Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (104 page)

“Can I touch it?” I eagerly ask. I lean to the side, trying to get a better look.

“Will I fit?” Dexter purrs in his deep, masculine voice.

I stare at his crotch and watch the bulge flex behind his leather pants. “Not a chance,” I say in awed wonder. “I don’t think I’d even want to try
that on for size. But you did teach me a valuable lesson last time.”

“Oh, yeah, what’s that? Don’
t play with men that have huge cocks?” Dexter says with a hearty laugh.

I want to be disrespectful and say,
no, don’t play with men that have egos bigger than their cocks
, but what comes out my mouth is, “no,” I say in a very serious and respectful tone, “never play with someone more powerful than you are. Humbly ask them to train you instead.”

Dexter moves so quickly that he’s a blur. “You can hold it now,” he says with a smirk. He picks my hand up and presses the cunt tearing handle into my palm. All I can do is stare, gape-mouthed, at the buttery leather resting in my hand.

I take a deep breath and say, “welcome home, friend.” My fingers tighten over the handle as I smile up at Dexter.

“Hope you don’t mind training with the spitter, baby Domme,” Dexter says, his sadist streak shining through.

“Not if you don’t,” I show off my own sadistic streak or maybe I’m seeing if my balls are bigger than the set that feeds that massive cock. “If you can handle the spitter after fucking his partner, so can I.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Dexter sings.

“Dude, riddle me this, how did that,” I point at his crotch, “fit inside Ez?”

“Very carefully and with great pleasure,” he tries to sound
Zen-like, but the blush riding his cheeks ruins it. “And don’t ever call me Dude again,” he warns in a take-no-prisoners voice. “I will only respond to Master.”

~Chapter Ninety-One~

“I’m going to shove my fist so far up your cunt that my hand tears up your throat and out your bitch of a mouth,” Cort spits into my face- not literally, this time.

“And I’ll just bite it off,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes. “But since your last comment was that I had crotch-rot, your arm will melt off just below the elbow.”

“You’
re such a fucking cunt… bitch… whore… twat,” Cort goes off on a tangent with every derogatory word for the female anatomy.

“Is this like the time you had me say all the words for a penis in a sentence. You should add gay to that sentence. There’s even a gay dude in the room to back me up,” I say to Whitt.

“I can’t take this shit any longer,” Dexter cries out. “I… I was a master… a well-respected master… and then one day two scorned ex-lovers are thrown at me. Train them, they said. Train them well, they said. No problem too large, I said. I give up, I say now.”

“Master, can I just use Cort as my victim?” I get on my knees and beg Dexter.

Dexter looks down at me and snarls. “For the love of all that is holy, they are not your victims! S U B M I S S I V E, what does that spell? Submissive.”

I bite my tongue on the sarcastic comment about cheerleaders that is threatening to erupt.
“Willing victim, then? Can Cort be my willing victim?” I plead, smiling innocently.

“He doesn’t look very willing,” Whitt snickers at the cowering Cort. It’s possible that Dexter will give him to me to play with- he’s been a real bastard today
- Dexter, not Cort. Cort is always a bastard.

“No victim at all! And they are all willing or it’s considered assault- which is a punishable crime,” Dexter stresses.

Cort and I snort at the same time, which pisses us both off.

“Slave? Can Cort be my slave?” I ask, hope and anticipation infusing my voice.

“NO!” Dexter shouts. “Marc, fucking put me out of my misery.”

“I don’t get this,” Marc draws out, staring between me and Cort. “They used to love each other and finish each other’s sentences.
Now, they truly hate each other, but still love each other- it’s… it’s fucked up. What happened?”

Cort hisses, “she’s a faithless cunt,” as I say, “he’s a selfish prick who operates out of jealousy and ignorance.” We growl at each other and hiss, “Ez.”

“I remember when you guys used to cuddle and kiss constantly. You were so fun to be around,” Whitt says.

“And I’m not now?”
I ask my not-so little brother, now that he’s a grown man.

“Um… I can’t
possibly answer that,” he whimpers, sounding like Wil when he doesn’t want to start a fight after I ask an impossible girl question.

