Dark as Ivory Pt. 02

I remember one thing odd from that night, one thing off. He paused that kiss, stiffening for a moment, and lifted his face from mine. I waited in my blind, dark world, face still curved up to him, still held by him. If it were some other guy who'd stopped a kiss like that, I would have turned wary, looking to see what was up, if something caught their attention. But with Flatline, I couldn't even summon a concern or worry. If something was wrong, he had me safe. I knew that without thinking about it or considering it after the amount of care he'd had with his terrible games.

Whatever it was, he turned back to me and it was gone and out of my mind with his next words. "I thought that now you're wearing my collar we could have a nice, hard training session together."

I shuddered even while my knees went weak. He laughed and it was wicked this time and I learned why when he took me back to my storage room and stripped me, then cuffed my hands behind me. He introduced me to a short nightmare of a whip and by training session he meant pain training so I could take more for him.

He worked me over until I was a mess, layering strikes and crisscrossing them to compound more and more pain. When I sobbed and begged for his mercy, he said "Okay," in such an evil voice that I cried from it, dreading whatever horrible thing he was going to do to make things worse. And I wasn't wrong. He tortured me a different way, holding me captive in his arms, while he held a vibrator to my pussy and edged me to hellish pleasure, pulling away before I could come over and over. He'd wait a while and then do it again until I was begging for mercy.

And again he acquiesced easily. "Anything you like, pretty fae." And switched back to the whip.

I begged again. And again. Pain turned to pleasure turned to agony turned to ecstasy. My world started to spin into chaos while he held me and covered my mouth and whipped my tits and my pussy, my ass and my thighs. My body became a symphony of heat even while I couldn't think past the burning demand in my pussy that screamed for relief.

Even that he didn't give. He fucked my ass instead, railing me, but it didn't matter. He didn't even touch my clit, not even to slap it or whip it, carefully making sure that nothing at all touched my cunt. And it didn't have to. "Come for me, you wanton little fuck." It was a guttural snarl by then and I squealed behind his palm, thrashing from the anal orgasm, my hole milking his cock. I fell into his arms while he held me up, banging his own orgasm into my ass while my world faded for just a moment or two from his pure force and aggressive use. I was dimly aware of the full feeling in my ass when he finished inside of me and moaned when he forced a butt plug too, speaking over me in perverse satisfaction. "There we are. Coated in marks like a second skin and with an asshole holding all my cum. That's better, isn't it?"

"Yes, master." I moaned it beneath him, trembling and needing his control. He was right. The marks were like a second skin. Fuck me, but the pain was becoming like a second skin. He stroked his hands up my body and I fell back to his touch, as hot and sore as any touch made me.

But he only chuckled in deep pleasure. "That's it, little Tuesday. Just sink down into the pain and let me rule you. There's so much of it to fall under, so you can get nice and cozy into subspace for a while." And I obeyed gladly because subspace was a fanfuckingtastic place to be.

He stayed for a while, petting me while I knelt in the floor at his knees. For a while we were quiet.

And then we talked. Just like that with me still kneeling because it felt like the perfect place to be even if the rules were a little more relaxed and we were speaking casually. The submission didn't leave. It stayed on a deep level, but he was fast becoming more than my master. He was becoming my best friend. When I talked to him about the business and the random shit I learned from owning one, he answered back with knowledge. I didn't know what he did for a living yet but his intellect followed the wavelength mine did.

It was then when we were talking that he quietly said, "Someone saw us when we kissed earlier."

Which must have looked weird. Me closing my store up and wearing a blindfold to kiss this man, and I didn't know his appearance but I knew he was a fucking monster of a man and muscular as all hell too. "Ah," I said softly. "I'm sorry."

"What the hell are you sorry for?"

I laughed at the question. "For you being seen like that I mean."

"I... Jesus, Two, I don't give a fuck. I was worried about you."

"Yeah, no, I don't particularly care. It probably looked weird but it's a gamer store with a mostly adult clientele in a liberal city. I'll survive."

