Echo of Redemption (8 page)

I nod, bending forward to inspect the piece. It is elaborate with metal cups in front. “This is different.”

“To catch the eyeballs as they are squeezed out of the sockets.”

“Ah, of course.” I shift my focus to three perfectly preserved Pear of Anguish. “These are very nice. Originals?”

“Yes. French.”

Pointing at each, I guess, “Vagina, anus, mouth?”

He smiles. “Very good. You’re an aficionado of the ancient art of torture as well?”

“To understand the past is to have better control of the outcome in the present.”

“Indeed.” He smiles and helps me amble deeper into his demented space where he has all manner of modern torture devices. He quips, “And this part of the dungeon is for my own pleasure.”

Delightful.

“Do you play?” he asks.

“Not really. Sadomasochism isn’t really my thing.”

We make a wide turn and he starts me walking back toward the medical room. I can’t say I’m not relieved, partly because I’m exhausted, but partly because the man is terrifying. He sounds truly disappointed when he says, “More’s the pity.”

“Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage which we did not take, towards the door we never opened…My words echo. Thus, in your mind.”

T. S. Eliot,
Four Quartets

Kitten

Life isn’t back to normal, but we’re following our routines, which is a small comfort. We went to the club last night and although it wasn’t a jam-packed madhouse, it was a much needed distraction from the fact Thomas is still
away
. As we drive back to the penthouse, dawn is breaking, another morning’s arrival without Thomas. I miss him.

He’s been gone little more than a week but it seems like a lifetime since I’ve seen him. If he was with us, he would be driving. I would be in Garrett’s lap. I might be half-asleep, lulled by the car’s motor and the contentment filling my soul, but I would be touching Garrett. Stroking him. Kissing him. Holding his hand. Why is it that with Thomas not here we can barely look at each other?

Garrett’s hands are almost white knuckled on the steering wheel and I wonder if I caused the tension? It could be anything but I’m betting it’s me. I’ve been sulky all evening, I can’t help it.

I reach out and touch the top of his leg, feeling him tense even more, but I don’t pull my hand away. I tease and stroke his inner thigh, following the crease in his slacks that allows me to also tease the bulge of his trapped balls. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t react positively or negatively to the attention and that is encouragement enough, especially since he didn’t come the last time we were together. I think he believes I didn’t notice, but I did.

I dip my hand lower, cupping his ball sac and squeezing lightly. A moment later he is shifting in his seat and I can follow the length of his erection with my fingers. The silky weave of his pants adds to the sensation, feeling good against my fingertips, it has to feel as good on the receiving end. I break the silence. “I want you, Master.”

“How do you want me?”

“Rough and dirty.” Until I said the words I didn’t even realize I was thinking it. Garrett and I don’t have that kind of relationship. Thomas and I do. I close my eyes, regretful and embarrassed. Wasn’t the failed attempt at a little rough kitty play enough to make me realize he just isn’t into me anymore?

He does a U-turn in the middle of the road, startling me, gravity pushing me hard against the door. He doesn’t apologize, and he doesn’t explain. He just drives and I keep my mouth shut.

“Anxiety is love’s greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.”

Anais Nin

Garrett

There comes a time in every young, new Dominant’s life when he realizes that the person he is isn’t enough to take the game that one step farther and that in order to survive the slightly off-kilter world he has entered into, a new identity must be forged. I experienced that day with Lord Fyre. Thankfully, he was experienced enough to see the change in my eyes and christened me Lord Ice.

We are the same, he and I, though as Dominants, we have distinctly different mastering styles. I know the dark places he mentally and physically takes Kitten to, because I have traveled those paths with him, and thus far I have refused to push her as far as I know she can go. Partly, it is because I cherish her so much I could not bear to lose her should the depth of my inner depravity disgust her. But more, the loss of Tony has given me a greater reverence for life. Kitten is so fragile, mentally, physically, spiritually…

Especially now that I know she is pregnant. Or maybe that is merely the way I see her, and Thomas sees her quite differently.

