Pain Slut Page 8

  He glanced up. “Would you relax? You haven’t scared me off.”

  I gave you a dossier. You should be scared.

  “How do you disinfect your whip?” This was an important question, if we were going to be seeing more of each other.

  He shifted the folder on his lap. “Vinegar. And antiseptic mouthwash.”

  I nodded my approval. Leaned back against the cushions and tried to relax. “If you have supplementary documents detailing your affiliation with your coven, I would be happy to read those.”

  Not making the situation any better.

  He grinned. “We do have an ancient tome, untouched by the hands of the unawakened and written in the blood of our founders.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m kidding. We do have a book. But it’s mostly a history of the group and a description of how to treat people with compassion.” He flipped the page. Raised a brow. “Barebacking?”

  Shit. “Oh. Uh. Not really a kink, I know. But I do have a strong preference for lack of barriers.”

  “We have that in common.”

  My heart thudded. No point in putting this conversation off. It was part of the reason I’d included barebacking in the dossier. “I’m on Healthvana.”

  He looked confused. “What?”

  “The app that lets you, um—share your STI test results with partners.”

  I caught the brief upward jerk of his brows, but in true Hendrix Seger form, he took it in stride. “There’s an app for that?”

  “There is. I was skeptical at first, but it is quite useful. My verified results are on there. I’m clean. I can show you.”

  “So it’s, like . . .?”

  “Your doctor can send your results to your phone. The results are stored in the app. The app even helps you find nearby testing clinics if you’ve just had sex with someone and weren’t sure if they were clean.”

  “What will they think of next?”

  I snorted. “I don’t know how important this is to you. But if you are interested, you might consider getting the app.”

  He ran a long, pale finger along the edge of the dossier. “I’m clean too. And I’ve been tested fairly recently.” He looked slightly embarrassed. “Dark Ravens believe that physical contact—no barriers—is the best way to exchange energy.”

  “Well, uh. Good.”

  “I’ll get that app.”

  “Yeah, I mean—” I tensed as he set down the dossier and scooted closer to me “—it’s really easy to download.”

  “Relax. I’m not going to bite. Yet.” He traced my cheekbone with one finger.

  All the gods of all the ages, he made me want to fuck. Every time he touched me. Every time he looked at me. For all my kinkiness, I had always been careful to fuck at appropriate times and in appropriate places. When it was safe and private and emotionally manageable. He made me want to fuck at Windsor Castle during the Garter and Thistle services. He made me want to fuck loudly and messily, while I was crying or scared or delirious with joy.

  I kissed him. I must have been kissing in a way that suggested I wanted to fuck forever, because after a minute he moaned and drew back and stared at me with—I mean, just crazy eyes. Like he was about to consume my prana.

  Then he was on me again, using his teeth, his tongue, running his hands over my shoulders.

  “Whatever you want,” he murmured. “I’ll learn it.”

  “Just fuck me,” I said between gasps. “Right now.”

  He had to run to the bathroom and get a condom. But then he got back on the couch, and he did fuck me.

  Right on top of my dossier.

  Later, we were lying in bed, his head on my chest. “What if I can’t learn?” he asked softly.

  I ran my fingers through his long hair. I felt half-asleep. “Learn what?”

  “All the stuff you like to do.”

  “You only learn what you want to learn. I’m happy with what we’re doing right now.”

  “But I want to learn.”

  I hesitated. “Do you wanna see my gear bag?”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s kind of how kinky people flirt. You look at each other’s gear bags.”

  “Is that . . . a metaphor?”

  “Literally the bags where we keep our equipment.”

  He sat up. “Okay. Where’s your gear bag?”

  “Uhh.” I rolled and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Went to my closet. Beside my actual laundry hamper was another wicker hamper filled with folded blankets. And under the blankets was my gear bag.

  I let him go through the contents and ask questions. There was nothing too scary in there except for a couple of imposing dildos, some talon clamps, and a rather medieval-looking cock cage. The rest of the toys were pretty standard.

