Slave Hunt
Page 14
It was true: In telling my hunt story, I’d ended up talking mostly about what I’d witnessed in the woods or in the camp. And very little about my brief scene with Drix.
“It’s hard to explain—”
“Do you need to be over the back of the couch while you explain it?”
I sighed. She had no patience for my evasive answers. She really would beat the details out of me if she had to.
I tried again. “I can’t describe how he did it. He would touch a part of my body. And the tension would . . . leave. It’s not really a hot story or anything. It was just . . . nice.”
She kissed my forehead. “Good.”
“And he whipped you?” Greg asked.
I closed my eyes, trying to put myself back there. On the post, I’d had that too-familiar realization that being humiliated by someone besides Kel or Greg was not as hot as it sounded. But the moment Drix had put his hand on me, I’d stopped being nervous. I’d listened to him, even though he’d hardly said a word. And afterward, we’d talked. About regular stuff: movies, jobs, whatever. But also about the work he did with people’s bodies. He’d recommended a bunch of healing stuff I might eventually google: ASMR, craniosacral therapy. Something else I couldn’t remember the name of.
I didn’t know whether I wanted to try more ways to fix myself. I was doing pretty damn well these days. I mean, I’d finally composed a story where I was a fucking barrel-rolling badass.
“Yeah. I got hard while he was touching me. But it wasn’t, like . . . So I asked if he’d whip me. I hardly . . . It was like I was somewhere else. I’m sorry I can’t remember more.”
I opened my eyes in time to see Kel look at Greg. She was fighting a smile. “What do you think, Greg? A satisfying tale?”
Greg pretended to consider. “It has a lot of stuff I like: Sex and guns . . . an ultimate sacrifice made for a friend . . . The narrator does skimp on the dirty details, but I can forgive that.”
“All right.” Kel tugged my hair. “You’re off the hook.”
“Well,” Greg said. “I don’t know about off the hook. He did get himself captured.”
I buried my face in the side of Kel’s chest and snickered. “Like a hero.”
Kel put her arm around me. “My God. How can I punish him when he sacrificed himself to save his friend?”
Greg snorted. “I’ll bet you can manage. Look at him. He’s not even taking this seriously.”
I blindly extended an arm, trying to whack Greg’s knee. He laughed and swatted back. “Your slave is out of control, Ma’am.”
She took my wrist and placed my arm back by my side. “You’re both out of control. I’m gonna go upstairs and shower. And think of a way to debase the two of you. You’d better be in bed waiting for me when I’m done.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
I lifted my head. “Yes, Master.”
She stood.
“May I get a drink?” I asked.
“You may.”
She left, and I got up and headed into the kitchen. Poured myself some water, and poured a glass for Greg too. He came in a moment later, and I handed him his glass. “Here, sir.”
I started toward the foyer.
“Not so fast.”
I paused.
He put the glass down and came up behind me. Stood there without touching me. “You left out a major part of the story. An encounter with a sexy woods patrolman?”
I took a sip of water. “Ohhhh. I forgot.”
“Did you now?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, as smoothly as I could manage.
He placed his hands just barely on my sides, sending a thin trail of heat down my spine. “Did you leave it out because you called the woods patrolman a dork? And he just happens to be your master’s second-in-command?”
I set my glass on the counter and faced him. “I left it out so as not to get the patrolman in trouble for attempting to steal my virtue in the middle of a high-stakes hunt.”
He rested his hands more firmly on my hips. “How considerate.”
“I’ll tell her, if you want. How you tried to ruin me.”
“Oh, please.”
“Tried to pluck my snow-white flower.”
“You are so full of shit.”
“Forced me to yield my maidenhead.” I turned and took a couple of steps.
He followed me, caught me by the hips again. “Listen to you.”
I tipped my head back. Grinned at him, upside down. “What’s wrong, sir?”
“You poor blushing virgin.” He pinched my ass. Hard.
“Do I have to tell her you tried to get fresh with me in the kitchen too?”
“She can’t save you now.” He reached around and grabbed my wrists. Pinned them against my chest.
I stopped breathing. He hesitated, his knuckles touching my chest, his breath warm on the back of my neck. We could probably both feel my pounding heart.
“Have mercy,” I whispered.
He leaned forward, so slowly, until his lips brushed my ear. “Not a chance.”
He turned me around and kissed me. I couldn’t stop laughing, and soon he was laughing too.
“Come here.” He pulled me hard against him and backed up, hauling me with him toward the stairs. “I’m gonna make you beg and mean it.”
Which was precisely how I wanted this story to end.
Time: 1434
Weather: Dissipating clouds. Weak sunlight.
Nature: Withered clematis clinging pitifully to a lamppost.
Mood: Satisfied.
Target: Target is asleep. Snoring is extensive.
POA: Somehow carry target from driveway to front door without the neighbors seeing me in my underwear.
I cannot blame target for sleeping. Victory is exhausting.
After all, two and a half years ago I set out to win a very charming, funny, difficult sub who did not think terribly highly of me.
I eventually succeeded. But I was never the same.
Some things are so rare and beautiful that even I cannot remain unmoved in their presence: ribs cooked so slowly they melt off the bone. Bald eagles—those symbols of strength and freedom, those Friesians of the sky. The love of a man who gives me all of himself, even when I’m not sure what to do with it.
I intend to let him rest.
Ry and me didn’t get home until three because we’d stopped to eat, like, half a Taco Bell. Chairs, tables, chalupas . . . everything.