That had been my approach for most of life actually. That I'd survive. Awry kink relationships, ups and downs... My life was pretty charmed and my stresses were ones I'd happily handle. Flatline kissed my forehead. "I suppose that's fair. You'll tell me if you have any problems, won't you, Tuesday?"

His voice turned cool, commanding as it had been during his training, and his finger curled through the O-ring of my collar threateningly. "Yes, master," I said, voice going needy just from that touch of his.

"That's good, little Tuesday, because if I thought you had problems that I might have part in and didn't come to me about those, I would be very upset. And then, well, I'd have to take all of my frustration to you and reassure myself with the sounds of your pretty screams and the feel of your flesh under my cane. It would be the kind of thing that might take a nice, long while to make me feel better about it."

His voice was ominously intense, his threat laced with promise. There wasn't the playfulness he usually had, instead replaced by seriousness. "Yes, master."

"Good girl."

But I didn't have any problems, not a one. All of my regulars kept coming as always and no one brought it up to me. Flatline and I kept up our constant communications and I reassured him that his threat was not forgotten, but so far as I was aware, there were no problems from the incident. He was satisfied.

And he had me take pictures and videos often. I kept his dresses in a separate part all of their own in my closet, messaging him with that picture that made him laugh. I had zero problem in telling him that I had no tastes when it came to that kind of thing, but I could appreciate it when someone else did. I loved my jeans and gamer T-shirts, but I also loved prancing in his dresses, spinning like a princess in front of the mirror. Hilariously, I told him I loved his green dress he'd given me. To which he replied he hadn't gotten me a green dress. I took a picture of the last dress and he messaged back to tell me it was red.

So hi, I'm Tuesday and I'm colorblind.

He didn't even have to ask me if I was being serious. He answered instantly. That's why you don't wear makeup.

And he was right. It was. He started making me tell him random other facts about myself, to which I confided that I could play blindfold chess.

The night after he found that one out, he called the work phone again with the same command to put on the blindfold. But this time he told me to go to the back room and wait for him instead and I knew it was because there were no windows there.

He tied me down naked to a chair, roping my hands on the rests and my ankles apart. For a moment, he chuckled and slipped his fingers inside of me so that I moaned, then begged. "Please hurt me."

It had changed from begging for his cock to begging for his pain because the pain was the only way I could earn orgasms. I was starting to learn that. I was scared one day I would slip up and beg for his cock and he would happily agree, fucking me in the best way, right up until he laughingly said, "No coming, Tuesday," and left me to burn for nights because I didn't ask for his pain first.

But that time he only laughed. "Sorry, baby, but we're playing a different kind of game tonight."

We did play a different game. We played fucking chess. He spoke the board square designation where he sent his pieces and I commanded where to send mine, blindfolded and tied down while he moved both sides. But it was chess with a twist that I discovered after losing the first piece. He stood from his chair and circled behind me and I cried out when he placed a vibrator to my pussy, teasing me. He edged me to torment and stopped when I was close to orgasm, not letting me go over, so that I was shaking in his arms. "Sorry, little Tuesday, but I think sacrifices should hurt, don't you?"

There was only one answer. "Yes, master."

When I lost - and yes, I lost. Don't judge. It's hard as fuck to concentrate with what he did - he mockingly sighed while I quivered. "Oh, no, little Tuesday. If sacrifices should hurt, then so should losing. No more orgasms for three days."

I moaned with dread, quaking so hard from his edging that he had to keep me tethered and stand behind me, petting me with condescending shushes under his breath. It was terrible, even worse because he had my absolute compliance. I craved more than anything to obey him for many reasons. One, I was his submissive and he had played the greatest goddamned games I'd ever been part of, so he had my gratitude and respect. He commanded. I obeyed. Two, I never wanted to break the magical spell of obedience and how much it soothed my submissive nature. And three?

I knew it meant I'd probably see him the night of that third day and he'd blow my world apart with whatever he'd do. With days of edging, he'd rock me with some kind of fear fuck or torture and then beyond that was his satanic wonderland where I'd forget my name.

