Indulgence

by Liz Crowe

  “Yes, Master.” Funny, I don’t feel okay.

  “You don’t look okay.” You’re damn funny, Jaz, I tell myself.

  “I’m okay, Master. I promise.”

  “Okay. If you insist. But I’m watching you, and if you go on when you should stop and I find out, you’ll be punished. Know that going in.”

  “Yes, Master,” I nod in understanding as I concentrate on my breathing. But that’s getting harder to do.

  His last act is to use some trailing ropes to hoist up the lower part of my body to the level he wants it, then adjust my torso to match. The one thing he hasn’t done is to bind my head back by using my hair like he did with Amelie, and I’m thankful for that. I knew she struggled, and I’d struggle even more. Once I’m suspended there, he bends down and looks into my eyes. “Kimmie, you hanging in there?”

  “Yes, Master.” I’m trying hard to follow his instructions for breathing.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Good girl. It’ll all be over soon.”

  He turns and begins to speak to the crowd, but I’m having trouble concentrating on what he’s saying. Time seems to have stopped, and everything is blurry and muted. I do, however, hear him say, “This is my collared submissive, Kimberly. I’d like for everyone to know that this is her first time doing a full-blown kinbaku demonstration, and I think she’s done an excellent job. Could you give her some encouragement, please?” People start to cheer and clap, and I know it’s for me, which makes my face flush red. When the applause dies down, he says, “As is the Master’s prerogative, I will now use my submissive for oral pleasure.”

  I had no idea he was going to do this. And then it strikes me: His scars. Is he crazy? How could he have forgotten? I try to speak but sort of choke. Fortunately, he hears me and leans down again. “You okay, baby? Color?”

  “Green. Sir, don’t.”

  He gives me a quizzical look. “Don’t what?”

  “Jaz, please. Your scars. Have you forgotten? I don’t want them to hurt you by . . .”

  His smile is so warm that it lights up my skin. “Shhhh, baby. No. I haven’t forgotten. Kimmie, listen to me carefully.” My eyes go straight to his and what I see there makes me weep. “Baby, I’m a better man because of you. If you can love me and my body, then I don’t give a rat’s ass what anyone else thinks. I want them to see how much we love each other, and to know that no matter what, we always will. I want them all to know what a strong, brave, loving woman you are. Do you understand?” I can only nod and cry. “Shhhh, don’t cry, angel. It’s okay. This is our one chance to show the world that they can go fuck themselves because we love each other. You with me?”

  I take the deepest breath I can manage and, my voice clear, I answer, “Yes, Master. I’m with you.”

  “Thank you, precious.” He kisses my forehead, and then I watch with wonder and arousal as he unzips those beautiful leathers I made for him and frees that cock I adore.

  I hear a couple of gasps from the audience, but I don’t care. They mean nothing to me, to us. This is our time, and I’m thrilled that this man has chosen me to make it known to the world that he’s alive and whole. His hands grasp the sides of my head and he whispers down to me, “Open wide, baby. I’m going all the way down.”

  I let him take my throat and don’t make a sound. In a couple of minutes, I start a very low, quiet humming, and I feel him tense and struggle to maintain. I’m sucking as well as I can while he’s stroking, and his fingers dig into my scalp and wind through my hair, letting me know he appreciates the work I’m doing to keep him satisfied. I want desperately to cup his balls, but I don’t have a free hand, and it’s difficult to tell where he is in the process, but I think I feel his cock harden more and lengthen just a little. All I hear is, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ahhhhh. Yeah, baby,” and he fills my throat, then grinds his pelvis into my face and stills with that hard shaft blocking my airway.

  Dots start to form behind my eyes and things are getting dark when he finally pulls out and I take in a ragged gasp. I’m shaking so hard that I forget to swallow, and cum runs out of my mouth and down my chin, dripping onto the floor below. Faster than I can process, a towel wipes my face dry and the next thing I know, I’m standing on the floor, rope lying all around me. Everything is moving and spinning, and I’m so dizzy I don’t know what’s going on. I can feel myself being lifted and then everything goes dark.