“Is Cort gay?”
I ask the kid who walked out of the closet the second my mom popped him out her birth canal.

“Don’t make me answer that, either,” he says in a tight voice.

“Whisper it in my ear,” I coax him, using the same mojo that’s wafting from his pores.

“Only if you tell me the reason you want to tear Cort’s balls off and make him eat them,” Whitt uses the phrase I said a few minutes ago, in a tone that could only be dubbed as manipulative. My baby brother makes Grant look like an amateur in the manipulation department. It helps that he’s eighteen and the most angelic demon I’ve ever seen.

“Deal,” I agree, loving how Whitt operates. He makes me proud. And I love training with the shit.

Marcus and Dexter are training Cortez, Whitt, and me in the dungeon at Restraint. Ez isn’t with us because it’s like putting a mare in with a stud horse- violent chaos ensues. It’s best to leave Ez out of the equation around Cort and me
- it’s equally awkward that I am comparing Ez, and not me, to the mare.

We usually train at the
Brownstone, and Grant hides. Marc doesn’t know that I know that Grant lives. Marc fed us some line of bullshit about Grant being Jamie, Marc’s submissive, and he hates being seen because of a disability. I’d love to tell Marc the truth, but as the Game Master, the gag order really applies to me. I’d really hate to have to commit suicide because of self-administered punishment.

The Brownstone is
off limits today. Marc said it was getting fumigated. But I know it’s because Grant decided to actually go to the foundation he runs- Transcend. He’s no longer going to be agoraphobic. Roman and Grant are going to work together. But we can’t be at the Brownstone or Grant’s son will see him when he comes home from work. I feel sick not telling my brother that his father is alive, but everything in due time.

I patiently wait for Whitt to whisper in my ear while he patiently waits for me to tell the class why I hate Cort’s guts. The boy outwaits me.

“Cortez took my sister’s virginity on my sofa while we were still dating. It was the day my father was executed in the holding cell while waiting for transport back to prison. It was one of the worst days of my life, and he should have been there for me, not acting like a spiteful child. I’m sure my sister linked her virginity to our father’s death, too. So it kills me. Cort set it up for Ez and me to walk in on them. He didn’t apologize; he gloated and bitched at us. So when I see Cort, I remember how much death sounded like a blessing. I lost my father and my best friend that day,” I honestly say, not one single word bullshit.

“It was the event that started it all- the disrespect. Now, I just hate Cortez because he is hurting Ezra on purpose. Everything he does has one singular goal- make Ezra pay. I think Cort is a selfish prick who doesn’t deserve Ez. So every time he sucks Marc off, I hate you both even more,” I hiss at Marcus, a man I used to respect.

“Syn, that is none of your business,” Marcus chastises me. “But I’m very sorry about what happened in the past. I understand the animosity now. But what I don’t get is Cort’s animosity towards you.”

Cort has the decency to look pained… for like a second… then the red haze descends on him.
“Three thrusts into your sister is not the same as… Ugh!” Cort screams. “That fucking gag order can burn in HELL!”

I catch Cort’s stormy gaze when everyone else isn’t looking. I wink at the fuck and flip him off.
Gag on that, bitch!
I mouth.

The gobsmacked look on Whitt’s face says he saw me. Yeah, I can play innocent, hurt
Faith, because it was the truth. But I’m still going to be a spiteful bitch about it.

“You had something to tell me,” I say to Whitt.

The boy blushes bright red before he leans into me. I soak up his warmth, wanting to pull him into my arms and hold him. He might freak out if the four foot eleven sadist started cuddling him. Someday, and I dread that day because that means my baby brother is in the game, Whitt will know I am his sister. He is the only one of my siblings that doesn’t know he’s one of us- Gwen’s kids.

“I don’t have gaydar or anything,” Whitt bashfully says in my ear. I lean in closer, enjoying his proximity. “Not that there is such a thing as gaydar.”

“I call bullshit,” I bark out, making sure the others can hear me. “Bullshit! It’s pheromones or something. No one would get laid if that was the case- gay or straight.”

Whitt blushes so deeply that he heats my skin. “You’re probably right. Um… yeah.”

