Pipit Ch. 10: End

"They're probably out," said Mistress Ai, "or having sex. We may end up having to apologize for interrupting their coitus."

She took out a key and opened the door, and all four of them ventured in. Once they were inside, Pipit could hear moans from the direction of the bedrooms.

"No!" Pipit cried. It was Emily's voice, and it tore at her soul. Fear surged inside her - exactly what she'd felt this afternoon, what Emily was feeling now. Pipit had shot Andrew at her friend like an arrow - how could she have done it? She loved Emily! She had to stop it - she was the only one who could. All her numbness vanished in a rush of energy. She ran to the master bedroom, where they'd played just two days before, and stopped in the doorway. Emily was naked and tied, spreadeagled, to the bed. Andrew was standing on the far side of the bed, bending over her, holding the razor, and she was screaming behind her gag, eyes wide. The terror was unbearable - Pipit's heart pounded and she gulped for air.

Mistress Ai, Neko, and Raquel crowded into the doorway behind her. Raquel put a hand on Pipit's shoulder and said, "Fucking idiot . . ."

Mistress Ai whispered, "Wait," and Raquel took her hand away.

Andrew looked up at Pipit, seeming not to notice the others. Emily fell silent.

"No, Master," she gasped. "Stop."

"You said this kind of play would build trust," said Andrew. "You said she'd love it. I think she does."

"No, Master," said Pipit, taking a step into the room. "I was wrong. It's the wrong thing to do."

"But it feels good," said Andrew. "I think she wants me to cut her. You know, just enough to make a nice scar. It'll go well with the tattoos."

"No, Master," said Pipit, taking another step. "She doesn't want you to do that. And I don't think you want to do it either. Why don't you put the razor down? We can all discuss it and figure out what's best."

"I don't think so," said Andrew. "You were right about everything. The important thing is a Master's power. She's been resisting my power, she and Amanda. We'll all be happier when I've put a stop to it."

Pipit edged slowly around the bed. She fought the urge to run - something was keeping her body calm and her voice steady. "Then we should all talk it over," she said. "You, me, and Emily."

"I've decided to throw Amanda out," he continued, as if he hadn't heard. "She's been a problem in our relationship: Emily doesn't submit to me where Amanda's concerned. But after this," he said, nodding towards the razor, "she'll submit to me completely."

"No, Master," said Pipit. She was just three feet from him now. He'd turned to face her. She took one more step.

Andrew said, "Don't come any closer."

"Master," she said, raised her arms, and closed the distance between them. If she could embrace him and make him want her one more time, she was sure she could control him.

But he pushed her away roughly and shouted, "No!"

She stepped towards him again and reached out with one hand, saying "Please, Master," just as he was raising his left hand, fingers spread as if to ward off an attack, and holding the razor in his right, down at his side. He flinched at her touch, stepped backwards, and stumbled over a shoe. His left hand flew upwards as he fought to regain his balance; his right wheeled in front of him - left, up, right. The razor flashed.

Pipit twisted to the left - too slowly. The right side of her face seemed to burst into flame, and the world turned red. Andrew screamed, and she passed out.

* * *

Pipit drifted partway out of sleep. An unfamiliar voice was saying, as if from a great distance, "She'd be better off in the emergency room." Mistress Ai's voice was saying, "You know very well that a hospital is a hotbed of infection. And we don't need . . ."

* * *

Half conscious again, she heard Andrew say, ". . . you forgive me?" Emily said, "I forgive you, but I can't live with you anymore. You'll . . ."

* * *

Emily again, saying ". . . trust your judgment. . . ." Doors, elevators, taxis, arms holding Pipit up - she was so sleepy. "Wanna lie down," she slurred.

* * *

". . . about a year. There will still be a visible scar, but since it was a clean cut, and not too deep, it'll be thin and colorless, if she treats it well and stays out of the sun. It's a long cut, though. It'll always be noticeable. A good plastic surgeon would know some specialized techniques for minimizing the scarring . . ."

Pipit opened her eyes and said, "No plastic surgeon." She was groggy and it was hard to speak. She had to mumble because moving her mouth made the right side of her face catch fire again. It was hard to move her jaw because of a big tight bandage around her face.

She recognized the room she was in - a bedroom in Mistress Ai's apartment. The sun shone in through the window. The doctor was a lean, blond man, around forty, with close-cropped hair. Mistress Ai, Neko, and Emily were sitting on chairs, talking to him. Neko rushed over to her, sat on the bed, and held her hand.

"Tosatsu, meet Dr. Nystrom," said Mistress Ai. "He's a first-rate physician. He spent last year as my slave, and he's been known to patch up the odd BDSM mishap."

"Why no plastic surgeon, Tosatsu?" asked Dr. Nystrom.

"I want the scar," she muttered.

Dr. Nystrom smiled, and said, "Well, a lot of people love a nice scar, and yours will be an elegant curve, from your right cheekbone down to your jawline."

"You'll be more beautiful than ever," said Neko dreamily.

Mistress Ai said, "You and Neko will stay here with me for a while. Neko's an excellent nurse, as it turns out. When you feel ready, the two of you can go back to work at Mistress Shigemi's. It will be very important, though, that no one strike you on the face for several months."

"You won't need me for a while," said the doctor. "I'll come back when it's time to remove the sutures."

"You'll come and play sometime soon, Ishi?"

He executed a perfect Japanese bow and said, "It's always an honor and a pleasure to play with Mistress Ai."

Pipit closed her eyes, and the world faded again.

When she woke up, she was alone in the room with Emily. She was more awake now, and her face ached.

