by M. A. Ellis
Herzog’s words dripped with innuendo. It made Chad want to laugh at the insipidity, but he remained quiet.
“The skin on his inner arm is very similar to neck tissue. It’s the closest to exact that we can get without actually doing a neck tattoo,” Becca explained. She’d gone over all that with Chad the night before.
“And why doesn’t he want a real neck tat?” Troy asked.
Chad felt her tense. She hated when people used that word. It showed what posers they were.
“Customer’s choice,” Becca replied. She shot Herzog a sidelong glance. “Most of the time.”
Chad didn’t think she was looking for a response and Herzog didn’t give one.
“Maybe he thinks you’re not good enough to do his neck?” Troy needled.
“Maybe he thinks you’re a fucking asshole,” Becca muttered under her breath, but Chad heard her as she repositioned his arm. She had the area prepped in seconds.
He ignored Troy, put a serene smile on his face and looked at the mural painted on the domed area above their heads. An Italianate rendition of Diana. It seemed out of place for a dungeon, and he was pretty sure that was the correct terminology for where they were. He looked away, watching Becca protect her delicate hands with a pair of black latex gloves before opening her ink. Her fingers touched his skin, stroked the area she intended to place the design. The gesture seemed to calm her because her fingers were no longer shaking. She placed the transfer down and patted it firmly into place.
Chad, on the other hand, was wondering if she could see the blood pumping through the vein in his neck. He was growing tired of having Herzog look at him as if he might be a tasty treat, and Troy the Asshole glaring at him from a shadowy area to the right. Maybe the dude had done something to displease his Master and wasn’t allowed up there with the rest of them. Chad would ask him that if the need to incite the guy’s anger was required.
“I’m using a white ink that, when done properly, won’t leave even the faintest of marks,” Becca said. “Inferior ink as well as an inexperienced artist is the combination for noticeable failure. Troy said you have quite the light display. That will only help accentuate the finished product.”
“I’ve been assured it’s the best system on the East Coast. Rivals the clubs on South Beach and in the Village.” Chad heard the pride reflected in Herzog’s voice.
“Then light it up,” Becca said.
The room was thrust into darkness and Chad felt the gentle brush of Becca’s hand against his, but only for a moment. An eerie glow reminiscent of the black-light poster area of the head shops from his college days filled the room and Chad blinked against the harshness.
“That’s not going to work,” Becca said quickly. “I’ll use mine. Go ahead and kill those and put the regular lights back on.” Chad watched her pull an extendable light head out of the second drawer of her case. She clipped it onto the edge of the drawer, screwed in a bulb and spun the knob behind the metal shade that helped focus the light in one place. She moved her leg and the tattoo gun began to hum.
“Have you been together long?” Herzog asked.
“Long enough,” they answered in unison, but neither smiled. Or yelled “jinx” like they usually did.
“Reeeeeally?” Herzog drew the word out, his skepticism evident.
A fight-or-flight sensation washed over Chad. Becca hadn’t even started and all he wanted was for them to get the hell out of there. Send that text. Let it be known they were all right. But she was focusing. Ready to start.
“I really can’t wait to see the level of connection I’m assuming you two have. Tattooing, I’m told, is very similar to a D/s session. Does she sense your pain before you actually react to it? I’ll bet she does and then automatically backs off. But she doesn’t quite give complete relief, does she?”
Chad remained stone-faced. What the man had described was exactly how his previous tattoo had gone down. The outline had been painful, he knew that going in. But he wasn’t a pussy. He would have never asked for a break. But he hadn’t needed to. Becca had been as in tune as Herzog suggested.
“It’s amazing she can do that, considering you’ve mastered, no pun intended, your external reactions. It so much easier when the face contorts or the body flinches. Of course, I’m well versed at discerning signs. I believe you’d give any good Dom a run for their money.”
Chad wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. Either way, it creeped him the fuck out.
“But you,” Herzog continued, turning toward Becca. “Ah, my dear, the things I could teach you. Perhaps you’d prefer part of your fee in cash and the rest in the form of tutorials.”
“No thanks,” Becca responded in a cordial tone. A thin line of perspiration had broken out along her forehead. Chad saw her nostrils flare and captured her gaze. The odd lighting had brought out the gold in her eyes and Chad wondered if that’s how they’d look after he was done making love to her.
Herzog pressed. “If you’re certain—”
She ignored the man and nodded at Chad. Creature of habit that she was, he knew Becca was going to throw out the icebreaker she always employed right before her needle descended. The first time she’d said it, he’d been caught off guard.
“You ready to pound skin?” she asked, offering him the tiniest of grins.
He gave her a wide smile in return. This time he didn’t lie. “With you, baby? Always.”
Chapter Three
Becca set her gun down. A little over an hour. Pretty damn good for working with specialized ink. She stared at the knot, satisfaction rolling through her body. It was flawless. She dared anyone to find a place where the continual pattern was broken. She stole at peek at Chad’s face. He was still staring at the ceiling, probably trying to pretend Herzog wasn’t in the room. God knew there was a point where she’d wished the same. She had been at the most critical part of the design, joining the thick outer bands, when Herzog had stood up and scooted his stool closer to Chad.
