Missing Ink

by E J Frost

  She grins.

  “Now, sweetheart, it’s still early, even for us geezers. Can I interest you in another orgasm before we sleep?”

  “Gee, sir, that’s a lot of stamina for a geezer.”

  I sit up and smack her ass before rolling her onto her back and diving between her legs.

  Chapter 5

  Sleeping with my Dom should be great, right? The bed’s comfortable. Mac gave me another knee-trembling orgasm before we called it a night. He’s warm and cuddly at my back as he spoons me. I should have the best sleep of my life.

  Instead, I wake up every hour and spend long minutes staring at the ceiling.

  It’s not my bed, not my bedroom, not even my part of the city. The sounds, sights, and smells are all wrong. I’m used to sleeping alone. Mac doesn’t steal covers, doesn’t snore, and doesn’t talk in his sleep, at least not while I’m listening, but he does move around, rolling onto his back, and then cuddling back up and throwing his sweaty, heavy leg over mine. How am I supposed to sleep like this?

  The umpteenth time I wake, with his arm across my waist, I realize the two beers I drank after the scene have gone straight to my bladder. I wait, finding little cracks in the ceiling to stare at. Mac jokes about his age, but older guys having to pee all night is a thing, right? Surely, he’ll wake soon, and we can do a relay race to the bathroom? I should have asked if the scene was over before we went to sleep. He took the butt plug out before he tucked me under the covers, but he didn’t say the scene was over. Now I’m not sure if I need permission to go to the bathroom or what.

  Finally, I have to squirm free, because Logan really wouldn’t like me if I wet his guest bed.

  When I get back from the bathroom, Mac’s rolled over. He doesn’t say anything when I slip back in behind him. I take that as a win and cuddle to his back, which is a better position for me since I’m off my bad hip and I can kick off the covers to keep myself cool. This time when I close my eyes, they stay closed.

  Before the sun’s even up, Mac’s stirring. His movement wakes me, but I pretend to be asleep. I don’t have to be anywhere for hours and a pre-dawn reveille is not in my damn agenda for the day. If Mac gets up and does whatever crazy sailors do before dawn, maybe I can catch up on some lost sleep. Exhaustion and needles are not a good mix.

  Mac climbs out of bed quietly, kisses me on the cheek, and tucks the covers around me, which is so sweet that I can’t help smiling in my “sleep.”

  When Mac returns, he’s freshly showered and shaved and the sun’s up. I must have fallen back to sleep, but I don’t feel like it. That pinched feeling around my eyes is back and my muscles are full of lead. Mac’s annoyingly cheerful, snapping a wet towel at my ass where I’m hiding under the covers. I offer him a hand job, and feel a moment’s gratitude that my mouth and pussy are off-limits until Monday, because I’d have trouble mustering any enthusiasm for a blow job or sex right now, as lethargic as I am.

  Mac tips his head to the side and looks closely at me. I flush with shame. He gave one of the better scenes I can remember, not to mention orgasm after orgasm, and the best I can do this morning is a half-hearted offer of a hand job because I’m overtired?

  “Sorry, sir—”

  Mac smiles and shakes his head. “How ‘bout we surprise Logan and Emily by making breakfast, as a thank you for using their playroom last night?”

  “That’s a great idea. Really nice of you, sir.”

  Mac’s smile twists, probably berating himself for passing up the hand job, but he snaps my ass again with the towel. “Up you come, girl. I want some more of the best pancakes I’ve ever tasted.”

  That gets me moving. He deserves Bebe J’s pancakes after last night. Mac offers me the T-shirt I turned down last night, which I shrug over my head. The fabric is soft against my still-sore skin and smells very faintly like Mac.

  “Not a Black Sabbath shirt,” I observe, holding out the hem with my fingertips. It’s a grey shirt with a Navy crest over the breast pocket.

  “My concert shirts are sacred, girl. You have to earn the right to wear them. Much harder than earning sex.”

  That draws a laugh out of me. “If I make maple bacon to go with the pancakes does that earn me concert shirt privileges?”

  “The best maple bacon I’ve ever tasted?” Mac waggles his eyebrows at me.

