Dar as Ivory

One last content warning: They're closer now, but still play pretty rough. But I hope you liked their story. This one was a fun one! Let me know what you think and have fun :)

Tuesday

It took the entire ride to a parking garage but by the time he parked I was a little more coherent again. And it was mostly thanks to that hotter than hell sports car he had that I started coming back to reality. Otherwise I might have just stared at Flatline some more, like a fucking idiot. But when I saw his car, my eyes went wide. "Woah. Bitching ride. What made you decide on it?"

He grinned and then I was talking to him easily because I wasn't looking at him, instead distracted by the smooth as silk interior. His car was one of my favorite models for my own reasons but I wanted to hear his. And it was easy to talk about that because Flatline and I had enjoyed many conversations, both sexual and not. Distracted by something else to look at, it was easy to talk with him and as the conversation went on while we disagreed on engines and talked older cars and newer cars and sports models, it started to sink in that this was a man I knew. He had fucked me in perverse ways, cut me, made me fear for my life, kept me safe, lecherously licked my tears, castrated me from orgasms for days at a time, and always, always taken care of me with every game.

He took a second to kiss me in the parking garage, smiling again. "There's my Tuesday again. Come on, baby, let's go see a show."

"A show?" I trailed after him, my heels a little strange for me but not uncomfortable. He hadn't been cruel with those and they were small kitten heels. "What kind of show?"

He laughed at that. "Dearest Tuesday, you haven't broken my rule about questioning my games yet. Don't start now." He pulled me beside him, shaking his finger in a tsking motion. "No ruining my fun surprises."

I was smiling, still staring every now and again, and even more dangerously enamored than before. God, he was beautiful in a way that screamed sin, with that dark hair and the way his entire demeanor shouted warning and danger. It wasn't just his massive stature or his obvious muscle build. It was his gait, the way his eyes sharply noticed everything, the way he didn't ask any questions but seemed to know exactly what he was doing. And the way he glanced at me every now and again when he felt me watching...

Dear God. Even on a date and without the collar there was no way I could forget I was his sexual object to hurt and fuck at will. Even dressed like a princess, I was his slutty masochist of a princess, and any glance he gave me just underlined that fact in bold.

He guided me to a theater, covering my eyes with a flirtatious whisper in my ear, "Just a little longer." And I had to laugh at his insistence on his surprises but I'd never fight him with those. He only kept my eyes behind his palm while we walked through the door.

The place was gorgeous, but also currently had a strange vibe in the exotic sense of the word. Just like some of the people I saw were... slightly strange. A few of them anyway, the ones that stood out. Most everyone was actually pretty normal, but the attire was definitely formal. Flatline led us to a box overlooking an auditorium, making sure I couldn't see any kind of indicators as to what was going on. He was in high spirits too, tugging me along with a playfulness like the night he collared me and said he had to kill his private room coordinator.

Was that playfulness... wait. Was that Flatline's form of being nervous? It was way different than anyone else's brand of nervous if it was. He was so smooth and easy and of course to him there was nothing unusual about talking to me when he saw me all the time, most often naked.

"My God, you are unfair to look at." I watched him in our mostly private seating, glad for that privacy. It felt like a chance to breathe and take him in. He had buttoned his suit up and put on a tie, fixing it in his car mirror and it was a deep red one that matched me. To me, female formal attire had so much variety and men's seemed almost boring, but he for damn sure didn't make it look boring.

He laughed, talking with me softly in our seats, his arm easily around my shoulder. And I realized that almost naturally I was leaned into him, my body aligned towards his to speak to him. It was all totally feeling based but so subconscious too, a side effect of having felt him while blind for so long. "If you'd look in the mirror a little more often, you'd realize that you are too."

Amazing. My belly tossed with butterflies. He didn't apologize for looking gorgeous and didn't deny it, but I knew he wasn't a narcissist either. My God, he'd been dating me without even using his good looks so he obviously didn't need to delude himself about it. He was just confident, in a way that made me remember three goddamned days of his edging torture. "That might be true." But I laughed. "But I like my sleep a lot too, so I end up rushing past the mirror. Also I can't see hair colors when I try them and end up with tiger stripes."

"Dear lord, you tried to dye it yourself? You are not one to let a physical setback stop you from adventure at all, are you?"

