KING (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (30 page)

“Jesus,” Dalton hisses. “That’s rough.”

“It was…Syn’s dad was just indicted for embezzlement and awaiting trial while imprisoned. All of their assets were seized and her mom escaped inside herself. Faith lost Fate and Cortez. And as we all know, if you lose Cort, you lose Ezra. She had just turned sixteen when she ran away from home.”

“No wonder she doesn’t talk,” Dalton muses. His thoughts turning to his own
painful past, his masochism, and no doubt, Syn’s sadism. “Are her parents still alive?”

“No, her father was murdered in prison and h
er mom fell down a flight of stairs. I think that’s why Faith ran away and came back as Syn. She lost them within a month of each other. She was really close to Cort and Ezra around that time. They were crushed when she disappeared. Syn’s earned every inch of ink on her skin. They aren’t decorative markings; each hold strong meaning for her. That’s why she doesn’t show them, and I don’t tell anyone what the designs are. I will tell you anything, but not other people’s darkest secrets.”

“I understand.”
Dalton takes a deep fortifying breath and says, “I’m ready.”

“Good, so
am I. Strip that gorgeous body of yours and crawl up on my table.” I pat the padded table and sit on my stool.

I fervidly watch Dalton unveil himself one piece of clothing
at a time. I don’t think there will ever be a time where I look at him and not get aroused. His lean, blemished skin is begging for my art. It hurts my heart that the purpose of the ink is to cover the scars and burn marks- the physical reminders of his painful past.

Delicate is the only way to describe Dalton. His mouthwatering pale flesh is velvety soft underneath my tongue. It’s just begging for a taste. “Get on the table before I bend you over it,” I growl. “You’re driving me mad.”

“Nah-uh…against the rules,” Dalton purrs as he gets comfortable.

“
I might break the rules because you excite me too much… You do know that a tattoo is permanent, right?” I joke, leading up to something that will undoubtedly start an argument.

“No shit, really? And here I
’ve tried to wash them all off and couldn’t figure out why they survived the shower,” he sarcastically says.

“Dumbass,” I chuckle. “You’re getting something permanently inked into your flesh that depicts
me
. Yet you won’t move in with me… but you’ll do something that is irrevocable… That’s all I’m saying.”

I busy myself with procedure to avoid the hurt over his repeated rejection. I guess it’s time I stop passive-aggressively asking him to be my partner. But if you don’t want to live with me, it’s doubtful that you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with me.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Dalton obstinately murmurs and shifts on the tattoo table. I know Dalton is hiding his true feelings, but he won’t share what they are.

“Buzz, buzz,” I hum
, holding the trimmer in my fingers. “Bye-bye hair. Ya better protect that edible flesh. Don’t want the razor to hurt my buddy.”

Dalton’s hand immediately goes to his package. His fingers hold his testicles while his palm
tries and fails to protect his cock.

“Trust me?” I arch a sinis
ter brow and smirk, slowly bringing the buzzing device closer to his sensitive flesh.

“Oui,” he whispers, voice shaking a bit.

Dalton has a perverse need to have a crown of thorns tattooed between his hips, an inch above the base of his cock. He told me the crown was for
King,
and that he wanted everyone to know whose cock this was. I was bewildered about the thorns. Is Dalton subconsciously screaming that I’m hurting him?

I quickly and efficiently use the beard and mustache trimmer on his pubic hair. Dalton’s hair is fine and sparse, but I still had to buzz it off close to the skin. A razor would pull the long hair, hence the battery operated trimmer.

“Soft as a baby’s bottom? Do you trust me with all of it? It might be fun to be bare- belly button to asshole.” Dalton nods his head, unable to speak. I bet he’s freaking out on the inside. He’s so cute.

I take my time, lavishing him with shaving cream and running the blade over his skin.
The only sound in the room is his labored breath and the scrape of the razor along the stubbly hair. I get handsy when all I need to do is keep the important bits out of the way. It’s slow going with the sack, but it leaves him squirming and groaning.

“Ah, having some arousal issues, are we?” I seductively tease while washing him up. “My God, you’re so
fucking smooth and soft.”

