Page 5 of Black Light: Cured

Nothing he’s doing hurts, and yet, I can feel my body start to dissociate, pulling away from me as

subspace hovers on the horizon. What sort of magic is this? With one arm done, he pulls it across my

chest and drags the rope down my back until he’s able to wind it around my waist, cinching it tightly

across my abdomen.

It renders my right arm immobile, and it lies there like a dead weight, as if I never wanted to

move it in the first place. Master Dillon does the same with my left arm until I’m sure I resemble

some sort of patient in an insane asylum, wrapped up in a strait jacket, arms crossed in front of me.

But I don’t care.

I can feel the magic already.

AIDEN

EXHAUSTION BEATS AT MY BRAIN AS I WALK UP TO THE BAR AND ORDER MY DRINK. LIKE WITH MOST

nights, I’m not here to play, but instead soak in the atmosphere. After hours of surgery, I need a place

where I can just unwind and listen to the screams of submissives as they’re being put through their

paces.

I have nothing against playing, but my normal girls aren’t here tonight. I’ve already messaged them

to see if they want to get in a quick, kinky exam, but neither had plans on showing up. It’s not really a

loss, though. Usually, if I sit here long enough, someone will ask for a little something—medical play,

needle play, or a violet wand session—but things seem to be a little slow.

Sitting down, I motion for Heather and flash her a quick smile. Though she’s not one I often play

with, she’s still a breath of fresh air. Her submission and desire to please practically rolls off of her.

“Your usual, Master Aiden?”

“Yes, please. Scotch with a splash of water. And grab me the Macallan 30 out of my own stash.

Make sure it’s mine. I don’t want any of that cheap Clan MacGregor shit that others like to drink.”

She gives me a soft giggle before pulling out a key and walking over to the small customer

reserve case on the side. She fiddles with it a moment before reaching in to grab my expensive bottle.

The moment my Scotch is out, she locks the case back up and sets the bottle on the table so I can

get a good look at it. It’s undoubtably mine. As far as I know, I’m the only one that demands this

service, but when the drink is that good, you jump through any hoops necessary.

“Since when have I ever given you the ‘cheap shit?’” That grin she’s trying so hard to hold back is

still at play, jumping at the corners of her lips. It’s laughable the cheeky wench thinks I’m teasing. I