“Tell me why he’s tied to the fucking bed and getting brutally whipped by his submissive,” I hysterically yell, sobbing. “Explain it because I do not understand this equation. It makes zero sense.”
“Decide your fate now!” he angers with a strict jawline. “Now, Iris Amarie!”
Fearing what the rest of the night could bring, I glance between the French glass door and his hard, rippling chest. I won’t make it to the truck, no matter what I do. And I won’t make it through the primal protective Saint Cruz either.
“I choose neither.”
I drop the keys on the floor and walk with somber steps through the house as he patrols behind me. I step into the library and march downstairs into the dungeon, expecting to find Sal still tethered to the bed.
Sal’s ripped jeans sag on his hips as his arms cross over his chest. In one hand, he holds his black leather belt. His jaw is pumping hard. He is pissed. Not moving his arms, he points with one single finger to the ground as he glares with a sharp vengeance.
Presenting before two Masters, I lower to my knees as mascara tears stain my cheeks. And with nothing left of my sanity, I crawl on my hands and knees to their bare feet.
I am a submissive.
And I am eternally taken by two Masters.
On my knees, I stare at the gifts of their cocks. One pronounced in an exquisite black leather wrapping, and the other swaddled in denim.
With an authoritarian tone, Sal questions, “What exactly were you thinking?”
“I wanted to know.”
“So, you came home, put on a sexy dress, and decided,” he pauses and bends to get in my face. “To a show you didn’t have a fucking ticket to!”
“Yes,” I sniffle, crying. “I am so sorry.”
“You think we’re playing here, lil girl?”
“No, Sir. I don’t.”
Staying low, he squat dances around like a Russian showman to proudly display his back. I refuse to look and tuck my head low to my chest. Cruz hastily moves behind me to lift my head and force my viewing. “Do you see my fucking back?”
“Yes, Sir,” I meekly cry.
He bounces back around, but Cruz doesn’t release me. “I am cut up, oozing blood, and those lashes are my emotional release. You do not belong in the middle of this. You do not get to be a part of this.”
My mouth opens and closes several times. “I…I want your emotional release, Salvatore.” Tears bloom from my eyes like wildflowers after a spring rain. “Please, Sir.”
“I never wanted you to see me like this!”
“Why, because you’re a closet submissive?”
The slap to my cheek stings with a kiss from Cruz’s harsh fingers as Sal yells, “I’ve never been a fucking submissive!”
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
“I control everything—you, me, and Cruz.”
“Yes, I know. But when do I get to be a part of this love you are in…”
He quickly stands up, erecting a towering pillar of pure domination. “If you hadn’t pulled your stunt tonight, it might have been soon. But now I’m fucking angry as a motherfucker, and I’m going to be your worst goddamned nightmare! You interrupted my scene, forcing my head out of a high, and your punishment will be severe, lil girl.”
With a rough grasp, Cruz grabs my wrists and cinches them tight with a zip-tie. “Yes, Sir.”
“Tie her ass to the fucking chair,” Sal requests as Cruz hoists me to my feet and carelessly drags my depleted body to the wooden chair. “You want to watch what happens between us?” Sal lights a cigarette as clouds billow around him. “I’m going to fucking show you. Enjoy the presentation. You know nothing, fucking spy!”
“I know I am in love with you.”
“I don’t fucking care!” he bellows as Cruz weaves rope around my chest and legs. “It doesn’t matter! I was fucking deep, Iris! And you pulled me out without regard to my stability! You were a greedy fucking tramp thinking about your wants instead of my needs. You earned this! All of this.”
“I’m so sorry, Master Nero.”
He takes a drag from the smoke, and I spot the tears on his face. “You want to watch what my lover does? Do you want to see me fly? I’m going to fucking show you the truth because nights like this are rare. You ain’t even hitting the cusp of what he does for me, baby.”
“Please, Sal,” I beg. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“Gag the bitch.”