My tongue finds its wa
y along the curve of his hip. Dalton’s sweet scented skin wafts up my nostrils, intoxicating me. Dalton thrashes on the table as I tongue him from mid-thigh to his belly, deliberately missing all the sensitive parts. His cock is pulsing up to meet my tongue as I bend over him, but I pay it no mind.

“Si'l vous pla
ît,” he pleads, voice breaking in need. Dalton’s hips jut up, begging for my mouth.

“This?” I lick a long, wet line up the length of his
velvety cock. “Or this?” I suck on his sack, delicately rolling a ball in my mouth. He jacks up off the table, panting, crying out my name. “I guess I better take good care of you, or this big guy will be in the way of my work. We can’t have that, now can we, beautiful?”

“
Non, we can’t have that,” breathlessly spills from his parted lips. His head shakes back and forth on the padded table in maddening ecstasy. “Now. Suck me!”

“Mmm…” I seductively purr. “Demanding, I like that.” The rasp of my tongue on his newly shaven skin causes shi
vers to wave down his spine. Dalton thrashes around as I tease him; never truly giving him what he so vocally begs me to give. I nip the flesh at his hip with my front teeth and he goes wild. I part Dalton’s legs and suck the inside of his lean thigh, leaving a lasting rosebud shaped mark.

“Mon dieu, Daniel!
You either suck my cock down your throat or I’m grabbing the back of your neck and forcing it in,” he seethes, lost to the madness of lust. “Suck. My. Dick.”

I’ve never tried sucking a cock while laughing hysterically. It’s a challenge, but Dalton seems to enjo
y it more. I keep choking on bubbles of laugher while taking three quarters of him into my mouth and down the back of my throat. He keeps throatily moaning about the amazing vibrations.

The past few ‘training’ sessions, Ezra has sat Dalton and I down in a type of couples counseling. I’m learning to le
t go of my dominant urges and Dalton’s learning to stop punishing himself by submitting. Dalton, by nature, is a very dominant person, but after a lifetime of demeaning himself at the feet of his parents, he wouldn’t speak his mind.

We were tasked with reversing our roles to find a happy medium. I’m submitting like a good boy and he’s being a demanding bitch. It’s led to some heated fights, where fi
sts were thrown just as much as words, and some passionate, toe-curling sex.

Dalton was truly blessed, even though he thinks of it as a curse. I lavish the top two-thirds of his cock with my mouth and the base with my slick grip. I’ve been working on my stamina, but it’s never been an issue for Dalton.
If anything, he can go forever as his own version of self-punishment. Tonight isn’t the case, though. A minute into my ministrations, he’s crazed. A flow of bitter fluid pours deep down my throat. I roll my eyes to take in the sight of Dalton in the throes of orgasm. His eyes are tightly closed, back deliciously arched, and his fingertips bite into the padding of the tattoo table. Dalton’s mouth is parted with groans spilling out.

“Merci, Daniel,” Dalton breathlessly pants as tremors of pleasure wave through his body.
“I think I just had a seizure… or a stroke,” he chokes on a laugh.

“Mmm… I hardly ever get the pleasure of seeing you sated and flaccid. It’s a beautiful sight,” I purr. “You better stay that way while I work. I don’t want him popping up and getting inked,” I warn. “Ouch!”

I tuck him down with a gentle pat, and then I put a small metal tray over his package- weigh that sucker down.

“Last chance to change your mind, babe…” I flick the
tattoo gun on and deviously grin down at him. “You sure you want me on your skin?”

With a nod of yes, I get to work. I fall into the zone where n
o thoughts exist. The only sensation I feel is the vibration of the gun in my hand. The only sound that registers is whirr of the device. The only vision I see is the ink permanently marking Dalton’s flesh as I wipe a towel across the newly tattooed skin.

A sense of completion overwhelms me. I’m doing something I love to someone I love, with lasting results- as in the forever kind of lasting. Satisfaction overflows my soul.