  “You know it, sir.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. You need a moment in the bathroom?”

  “Please, sir.” I swallow a lump that tastes like guilt, remembering last night. “I should have asked before we went to sleep if I need permission for that.”

  Mac rubs his hand over his mouth, then holds out his hand and when I take it, guides me to the edge of the bed and sits next to me. “Real talk for a minute.”

  Fuck, that seems ominous.

  “I would very, very, very much like to control you like that,” he says. “When we’re together, can you give me that much control? It’s not practical when we’re apart, I realize—”

  “There are these things called phones, sir. They even do video.”

  “Your mouth, girl,” he says, but he’s smiling.

  “Real talk?” I ask. When he nods, I grab my lady balls and push on. “It’s going to be a serious challenge for me to give you that much control. I don’t do this twenty-four-seven, Mac. I’m not a slave. I have my own life and I like my independence. I don’t ask for permission to pee or sit on the furniture. I go to the club, I do scenes, I get fucked, and I go home. I don’t usually sleep with my Doms.” I take a deep breath. “But I’ll try. If you want that kind of control, I’ll try. Because I loved having lunch with you, and I love that you want to take me riding on your motorcycle, and the scene last night gave me hope again—”

  I break off when I feel a hot prickle in my eyes. Am I crying? I don’t cry. Not over something as stupid as this. I tug my hand out of his and wipe my face quickly.

  Mac waits until I lower my hands before pulling me into his chest. He wraps his arms around me, tucks my face into his neck, and hugs me tight.

  “Thank you for agreeing to try. I know it seems like it’s all or nothing with me. I promise you I’m more flexible than that. If something’s not working for you, we’ll figure something else out. You still get the lunches, and the motorcycle rides, and the scenes. I won’t take those away, Bren.”

  “But you’d like to try this full-time?”

  “Yeah, I would. Let’s limit it for now to when we’re together. After the weekend, we can talk about it and see where we are. You can even show me how to use these new-fangled phone things.”

  I laugh into the warm hollow of his shoulder. “I’ll do my best, sir. Old dog, new tricks, you know.”

  “There’s my bold girl. Now, you have permission to go to the bathroom, clean yourself up, and meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes. You need to be anywhere this morning?”

  “No, sir. I don’t start until one today.”

  “Good. Bring me your plug and some lube when you come downstairs. When you’re with me today, you’re plugged. I’ll take it out before you leave, and we’ll discuss when you wear it between now and Friday.”

  I can’t control the hot shiver that runs through me. “Yes, sir.”

  He shifts to kiss me on the forehead. “This is a little scary, huh?”

  “More than a little,” I admit.

  “For me, too, Bren. I haven’t done anything like this in a decade. Last person I topped full time tore my damn heart into pieces. But it’s what I’ve wanted since you agreed to scene with me. We don’t need to put any labels on it. I’m not going to call you my slave and I don’t want you to call me Master. Let’s just take it a day at a time and see how we go. If it’s feeling good after the weekend, we could try putting it in writing.”

  He’s offering me a contract? I swallow hard against the prickle in my throat, and there go my eyes again.

  “I’d really like that, sir. I’ve had short contracts before.”

  �
�How’d you feel about them?”

  “Good.” Until they weren’t renewed. Then really shitty. But that’s TMI. “I still have a couple of them on my phone if you’d like me to forward them to you to look at.”

  “Please do.” He strokes the nape of my neck and smiles into my eyes. “Let’s get breakfast going before Logan beats us to it. You doing okay now?”

  So, he noticed I wasn’t okay when I got up. And he caught me when I lied to him last night. Mac doesn’t miss much.

  “Yes, sir.”

  When I join him in the kitchen after cleaning up, he’s set out pancake ingredients on the counter for me and is peeling oranges and putting the sections in a bowl. Fresh oranges—juice or fruit—are kind of a breakfast tradition at Logan’s and I see Mac’s well-versed in that tradition.