  “What’s this?” He held up an implement I hadn’t used in a while.

  “That is a carpet beater made of steel cable.”

  “You let people hit you with this?”

  I grinned. “I thought you were a sadist?”

  “Yeah, but . . .” He whacked it lightly against his hand. “No way.”

  I laughed. “It hurts a lot. And leaves bruises for weeks. But not as bad as those.” He’d pulled out a trio of Delrin canes.

  “I can’t even imagine. I mean, I can take pain, but, like, do you let people hit you full force with these?” He swung one of the canes through the air. The swish made me cringe. Made me wish I were bent over the bed, hearing that sound behind me.

  “Sometimes.”

  He found a small glass vial of amber liquid. “What’s this?”

  “Cinnamon oil. My archnemesis.”

  “Do you put it . . . in secret places?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He grinned. “Miles. You are full of surprises.”

  “It’s the cardigans,” I said. “And the glasses. Nobody ever suspects.”

  “This?” He held up a black-and-red wand.

  “Like a cattle prod. But designed for humans.”

  He ran his thumb over the switch, but didn’t turn it on. “So what do you like best?”

  I tried to savor the moment: this incredibly tall, beautiful man, kneeling on my floor, surrounded by canes and carpet beaters and cages and clamps, asking me what I liked best.

  “I like a lot of things. Knives are amazing. But that’s not a beginner thing.”

  “People cut you?”

  “Sometimes. Not deep or anything. And it’s more about the fear. I can—can get off on just a blade running over my skin. No cuts at all.”

  “Wow.”

  I knelt beside him. “What I like depends on the moment and the person. But there’s not a lot I won’t try.”

  “I really think this is amazing.” He swished the cane again. “I’m just worried I won’t ever live up to, you know. This.”

  “Nobody learns to dom in a day. Most people have a mentor. That mentorship can last years.” An idea started to take shape in my head. I wasn’t sure Drix would be interested. But he’d said he liked exchanging energy with other people. And he’d said he wanted to learn. “I actually know somebody who’s an excellent teacher. If you really do want to get a handle on some of this stuff.”

  He tilted his head, a soft smile on his face. “Someone could teach me?”

  “If you want. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. He knows me well. And he’s not an ex, so there wouldn’t be that weirdness.”

  “Who is he, then?”

  “He was my mentor, for a while.” I shrugged. “I taught him a few things too.”

  Drix nodded. “If he’s willing to accept that I might be a disaster, I would love to become his apprentice.”

  “I highly doubt you’ll be a disaster.” I couldn’t stop looking at him. It wasn’t just that he made me want to fuck. He made me feel quieter too. Tender. There was a sweetness to him, a gawkiness and an elegance that coexisted peacefully. I smiled—a smile as broad and genuine as any I’d managed over the pas
t few months of stress and confusion and uncertainty. “I know you won’t be.”

  He reached out and poked me with the cane. “For you? I’ll make sure I get it right.”

  I wrote to Bowser when I got home the next day.

  Do you have any interest in mentoring a very pleasant man who is not a dom but would like to learn to inflict pain on me in a dominant manner?

  Bowser replied ten minutes later. Interested. Who?

  I’ll introduce you. He’s a sadist. Just not into the BDSM scene.

  Two days later, the three of us had a coffee date. I tried not to think about how out of control this was getting. Pain-slut bucket list. Remember?

  Drix and I walked to the coffee shop. He walked very close to me, and I wondered if I ought to try taking his hand. High school was the last time I’d done the sort of dating where you held hands; I wasn’t even sure public hand-holding was a thing with which adults bothered. And if it was, I didn’t know if Drix and I were at that point yet.

  We passed the Lutheran Church of Christ the King. The billboard read: Let’s meet at my house Sunday before the game. —God.

  I saw Drix notice it, but he didn’t comment. I appreciated that, in some odd way. I was no defender of organized religion, but sometimes it got tiresome when Dave, for instance, went off on a tirade each time we saw a church.

  I searched for something to say. “Which of these passersby would you most like to investigate?” I asked at last.