“The gaydar or the obvious desperation was the tipoff?” I say loudly, and snort when Cort is yanked back by Marcus before he can’t attack me.

“Um… both. But it’s his choice, you know? You can’t make him be what he doesn’t want to be,” Whitt stammers.

“Can you un-gay yourself?”

“No,” Whitt sounds horrified.

“Exactly- remember that when you’re sad because all you have is pussy to play with. Now I want you to feel pity for the prick that has a devoted partner but is too scared to commit to who the good Lord gave him. Cort is a lucky puke and he’s throwing it all away.”

While Whitt eyes Cort in a new light, I smile to myself for gaining a new ally. Cort isn’t dumb enough to interfere in inter-familial interactions. I’d cut him down in a meeting for it, and he knows it. Power- pure power infuses me as I watch Cort squirm.

“Master, may I use Cortez as slave, today?” I politely ask.

“Slave, r
eally?” Dexter groans. “Syn, you’re killing me, here.”

“Master, may I use Cortez as a sub, today?”
I politely repeat.

“Close enough, I guess,” Dexter sighs out. “But no, we’ve discussed never topping in anger- and you will forever be angry at Cort.”

“Not if we work it out,” I helpfully offer.

“You aren’t working it out with my whip, Syn. No fucking way in hell. Pretty Boy will sub for you today. I know you won’t mar his perfect skin
, and I know you will use the utmost caution, not wanting to harm him in any way.”

Dexter doesn’t know the half of it. I’d rather cut off my whip-wielding arm than hurt my brother. Dexter, Marcus, and Whitt don’t know Whitt is my brother. No one in their right mind would want to hurt him, though. There is something about Whitt that makes you want to do whatever he says, just because he took the time to ask you. He’s one of mine, alright- Gwen and Grant created the most beautifully perfect, blond-headed, blue-eyed monster. Whitt is absolutely gorgeous. But I like the rou
gh around the edges kind of guy. But Whitt isn’t for me because he is my gay brother, so it doesn’t matter none.

Whitt is always amiable to whatever Marcus or Dexter throws at us. The artistic kid just goes with the flow. But I’ve seen him turn into this alter being that he calls Master Daniel. The dominant side of my brother is scary- scary like Dexter is scary, except with less pain.

My brother strips off his clothes until he’s down to his boxer briefs. I grin when I catch Cort checking out Whitt’s cotton-clad ass. I shake my head, silently laughing to myself.

“What?” Whitt asks.

“It’s like Animal Planet in here,” I say with a chuckle. “And I thought Ez was the only one who could lie to themselves. It must be catching.”

I go through the SOP- standard operating procedure of today’s lesson. The whip primarily uses a St. Andrews cross. The stocks would work, too. But I prefer the method Dexter taught me, and we both like the
cross the best. Basically, it’s a wooden X that you attach your victim to- yes, victim. It sounds more badass than submissive. I can’t go out and hunt, capture, and kill my victims, so I have to put a survival of the fittest, animalistic spin on my BDSM activities.

Whitt faces the X. I attach his hands and feet with leather straps to the corners of the cross until his body is shaped like an X.
I rub his body down, making sure he is relaxed and malleable.

I pull a Sharp
ie out of my pocket. “I’m gonna mark up your back like you marked up mine last week,” I tease Whitt. A giggle slips past my lips. “That was the best ink I’ve ever had,” I praise.

I feel eyes on me. Dexter, Marcus, and Cor
t look at me like aliens are invading and they’re coming out my asshole. “What?”

“You haven’t giggled like that since we were kids,” Cort says in awe. “I… I missed the sound,” he reluctantly adds.

Feeling warm and strange on the inside, I turn back to Whitt. “Don’t ever hit here,” I draw a red X over the kidneys. I freestyle draw a target on each of Whitt’s shoulders. I then repeat the procedure on his heather-gray underwear, drawing a target on each butt cheek. If it were Dexter or one of his many submissives, I may have pulled the underwear down. But this is my brother’s ass, and no matter how perfect it is, because everything is perfect on the boy, I don’t want to see where I’ve smacked it. I draw another pair of targets on the backs of his thighs.