  When I awaken, I look around and find myself in a room every bit as opulent as the one at the Ritz. Jaz is beside me, and I stare into those beautiful brown eyes. With a soft hand, he strokes my face and whispers, “Hey, baby, you okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” is all I can manage to squeak out.

  “Kimmie, you did so great out there. Amazing, really. I’m so proud of you.”

  I try to kiss him but I’m shaking so hard that I can’t. In a few minutes, Misty wanders in. “Can I get her something?” I hear her ask, but things still aren’t making sense. In just a couple of minutes, she’s back.

  “Baby, sit up. Come on.” But I can’t. He lifts me up to sitting and puts a glass to my lips, but I only manage a couple of sips. I hear him say, “I need to take her back to the hotel. She needs some rest.”

  “Rest,” I breathe out.

  “Yes, baby. I’m taking you back to the hotel. Let’s go get some sleep.”

  There’s movement and then muggy night air. I hear the click of a seatbelt, and then feel the car moving. Next thing I know, I’m snuggled down into the bed in the beautiful room at the hotel, and I can feel Jaz’s warmth beside me.

  When I take my three o’clock bathroom trip, I come back to find Jaz sitting up in the bed with a glass in his hand. Once I’m back in the bed, he holds the glass out. “Wine. Drink it. It’ll make you feel better.”

  I gulp it down, hand the glass back, and then just moan, “Sleep.”

  “Okay. Sleep,” he chuckles. Falling back to sleep with his arms around me is no trouble – no trouble at all. I have another dream, but this one has corn growing in a field and no people, just the rustle of the silks and husks in the wind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sunshine pouring through the window wakes me, and I squint and groan. Then there’s an annoyingly cheery, “Good morning, sleepy head! Wake up!”

  “What the hell?” I pull the pillow over my eyes and mumble, “Fuck off.”

  “Now that’s no way to talk to your Master!” Jaz laughs. I’m not laughing. “Come on and get up. It’s Saturday. Let’s go do something fun!”

  “Sleep.”

  “No. No more sleep. Get up. Breakfast is here.” That’s when I recognize the aroma – bacon. I need some.

  “Okay. Bathroom, then breakfast.”

  He just shakes his head. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll be right here.” I stumble into the bathroom, then come back out to find him filling a plate for me. Today’s offering is a beautiful pile of bacon and hash browns, and plenty of beautiful fresh fruit. “So,” he pipes up cheerfully, “what are we going to do today?”

  “I dunno.” I stuff another strip of bacon into my mouth.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Uh-uh. No. I’ve been going and doing fun stuff for the last three days. You have to choose today.”

  He sits there thoughtfully, then asks, “What do we have to choose from?”

  Suddenly, I snap back to myself and realize what’s going on. I have to work carefully, so I mention a half-dozen mediocre things we could do and then add, “And there’s always Grant’s Farm.”

  “Grant’s Farm. Where the Clydesdales are?” His face lights up at the thought.

  “Yep. We could go there, I suppose.”

  “Hey, yeah! That would be great! I’d love that. Let’s do that. Hurry, eat your breakfast so we can get ready and go.” He’s bouncing around like a three year old and it’s really irritating.

  “What happy bug got up your ass overnight?”

  He just plops his fists onto t
he bed and leans over into my face. “I love you, Kimmie.”

  I just grouch and grumble out, “I love you too, you fucking irritating cheerful bullshit damn it to hell son of a bitch.”

  That just brings on a laughing fit. “Do you remember anything about last night?”

  “Very little, thankfully.” And I mean that.

  “No, I wish you did. Sweetheart, you were amazing. Everyone thought so. They were all so impressed.”

  Then I remember the face fucking and his dick out there for everyone to see, and I’m horrified. “Did anyone say anything mean to you about your scars? Because if they did, I’m going to hunt their asses down and kick the shit out of them. Did they? I mean it, Jaz, I won’t have that shit. They’d better not have . . .”

