad sadist.”

  “Wanker,” Logan mutters.

  Bren shifts in my lap and I hear her stomach rumble. Between the kickboxing, a long fuck, and the swimming lesson, those pancakes are no longer filling my hole, either.

  “Lunch next?” I ask Logan.

  “Yeah.” He holds up his phone, which has a timer counting down. “I was going to give them five more minutes and then call everyone out so they can shower and dress for lunch. You happy with the club buffet again or do you want to venture out.”

  “Club buffet works for me. You happy with that, girl?”

  She tips her head back to smile at me. “Yes, Sir. I’ve got the hot sauce at the ready.”

  I reach into the gap in her robe and tweak her nipple. Grin at her squeak of protest. “Careful, girl. I’m in the mood for another round with that sore sphincter and I’m happy to use hot sauce for lube.”

  She gulps and turns around to watch the people in the pool.

  “You mind if I invite a few people to join us?” Logan asks, thumbing over to a new screen on his phone. “Couple more members of the management committee it would be a good idea for you to meet.”

  “Sure, anyone you want.”

  “Good.”

  Logan gets busy with his phone.

  “Girl, can I tempt you with five minutes in the sauna while Logan wrangles his herd of littles?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  She climbs off my lap and helps me out of the deep cushion when my knee protests. I sling my arm over her shoulders as we walk out of the tiki area and follow the pool’s curve around toward the jacuzzi and steam rooms. The smell of hot cedar drowns the faint chlorine scent from the pool, and I take a deep breath to savor it. I might be slightly uncomfortable at Logan’s fancy club, but it does have its fucking perks.

  The first steam room is already occupied with a threesome writhing all over the benches. Bren and I exchange glances and without further discussion move to the next door. I’ll give them points for bravery but it’s too hot to fuck in a sauna.

  The next room has a couple in it, but they’re lying on the top tier of benches, not speaking, not touching each other. I guide Bren inside, park my ass on the hot wood and gesture Bren down beside me. I turn her so she’s lying on the bench with her head in my lap.

  “Reminds me of the cypress groves in Florida,” I tell Bren in a low tone. “They bake in the sun. Smell like this. You ever been to Florida?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “No? Any interest in going? I usually visit my mother in January or February. She lives down there in the Keys.”

  “I’d love to, Sir. I didn’t realize your parents were still alive?”

  “Ma is. Pops died more than ten years ago. Lung cancer.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  I wave her condolences away. “He was a two-pack-a-day man. Never could quit. I’m just glad Ma made him smoke outside so she wasn’t affected. She’s remarried now so I keep my visits short. If you’re up to long rides by then, we could ride down, stay a day or two, and make our way back, stopping wherever you want.”

  “I’d love that, Sir.”

  I pinch her chin. “Anywhere else you’d like to go, you just tell me, girl.”

  “Paris. I know it’s cheesy. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve always wanted to go.”

  “So cheesy.”

  She grins. “Green-cheese cheesy.”

  “How does May sound?”

  She sighs. “Perfect.”

  “Mmm, you ready to shower, girl?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She sits up and rolls slowly to her feet and I follow her out to where we’ve hung our robes on hooks outside the steam room. �
�Do you mind if I wear the robe to lunch? I’m too relaxed to get dressed.”

  “That sounds good. I might do the same.” I give her gleaming breasts an appreciative leer before she covers them with terrycloth. “I like the easy access.”

  “Me, too, Sir.” She reaches into my open robe and runs her hand down between my pecs. “There weren’t any rules about me touching you.”

  “Nope, there weren’t,” I agree.

  “So, I can touch you any time?”

  “Any time you want to take the risk, bold girl, you go for it.”

  She gives me that warm, alto laugh.

  Showered and in our robes, we join a dozen people at a huge oval table in the club’s restaurant. Today it’s even busier than yesterday and there’s a scene going on at the far end of the big greenhouse annex, with a pair of ponies in full regalia being bred. Our table has a good view of the scene and I’m surprised it doesn’t stir more interest in me, but the flashes of Bren’s colorful skin through the open front of her robe are what hold my attention.

  I lean in and whisper in her ear, “I’d rather be eating you. You look fucking edible.”

  She freezes for a second in the middle of a mouthful of tomato and mozzarella salad before shooting me a grin. “Totally up for that, Sir.”

  “Plan on that for dessert, girl.”

  “Yes, Sir. Could I have you for an entrée instead of this?” She pushes a pile of chicken wings around on her plate with her fork.

  “Here, now?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Not against the rules?”

  Although I’ve seen subs displayed on tables before, the pony scene is the first sex I’ve seen inside the restaurant, and its partitioned off from the dining area by a good ten feet of clear space.

  “Not on festival weekends, Sir.”

  “Then finish that up and get on your knees, girl.”

  She polishes off the salad so fast I’m concerned she’ll give herself indigestion. I smile at her eagerness and before she slithers off the chair, clamp my hand around the back of her neck and give her a deep kiss.

  I’m just releasing her when a hand falls on my shoulder.

  “Mac. DirtyGurl.” I turn at a deep voice behind us and nod at the club’s chairman, Chess. He’s young to run such a prestigious establishment. Probably just a few years older than Logan and a decade younger than me. No gray in his thick, black hair. Few wrinkles around his black eyes. He has a seasonless tan played up by a white, button-down shirt and a slightly hatchet nose, but whether that’s from Native American, Mediterranean, or South American genes is impossible to tell.