“Those are my targets,” I announce.

Dexter hands me my purple whip. I earned the gift when I took to the art of pain like a natural. Marcus said he’d never seen anyone as proficient, not even Dexter. That confidence helps me breathe through the panic of harming my brother. It also helps that Whitt trusts me enough not to even flinch when I uncoil my whip and flick the cracker on the floor.

Marcus and Cortez flinch as I do a few test strikes, just a flick of my wrist.
I ignore the feelings of lust and power that usually radiates through me when I have my whip in my hand- this is my brother. It’s unnatural to feel anything but love and devotion for your family. I tamp down all of my baser needs and concentrate on the young man before me.

I draw in a lungful of
air and hold it. My wrist does the movement without thought. When the hit connects with Whitt’s flesh, I release the breath I was holding. A lot of people make this mistake in many activities. When it a precision sport, draw in your breath, take aim, fire, and then breathe it out.

Whitt grits his teeth and hisses against the lick of fire on his left shoulder, but otherwise, he doesn’t make a sound. A very light pink mark blooms on his soft flesh, only to disappear within seconds. I’m going easy on the boy. Since Whitt is volunteering, and isn’t a true submissive that
needs pain for release, I go quickly and efficiently. Normally I would draw the agony out, for both the submissive and myself, both finding release at the climax of the scene.

Twelve lashes later, Whitt is exhaustedly hanging from the cross and I feel more alive than ever. Not a mark is visible on Whitt’s flesh. Dexter goes up and peeks beneath the underwear.

“Perfection,” Dexter praises. “If only you got along with Cortez, you’d be a model student. Let’s get you down and hydrated,” Dexter croons to Whitt.

“Master, may I?” I ask, wanting to be closer to my brother. “After all, I was the one that whipped him; I should be the one to offer him aftercare.”

“Okay,” Dexter draws out, surprised that I offered, and probably wondering if I lust after the Pretty Boy. The game players know I’m in a committed relationship and who my relatives are. But in day-to-day life, some of my blood relations don’t know we are related. To be safe, rather than sorry, I told the members of Restraint that I’m celibate. This way they leave me alone, and don’t think I’m strange for not taking them up on the offers of sex after each session.

When it’
s one of Dexter’s submissives, I avoid them like the plague. I will give them the pain they seek, and then I get squeamish about the aftercare. It just feels too intimate to me. I actually don’t like doing this with anyone that I don’t feel connected to. But for the sake of training, I have to touch strangers. Even if Dexter had allowed me to work over Cortez, I still would have been gentle and requested I administered aftercare. Cortez may be an asshole, but I still care for him. Dexter’s submissives are strangers to me. I have nothing invested in them and I could give a shit less afterwards- sad, but true.

Dexter and Marcus
try
to teach Cortez about impact toys- I stress the word
try
since Cortez never pays attention. He’s only here because Ez and Marcus want him to be. They say Cort is a switch, but that is bullshit. I think he is a very stubborn submissive who is acting like an attention whore.

I release Whitt from the cross, thankful that I am as strong as I am. At six foot, Whitt is difficult to wrangle. Since the idiot who designed the dungeon didn’t include seating, I walk Whitt back to my private room. It’s just Marcus, Dex
ter, Ezra, Cortez, Whitt, and myself- the Masters of Restraint. Marc, Ez, and Cort share this uber-dungeon/suite at the end of the hall. The rest of us peons have a private room to take our victims or we can play in the dungeon if we want to be watched. Since I don’t add sex to my sessions, I always play in the dungeon. Dexter, he mixes the two, so he’s goes wherever his submissive likes best.

My private room is for rest. I tuck Whitt onto my sofa and grab a bottle of water from my mini-fridge. My brother is acting normal- for a victim, that is. He’s quiet and shaky. Getting whipped is a big ordeal for someone as dominant as Whitt. I would know, Dexter doesn’t believe in allowing you to cause pain until you experience it. I’ve lived through Dexter’s strongest attentions- level ten on a pain scale- and I was freaking out for a good twelve hours afterwards.