She had looked up just as he was reaching out, as if he were going to touch the raw, red flesh. Chad had flinched when she demanded Herzog sit back and give her the space she needed but the man hadn’t moved. They had a good half minute of her machine humming, the needle hovering over Chad’s flesh as she and Herzog played a game of visual chicken. It had taken him a damn long time to comply but he was a little less arrogant when he sat down.
She answered Herzog’s questions succinctly, inking Chad’s skin and wiping away the blood and milky-white ink in a systematic manner. When she was nearly halfway through the door opened and a group of four women and one man joined them. The women varied in age and appearance but the man bore a striking resemblance to Troy. Herzog pointed and they formed a line and dropped to their knees on the hard wooden floor off to one side.
Now isn’t that just fucked up?
Their readiness to obey left Becca uneasy. When she got some free time, she was going to have to do some Googling on the whole submissive subculture. Chad had called it a lifestyle.
Doubly fucked up.
Becca took one last look at Chad’s new ink. She could barely see the trauma to the skin. If he took as good care of it as he had his last tattoo it was going to heal to perfection.
She turned toward Troy, relieved to find him looking at her. She didn’t want to have to call his name before she asked him to adjust the lighting.
“Let’s see it under the UVs,” she said. Once he had the regular lighting shut off and the specialized lighting on she’d shut her own lamp. She wasn’t about to spend one minute in the dark with a dungeon master who was probably as interested in Chad as he was in her.
Troy hurried away and Becca started capping her plastic ink pots.
“It’s barely red,” Chad said. He maneuvered his arm for a better view and pride surged through Becca when she saw the corner of his mouth curve upward. “You going to hit that with some bacitracin?”
“Not this time,” she replied, leaning a little closer
. “A and D ointment for this one since I know you can be trusted to keep it clean. You didn’t have a reaction to the bacitracin last time, no weeping wound, but I definitely don’t like pushing the envelope with the invisible ink.”
The room fell into darkness then the black lights came one. Chad’s tattoo glowed, the work intricate and crisp, even with the swelling.
Herzog rose and moved to Becca’s side. He pressed closer and she fought the urge to scoot her chair out of his way. He studied her work, turned his head from side to side, undoubtedly checking out the shading, the under shadows that were so difficult to pull off without being able to see the usual crisp black outline of a traditional tattoo. Becca knew she’d done a magnificent job.
“Beautiful. As I suspected it would be.” He reached in the pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a wad of cash, held together with a black file clip. He plopped it down on her work tray. “I can’t wait to see the masterpieces you have in store for my darlings. Why don’t you do them here?”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It was clearly an order and the hair at the nape of Becca’s neck rose. She grabbed a sample pack of ointment, tore open the top and squeezed a healthy amount onto her fingers, rubbing it onto Chad’s skin in short upward strokes as she considered how best to reply.
The last place on earth she intended to spend nearly half a day was in this place with Herzog perched over her. She had the feeling that even if every light were turned on, the sinister aura would still be present. Becca opened a nonstick plastic bandage. She needed to cover Chad’s design. Pronto. The place looked clean, but Becca knew the power of airborne bacteria.
“Don’t take this the wrong way but I prefer a completely sterile atmosphere. One with a little more natural light for starters. One that doesn’t come complete with people forced to kneel and watch me. One that doesn’t smell funky.”
“We have a five-person janitorial department who focus solely on sanitization of the furniture and toys. I’m highly offended—”
That he’d focused on that specific aspect of her comments showed just how fucked up he really was.
“There’s a room at the shop with black light capabilities. I’ll do them there.”
“The agreement was they’d be done here,” Herzog said, walking briskly around the table.
The bandage disappeared from her hand as Chad whipped it from her fingers and slapped it over his tattoo, harder than he should have. His long legs swung over the side of the table toward her and within a few heartbeats his body blocked Herzog before the man could take another step in her direction. She expected Troy to surge forward, protect his Master, but he stood stock still off to the side with a look of pure menace on his face.
Chad’s protectiveness brought a pleasant fullness to her heart but Becca needed Herzog to know it was her he had to deal with first and foremost. She scooped up the money and squeezed around Chad until she and Herzog were face-to-face.
“That’s not going to happen, Andres. The agreement was final inspection would take place here. Then final payment. If you’re trying to change the terms now, I’m out. Find another inker.” She tossed the cash against his chest but he didn’t reach for it. The metal clip echoed like a gunshot as it hit the marble tile. Startled gasps filled the room and Becca turn to the line of submissives.
“I’d highly suggest none of you let anyone break your skin in this environment. Unless you’re willing to accept the consequences that accompany infection. Both the simple kind that are irritating and the other kind that goes to the bone. That one kills you.”
They all kept their eyes averted, chins against their chests. Only one woman, a platinum blonde with piercing violet eyes, glanced at her but only for a second.
“Very well,” Herzog finally said “If you have your day planner we can look at times.”
Becca didn’t miss the way his gaze hardened. “Tomorrow,” she said. “Anytime from noon to midnight. Allow two hours for each chain. Four for the collar. I’ll do six hours first, an hour break, then the other six hours. Whatever combination you want.”