“Open,” Cruz demands, wrapping the black fabric around my head and tightening it. “You have to understand a few things. I am his sex slave. I take the role, his commands, and what we do very seriously. He is my commitment. You crossed a line, and when he is done punishing you, I will get my turn.”
With my body trembling, I blink.
“You leaped and fell from the pedestal we put you on. We would have kept you as our dainty little princess for all eternity. Don’t blame me if you can’t handle the mire on your knees, sweetheart. I warned you to keep out. This is no place for a pretty Queen like you.”
And I play a dirty game with a royal flush.
29
Slaughter the Pig, Guzzle The Blood
His Ride
“What are we doing?” I mutter as Sal finishes his smoke.
“We’re fucking,” he answers with a straight face. “Make love to me, Cruz. Like all those nights at your spread in Texas.”
With my heart pounding in my chest, I can’t catch my breath. “You can’t be serious.”
“If we do not show her who we are, then we as three will not survive.”
“We’ve got her bound, gagged, degraded, and humiliated,” I report, keeping my strict composure. “And you want to punish her with a reward?”
“Because she’s right,” he whispers. “She’s right about everything. I don’t show her me because I can’t. I am asking you as my bottom, show her who I am. Do this for me. Strip away my layers and let her see the truth. If she sees how busted I am, she won’t want me anymore.”
“You’re making assumptions,” I bravely venture against the madness of the man I love. “The forest surrounding you is burning down, and you’re floundering in your own flames.”
“Fuck the forest. I’m stuck in the center of a massive blazing donut.”
“Interesting analogy, considering the cake queen is sitting over there.”
He smiles. “She’s terrified.”
“Have you seen us?” I question, giving a tilting nod. “We’re fucking scary. Think about it. She’s offering to bring us to her castle, but there are two of us and one of her.”
“Fuck, Cruz… Do not have a heart right now.”
“She’s alone,” I point out. “She sees us—male and Dominant times two—as ganging up on her. If you want to get inside of her head, you don’t leave her tied up on the other side of the room. You put her in bed with us.”
“And don’t let her participate…”
I give an approving blink. “You got it.”
“That’s fucking harsh,” he says. “Harsh with heart. I kind of like it.”
“You didn’t see the terror in her eyes when I confronted her. You want to destroy your relationship with her, lay on that bed, spread your thighs, and I will fuck you. But if there is the slightest hint that you might want to save this bizarre love trinity, then you do not leave her out of this.”
“She fucking spied on us…”
“I know,” I assure, trying to calm him. “But doing what you’re about to do is only going to solidify one thing—the end of your relationship.” He scans over to Iris, who isn’t crying as hard as she was. “I’m not saying letting her get out of this without punishment is the answer. But sticking her in the corner isn’t either. She is Iris. We are in love with her. Cherish love. Discipline love. Empower love.”
“Ultimate control.”
“Yes, Master,” I offer. “I respectfully beg of you to consider my opinion.”
He barrels past, and I follow.
After untyi
ng Iris’ gag, he squats, placing his hands on her knees. “You have one chance. And you can think Master Cruz for it. Why do you want this?”
“Why don’t you want to share it with me?”
“Iris Amarie,” I warn, no longer caring if I am sitting in second, and Sal could discipline me. Her disrespect is stopping. “If you answer Sal one more time with rhetoric jargon, I am taking you over my knee and blistering your ass until dawn.”
“I’m sorry, Master Cruz.”
“Answer the question,” I seriously say with an almost bullying tone. Her lip quivers as the pulse in my dick sent a warning to my heart—I could so top this girl. Where she pushes Sal, she listens to me. It’s a tricky, odd balance. “And do not fuck around.”
“Because you have something beautiful together,” she whispers, shifting her glance between Sal and I. “I wasn’t thinking of all the ways I could harm you with what I witnessed. I wanted to be a part of it somehow. Deacon has seen you make love to me countless times. He served as a therapist when my walls came down. Why can I not have the same rights as him? And maybe rights isn’t the correct word. Maybe I’m asking for the leeway you bestow him. That I never get. You reject my passage time and again.”
