by Livia Grant
“We put it on the wheel. We’ve got a kit on standby. Find a station,” Chase told them, already signaling to one of the patrolling dungeon monitors. “I’ll have someone get it for you.”
“What is cell popping?” Abby asked when Chase left them to relay his request to the DM.
“Microbranding. The Devil’s Fire. You haven’t seen it done before?” But even as he asked, he knew the answer. Judging by the wideness of her eyes, he could tell she hadn’t, but she did catch onto at least one word.
“Branding?” she echoed, a very small but very real glimmer of unease lighting up the backs of her eyes.
“Well, not quite,” he hurried to reassure. “Do you have any tattoos?”
Abby shook her head, then admitted, “I have thought about getting one, though.”
“It’s like that—both in pain level and in the pen used, which is close in size but much less scary looking than any tattoo artist’s needle. It’s also temporary. Depending on how well you heal, cell popping designs don’t normally last longer than, say… six weeks, tops.” Looking around the busy dungeon, he spotted absolutely no suitable stations free. He’d have preferred a spanking bench for this, but none were available. Their space at the wall was open, though, with several available chairs scattered throughout the crowd. “Looks like our favorite spot is open. Grab a couple chairs, I’ll meet you over there in a minute.”
For the first time, Abby offered no argument. She simply nodded, stepped off the stage and wove her way through the watchers in obedient search of vacant seating.
And hell hadn’t frozen over yet.
“Huh,” Newton grunted, for a moment just watching her go.
“How’s it going?” Terry asked, handing over the microbranding kit he’d brought for them to borrow. “Ready to pull your hair out yet?”
“Ah, it’s not that bad,” Newton demurred. “We had a rough start and she’s still pressing buttons, but overall I think we can make this work. Although I confess, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one.”
Arms folded across his chest, the DM blinked at him. “Only one what?”
“Only one having trouble with her,” Newton clarified. “You just said…”
“I was being sympathetic,” Terry cut in. “It’s part of my social butterfly routine. One has to do that when one is working events like this. Trust me—” Clapping a hand on his shoulder, the muscular DM offered a commiserating pat and a grin that didn’t quite reach as far as his eyes. “—she’s golden with everyone else. It’s just you she doesn’t like.”
“Thanks,” Newton called after Terry as he walked away. “Thanks a lot.”
The DM never turned around, but he did flash an unrepentant thumbs-up back over his shoulder.
Newton let that go too. But only because he didn’t want to get thrown out of the club this far into the event.
Abby had two chairs set up at what he was quickly coming to think of as ‘their’ section of wall. He snagged a third one, dragging it over to play as a table for his borrowed equipment, all of which came neatly packed into an old metal Scooby Doo lunchbox.
“Damn,” he said, turning it over in his hands. It was scuffed, dented and the paint was chipped in more than a few places. “You know, I had one of these when I was a kid. If it were in better condition, it might be worth something.”
“You think so?” she asked, giving the old lunchbox a dubious look.
“All these old metal boxes are. Some more than others, admittedly, but I remember reading an article in the paper about an old lunchbox like this going for thousands on eBay. Sadly, none of mine survived my childhood.” He thought about it. “To be honest, even if they had, they likely wouldn’t have survived three years ago. So, I guess it’s a moot point anyway. Can you hand me the first-aid kit out of the end pocket in my playbag?”
“Sure.” She looked around. Someone must have moved his suitcase while they’d been near the bar, getting drinks and snacks. Although he remembered leaving it in this general area after the end of their first scene, it now stood flat against the wall, with the Wartenberg wheel and his vampire gloves resting neatly on the top. Abby spotted it just before he did and dug into the end pocket in search of the first-aid kit.
She handed it over, and then sat when he motioned her to. “So…” She watched as he popped the lunchbox open. “What happened three years ago?”
“I started my business.” Digging through the box, Newton pulled out a brand new cautery pen. Self-heating. Unlike the ones he had used before, this required no lighter or blowtorch to get the tip hot enough to scar. “Perfect.”
“You own your own business?”
Newton barely glanced at her. She wasn’t asking because she was curious. Her face was guarded, her eyes shuttered. She didn’t really want to get to know him, but as long as she was trying to be polite, the least he could do was reward her for it. “I do. Sole owner and operator of my very own online fitness channel. One-point-two million subscribers as of last Friday.”
“Wow.” She wasn’t at all subtle about the way she looked him over, though she did keep her opinion on his physique hidden behind her expressionless mask.
“That’s okay,” he mock whispered, then winked. “I know I look good.”
She caught herself mid eye-roll, but wasn’t quite as quick or as successful at catching the wayward smile that made her lips twitch.
“I saw that.” He half-smiled too.
She folded her arms and quickly banished all traces of amusement. “You’re easily the most arrogant person I know.”
“No, I’m not. The word you’re looking for is funny. I am easily the funniest person you know, to which I would probably have to agree.” He paused, the medical pen in his hand only half unwrapped from its sterile plastic. “Which would also make me arrogant,” he realized out loud. “Well damn.”