Hemsworth paced around the door as we entered, curling his body and nervous peeing. I lifted him up and aimed him at Ryan.
Ryan jumped away. “What is wrong with you?”
Me and Hemsworth followed him to the kitchen. I took a seat and set Hemsworth on the table, even though Ryan was all, “He has piss-paws.”
“You’ll never believe the day we had,” I told Hemsworth, as he licked Taco Bell off my face.
“You really wouldn’t,” Ryan agreed.
I looked into Hemsworth’s dark, scared-ish eyes. “Someday I’ll tell you the whole tale, of how I protected a bottle of hot sauce for two hours, and searched for your other dad across acres of forest.”
Ryan came to stand behind me. “And how when we found each other, I shot your dad in the heart and tied him to a post so I could—”
“Don’t!” I clapped my hands over Hemsworth’s scraggly ears. “He doesn’t want to hear that stuff.”
“You think he doesn’t know we’re pervs?”
I took my hands away. “Your dads are total pervs,” I confirmed. “And so are you.” I kissed the top of his weird head. “Aren’t you a tiny perv with dumb hair? I see the way you look at that goldendoodle down the street.” I kissed him again, and he licked my eyeball. I rubbed my eye. “You’d need a stepladder to climb her.”
Ryan put a hand on my shoulder. “I know how you feel, Hemsworth.”
I nodded. “Ryan’s you, buddy. And I’m the lady doodle he has to climb. But he always finds a way.” My eye was blinking a whole bunch, trying
to get the Hemsworth spit out. I looked up at Ryan. “He licked my eye.”
“We have eye drops.”
“Will you put them in?”
“Let’s go shower. You can rinse your eye in there.”
“Shower water burns. And it tastes weird.”
“Well, you don’t have to drink it.”
“Sometimes I do, though.”
He tried to drag me up, but I weighed a thousand pounds with chalupa belly, and Sector Twelve was starting to get kinda Chernobyl-y.
“Hey, Ry? I still have to do my bounty for you.”
He sighed and let me go. “You’ve composed so many ballads to me. Do we really need another?”
“Yes.” Hemsworth jumped off the table onto my lap, and then onto the floor. Ryan went to take him out, and I got my guitar.
When they came back in, I was ready to start. I strummed and sang:
“Long, long ago,
“In a dark scary wood,
“Lived a hunter named Ryan,
“Whose aim was so good . . .”
“I’m gonna need a beer.” Ryan headed toward the fridge.
I kept singing.
Because no amount of ballads was too much for someone you wanted to crush over and over with an avalanche of love, until he was mostly pulp, and science had to put him back together as a man with extra high-jumping legs and eyes that could see in the dark.
But if you loved someone that much, eventually you had to stop singing and suck his dick. ’Cause a blowjob is basically just a ballad you sing with the back of your throat.
But after we took the beej bus to Splugeville, I snuck back into the kitchen and finished the song. Here’s how it turned out:
Long, long ago,
In a dark scary wood,
Lived a hunter named Ryan,
Whose aim was so good.
But he had yet to capture
A most fearsome prey—
The prey’s name was Kamen,
And he kept getting away.
Ryan waited for days
On an old withered stump;
Never ate, never slept—
Never even took a dump.
But one day his patience
Paid off at last:
Kamen appeared,
Running so fucking fast.
Ryan shouted his name,
And lifted his gun;
His beautiful voice,
Stopped Kamen midrun.
Ryan fired one bullet;
It struck Kamen’s heart.
Kamen fell down a mountain,
And his head came apart.
But then science fixed him
And now he’s got a super brain;
And Ryan is sorry
About causing him pain.
’Cause they’re in love as all fuck,
And they fuck all the time.
In manties or horse hooves;
Kamen always looks fine.
Ryan’s hunting is legend;
His skills evoke dread.
But he’s given up hunting,
To bone Kamen instead.
I figured I’d get some more verses in there evench. But it was a good start.
And yeah, I sang it to Ryan the next evening while he was trying to watch Jeopardy.
He knew he loved it.
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The Subs Club Series
The Subs Club
Pain Slut
Manties in a Twist
24/7
Minotaur
The Silvers
By His Rules
Wacky Wednesday (Wacky Wednesday #1)
The Brat-tastic Jayk Parker (Wacky Wednesday #2)
Calling the Show
Take the Long Way Home
The Grand Ballast
Playing the Fool Series, with Lisa Henry
Two Gentlemen of Altona
The Merchant of Death
Tempest
With Lisa Henry
When All the World Sleeps
The Good Boy (The Boy #1)
The Naughty Boy (The Boy #1.5)
The Boy Who Belonged (The Boy #2)
Mark Cooper Versus America (Prescott College #1)
Brandon Mills Versus the V-Card (Prescott College #2)
Another Man’s Treasure
Fall on Your Knees (Rated: XXXmas Anthology)
J.A. Rock is the author of queer romance and suspense novels, including By His Rules, Take the Long Way Home, and, with Lisa Henry, The Good Boy and When All the World Sleeps. She holds an MFA in creative writing from the University of Alabama and a BA in theater from Case Western Reserve University. J.A. also writes queer fiction and essays under the name Jill Smith. Raised in Ohio and West Virginia, she now lives in Chicago with her dog, Professor Anne Studebaker.
Website: jarockauthor.com
Blog: jarockauthor.blogspot.com
Twitter: twitter.com/jarockauthor
Facebook: facebook.com/ja.rock.39
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