I wasn't wrong but had to suffer through those three days without going mad while he messaged and commanded me to edge myself on video for him and he did that often. My life turned into a hell of desire wherein I distracted myself by reading every goddamned chess strategy I knew again and again until it was drilled into my mind. I practiced against any AI version available to me on the most difficult settings. I begged him to let me wear the clamps at night to make wearing the plug more tolerable. He wanted me to beg him for pain, I knew, and it became very easy to give him that.

I dove for the work phone when he called and knew he saw when he laughed in my ear as soon as I answered. "Why, little Tuesday, you look antsy. Go to the back room and put your mask on."

Fuck me, but I couldn't leap to obey fast enough. I waited for him in hopeful excitement, having thought endlessly of what he might do for this. And he didn't disappoint. He never did. "Hello, master," I said when I heard him.

It was becoming a ritual. "Hello, little Tuesday." He was smiling like always and he kissed me with that same fire that made me go weak at the knees every single time. "Do you want to cum, pretty girl? That was so mean of me, wasn't it?"

I moaned against his lips. "Yes to both, master!"

He laughed. "It'll cost you. And what do you think it costs you?"

I practically glowed with exhilaration and delight. I knew this answer easily. "Pain, master. Lots and lots of pain."

"There's my girl." My emotions were a turmoil fueled by the madness of the past three days. I felt dread, oh yes, but also a thundering excitement, a terrible arousal on a tether with his torture, a tempestuous desire...

And love. I don't know why that hit me then, at that exact moment, but it did. I was in love with Flatline and I hadn't even seen him yet. "First things first." He undressed me, his fingers pausing only to tease my nipples and casually caress my sex. "Hands above your head, pretty sub."

I lifted them obediently and felt him working, pressing me against the door, and realized he'd made makeshift bondage with straps on my back room door when he tethered my cuffs and pulled the straps tight. "So creative and resourceful." I dared to say it, playfully and with respect though. Always respect. I no longer dared to speak with anything less than that with him and I always used my manners now, so much that it was starting to bleed into my day to day life.

He nipped me, biting my bottom lip. "Well, I do have such an inspiring little submissive to get some credit. Now, let's see how high your threshold is when it's so wonderfully aided by all this hot arousal you have. If you can impress me with it, then I'll let you come. If not... well, then, I obviously didn't edge you high enough, but we'll make sure to spend the next few days correcting that."

I moaned with some fear at that thought, even though it was a silly fear. I knew I'd take what he gave me. He had never given me a safeword or an out and now with the acknowledgement of just how much adoration I felt for him, I also knew he could flay me with his whip and I'd let him. "Yes, master."

"Good girl."

It was the short whip again. He held one hand around my waist and started at my thighs, making me hold my legs apart for his punishment. And I did. The pain washed over me while I considered how terrible that whip was. It wasn't like the cane and wouldn't break me too quickly. No, with the braided whip, he could play his song of pain for as long as he liked. If he were careful enough, he could play with it for hours. It was a terrifying thought because he was careful enough, an experienced sadist who had more knowledge of my body than maybe even I did now.

He worked up the front of my body, flicking at my hips and abdomen, upwards to my tits. Those he decorated with terrible little strikes, building up the pain in the way he preferred, drawing the soft little cries from my lips. I wasn't sure I could ever be good enough to be totally silent but also knew he would never want that. He loved it when I made sounds for him. Every single time his breath and his words reacted with his excitement and pleasure at my involuntary pain sounds.

He started the circuit over again, starting at my thighs and working up. I sank to the torment, enduring what he wanted me to.

On and on. The whip felt like it would never end and I didn't care. My thoughts went back to the time he'd been possessive, calling my pussy his and my tits his, hurting me with his cane. His, his, his. It pulsed through me with the whip, with his breathing, with the same rhythm with which my pussy throbbed for release.

It was only broken by his pause and command. "Time for the other side of you." He undid the straps attached to my cuffs and refit them when my ass was to him. "And I almost forgot. You need some pretty jewelry."

I waited for the clover clamps, amazed at the feeling I had. It was total surrender. If my experiences before Flatline had taken me to subspace, this was a slave's headspace. I was flying higher than high. And then the clamps made me throw my head back and squeal and it felt even hotter and higher. I went still, breathing to take it, the pain like my wings when it was tethered to the hellish need.