  He looked at me quizzically. “Investigate?”

  “Yes. As a PI, who looks the most promising in terms of dark secrets?”

  “Well, there’s only one person here whose secrets I’m interested in knowing.” He smiled, half-sly, half-embarrassed, and bumped me with his hip.

  At first I was too startled to reply. Then I managed, “Oh, please.”

  “It’s true.” He was silent for a moment. “Spying on people when they’re at their worst isn’t something I really enjoy. I’d rather let people keep their secrets. Unless they want to tell me.”

  “So why become a PI?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t have another plan at the time.”

  We walked by a small park—unnaturally green grass, a couple of benches, a kids’ playground. In the playground was a wooden sunflower with the center cut out. “Miles!” He turned to me again. “Be a sunflower.”

  “What?”

  He was fishing his phone out of his pocket. “I want to take a picture.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him I would never be a sunflower. “We’re going to be late.”

  “Please?”

  I looked at him. All six foot seven of him, with his blond ponytail and long-sleeved burgundy and white baseball tee and his goddamn stupid-splendid eyes . . .

  I walked stiffly past a group of tag-playing children and a gaggle of adults who were engaged in private conversations instead of watching their children every second to make sure no one tripped and split their head open on the slide. I cautiously put my face through the cutout.

  Drix grinned and positioned the camera. “Smile.”

  I managed an approximation. I didn’t fare well in photos. He took the picture, and I quickly got out from behind the sunflower.

  He was shielding his screen from the sunlight so he could look at the picture. “Oh, that’s perfect.” He showed me.

  I was surprised by how genuine my smile looked. I glanced away quickly. “We’d better get going.”

  “I didn’t have another plan at the time.” I tried to imagine a life without multiple plans. What confused me was that Drix didn’t seem disorganized or unreliable. He simply seemed at peace with spontaneity.

  His gentleness, his openness, were admirable, if a bit terrifying. That willingness to let things happen rather than make them happen. I was slightly afraid to submit to someone like that.

  But oddly enough, not nearly as nervous as I was to be walking through a park with someone like that.

  What do I say?

  Nothing. Just take his goddamn hand.

  But seconds went by, and I kept not doing it. And pretty soon, we were at the coffee shop.

  Drix and Bowser hit it off beautifully. They were both so naturally calm and friendly that even though they seemed to have little in common beyond sadism, they appeared entirely comfortable with each other.

  So after a long talk about medical tools and single tails, and an embarrassing moment where they bonded over a mutual appreciation for my ass, we went back to Bowser’s place. Drix seemed a little anxious, but was still cheerful as ever. I was the one who was sweating. I’d participated in multipartner scenes before. I’d done demos to help others learn. But I’d never been watched by someone whose opinion I cared so much about. Someone who could make me be a sunflower just by saying please.

  Bowser took us upstairs to his “office.”

  Drix had been warned, but he still gave a little excited gasp when he saw the steel exam table. The stirrups. The small counter and sink. “This is like a legit doctor’s office.”

  Bowser grinned. “Well, I’m by no means a ‘legit’ doctor. But I do play one on TV.” He laughed the Bowser laugh. I hid my grin at Drix’s startled jolt.

  “So medical play’s definitely your thing?” Drix wandered over to look at the sharps box.

  I set my gear bag down along the wall.

  Bowser went to the cabinets and took out some equipment. “Yep. Been doing it almost a decade.” He flipped off the main switch so the room was lit only by a set of fluorescent tubes over the counter and a standing lamp in one corner. Enough light that we could see what we were doing, but not the harsh overhead glare of a typical doctor’s office. “I got the sink and the hot plate in here a few years ago, so I could do all the sterilizin’ right in this room.”

  “There is nothing more foreboding than watching him sterilize his tools,” I told Drix. “If you can imagine, like, he’s boiling water, and picking up scalpels and poky things and pliers . . . It’s like being in a Saw movie.”

  Drix’s eyes widened. “I already hate going to the real doctor, so yes, I can imagine.”