"I'm sorry, Emily," she said, and meant it, but for some reason didn't feel the urgent misery she usually did when she apologized.

Emily smiled. "Who knows?" she said. "You may have done me a huge favor. I think Andrew is going to need a lot more seasoning before he makes anyone a good Master."

"I did a horrible thing. Why are you here? You ought to hate me."

"I don't know, baby. We're all thinking you've been hiding some scraps of decency inside you somewhere. You tipped your hand last night."

"I'm the same as I ever was, but maybe it'll be harder to take advantage of people now that I have this," Pipit said, touching the bandage.

Emily said, "Amanda wants to pay for you to see a plastic surgeon. She's got a lot of money, you know."

Tears started into Pipit's eyes. Why would Mouche do that for her? "I'm really grateful," she said, "but I meant it when I said I wanted the scar."

They sat for a minute, saying nothing. Pipit said, "What are you going to do next, now that I've wrecked your life?"

"Daniel and Karen have invited Amanda and me to come live with them."

"You're not . . ."

Emily laughed. "Oh, no! Amanda and Karen will play, and I'll be their guest while Amanda and I decide what to do with ourselves next. Daniel wants me to take a job in this tech startup he's invested in. Shows you how far they'll go to keep Amanda close."

"But still you should take it - jobs don't exactly grow on trees around here."

"I might." Emily's face became serious. "You once said you loved me," she said. "Are you . . ."

"Don't worry," said Pipit. She tried to smile, but it felt like a punch, so she gave it up. "I thought it was love, but it wasn't, was it? More like obsession, maybe. Anyway, I seem to have gotten over it now. You've got nothing to fear from me."

* * *

Languid after her orgasm, Emily wandered out of the tiny bedroom, leading her naked slave by the hand. She found Karen sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, watching a news program on a large screen embedded in the wall.

Karen said, "Mouche, dear, Why don't you get Emily some coffee. And get some for yourself while you're about it."

"Yes, Mistress," said Amanda, and set to work. She brought the coffees, settled herself on the floor, back against a cabinet, and watched Emily and Karen watch the news. When the program was done, Karen turned to Emily and said, "Frederick says he saw you at Mistress Ai's party."

"I tried to get him to fuck Pipit," said Emily, smiling.

"He says the last year has taught him a lot about love and relationships. He's a different man."

"I wonder how different," said Emily, thinking he looked the same - as hot as ever.

"You can find out for yourself," said Karen. "Daniel and I have invited him to dinner tomorrow night. We'll understand if you don't want to see him. If you like, we'll send you and Mouche out to a nice restaurant and a club afterwards. But if you stay and have dinner with us here, you'll make Frederick very happy."

Emily paused to assess her feelings. Something was heating up down below her breasts, and the skin of her bottom tingled with remembered pain.

"You don't need to send us out," she said. "I'll be happy to have dinner with Frederick."

* * *

Pipit forced herself to breathe deeply and regularly, holding panic at bay. She'd brought a hand towel to cover her eyes so she wouldn't see what the artist was doing. That and thinking about her lover had brought her almost the whole way through this ordeal. The pain of the needle was nothing.

And wouldn't it be beautiful? She knew Neko would love it - the bracelet of thin barbed wire, its points pricking the skin of her right wrist, making little wounds that bled and would never heal.

* * *

Andrew was getting quite good at making this particular sandwich - the Cuban, with slices of ham and pork, two kinds of cheese, and mustard. He admired the golden color of the buttered and toasted bread as he took the broiling pan from the oven and turned off the gas. This was an accomplishment to be proud of.

He used a spatula to move the sandwich from the broiling pan to a plate - you had to be careful with it till the melted cheese firmed up a bit. He got out a bag of Kettle Chips and put a handful on the plate, taking care to pile them attractively and not scatter them. He took a jar of pickles from the fridge, selected one, and sliced it several times lengthwise with a sharp knife. He fanned out the slices on the plate. He wiped the knife with a dishtowel and cut the sandwich in half.

He stood and admired his work for a moment. It looked good: he was happy. He took a tray from a cabinet and set the plate on it. He returned the pickle jar to the fridge, got out a bottle of Evil Twin Jesus, opened it, and set it on the tray. Finally he put a cloth napkin beside the plate. He carried the tray into the living room where, resplendent in black leather, she was watching an episode of Game of Thrones. He sank to his knees and silently offered her the tray.

When she'd taken it, he got on his hands and knees, sideways in front of her, ass towards the TV. He was naked except for the collar and cock cage. He kept his spine straight; a good table has to be flat. She set the tray on his back and picked up a chip. She took her time eating and drinking. It was a strain - he had to hold very still so as not to upset the beer - but he loved every second of it, knowing that she'd reward him for making a good lunch and being a good table. His cock was so hard it hurt a little in the cage, which was shaped and sized for flaccid cocks, not erect ones.

Just as the credits started to roll, she picked up the tray and said, "Take this to the kitchen and come right back."

He carried the tray to the kitchen and set it on the counter - there'd be time to wash the dishes later. He ran back to the living room, where he stopped in the doorway and stared. A thrill ran through him. She'd taken her pants off and was slouched on the sofa. The beauty of her big bush and ample hips and thighs took his breath away. His cock throbbed and his balls ached. He hadn't had an orgasm in two days, and he knew she'd torture him for hours, days, or maybe even weeks before she allowed him relief.

Gazing at him impassively, she raised her legs and pulled them up, hands behind her thighs, till her knees almost touched her shoulders.

She said, "Crawl the fuck over here, loser, and kiss Daddy's ass."