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“I might.” He kneeled on the end of the bed and began wiping my pussy and clit with an alcohol-moistened swab.
I squeaked at the cold and lifted my butt, only to have him glare.
“Be still or I’ll rope you down and pierce your tongue as well.”
Oh fuck. I glued my butt to the pillow, even when he picked up a long, silvery pair of forceps.
“Sir, do you know how to do this? Whatever it is you’re doing?”
“I do.” He snicked the forceps open and shut a few times then approached me. I was sure my eyes were as wide as they could go. I squeaked but stayed in one spot by virtue of tensing every muscle and curling my toes. Clothes pegs, needles, sure, but violating my lady bits with some big fat pieces of metal was past my limits. “Sir!”
“Shhh. No more talking. I need to concentrate on putting these in. Three rings on each side of your pussy.” He glanced up and grinned. “The outer lips if you’re curious.”
“Not curious,” I whispered to myself. Then I plonked my head back on the pillow as the forceps closed with a click, click. Ow! Sharper pain lanced in and I hissed, then it settled into a throb that infused me, slowly, and became that odd mix of arousal and ache. He used some other instrument then pierced me again. I breathed through it, panting, appreciating the sensations more. Pain and I had come to terms with each other and this was only another rung up the ladder from needles. The ritual of the piercing sank in. By the third one, the little spears of hurt were spacing me out.
I raised my head to see.
Though a sadist, my Pieter, my Sir, seemed as engrossed in the technique and getting this done right, as in observing my reaction. That was reassuring.
“You’re being good.” He stroked my thigh. “This is looking damn sexy.”
Ugh.
Another ring was inserted. The regular click and clack of metal things being played with calmed me and I stared upward, lowering my eyelids.
I fuzzed out, the haze taking me until all I registered was the clink of instruments, and the distant bites on my pussy. The ceiling was miles above and drifting sideways.
As the straps were released, I came back to earth and focused. Then I realized he was sitting between my legs and smiling smugly while staring at what he’d done.
My mouth ran away before I could think. “You look like a boy who’s just built his first house from blocks.”
That skeptical eyebrow rose.
Something pulled me over the cliff, maybe my journalistic streak. “The cat that’s got the cream?” I moved to draw my legs up and he grabbed my ankles.
Oops. Memories of punishments returned. I caught my lip in my teeth.
“Not so fast. More like the wolf that’s caught the girl skipping naked through the forest.” Still holding my legs, he sneaked up the bed and leaned in mouth open, heading for my newly tortured pussy. When inches away he dived, his teeth snapped together, and I screamed.
“I’m sorry, Sir!” Funny, but I almost giggled. It was the expression – an evil glee that seemed to glitter in his eyes.
After months him being super strict, I sensed a change. A tolerance for bad behavior that hadn’t existed before. Because he was certain of me staying? It must be.
“I hope so, my slave.” After a long, sadistic silence, he let go, came around the side of the bed and sat next to me. I rolled over, winced at the sharp reminder as the rings pulled on my pussy, then I dared to snuggle in with my head on his lap and my arms around his waist.
Without saying more, he caressed my cheek then piece by piece, a few strands at a time, he rearranged my hair. If there was one thing he loved, it was playing with my hair. Lazily, I watched it slide through his fingers while he studied me so closely, I wondered if he was memorizing my every detail.
“Now, you’re really mine. Permanently, irrevocably, forever mine.”
Oh, the arrogant satisfaction in that. All those words he’d used meant forever to my little writerly heart but I loved the repetition; it was as though he stamped his ownership on me with words as thoroughly as the three pairs of rings in my labia. With every surge of blood in my veins, the ache down there reminded me that I was his, absolutely.
“Yes, Sir. I’m yours, forever and ever.” There was nowhere in the world I would rather be. “Does this mean you won’t need to cane me anymore?”
“Hah. It means I get to do it more.”
I tried to hold back my smile but failed. “Mmm.”
He was my sadist and I never wanted him as anything else. On some days I knew he would come to me, in need, with the million shards in his eyes, to whip me and pierce me until I fell into the abyss before him, but on others he would be merely my Sir. I would dread the storm days, but those others, I wanted to lie at his feet and be his.
He bent to brush my forehead with his lips then he shifted onto the bed to lie with me, with his chin on my hair. Where I was, tucked into his chest, I felt safe and surrounded and his.
*****
From now on, I would be her protector as well as her master, I would make her feel loved, because she was, terribly so. I hugged Jazmine closer to me and kissed her. I buried my nose in her hair, breathed in her natural perfume, and sighed.
Paradise was not the island, it was this, having her as mine.
Later I’d have to help Glass decide how to deal with this not-so-friendly friend of hers, Wren. The fallout from crime seemed never-ending but I could handle it. Making people do what I wanted them to was getting easier day by day.
I’d learned my lesson. Bad men got what they wanted. Fuck being good. I was going to be a bad, bad man, because that way I got to keep my beautiful pet.
