Eager to Please Pt. 01

Author's Note: This one is D/s and Mf/f. While some of my other stories were more about sadism, this one is more for the domination aspect. It's also a romance.

Morgan

My wife and I almost had the perfect relationship. To give you the idea, I first met Trish when we were in high school together and we were both already balls deep into the fringe edges of tattoo artwork. More to the point, we wanted to give that artwork to people and Trish always used to say, with a grin, "Your pain. Our pleasure." See, even in high school she had this cousin who was a tattoo artist and she mentored with him. Even if you could draw, it didn't mean you were good at ink work so you had to learn with the gun. Trish chased that dream and I went with her, but the truth was I never would have followed that goal if not for her and the doors she could open.

But we didn't start dating until college. My high school sweetheart and I went to college together right up until I walked in on her hard riding a barista from the campus coffee shop, straight up reverse cowgirl down and dirty. And I've always been a pretty chill person but this event fucked with me a little bit. If it had been something like a party where she'd been drunk or rolling Ecstasy, I would have never questioned it. Maybe that sounds weird, but Ecstasy is the love drug and it makes everything feel good. Alcohol impairs judgement and, fuck me, but we've all been there. But it was none of that, you know? I couldn't get her into my kind of sex is the short version and she was missing that connection.

Anyway, first heart break. And it suuuuuuucked. Trish found me in an emo fucking daze - I'm not proud - and took me by the hand. I'll never forget it. "Come on, Hollywood Jesus. We're going to have a little adventure."

Hollywood Jesus was what she'd called me because of my apparently enviable long, dark hair. I didn't feel like Hollywood anything at that moment though. "Trish, I'm not sure I'm in the mood."

"You'll get in the mood. Don't be a fucking baby and come on."

Ugh. I knew better than to argue with her at that point. Usually, Trish and I would tussle over anything because we were both control freaks but I didn't have it in me at the moment. Before we even went anywhere, she started this bullshit night off by feeding me three shots of Maker's Mark 101 and Trish is a fucking baller. Trish could drink an Irishman under the table, so I thought I was probably in trouble for the night and I was absolutely right.

It only got worse from there. After I was numbed out and had a decent buzz on from some strong whiskey, she took me to this place that... Look, calling it a strip club would be a fucking kindness. This place was small and the dingiest side of tacky as it could be. Warrant was playing as we walked through the door and cigarette smoke was so thick you knew it'd cling to your hair for a few showers. You could pay to bring your own liquor at the door and by the time I walked in all I could tell you about that first dancer was that she was a blonde. And I couldn't tell you anything about the rest. Trish fed me two more shots, made me chase it with fucking Bud Light, and lit a cigarette with a grin while I sang along to fucking Joan Jett when the song changed.

Once again, I'm not proud. It was the trashiest you could get, but Trish knew me well enough by then, knew how I worked, and she knew that downright trashy was the sharp shock to the system I needed after my first heartache. I have vague memories of that night, of going to the bathroom to piss and going back out to find Trish with a stripper's tongue down her throat. And neither of us could ever remember how that circumstance came to be. Had she gotten lap dances? Had she gone up and tipped a ton? Was the stripper just horny? Jesus, we didn't fucking know. I did remember sitting down with Trish after that, taking another few shots of the strong ass whiskey while smoking another square with her. That's the funny thing about that night, is the in and out memory I have of it.

And the other fucking baller thing about Trish? She had bro code. Like, she knew if she was going to get me trashed and make me spew out my emo bullshit along with the liquor, then she had to be drunk as fuck too. It's an unspoken law, you know? If your buddy is going to humiliate the fuck out of himself, then you have to make sure you're as drunk as he is so neither of you remember. That way you purge the demons and it's like it never happened anyway.

It probably sounds heartless, talking about my first heartache and then raving over Trish, and maybe it is. The truth is I think that's the night I fell for my wife. And we never agreed to start dating. We just did it. When I woke up the next morning, I felt like death and we'd managed to end up in our apartments somehow. Trish showed up out of the blue in the afternoon, looking unruffled and awesome while I looked like hell. And she brought me greasy food while she teased me. "Good afternoon, Prince Charming of White Rain. I feel like a Dukes of Hazzard extra was proud of you last night."