Sal keeps his stance as he cracks his neck. “Give me more…”
“I’ve never once seen you two together without me being the center,” she hungrily pleads like a starved soul. “Hell, watching a blow job between you would send me to the moon. You say I am scared to let go with Deacon, but so are you. You hold your precious biker boy so close that no one—even you—allows him to prove he won’t hit the road.”
“I have Cruz harnessed too tight?”
“I want to be harnessed that tight!” she sasses. “Cinch me up in a corset of Sal and Deacon for the rest of my life. I don’t mind being the submissive for two Masters, but don’t insult me by denying your desire for me. I know you are in love with me. I know how you are in love with one another. You demand my trust that you won’t leave me for one another, but you don’t give me the same trust in sharing yourselves. I want an amendment to my invisible contract that says I get the same privileges as he does.”
“I will never call you Mistress Iris,” I seethe. “I have been with my Dom for over ten years. We are practically married. And your jealousy of that needs to cease before I…”
“Not another word,” Sal interrupts, standing up. His austere gaze is making my dick throb, and I can only imagine what it is doing to Iris. His prodigious dominance is to die for when he’s on. He exudes fluidity between D/s and earns idol-worthy worship from me. “Or I let Cruz have you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Untie her.”
“… You’re hemorrhaging,” I mention, refusing to move and staring at the beautiful girl. “And you’re scared you won’t ever have what I do with him.”
Her eyes dart between Sal and I. “Speak,” he permits.
“I’m scared I won’t ever have what he does with you, too,” she whispers as I approach to unknot the ropes. “It goes both ways with each of us. Sal needs you and I. You need Sal and me. I need you both. No limits. No boundaries.”
“Big demands from a lil girl…”
She takes a deep breath as we both glare over the top of her. And her hands slip into ours. “You are scared because of what you do.” She rises, so much shorter than either of us, but so much braver as she says, “You’re both lost little boys with a fascination with other boys, and you’re scared of ever letting that be seen. Right or wrong, you feel pressured by the norms and your absence of those.”
I blink to Sal as she nails it.
“Shit…” He shakes his head. “You don’t know shit.”
“I don’t mean you any harm,” she triumphantly declares, rallying her troops. “Let’s start there. Square one. Let me mend the wounds because I have it in my power to do that. I must heal you—both of you are broken, and you don’t see it, but I do. I know Deacon calls you panache-y Sal, but if we’re speaking truths, he is far more flaming than you. He’s got type-A personality written all over him.”
Slicking back my hair, I press my lips together and snicker.
“I love the fact that the English major is analyzing me,” Sal cockily remarks. “Two degrees in psych, and you’re going to spout profiles at me.”
“And you, Sal, I don’t know what you are,” she mutters as I chuckle. He does not. “You’re some sort of hybrid, shifting the full spectrum from pure elation to scary catatonic states. And regarding your comment, two degrees in psych, hell five of them, isn’t going to put you under the self-analyzing microscope. We aren’t built to judge ourselves, only others. Perception is everything, remember?”
His temper is spiking, and as much as I want to prepare for the fallout, I am not sure I have the necessary equipment in this case.
“Cruz isn’t antisocial or aggressive,” Sal suggests with a smirk.
I burst out laughing with Iris. “Like hell…”
“He is far more competitive than you, Sal. You don’t like to lose, but losing will drive Deacon to engage in sociopathic behaviors.”
“Such as…maiming The Spider.”
“I helped!” Raising his swollen fingers, Sal argues, “These hands!”
“Cruz hopped on his bike, drove five hours, marched into the house, and dragged that foolish man out by his collar, all to defend our honor. Atticus spit on our youth, compounded the difficulties in our future, and Saint Cruz was going to rain hell on his head,” she explains as I cackle. “You only helped because he opened the portal for your misery to escape. Much the same with Jack’s murder. Nico opened the door. I am not saying you are less of a man because you don’t wrangle the beast to the ground, but you look for openings to stealthily slide in as a self-protective measure. You meltdown as fast as you combust.”