  “I don’t know what you want to do—” Bowser closed the last cabinet and turned to us “—but I always like to start by having Miles strip.”

  Drix grinned. “That’s one of my favorite ideas ever.”

  My cheeks grew warm. “Don’t doctors usually pull a privacy curtain and leave you alone while you undress? And give you a gown?”

  Bowser laughed again. Drix raised his eyebrows at me. I should have warned him about the laugh. I’d warned him about the exam table and the pliers, but not the laugh.

  “We do things a little differently here,” Bowser said. “My assistant and I want to see you take your clothes off.”

  Slowly I unbuttoned my fly. Pushed my jeans down and stepped out of them. Removed my socks. I pulled my shirt off and stood there in my boxers, facing them.

  “Gorgeous,” Drix murmured.

  “Get those shorts off,” Bowser said.

  I took off my boxers. My cock was already hard, and I felt embarrassed in a way I never had in front of either man individually.

  Then something occurred to me. They both think you’re hot. They both like hurting you. And Drix wants to learn what you enjoy.

  I had an incredible amount of power here. And damned if I wasn’t going to use it.

  I stepped forward. “All right, you two. I’m going to teach Drix how to handle me. And Bowser, you’re gonna help.”

  They both grinned.

  “I kinda like being ordered around,” Drix said.

  “Then come on over here.” I walked to the table.

  “Can I kiss you first?” he asked behind me.

  I turned and nodded, surprised. And considerably self-conscious at the idea of doing this in front of Bowser.

  My awkwardness dissolved as Drix cupped the back of my head and pressed his lips roughly against mine. He ran his hand over the fuzz on my scalp, and I closed my eyes
, moaning softly. Then the point of his canine sank into my lip, and my body jerked. I pressed my hips tentatively against his. His other hand went to my ass and pulled me even closer, so that our hardening cocks rubbed together. I dug my fingers in just behind his shoulder blades and gasped softly, wishing he would slam me against a wall, put his arm over my throat, and kiss and bite me while I struggled for breath.

  I got the sense there was something claiming about this kiss—a sort of unsubtle message to Bowser that I was already pissed-upon territory. It made me feel absurdly wonderful.

  Drix pulled back. His gaze was soft as he trailed his fingertips across my forehead. “I want to see you hurt.” It was a whisper, and he gave me the slightest grin afterward.

  He made the whole idea of being hurt seem new.

  I climbed on the exam table with my heart thudding. Bowser adjusted the back so that I was propped up, and pulled the stirrups a little farther apart. Which made me wonder who had been on this table since the last time I was up here. Bowser had said I wasn’t his only partner. I wondered who else he played with, and how often. I put my feet in the stirrups. Felt intensely vulnerable, spread like this in front of both of them. I kept my focus on Bowser, but I was aware, always aware, of Drix watching.

  What if he thinks I’m a freak for liking this?

  He’s a vampyre. That’s way freakier.

  Right?

  “You’re going to tie me down,” I told Bowser. “I have cock cages and rings in my bag. Maybe a ring, so you have more access.”

  Bowser nodded and picked up one of the wrist cuffs that were chained to the table. “Miles is real good at holding still,” he explained to Drix. “But I still like to restrain him.”

  I swallowed as Bowser fastened the steel cuffs around my wrists. Then he secured the padded neck restraint. I took a deep breath. He didn’t always tie my neck down, but when he did it brought about this instant feeling of calm that I loved, because it was so incongruous with the knots of anticipation in my stomach, the racing of my heart. He reached into the drawer of the side table and pulled something out. Showed it to me.

  Two small, blunt steel hooks with rawhide laces attached.

  I nodded. Lifted my hips slightly, as though that might somehow help me forget how hard my cock was, then settled back down and waited. Bowser showed the device to Drix. “Nose hooks. These little guys go up his nostrils.” He slipped the hooks up my nose with a practiced ease, holding the rawhide taut. They didn’t go in far—but the effect was immediate—I felt completely powerless and very aware of just how much damage they could do if I moved my head.