And I remember that was the first morning I looked at Trish and it hit me all at once that she was a girl and she was sexy as hell. Seriously, she was 5'6" and her body was banging. She went to the gym everyday, I knew, because she had a sense of vanity like me. But she had curves too and these tits that just made you want to touch. And her hair? Oh man, these dark brown, untamable locks. You ever see Faith from Buffy the Vampire Slayer? That was her hair, with that perfect look that was both hot and rugged. Combine that with her wicked green eyes and this ass that made me want to play rough and holy hell, I got hard for her.

She definitely knew I saw her differently then too. And I think it was novel for her. See, Trish wasn't the makeup, high maintenance type. Trish liked things like gunsmithing when she wasn't being a tattoo artist. Trish cursed like a sailor and drank like hell. Guys didn't think of Trish like that. They thought of her as one of them and I had thought of her like that, too. Until I didn't. And I knew better than to make her feel like a female. I preferred domination in my sex and I liked submissives and Trish didn't have a single submissive trait. No, I knew I'd have to work for it with her, would have to be careful and not make her feel soft. Maybe you'd wonder why I would want that, if the chemistry was missing. Because I'll be honest. In terms of sexual chemistry, we didn't click very well.

But Trish had taken one night and fucked me up to make sure I didn't get depressed and she was the best friend I had. And that's what I wanted from her. I wanted to run the tattoo shop with her when I knew she'd open one and I wanted to stay by her side and have her back while I knew she had mine. And living with Trish would be the easiest thing in the world, I knew.

And that turned out to be true. Our life became almost perfect. No, seriously, you're going to be amazed at some of this. Like, this girl enjoys doing fucking laundry. All at once. On the other hand, I like dishes. We both love cats, she likes taking the trash out, I like vacuuming. She likes sweeping, I like mopping. She likes the right side of the bed, I like the left. We don't cuddle because we get too fucking hot and we don't care enough to need to cuddle. We each have our own closet because we're both control freaks so we can't share things like that and we divide holiday decorations. One year, she gets Halloween and I get Christmas. The next year we switch. We never fight, we work together on taxes. She prefers tattoo work and I prefer piercing, but we can both do the other when a situation calls for it.

It's absolutely fucking perfect. There was just one thing. We both unequivocally and wholeheartedly agreed that there was exactly one thing missing.

We needed a third in our relationship. Because we both loved, fucking loved, to dominate and we refused to submit. We were two married Doms by nature and, even if bringing in a third opened up the door for more drama, we both didn't fucking care. We just wanted a playmate. Only problem with that was, while we were both lighter players, we were intense people so both of our attention on one person? It wasn't exactly easy finding someone interested in something like that.

Because the other part of it was we were controlling and dominating all the bloody time when around an S type. I don't fucking know why, but it was almost like we naturally fed and encouraged each other, so an S type with us? Shit, I didn't think it'd ever stop at playtime submission, if we could even bring someone into our arms. I thought we'd be all encompassing about our little games. I mean I thought they'd be fun as all hell and we had all kinds of toys to go along with it. But yeah.

It'd be consuming. And besides that, who the hell would want to be the third of an already stable relationship?

————

"Trish, where's the Christmas boxes?"

We kept a goddamn closet for these decorations and I swear to God those Christmas boxes were in the same place all year except for freaking then, when I went to look for them. And I didn't care that it was November 5th. The decorations were going up. "Same place you helped me put them up, Morgue."

That was total bullshit, but I grinned because my wife was getting tipsy off eggnog and trying to cook cinnamon rolls from scratch. And it was a spectacular failure, the most amusing kind, but she was having fun doing it. And oh hey, I'll be damned. The Christmas tree and decorations really were right where we'd put them up.

Underneath the freaking Halloween decorations that Trish put on top of them in an exact way that hid the Christmas stuff. Jesus fucking Christ, I love her, but goddamnit. "Hey, honey." She came around the corner, her voice enough to make me smile again.

"Hm?" I lifted the boxes off the tree and drug it out, laughing at the redness in her cheeks when I looked up. Mostly because I knew she wasn't nearly drunk yet. It took more than eggnog to mess with Trish, but she definitely got that warmth to her skin. I thought it made her look even more beautiful.