There went that twitch of a smile again, pulling at her lips. Funny, how such a little thing could so completely transform Abby’s face into that of an attractive woman. Newton gave himself a mental shake. That was the last thing he needed to think about. He finished unwrapping the cautery pen, then pulled out the alcohol and sterile swabs.
“Anyway,” he continued. “What I also was back then, was broke. I worked two jobs, ate a lot of beans and rice and learned how to pinch a penny until it squealed for mercy. Believe me, if I’d had a lunchbox worth thousands, I wouldn’t have had it for very long. Now, keeping in mind that I’m not a world-famous artist, what kind of design would you like and where do you want me to put it?”
She shrugged. “Dealer’s choice, I guess.”
“A small design on your shoulder okay?”
“Sure.” She tugged the ribbon bow loose between her breasts and shrugged out of the spaghetti straps, hugging the sheer black cloth of her babydoll dress to her chest as if for modesty. But there was nothing modest about her state of dress and surely she had to know it. Even when she wasn’t standing where the colored dungeon track lights could shine right through it, the gossamer fabric was transparent. There wasn’t any part of her that he couldn’t see. The jut of her nipples, curve of breasts and the dip of her waist. She wasn’t wearing panties either, those had also ended up on top of his suitcase, just under the vampire gloves, and though the hem of the alluringly short garment was just long enough to cover her crotch in front and most of her bottom in back, when she stood to turn and straddle the chair, for a brief moment the smooth-shaven ‘v’ of her pussy was right at his eye-level.
He wasn’t a saint, nor was he in the habit of depriving himself of enjoyable views. The temptation to let her know exactly what he could see so he could also watch the creeping realization turn her face bright red was the strongest he’d yet encountered all night, but Newton kept those comments to himself. Saying anything would probably bring Sulky Abby back into the game and he was only just getting comfortable with Cordial Abby. He wasn’t ready for things between them to turn prickly again.
Sweeping her wa
vy blonde hair over her other shoulder, he prepared its twin, cleaning the area and filling the air around them with the pungent scent of rubbing alcohol. He took a moment to consider his limited design choices, before settling on something simple. He pressed the button, letting the tip heat until it glowed and was just leaning in to rest his hands on her shoulder when she said, “Strawberry Shortcake.”
He paused. “What?”
“My lunchbox.” She turned her head toward him, though not quite far enough to see him over her bared shoulder.
He arched his eyebrows. “You were a Strawberry Shortcake kind of kid?”
She snorted. “No. I got in trouble for stealing my brother’s lunchbox all the time. His was Return of the Jedi.”
He chuckled, and she smiled. There was no talking after that. Although the rest of the room remained active, a kind of quiet settled between them. Enough for him to hear the sizzle and the pop as he touched the cautery pen to her skin, burning a series of tiny dots into her shoulder. She caught her breath a little at the first steady touch, but the tension in her body didn’t last beyond the fifth small burn. After that, she relaxed beneath his hands. That he liked feeling her do that was almost as surprising as how much he liked the smell of her. Beneath the stink of the alcohol and the burning of her skin as he worked, now and then he caught faint whiffs of soap and lotion and the soft underlying fragrance of a vanilla-based perfume that reminded him strongly of cookies.
“I’m going to have to get some on the way home,” he murmured, taking care to make his first curve as round and as perfect as he could without a stencil.
She looked back at him again. “What?”
“Don’t move.”
“Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, just don’t move.” He waited until she’d faced forward and settled herself to endure the rest of the process.
“I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Just making a mental grocery list,” he said with a rueful smile.
“Oh.” There was that prickliness again. “Sorry I’m not more interesting.”
“I didn’t say that, but it is your fault. You’re the one who came here smelling like cookies.”
“Oh,” she said again, softer this time. And just like that, the prickliness was gone but he could feel the tension creeping back into her shoulders.
“Relax,” he told her, liking again the hesitance with which her smaller body eased beneath his fingers. “If you want to talk while I do this, you can.”
Her hands, lightly resting one on top of the other on the back of the chair, tightened. “About what?”
Newton shrugged. “You said you’re thinking about getting a tattoo. What style are you considering?”
She started to shake her head, but caught herself. “I don’t know,” she evaded, looking away.
For the sake of their new-found companionship, he ought to have let it drop, but he didn’t.
“Dragon on your boob?” he coaxed. “Bugs Bunny on your butt? Exploding Death Star tattooed around your navel? Give.”
She wasn’t quite fast enough to catch and kill the soft bark of her laughter that jerked her shoulders. Too late Newton pulled the pen back, but his attempt at a straight line was ruined by a single dot well out of place.
“Did I or did I not tell you to hold still?” he said in his best Dom voice.
“You’re the one who made me laugh!”
Setting the pen aside, Newton stood up. “Stand,” he commanded, glad she wasn’t looking at him now or she’d have seen his grin.
She stood, granting obedience without hesitation. He swatted her, his hand landing half on thin cloth and half on the naked curve of her ass.
“Sit,” he ordered, and she immediately dropped her bottom back onto the chair. But she was giggling as she did it, and God if the urge to sink his teeth into her naked shoulder, wrap his arms around her and pull her back against him while he whispered a husky ‘good girl’ in her ear wasn’t almost more than he could squelch.