“I am an assassin.”
“You are,” she boasts. “Roguish. Clean. Quick kills. But Deacon is more concerned about the torture he can inflict than the death he can notch on his belt, decimating his victims to a bloody pulp while they’re conscious. But it does not make you less of a man. It makes you a different man than Cruz. The way you handle things is like night and day.”
“Fucking warrior,” Sal snips. “Cavalier servant. He’s your cicisbeo.”
“Enlightened, though,” Iris adds, meeting his verbal sparring. “Heavily spiritual. He’ll try and save the dog on the side of the road before he shoots it. A hell of a lot of karma. Far more homosexual and in touch with his feminine side than you. And yes, cicisbeo—the lover I find freedom in because he isn’t the lead, sometimes pig-headed, Master.”
“Okay, smartass.” Sal challenges her academia. “Who are you?”
“I’m the motherfucking Queen of this shit.” Sal and I smile. We did one thing right. “And I need you together and as individuals—my Prince and my Saint. My husband and my lover. My guardian and my soldier.”
“You know he isn’t looking to get hitched…”
“Of course, I knew that,” Iris replies as I roll my eyes at Sal. “It isn’t of high importance to him. Keeping the trinity standing matters more than anything to Cruz.”
“Which is why I suggested this,” I say, tossing my two cents in. Her call-to-arms is an inspiring speech to behold. “You can’t tie the Queen up and leave her quiet. She’s too remarkable for that.”
“I would appreciate if we could all take a moment to breathe,” she suggests, taking the subtle role of submissive power to the hilt. “Please, Sir.”
“I’ll crack some bubbles,” Sal proposes, swaying to avoid the break. “Pink your majesty?”
“Two bottles of pink, please.”
“Fair enough.”
I smirk at Iris. “You’re brilliant.”
“I’m only trying to save this union from extinction, Deacon. I don’t want or need praise, especially from you, considering you were trying to save it from hothead too.”
I shake my head. “He’s so erratically char
ged.”
“Which is why you and I are his foundation.”
“How much are you going to hate me if you watch…”
“A better question is, how turned on am I going to be?” She whispers, inching closer. Her hands lay on my bare chest, and she places a kiss on my heart. “You’re so concerned about my judgement of you, and yet, you know me. I would be the absolute last person in the universe to make you feel less than because you happen to like getting off in my boyfriend’s ass.”
“… And when he is your husband?”
“You best still be getting off in his ass,” she charms with a smile. “Because you ground him. He is in love with me, but you stabilize his ever-shifting planes in your love. I won’t make it to the altar without you by his side. This much I know to be true.”
“You aren’t out of your punishment,” Sal warns, coming down the staircase. “You should have led this revealing conversation long ago.”
“I am aware, Sir.”
He hands the bottle to me. “Can you do this for me?”
“Hands okay?” I ask.
“Ya, I just know my limits with them.”
“Sometimes,” I add, popping the cork as Iris giddily bounces. “You were thinking about being naughty earlier with the punching bag.”
“Lucas Salvatore,” Iris scolds as I pour her a flute. “I need to be able to get a ring on your finger.”
“I swear, I am going to whip your damn fine ass red.”
She grins. “And I’ll come all over you, Sir.”
Bumping Iris’ shoulder, I say, “We could so tag team him again. You want to be on my team?”
“… What?” Sal contests. “My two collared subs do not get to tag team me.”
With a mischievous grin, Iris booms, “Yes, yes, I do, Saint.”
30
The Church of the Bayou
His Butterfly
In the pitch-black darkness of the cellar, the champagne flutes sparkle in the candlelight as I lay on my side before two naked Gods.
Diary of a Submissive (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 4) Page 24