"How much is a pinch?"

I snorted. "How would I know? I'm just Hollywood Jesus."

She giggled and kissed me and I had to hug her. And that's when the doorbell rang. "Who the fuck wants to visit at this time?"

I let Trish go and followed her, curious as well. And it turned out the person who wanted to visit was a kinky plastic surgeon and an acquaintance of ours, named Ezra Calloway. Now, before we continue with the story, let me just interject the fact that this man was a first class sadist, the height of the fringe edges. This was someone who took pleasure in manipulating me when he knew I had a crush on his slave, though their relationship was strange at the time. He was sadistic enough to be an asshole sometimes is what I'm saying. But a friend of ours was in love with him so we were trying out game nights with him. The situation was such that he never came to visit without his slave, Devi.

But that time Trish opened the door and he was standing there... with this smile that made me scared.

And a girl who wasn't Devi.

"Hello, Trish." He nodded to her and then at me when I stepped forward.

"Ezra, no offense, but what the hell is this?"

A soft sound escaped him, a sound that scared the hell out of me even more if I'm honest. Because Ezra Calloway was not a man who laughed at anything good. "I suppose this is something of a... reparation, in a way. I would like to ask you to consider an apprentice, one I vouch for."

I blinked. Normally, Trish and I weren't open to an apprenticeship. But... I glanced at Trish, who glanced at me. This was Ezra fucking Calloway. He was a dick, sure, but he was one hell of a plastic surgeon. And to hear him vouch for someone was no small thing. When I hesitated, he chuckled wickedly. "Morgan. You really want to try it."

Trish nodded beside me and that was that. We were both award winners, but Trish was the goddess between us. If she was willing, then I was, because it would be mostly her the girl would be shadowing. "Come on in." And then I finally turned my attention to the girl at his side.

And I blinked. Dear fucking God. If I didn't know that Trish was an only child, I would have thought this girl to be her sister. At first, she had been hiding behind Calloway, but when she stepped forward the resemblance was insane. She had that same brown hair with the rough and sassy long, slightly curled locks. She had these curves that were slightly smaller than Trish's, but the exact same proportion to her smaller size, if that makes sense.

Trish didn't even seem to find anything strange going on at all. She smiled kindly at the girl. "A recommendation from Dr. Calloway is no light thing. Do you mind if I ask if you have an art book with you and how you know Ezra?"

"Of course not." Jesus Christ. Right off of three words, there was so much joyful eagerness in that voice. She was so sunny, so happy, so damned adorable. And the way she looked up at Trish? It was respectful and... There was something else in those eyes, though I couldn't put my finger on it, at first. "Dr. Calloway is a friend of my dad's and I did bring my sketch book and I can show you some of the ink I've done on myself. I know that drawing on flesh is different than paper, but I kept it small so I could cover it up with more intricate work later. Here!" She pulled a sketch book out of her bag and then blushed. "Ah. I'm going to show you this one first, but I have another book of original work. This one isn't original, but... well, I thought it might make a sphere of reference."

Her blush was flaming across her cheeks and she handed Trish the sketchbook, while I looked over her shoulder curiously. "Oh," Trish said softly.

Oh. Because she flipped through the sketchbook and it was all imitations of Trish's artworks. But this girl was clever too and knew how to draw to imitate the curvature of, say, an arm for a sleeve tattoo. She had drawn out flat sketches, drawn curved sketches, drawn partial curves. She had practiced and practiced to get that thought processing down and she obviously did understand that needle work was not drawing. But drawing was a start and what she'd done was impressive.

"H-here's the original ones, since I know that's, you know, not very creative and I'm sorry! It's just that I loved both of your artwork so much and it was so beautiful. And I wanted to show you because it was a reference you would know pretty well, maybe."

Trish paused for a moment, studying her, and she had that look. That protective look. That calming, teacher's look. "It's alright, honey. Come here. Sit down at the table and show me the others. What's your name?"

"Gigi. Well, actually it's Gage Grayson, but I go by Gigi."