  I offer Mac the plug and bottle of lube I’ve brought down with me. I’m not exactly looking forward to being plugged. My ass is a little tender from wearing the big plug yesterday, especially during the scene when I was squeezing down on it. But I’m not exactly unhappy about it, either. It’s a weird mix of anticipation and dismay that makes me edgy.

  Instead of plugging me right away, Mac lays the plug and lube down on the counter and tips his head at the flour, sugar, eggs, and milk he’s laid out for me. Is he picking up on my ambivalence? Or does he just want to get the oranges peeled before he does anything unhygienic?

  Grabbing what might be a short reprieve, I begin mixing the pancake ingredients, slipping over to the cupboards for Bebe J’s secret ingredients of nutmeg and cinnamon. Since Mac seems relaxed and focused on his oranges, I take the opportunity to ask about something that’s been dancing from foot to foot at the edge of my consciousness since last night.

  “Sir, I’m just wondering what the consequences are, for not being truthful with you last night?”

  Mac gives me a bright blue side-eye. “What do you think the consequences should be?”

  “The Delrin, I’m guessing.”

  “Will the Delrin teach you your lesson?”

  I swallow around a lump in my throat. Getting hit with a Delrin rod is a pretty damn big deal. I won’t be able to sit comfortably for at least a day. “Uh, yes, sir?”

  “Lying’s the cardinal sin, Bren. How can I top you if you’re not truthful with me?”

  My stomach drops. Why did a Dom of my own seem like a good idea? Ten and the other Blunts Doms probably wouldn’t even have noticed my evasion last night or called me on it if they did. But Emily can’t get away with a single fucking thing; Logan even notices when she’s too quiet. Do I really want that to be me? Twenty-four-seven with some fucking mind-reading Dom who knows when I’m being evasive because I’m feeling vulnerable? When I’m quiet because I’m upset? I must be out of my mind.

  “Sorry, sir. I know honesty’s important. I’m just—”

  “Scared of being vulnerable?”

  Fucking. Mind-reading. Dom.

  I squeeze my eyes closed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Look at me,” Mac says softly. When my eyes snap to his, he smiles. “Consequences are that you have to keep a diary of every time between now and Friday that you feel worried, insecure, or vulnerable and turn it over to me when you next see me. You can text it to me if you’d rather, but I want it in writing. We will be discussing it.”

  Fuck.

  “Couldn’t I just have the Delrin?”

  Mac chuckles. “No.”

  “Is this the kind of thing I should expect? As consequences?”

  “Maybe.” Mac shrugs. “I’m an equal-opportunity punisher. If this works, I’ll use it. If the Delrin works, I’ll use that.”

  “Whatever works?” Even to my own ears, it comes out snippy and I clear my throat, worried I’ve gone too far.

  “I’m interested in results, girl.” Mac winks at me. Winks. Damn him. There goes every ounce of snark I’ve ever possessed, straight down the drain. How does he do that? “I’m not at all picky about the method.”

  I turn back to the stove, test the griddle with a drop of batter, and when it sizzles the way I want, pour the first pancake. Like a good little service submissive. I should be irritated that Mac’s sucked the sarcasm out of me. I should also be irritated that he’s making me show throat. Instead, I feel . . . relieved. That can’t be right.

  “Pancakes!” Emily’s squeal distracts me from my conflicted introspection.

  Beside me, Mac chuckles. “Nothing like an excited little in the morning.”

  On that we agree.

  He doesn’t forget about the plug. Once I’ve made pancakes and bacon for everyone, he takes me into the bathroom and puts the plug in with what feels like a minimal amount of lube. He doesn’t make it hurt, but it doesn’t feel good, either. I end up squirming uncomfortably all through breakfast. Mac and Logan watch me with matching smiles. Sadistic fuckers.

  Despite the perfect pancakes and Emily’s happy chatter, my mood descends through breakfast, until not even playing with the cat while Mac and Logan do the breakfast dishes can make me smile. Emily elbows me while I trail a feather toy around the dining table’s legs.

  “What’s up with you?” she mouths.

  I shrug. “I kinda want to get going. Clean up at my own place.”

  “I’m sure Mac wouldn’t mind,” she says.