Picking up the cautery pen, he reluctantly went back to work instead.
“I really don’t know yet,” Abby offered before that companionable silence could once more settle around them. “I look every now and then, but I haven’t found something… I don’t know… good enough.”
Newton cleaned up his line as best he could before returning to the top of his half-finished design. He began another curve. “Good enough for what?”
She was quiet for so long that he was halfway into his second line and more than half certain she wasn’t going to answer, when she did. “To remind me.”
“Remind you of what?”
“It’s silly.” She avoided looking at him with the same dedication that she avoided the question.
“All tattoos have their own reasons and none of them are silly. Give,” he said again, once more having to clean up his line. This time he couldn’t blame it on her. Painfully aware of his artistic limitations, he took his time completing the design.
She sighed.
“Give,” he drawled.
She sighed louder. “To remind me not to be weak again.”
There was that word again. Newton lowered the pen. “You know, I think you are the only person in this room who would ever use that word to describe you.”
“Only because nobody in this room knows me very well,” she muttered, just not quietly enough for him not to hear it.
Now he put the pen all the way down. He braced his hands against his thighs, letting the full disapproval of his stare burn into her back, but only because she wasn’t looking at him. The fire poker set of her shoulders told him she wouldn’t even if he ordered her to. “I don’t quite understand why you’re determined to be like this, but when you verbalize it that way the urge to put you over my knee and bust your butt is, I’ve got warn you, making my palm itch like crazy. Why don’t you try again?”
She shook her head. “Forget it.”
Newton was on his feet before he realized he wanted to be. Grabbing the back of his chair, he marched around her, thunked it down where she had no choice but to look at him and sat. Close enough now for their knees to touch, he ordered her, “Talk.”
She pulled back, but he moved faster, catching a fistful of hair at the back of her scalp and dragging her startled face so close to his that they could not help but share each other’s breath. Hers was shaky; his was annoyed.
He kept a rein on it. He kept himself cool and under tight control. “There are only two kinds of people who do take-down scenes as brutal as the one I walked in on the day we first met,” he told her, forcing her with her own hair to keep eye contact the one time she meekly tried to withdraw. He waited until she stopped fighting before he continued. “Those who harbor rape fantasies… and those for whom it was anything but a fantasy. What exactly do you think we don’t know? Do you think anybody here somehow missed seeing the bruises? The cuts? The stitches that put you back together again? There is not a person in this room who would ever describe you as weak. I am not your Dom, Abby. But if I ever, and I do mean ever, hear you say that word again, I will personally spell out the meaning of ‘consequence’ as you have never had it done to you before. Do you understand?”
Her head canted at an awkward angle because of his grip, she swallowed hard. He held her so sternly she only managed the smallest of nods. Grudgingly, Newton let go of her hair and for a while they sat, simply staring at one another.
“Do you want to see what I put on your body?” he finally asked.
Rubbing her hands against her own thighs, Abby managed another nod.
From the bottom of the lunchbox, he withdrew two compact cases. Handing her one, he popped the other open, circled behind her chair and obligingly held the mirror up at about design level. He pretended not to notice the trembling in her hands as she angled her compact mirror until she caught sight of her back reflected in his.
“It’s a heart,” she said, sounding pleasantly surprised. Her shaking eased a little an
d she held her mirror higher, angling for a better look. “It’s very red.”
“It’s going to be. I burned you.”
“It looks very nice.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Newton set the mirror down on the table tray that had been provided for them. “It’s also supposed to be a penguin.”
Her eyes widened.
“Just kidding,” he confessed and took her mirror before she could hit him with it. “It’s a heart.”
An unwilling smile breaking across her face, she hit him with her hand instead. “Big jerk.”
He chuckled.
Chapter 5
The roulette wheel spun, its rapid ticking marking the turns in ever de-escalating clicks until the whirring of the ball lost the last of its momentum and dropped with a bounce into a worded slot.
“Violet wand,” Chase read out.
Abby’s stomach hit her toes. She wasn’t a fan of electrical play. The only reason it wasn’t on her list of hard limits was because it didn’t scare her as badly as the thought of being gagged, bound, or confined. Nor did it hit her squick button quite as hard or as fast as medical play, but there was nothing about violet wands that she liked. They looked like medieval torture devices. They sounded worse, and just the thought of writhing beneath the zapping attentions of a buzzing, crackling glass node left her shuddering.
“Let’s see if we can avoid the wall this time,” Newton muttered, turning in a full circle to survey the room. “Oh!” He caught Abby’s arm. “Get my playbag!”
He hopped the stage steps and sprinted through the crowd, narrowly reaching the suspension rig before another couple. Abby followed in his wake, detouring just far enough to gather his suitcase full of implements and neatly packed kits and wheel it around the corner to the narrow alcove where Newton was holding onto the giant suspension hook with both hands.
“Yeah, it sure is crowded tonight,” he told the other Dom, much too cheerfully for anyone to mistake as apologetic. “Still, there’s plenty of other stations available and I got here first, so… Hey, as it so happens I know where there’s a really nice section of wall just around the corner.”