Riding low between Dalton’s narrow hips is a crown fit for a King. Being the masochist that he is, the crown is made of thorns. I took the liberty of changing a few of things without his knowledge- artist license. Several of the thorns look as if they are piercing his flesh. A few drops of crimson blood add the only color on the piece. Woven into the crown is the phrase
Je t'aime, Dalton -Your Daniel.

“Do you like it?” I softly whisper.
An emotion I’m not accustomed to nails me in the balls. I am the epitome of confidence. Whether in art or in life, I never second-guess myself or the decision I make. This moment I am humbled. I worry that I wasn’t talented enough to work on Dalton’s precious skin. I wanted it to be perfect.

“Wow,” Dalton
mutters in awe while his fingers hover over the tattoo. “It looks three dimensional- lifelike.”

“Are
the additions to your liking. I could remove them, but that’s an impossibility,” I tease to cover my shaky voice.

“
Je t'aime
,
Dalton -Your Daniel,” he slowly reads, his smile disappearing.

I start picking up
as Dalton gets dressed, worrying that I just totally fucked up. Counseling or not, he’s been holding me at arm’s length for the past few weeks. Every time I try to draw him deeper into my life, he pulls away twice as far as before I made the request. It’s making me doubt myself. It’s driving me to insanity.

Long minutes later, just as I’m finishing
up, Dalton says, “It’s gorgeous. It’s perfect.” He flashes me a beatific smile. “Merci, Daniel. Je t'aime, à la folie.”

“I don’t know that word,” I mumble, hand stilling on
the drawer where I was stowing the supplies. I don’t dare look at him in fear of what emotion will be mirrored in his eyes. I push the drawer shut and slowly turn around.

Dalton’s standing in front of me, a scant inch separating us. He smiles up at me and whispers, “I said that I love you, madly. I’m completely and madly in love with you, Daniel.”

“Oh,” I huff in a relief. My eyes enlarging as I run my fingers through my hair. “Okay… Good.” I blush and look away, feeling bashful all of the sudden. “Can I… I don’t want you to feel pressure, okay? That’s not what this is about. But can I show you something?”

~Chapter Twenty-Seven~

Standing in the middle of the street in front of Restraint, I gaze at the structures. This block has three buildings. Restraint is flanked on the right by French Kissed Kink and on the left by a three-story commercial space that has a stone façade.

“I was thinking about that building.” I speak without taking my eyes off the stone
structure.

“Restraint or my mom’s piece of shit strip club?”
Dalton growls, glaring at the pink eyesore.

“No,” I point at the object of my obsessions.
“That building.”

“Um… okay.” He tosses me a confused look.

I frown, worrying about what he’ll think. “We’ve been out- what- fifteen or twenty times in the past few weeks?”

“Something
like that,” he mutters.

“It’s at least fifty percent of the time that we hear bigoted shit,” I hiss, trying to dampen my anger. 

“I’d say closer to seventy-five percent, actually,” Dalton sadly admits.

“I think that building would make a great club. I want a place I can go and be myself without fear of negative words or threats of violence.”
My tone is dreamy, at complete odds with the seriousness of the conversation.

“So… if I read into your words… you already bought it, di
dn’t you?” I feel his eyes lingering on the side of my face, reading my emotions. I don’t gaze back at Dalton. I fear that I’ve upset him somehow, as I seem to do on an hourly basis lately.

“Yeah,” I shyly admit. “I bought it the day after we were bashed at the café when we were meeting Bianca.
” Dalton’s answering shudder screams that he remembers that day. “That experience finalized the decision for me.”

“So… a club,” he quietly murmurs, not telling me what he’s really thinking, as per usual.

“Yeah… a club,” I whisper in reply.

“W
ere you thinking something like those?” Dalton gestures towards Restraint and French Kissed Kink. The line leading to Restraint’s doors is two blocks long- rowdy, noisy chaos. FKK’s line is shorter because of the exorbitant cover charge. Neither place is for ordinary people. Restraint is more mainstream, with the exception of the member’s only dungeon. FKK is for the hot-blooded heterosexual males. I don’t exactly fit into either environment, not really.