  “Hey, Penis Avenger, chill out! No. No one said one mean thing. Matter of fact, a couple of people told me that it really helped them see themselves in a better light and be more self-confident. So thanks for that, baby.”

  “Okay. You’re not lying, are you? You’d better not be lying because if you are . . .”

  “No! I’m not lying! Shit, Kimmie, you’re in a foul mood.” A big frown is directed at me.

  Now I feel bad. “Sorry. I just don’t want anyone being mean to you, that’s all.” When I see the mirth in those brown eyes, I have to smile. “I love you, Jaz.”

  “I love you too, babe. Now let’s get ready to go. I want to go to this farm!” He’s pulling out clothes as he’s talking. “What do they grow there?”

  “Beer.”

  Now he starts laughing again. “This I gotta see!”

  *****

  It is mega impressive to walk up to a gate at a place like Grant’s Farm and just walk right in, but that’s exactly what we do. “Yes, I’m here to see Mr. Foster?”

  “Name?” I give her mine and she looks at a list, then says, “Go right on in, Ms. Hendricks.”

  “Thanks!” I take a peek at Jaz, and he’s totally bewildered. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Where are we going? There are goats over there,” he says, pointing.

  “I know. We’ll see all that stuff later. Come on.”

  “But Kimmie, what’s this about?”

  “You’ll see,” I grin and give him a wink. We walk down the little alleyway between two of the buildings, and then I open the door and we step in. The bright, well-lit, modern office is a contrast to the older buildings around the park, and we both blink a couple of times.

  A young girl at the desk asks why we’re there, but before I can tell her, Mr. Foster comes barreling out of the office. “Miss Hendricks! So good to see you! I take it this is Mr. Givens?” Jaz’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks at me like I’m a Martian.

  “Yes, sir, this is my fiancé, Jasper Givens. Jaz, this is Arnold Foster. He’s the park manager here.”

  “Um, hello, Mr. Foster. Nice to meet you.”

  “Very nice to meet you too, Mr. Givens. If you’ll give me just a minute, I’ll get the photographer headed toward the barn and we’ll walk over there to meet him.”

  “Sure thing.” I shoot another glance at Jaz, and now he looks like he’s going to pop a blood vessel. It takes everything I have to keep a straight face.

  Once the walkie-talkie squawks out that the photographer is at the barn, we head out with Mr. Foster leading the way. On the way, he tells us things about the different buildings and crop programs they’ve got going on. Even though he’s confused, Jaz is enthralled with everything Mr. Foster says and asks a lot of questions about the farm. His interest is just further proof that I’m doing the right thing.

  Inside the barn, we can see the photographer near the far end of the aisle, and we march straight down there. Mr. Foster’s been carrying something, and now I see what it is: the certificate. We step up near the photographer and Mr. Foster reaches out to slide open the stall door.

  From inside its shadowy, cavernous depths, a large mare stares at us, a lead snapped to her halter and tied to a cleat on the wall. And standing beside her is a foal which would be considered tiny, except that he’s a Clydesdale, so he’s pretty big. His big brown eyes are curious and a little wary, but he takes a couple of steps toward the door and stands there, eyeing all of us. The mare lets out a little nicker of warning but doesn’t make any attempt to stop him, and he watches, front legs splayed out, while the photographer gets everything set up.

  “Okay,” he calls out to us, “now Miss Hendricks and Mr. Givens, one of you needs to stand on one side of the plates, and one on the other.” He points to the wall, and we both turn to look. That’s when Jaz finally figures it out.

  There, on the top plate, is Agatha. And underneath it is another plate that reads Jaz. “So he’s . . .”

  “Named after you. I wanted to give you a present that would be unique to St. Louis, and I think I succeeded, don’t you?”