  She’s probably right. I’m not even sure why I’m hesitating. But I still am, right up to the point that Mac gets a phone call. His smile slides off his face when he answers and after holding up a finger in my direction, he disappears into Logan’s office.

  Emily grimaces. “Naomi.”

  “Mac’s daughter?” I ask after placing the name.

  Emily nods. “She’s a smart girl. At college on a scholarship. But she’s screwing it up with drugs. Mac’s already had to get her into detox once this semester.”

  It’s only October, so that’s probably pretty bad, although I never went to college, so I don’t know exactly how long a semester is.

  “Damn. What’s she hooked on?”

  Emily scoots a little closer so she can whisper, “Prescription everything. Mac’s ex-wife got Naomi on diet pills when she was in junior high or something crazy and now she needs uppers to get out of bed in the morning and downers to sleep at night. Mac’s in knots about it, Daddy says.”

  “Emily, are you gossiping?” Logan asks.

  How can he possibly hear us? He must be twenty feet away and he’s standing over the sink with the water running as he rinses off the breakfast dishes.

  Emily rolls her eyes. “Daddy radar. I’d better fess up. I’ve already had the paddle this morning. My legs can’t take another round so soon.”

  She rubs the backs of her thighs, which are very pink, as she gets up and goes to stand next to Logan. I can’t hear what she says over the water, but I can see her hang her head as Logan speaks to her. His shoulders are relaxed, and he keeps doing the dishes while they talk, so I don’t think she’s in serious trouble. She trudges away from the sink with her head still down, past me and into the great room, where she retrieves a silver plug and a bottle of lube before trudging back to Logan.

  Since I’m feeling my own plug this morning, I try to keep a straight face.

  Logan escorts Emmy to the bathroom and when she returns, she sulks through and plunks down in front of the TV. She puts on How To Train Your Dragon , which tells me exactly how sorry she’s feeling for herself. I follow and curl up on a pillow next to her, staying off my bad hip, which is sore today.

  We’re maybe halfway through the movie when Mac emerges from Logan’s office. I’ve started to doze against the couch, the broken sleep catching up with me, but I snap awake when Mac drops onto the sectional beside me. He leans forward and lets his hands hang between his knees.

  “Bren, I’ve got to go.”

  “Sure. Is everything okay?”

  He scrubs his hand through his hair, raising it into spikes. “My daughter’s missing. That was her roommate who called. She went to a party Sunday night and
hasn’t been back to her room since. Campus police aren’t taking it seriously. I’m going to have to go up there and see if I can find her. I’m sorry. I hate leaving right after our first scene.”

  I hate him leaving right after our first scene. Even though I’m feeling grumpy and restless at the moment, once I clean up and maybe get a nap, I’d definitely be up for more, even if it’s just another phone date.

  But in comparison to his missing drug-addict daughter, my desire for another scene comes in a pretty weak second place.

  “Don’t worry about it, sir. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No. I appreciate the offer, though.” He catches my shoulder and pulls me toward him until he can kiss my forehead. “Look, I may be a little preoccupied for the next couple of days, so let’s forget about the plug and other stuff until Friday. I’ll do my best to make it back for dinner. I’ll call you when I have a better idea.”

  My stomach sinks. Something in me that might have been opening snaps shut. Then I give myself a firm mental shake. What’s important here is taking care of his kid.

  “Yes, absolutely. I hope she’s okay. If there’s anything I can do, call me.”

  “Thanks.” He kisses my forehead again before he releases me and I take that as a signal that I’m dismissed and can clear out.

  I start to climb to my feet when Emily catches my hand.

  “Master Mac needs to take out your plug,” she says quietly.

  “I’ll do it myself. I’ve done it a million times.”

  Mac stands and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Em’s right. I put it in. I should take it out. Rules of the plug.”

  He tries for a smile, but it’s strained.

  “Sir, go take care of your daughter,” I say gently. “The plug’s not important.”

  “You sure? I really don’t like leaving like this, Bren.”

  “I’m sure.” I smile, and it’s a much better attempt than his.

  I must convince him, because after running his hand through his hair again, he turns away and heads into the kitchen, presumably to talk to Logan.