Chad shifted, then moved until he once again had a full view of Herzog.
“That will be fine,” Herzog replied. “They’ll see you at noon and again at seven.”
Apparently, the five of them had no say or nowhere else they had to be. The thought that they just hung out at his side, seeing to his every need, made Becca’s stomach churn.
“Libbie. Come pick up Miss Wiley’s money and hand it to her.”
Becca looked at him, saw the challenge in his eyes, saw the way his lips started to curl in self-satisfaction. Well, fuck him.
“Don’t bother, Libbie,” she said, ignoring whoever was about to come her way. Before she could bend down, Chad intercepted her. He picked up the cash and handed it to her and their gazes locked. She saw the warning there. Knew that he was well aware she was getting ready to say a whole lot more than Herzog expected to hear. Chad stepped to the side and Herzog filled her line of vision, staring at her with a bewildered look on his face, his eyebrows raised so high, she almost laughed. Becca chose, instead, to give him a smug look in return.
“Troy,” he said in a clipped voice, “please show our guests out when they’re done.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned, walking down the stairs, tapping the screen as he headed toward a door in the far corner of the room.
Becca couldn’t be done with him soon enough. Now if they could ditch Troy and get back to the Blazer, life would be grand.
“Let’s get that bandage secured and get the hell out of here,” Becca said quietly to Chad.
“What can I do to help?” His whole demeanor softened and she wanted to smile. But she knew if she was going to play the part of a hard-ass, she’d have to tell him later how much she appreciated the way he’d stepped up. How he’d helped to put all-controlling Herzog in his place.
Or maybe you could just show him your gratitude? Nothing says “thank you, baby” like a front seat blowjob. One where you keep him hanging until he flings you into the backseat and goes down on you like you’re the feast of a lifetime.
Holy shit. Just being in this place had her subconscious veering down avenues that reeked of control.
Becca reached around Chad, her breast grazing his arm as she grabbed the adhesive tape. He tensed and then took a step backward. “Just let me tape this and get my stuff collected. I’ve got a system.”
She didn’t waste time breaking down her equipment or the portable work station. By the time she was done, Chad had his shirt on and was pacing, clearly wanting to get out of there as fast as she did.
“We’re ready,” she told Troy. They could certainly find their way out but she knew there was no use suggesting that. The man had his duty, that was more than clear. But as he led them out the door and down the corridor he plodded along at a snail’s pace. Much slower than when he escorted them in. She felt Chad at her heels, could sense his desire to push the guy aside and lead them out of the dimness and into the bright light of day.
“The Master thought you might be interested in this. It’s his private cellar.” He stopped in front of one of the two-way mirrors and gently double-tapped the glass. Becca stepped backward right into Chad’s solid body as the window went from black to clear. Chad’s hands quickly cupped her elbows, steadying her but not letting go as the brightly lit two-level wine cellar filled their vision. It was huge, storage for what seemed like thousands of bottles behind glass doors. Movement on the catwalk drew Becca’s attention and a man in tweed trousers and a black turtleneck walked toward the circular stairs at the farthest end of the walk. He carried a book under one arm and a glass of red wine in his other hand. With practiced ease he made his way gracefully down the staircase. The room was set up like a lecture hall with thick upholstered easy chairs as opposed to hard, collegiate-type desks and seats.
Chad’s body jerked behind her and Becca tensed as well, despite the fact she wasn’t sure what had elicited his reaction. It wasn�
��t until a brighter light came on and a spotlight followed the man’s progression across the room as if he were getting ready for a one-man show. He took a dozen more steps before a huge wine barrel was revealed and Becca stood up straighter, her throat going dry. Arched backward over the barrel, in what was surely a difficult pose, was a naked, blindfolded woman. Her pert breasts jutted upward, her toes barely touching the Oriental carpet and light glistened off the sheen of sweat that clung to her body. Black leather cuffs covered her ankles and wrists. A single tether ran from her wrists to a ring on the floor, forcing her arms over her head. Her legs were secured as well, but with two lengths of rope that were attached to force her legs open.
The helplessness of the woman’s position made Becca’s heart drum against her rib cage. But the vulnerability, the openness, brought on a more primal response, one that started with a light throb just above her clit. She eased her thighs together and searched for something else to concentrate on.
An intricate pattern of knots encircled the woman’s torso and Becca tried to follow the path they took but it was impossible. There was artistry to the design and she wondered if she had the skill to duplicate the beauty of it in ink. Before she could question why that thought had flitted through her mind the woman began to struggle against her bonds. Becca assumed she must have heard the man’s approach. Troy moved his hand to the top of the window frame and audio echoed above their heads.
Becca expected music to be playing. Not the bow-chick-a-bow-bow that was synonymous of bad porn but something other than the woman’s raspy breathing. The quality of the audio was astounding. She figured it had to be considering the fact people could stand in the hallway and hear and see exactly what the people who sat inside could.
“Have you missed me, Victoria?” The man had a British accent. It sounded light and easy-going. The woman began to whimper, moving her arms and legs with greater urgency. “Are you ready to continue your lesson?”