I know she clings to him tighter every time they dance the wire between safe and sane and whatever lies on that other side, and until I am willing to challenge her in the same ways, he is winning. I know…I shouldn’t see it that way. Our relationships are not a competition.

I want her to meet Lord Ice, the way I can be, the way I want to be with her but for some reason have held back. Now is not the time. Now is specifically the wrong time. She is pregnant after all, the proof of her expanding waistline more evident with each day. If anything happened to her baby because of me, I could never forgive myself…but that said. God. I want her.

She’d been naked in my lap most of the night, eating from my fingers, drinking from my mouth. Her changing body left me crazed, and my blood was already boiling nicely just from running my hands over new curves. Then as we readied to leave, she pulled on some clothes from the staff closet, a tight white oxford shirt and a short plaid skirt. She’s never done
schoolgirl
for me and doesn’t know how it affects me. I reach over and pop the top button of her shirt, my fingers lingering between cloth and skin a moment before undoing a second button. I like that her breath catches and she goes still, already anticipating. I take my hand away, glancing over to see the opened shirt reveals the slightest peek of bare breast. Her breath is shallow, and she is trembling. Her pleasure has started already with the smallest change in me. I imagine the anticipatory tingle speeding through her veins.

Rough and dirty
.
Her request would have sent Lewd Larry running, but Lord Ice stretched inside me and yawned…slightly bored, slightly intrigued…and as a result I race across town to the one place I know we can play awhile that might curb her desire for filth. I honestly don’t know that I can be rough and I am not out of control, far from it. If anything I am in supreme control of my every thought, my every action, but I will take her to the edge…

Freddie is the mechanic downtown who services my cars. I’ve done business with him long enough that I know exactly when he arrives for the day. Six a.m. I also know he won’t mind if I “rent” his space for an hour, asking him to disappear, maybe get a cup of coffee to afford me some privacy. I pull into a full-service auto repair garage and drive into one of the open bays. Before I even climb out of my seat, I see he is already elbow deep in an engine. He glances up to see who has entered and smiles when he sees me.

“Garrett Lawrence. It’s been awhile.”

I’m wearing my work clothes, a tux and silk shirt, but have no qualms about reaching out and shaking his grime covered hand. “Freddie Martinez. Still keeping crazy long hours and refusing to pay anyone to help you?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I’m a greedy S-O-B.”

“If you worked a crew, you could have five times the business.”

“And ten times the headaches.” He laughs but then seeing Celia in the front seat of my car asks, “So what brings you to my borough?”

“Let me use one of your pits for about an hour?”

He looks behind him at the engine he was working on, sucking his teeth as he contemplates if getting behind schedule is worth my good will. When his gaze collides again with mine, the look is one of greed.
So, okay, this one is gonna cost me.

“No blood.”

I laugh at his only concession and pat him on the back. “Go have some breakfast. I’ll take care of your place.”

Without regard for whether Freddie lingered or hurried away, I walk back to the car, stripping out of my jacket and rolling up my sleeves as I go. As I near Kitten’s door, she trembles visibly, and need speeds up my spine.
I’ve wanted this too.

I jerk open the door and grab her by her hair, pulling her out, at least until the buckle locks, holding her bound to the seat. She hurries to unlatch it, and as soon as I feel the belt’s tension release I pull harder, dragging her out by her auburn tresses. She stumbles but catches herself. I remember belatedly, she is wearing stilettos. “Lose the shoes before you break an ankle.”

She manages to hop on one foot, pulling off her shoe as I force her forward, my hand still wrapped in her hair. She repeats the action, dropping the second shoe, and is left barefoot. My eyes travel up her bare legs to the edge of her purple and black mini-kilt. She has the longest legs, and I allow my gaze to linger. I push her to the metal ladder that leads into an open pit. “Go.”

She does, I follow her down. The walls are lined aluminum cabinets and some mounted tools, the ground is grime and oil covered. The air is heavy with engine fumes.