  Jaz actually looks like he’s going to tear up. The photographer snaps our picture and as soon as he’s done, Jaz starts to say something but he’s propelled forward and almost falls. We both turn in shock and, when we do, a furry face with a big white blaze straight down the middle butts him in the belly and he starts to laugh. He puts a hand under the little guy’s chin and says, “Hey there, kid! Look at you! You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” The colt responds by nibbling at his fingers and blinking those big brown eyes with those giant eyelashes at him. It’s beyond adorable, and I’m tickled pink when I hear the camera snap again.

  So we take more pictures. There’s Mr. Foster standing beside me, and I’m holding the certificate. Jaz is on my other side and, there between us, there’s a brown and white head sticking out. Jaz’s right arm is thrown across the colt’s neck, and he’s scratching little Jaz Junior’s right ear. The foal seems to be enjoying himself immensely, and so does my guy.

  We’re told that the pictures will be up at the photo shop whenever we want them, and I thank the photographer and Mr. Foster again, as does Jaz. He says goodbye to his little buddy and we walk back out toward the park. “I suppose I should go buy us some tickets, huh?” I smile at Mr. Foster.

  “No, ma’am. You two are our guests today. Have a good time and I hope you’ll come back to see your little namesake, Mr. Givens. Wouldn’t it be great if he became the lead horse in the team?”

  “Yes, it sure would! Hey, thanks so much, sir,” Jaz tells him as we part, and we drop off the certificate at the photo shop so we’re hands-free to wander.

  I take a potty break and come back out to Jaz, but he’s nowhere to be found. After looking around for a few minutes, I find him, foot on the lower fence rail and arms folded on the top one. He’s staring out across the field at the horses grazing there, and beyond them is some kind of crop. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s really pretty and green. Moving up beside him, I take a good look at his face and see a sadness there that takes my breath away. My hand lands on the small of his back and I ask quietly, “Hey, honey, whatcha doin’?”

  He just shrugs and says, “Looking at the life I wish I had.”

  I try to be cheerful. “It could still happen. You have to have faith.”

  His head drops and he shakes it. “Nope. Never gonna happen. My dreams are over.” Then he turns to look at me. “But I’ve got you. Having you to love and to love me makes up for all of that shit, baby. It really does.”

  Oh, god, my heart breaks for him. He’s so miserable in what he’s doing now, and I want to change that. I hope I can get everything set up so we can move forward. I want him to have the life he dreams of and if I can make that happen, I’ll be happier than I’ve ever been.

  We walk back through the park, pet the goats, buy a beer and a hot dog apiece, and just sit and enjoy the afternoon. Little kids play around, squealing and laughing, and it’s just a fun, relaxing place to be. When we leave, I’m genuinely sad to go, and I make him promise that we’ll come back soon.

  And he drops the bomb.

  “Marlene’s meeting us for dinner.”

  Shit. I knew I
’d have to do this eventually, but I really don’t want to. I don’t have any family to speak of – when they found out I was in the lifestyle, they just shunned me – but I know his family is important to him. “Okay. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  “I’m still screwed,” he laughs.

  “Oh, hahaha. You’re a really funny guy, Mr. Givens.”

  “I try.” He waits for a few seconds and tries to look at me as he’s driving. “Look, she’s a nice person. Actually, she’s my favorite of my siblings.” I know he has another sister in Texas and a brother in California.

  I have to know before I accidentally put my foot in my mouth. “Does she know about your lifestyle choices?”

  He’s slow to answer. “Yes. And she doesn’t understand, but she also doesn’t judge. She pretty much raised me.”

  I’m confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean she pretty much raised me.” I wait, and finally he says, “She was on the upward side of her twenties toward thirty when I was born.”

  “What?”

  “I was a change of life baby, Kimmie. My mother was forty-nine when I was born.”

  “And your other brother and sister?”

  “In Marlene’s age bracket. I was more like their child than their younger brother.”

  I’m shocked. He never told me any of this. “So, your parents . . . did they . . .”

  “My mom didn’t. She died when I was twelve. Breast cancer. But I was in my early thirties when Dad died. He lived to be eighty-five.”

  “Wow.” I don’t know what else to say.