I open the cap, and hand the bottle to Whitt, making sure he only takes a small sip at a time. I snuggle up to him, finally getting to hold my brother. He’s so warm and smells like sunshine.

“I remember the first time I gave you a hug,” Whitt sluggishly says. “You’re the reason I’m obsessed with tattoos.”

“I remember to,” I admit, but I remember for an entirely different reason. I was thrilled to be touched by him, even if he was pawing my artwork. “It was the charity function in your ballroom”

“I missed you when you left. I felt like an adult when I hung out with you,” he says
in a voice that sounds similar to the one his father used to have- although Whitt’s is deeper, manlier. I spoke to Niel a few weeks ago- the first time since he wasn’t a toddler.  Niel has the softness of Grant’s voice. It’s was nice to know that all is not lost. I felt less guilty hearing the boy speak.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and really mean it.
I’m sorry for so many unspoken reasons.

“Cort is jealous because you were with Ez without him, isn’t he?” Whitt asks, being extremely perceptive. “It’s the only thing that would piss him off. The only one that matters to him is Ezra. It’s why I leave Ezra alone. He’d be so easy to catch right now. Cort keeps rejecting him. I could easily slip in and take him away. Don’t think I haven’t wante
d to, but then I remember how badly your friendship turned out, and I walk away.”

“
A word of advice from someone who’s been there… and more than once: walk away. Never get between Cortez and Ezra. They may be fighting this week, but next they may be in love… or next year… or a decade from now. Nothing is going to stop them. In the end, it will always just be the two of them, whoever gets in their way, be damned.”

~Chapter Ninety-Two~

“I need you guys to lure Regina to Restraint,” I abruptly say as soon as beer and pizza are served on my coffee table. What do I prepare for a gathering of socialites? B
eer and pizza. Those girls look hungry, especially Ade, and a beer or two will loosen them up enough to help my cause.

“Oh God,” Ade groans, “not you, too. Why?” The stick-thin blond
e looks at the beer like she’s never tasted one. Then, like an idiot, I realize she hasn’t. I reach over with a bottle opener and pop the top off.

“I could see why you wouldn’t want to go, but are you seriously questioning Kris? It’s like
a major hunting ground for the girl,” I say as I wink at Restraint’s bartender. The girl is a millionaire since she is Regina’s right-hand-woman. She doesn’t need to work in the loud and obnoxious club for the cash- Kris does it because she can feed her sexual appetite, and I’ve seen her feed it often.

“You got me there,” Ade grumbles, looking down into her bottle and blushing. I could be wrong, but at thirty-years-old, I doubt she’s seen the action I did at sixteen. The lesbian has no lover, but is saddled with Ez as a fake fiancé.

“I’m playing Matchmaker for your brother. He wants Regina and Marc to hook up- some strange redemption he’s working on. Regina is a strong bitch and I was told she liked some kink. If you lead her to Restraint, I’ll make sure the boys get a look at her. We need Dexter, Marc’s cousin, to see her, and tell Marcus about her. It can’t look like it came from one of us. It has to look like it was all Regina’s idea.”

“Once she’s there, I’ll have her back,” Kris chimes in. The sex addict is looking more and more like me every day- tattooed and dyed hair. I should be flattered, but I’m highly annoyed. I wanted to be an individual- I have enough clones walking around; I don’t need another one that doesn’t carry my blood.

“I could go with her. Regina would freak out if I said I wanted to go. She’d never let me go by myself,” Fate softly adds while eating a slice of pizza. I’m happy to see that she’s gained a good twenty pounds. Regina doesn’t believe in being a skinny bitch. I wish Ade believed that, too- she looks sickly.

“Ez runs that freak show, doesn’t he?” Ade asks and receives several murmurs of agreement. “I’m having a hard time with him right now. He’s drawing that girl from Pennsylvania here. As much as I don’t want to marry him,
Father and Diane are expecting it. I feel badly for playing them in the game and I want to do something, anything, to redeem myself, even if it’s marrying the lunatic. I’ll just tell Regina I need her to spy on him, and if she doesn’t want to, I’ll ask Fate instead. That will have her jumping to say yes.”