And the whip was back, on the backs of my thighs and ass. He loved to mark my thighs because I danced with those from how tender it was and it made the heavy chain from my clamps swing. Ow. Ow. Ow. Oh, please! But I didn't say those as words, just kept giving him pathetic cries. Like the night with the vibrator, time lost meaning. Everything lost meaning. My sanity started to fray as the flames went higher, burning me alive like Helen held by Candyman. Tears streaked my face beneath my mask.

He was finally the one who had to end it when I wouldn't say once that I couldn't take anymore. He growled by my ear, holding me still and he set the whip down, grabbing me instead. "Fuck, Two. Just... fuck." The cuffs were free again and he lifted me, taking me to the table where he bent me over it. I was like liquid again, lost to him. Please, I love you. Please, did I please you? My cries rose to keens when I felt his cock against my entrance, pressing. He spread me open like he always did but this time he was slow, filling me inch by inch while I moaned into the table.

When he was seated, he sighed above me. "Good girl, baby. Such a good girl. I'm so proud of you. Take all you need and want from me."

I didn't know what made me happier. His pleasure or the reward. He fucked me more intensely than he'd ever done, though it was slower. And I came.

And then I came again. With a third, smaller one on the heels of that one. And one more time when he snarled out his wild orgasm, banging into me. He fell over me for a moment, his hands covering mine on the table while his cock was still inside me. "I don't know what that energy was," he said softly, "but it's killing me that we aren't in my dungeon where I can make you crawl at my side for the next few hours and use your asshole later while I make you cum again. And then make you drink and eat from a dog bowl. Christ, Two. Look at you. The things you let me do, the games you let me play." He pulled out of me but so carefully supported me while I fell to my knees, leaning against his legs for support. My body glowed and I felt dazed, not entirely present. His pain still held me, enhanced by my blindness.

I moved where his touch suggested, tilted my head when I felt his hand at my collar. "Pretty girl, I'll have to choose a perfect leash for you next time, but for now..."

He knotted rope through the O-ring and tugged, clicking his tongue. I automatically crawled to the sound, resting my head against his leg again so that he laughed. Flatline hummed, actually hummed, and pet me, sitting down in one of the chairs and maneuvering me so that I could lay my head at his thigh and he could continue his strokes. I don't know how much time passed and something seemed to suggest that he didn't either and neither of us particularly fucking cared.

He did break the spell eventually though and for that I was grateful. One of us had to. The only other alternative was for him to pull off the blindfold and use the full force of his gaze and growl at me instructions that ended up with his holding me kidnapped in his dungeon. It would have worked too. That moment, after the emotion involved in that game? It would have. And I for damn sure didn't even have a shred of willpower strong enough to break it.

"I've been meaning to ask you." His voice held a note in it that made me shiver, as if he were being overly light, covering up whatever dark thoughts he had that held hands with the ones I'd just had. "What the fuck is this tattoo?"

It worked. I laughed, still nuzzled against his thigh, but answered and it was in a more aware voice. My tattoo. "It's Eminem's tattoo. The mausoleum that says rot in pieces." It was on my right thigh, the one that my favorite rapper had around his belly button.

My answer worked to break his spell too. He was silent for a pause. But then he laughed and it was that full sound that made me grin to feel it through his body. "Fucking shit, Tuesday, why the fuck even?"

"Because it's amazing and he's amazing and the reactions are great when people find out I have it and what it is. It's the best tattoo ever for a conversation."

He laughed again. "It doesn't fit and yet it does so perfectly that it's actually kind of beautiful, damn it."

I kissed his thigh and stroked him over his jeans, massaging him. God, I needed to bake him cookies or some other stupid shit. "I have others in mind to get. Lamb's bird with the bullet in its mouth, that BDSM triskele thing made of roses, the Empire's sigil from Star Wars. There's a ton of them but I've been trying to find someone to brand me or do scarification work first. It's nigh impossible though. At least for me it's been a lesson in frustration. It also might be stupid to get since my skin tone is light."