I watched her sit down with my wife and swallowed, not trusting myself to sit with them just yet. For the time being I just watched while she showed Trish her other sketchbook, while she looked up at my wife with clear admiration in her eyes. And Trish was turning more and more into that other version of herself. I watched the way her motions were very clearly calculated, the way she made her voice soothing and praised Gigi.

Because here's the thing. Trish's body type turned me on in all the right ways. It wasn't her looks that made us incompatible in some ways. It was just that we wrestled for who got to be on top. So Trish's appearance on that smaller frame, with a submissive gaze and voice, a desire for ink, along with watching my wife turn more and more the Domme by the second? I wanted this girl. I wanted to watch Trish play with her. And the thought of watching Trish teach her how to ink? Oh, man. Tattoos made me fucking horny to begin with. Sometimes I could just look at the inked stars around Trish's eyes and feel frisky. My fantasies ran rampant right then and there. I had this twisted, kinky little image of Gigi curled up on a pet bed at the shop, leashed, with a food and water bowl while she looked up at Trish with that admiring look that she still had.

Goddammit. I didn't even know if this poor girl was kinky. For all I knew she could have been straight up vanilla innocence.

I glanced at Ezra, who stood to the side, watching. He looked up to meet my gaze and smiled wickedly. And then I had the deranged thought that the odds were she was mostly vanilla. Because it'd be just like Ezra Calloway to lead this girl into our care, knowing what we were looking for, so he could watch what would happen.

And right on the heels of that thought was the fantasy of corrupting her, teaching her what we liked. The ones who were new were ones you could train for the first time and oh, I liked that thought. Goddamn Ezra Calloway.

"Morgan." I turned to Trish, curious to the excitement in her voice. "Come here and look." Gigi looked up at me with shy nerves, her ankle lifted up to a chair beside Trish, who held Gigi's foot still by her cute little gothic boots and held up her jeans. She smiled gently at Gigi. "It's okay. He'll love it, I promise." And Gigi smiled at me with a little bit of worry and fear in her eyes and I had a sudden image of Trish doing something else with another playmate we had once tried.

Such a pretty pussy. Don't be shy. Show Sir how wet you are after kneeling at his feet.

Jesus hell. What was it about this girl? My thoughts were never this disconnected. I froze, staring down at her ankle. "Woah, that's awesome."

She grinned up at me and I had to give the praise because it really was awesome. She had been clever about her first ink try, really clever. In anticipation of the attempt at practicing on herself and how different it would be from drawing, even with a stencil, she had made this cool little chaotic design that was something between concentric fairy lights and a spiderweb. "I thought it would be a good way to get a feel for using flesh and ink, you know? It was a type of stencil that gave me enough lines to follow for a gauge of ability and it was basic enough that I could cover it with something more awesome when I got better! Pretty neat, huh?"

"That's a hell of a lot better than my first attempt, I'll be dead honest. I went for one of those little infinity symbols and it looked like goddamn prison ink. Trish covered it."

Trish grinned because her first attempts hadn't been nearly so graceful either and Gigi seemed comforted by these stories. And then she got distracted. "Hey! Is that a Black Series Boba Fett helmet with the dents and battle wear and flashing LED lights display?"

Trish looked at me and I blinked, looking back behind me at the helmet I adored enough to sit on display by the TV. And then I glanced back at Trish, trying to control my raging fucking hard on at this highly inappropriate time when some fucking professional behavior would be fucking nice to display and-

"Want to stay and hang out and drink some eggnog? We're putting up our Christmas stuff but I'm, so far, willing to consider something, if Trish is."

Was that professional? I internally cursed at myself in strings when I was trying to make myself think straight and I wasn't sure it had worked. Were you allowed to go over tattoo artwork and talk about apprentice hours while drinking eggnog and decorating for Christmas? Was it immoral if you were partially influenced by the desire to dominate the potential student?

God, I couldn't think of her with that word or I'd start dreaming about how I wanted to teach her to kneel. There's a good kitten. Show Mistress how open you can be and how much surrender you have. Thrust out your tits to show them off to her.

Oh man, this was a bad situation and not because it was awkward or anything like that. It was a bad situation because of how much I liked it and how much I wanted to keep playing.