Facing her across the pit, I watch her as she stands in the corner, wrapped in her own arms, looking none too impressed. I command, “Take off your clothes.”

Her lips part in a soft gasp and the sound is like lightning speeding through my veins.
God, what she does to me
.
She had to expect this, had to know this command was coming. She doesn’t argue, she starts unbuttoning her shirt and I notice her fingers are trembling. I wonder if she trembles for Thomas. It is an odd thought, one I wouldn’t normally have, but as I watch her slow moving fingers it is my only thought. He would cherish each prolonged motion, soaking in her nervousness and fear, reveling in it. I am a more anxious taskmaster and impatiently cross the small space to push her hands out of the way. Grabbing both sides of the shirt, I rip them apart, sending small white buttons flying. I jerk the shirt off and throw it onto the floor.

Made even more nervous, she covers her breasts with her arms and stands shaking.

“Take off your skirt.”

She fumbles with her zipper but manages to get the skirt off, leaving her standing completely naked in front of me. I smile. I was a very negligent Master, not realizing she was both braless and panty-less on the drive home. I must endeavor to be more observant.

“Lie down.”

She looks at the concrete floor with obvious revolt, but kneels, picking her spot carefully. It won’t matter. She finally stretches out on the cleanest section of floor available to her.

“Roll.”

I honestly don’t think she expected the command and it confounds me why she wouldn’t. Despite her doubts, she obeys, rolling onto her back.

“More. I want you to roll from one side of this pit to the other without stopping.” I step back to make room, trampling her white shirt as I do so. It is immediately and irreparably soiled.

She rolls, filth clinging to her with every movement. Her skin goes from pale white to grease and grime coated. When she reaches the far side, she looks at me.

“Stand up.”

Once I would have felt bad for leaving her so grime covered. Not other men or women, but her, for some reason putting her on a pedestal which didn’t allow for dirt in our relationship, but then I discovered her covered in mud from playing with Lord Fyre. We weren’t a ménage then. She’d gone behind my back and sought him out. The evidence was all over her body, inside her body. So much mud. A little grease seems minute in comparison.

I walk over to her and swipe my hand across her shoulder. My palm comes away soiled. “Dirty.” I draw a finger down her arm, leaving a white streak through the grime. “Girl.”

I step back and look at her, surveying the damage.

I leave her standing, shivering, though at this point I don’t think it is fear or anxiety, I think she is quite literally cold. I dip my fingers into a large barrel half-filled with reclaimed oil and they come out dripping black. I gesture her toward me. She hurries forward and it is evident in her eyes she knows what is going to happen, or at least what she thinks is going to happen. I stripe her face with the oil. “Not dirty enough.”

I pick her up, making her gasp with surprise, and lower her feet first into the barrel.

“Oh!”

I back away, leaving her standing in the glop. The sludge hits her in the middle of her thighs.

“How does that feel?”

“Disgusting. Master.”

“Do you feel dirty yet?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You aren’t nearly dirty enough. Scoop handfuls of oil over yourself. I want you to take a bath in that black sludge.”

She looks disturbed by the thought and makes a disgusted face as she dips her hands into the liquid, but she manages to cup enough grimy oil to splash onto herself.

My dick has been aching since we entered the pit. I regret taking off the schoolgirl uniform quite so early in the game, but I promised Freddie an hour. Watching her cover herself in black oil may be my undoing. She splashes the liquid onto her shoulder, then slides her hand down her arm, leaving black tracks. She covers her breasts, letting the oil roll down her flesh.

Her fingers linger over her stomach, and I think she is beginning to enjoy herself. She makes swirling patterns before cupping her breasts and squeezing them. She pushes the two orbs together and there are white lines between the black from where her fingers were a moment earlier.

“Your face.”

She dips her hands and manages to cover most of her face with a quick swipe from hairline to chin.

“Turn around.”

She shuffles in a tight circle, turning her back to me. I dip my own hand into the cool oil and splash up, covering her back and buttocks.