He was smiling in a way that made me smile, a way that made me love my impulsive antics. Some people I'd tried to date before I knew myself well enough had always treated that recklessness like a failing, but not Flatline. He approved and it was clear that he did. Of course he might have been biased since that same behavior led me to date him. "Not at all. I could give a little more effort in something like styling though, it's true. I don't even have a color excuse for that."

He stroked a stray hair behind my ear gently. "Oh, I don't know. I have dreams of those French braids you wear like a little Million Dollar Baby and that Osgood hockey jersey with nothing else beneath it while you serve me scotch or coffee."

I laughed. "I started buying his jerseys after the octopus thing because he really was bloody brilliant. Okay, what's your favorite cookie?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Favorite cookie? Peanut butter chocolate chip, I suppose."

He would choose a difficult bloody cookie. I jumped when the lights went down, catching a glimpse of the wicked little smile on his face before it was dark and the stage was lit. I buried my face in his shoulder, blushing but delighted, when the introduction said the phrase "annual burlesque show". He nudged me, his whisper insistent. "Really? I release you from months of blindness and you hide your face? Not on your life, Tuesday."

I grinned and turned back to watch what he wanted me to, knowing it was to tease me all the more. When he got a chance he disappeared for a moment and came back with two small glasses. "Tell me, have you ever had absinthe?" Sparks danced in his eyes, sadistic sparks, and I shook my head.

He lifted a glass to my lips and I obediently drank. It hit my tongue like licorice flavored fire and my eyes went wide with delight. Much like any other intense sensation, it killed any hope of taste for the rest of the night. He fed me both small glasses after that and the night seemed to grow more and more magical with every sip.

————

He had a penthouse suite - but what else would he have - and after our foray of high class, jazzy sex fun - my bad, the proper word is obviously sensual - that's where he took me, taking me up an elevator and laughing at the ridiculous shit I was spouting off about why transexuals had never been a fetish of mine. Maybe it was the absinthe, maybe it was that my body was starting to catch up with my eyes and I was getting used to the beautiful sight of him. I wasn't sure but after watching a burlesque show with him, it was impossible to not feel amped with the sex he had injected me with over the past three days.

He closed the door and turned to me with a predator's look, taking off his jacket and tie and throwing them over a chair while his eyes stayed on mine, his smile wicked. It reminded me of the absinthe all over again and I shivered, horny and eager. "Now it's your turn."

"My turn?"

He winked and lifted a remote until music played throughout his wide living room. But his music wasn't jazzy, no. It was edgy and dark, industrial rock that pulsed both sex and violence. "Your turn to tease me, baby." He lifted the dress over my head, his hands stroking down my sides, his gaze hot when it moved over the sheer bra. I turned with his motions when he manipulated me and my body was forced into a dancing rhythm to the beat from his surround sound, but it was a kind of dancing rhythm that brushed my ass against his cock and I moaned, feeling the length as hard as it was. My body took over from there, arching erotically in his arms because fuck, was I riled up to insanity. It was so easy to tease him like the slut he obviously wanted when I felt so slutty and needy. "More," I moaned when he pulled away.

He chuckled and came back, but he didn't grind his cock against me again. Instead I felt my collar at my neck and he clasped it and locked it, having already removed the necklace to place back in its beautiful box. It was mine, he'd said, but I asked him to hold onto it because he could match it while I couldn't and I was terrified of having something like that, terrified of hurting it. "Such a horny fucking girl you are. But I want a nice tease for me and my little slave serves, isn't that right?"

"Yes, master." I practically purred those words while he pulled me to the middle of the room where a chair was and sat down. If it were anyone else I would feel stupid and find a reason to stop. But I didn't dare stop with Flatline, didn't dare rebel anything he demanded. I was eager and hot all over, my pussy alive with need, and it was impossible to not feel like a sex object. And then the last reason I couldn't feel stupid like this?

Flatline never let me have control, never let me take any reins, and he didn't start with this. Like with everything else, he took over and he didn't ask. He just did, taking of my body as he willed. His hands moved me to the rhythm and he purposefully arched up so that I felt his cock brush me, which made me whine and grind and tease him as he wanted. When he wanted me bent forward he reached up to stroke over my tits in the bra. I moaned with greed and arched to his touch while he spoke, low and encouraging and fucking filthy. "That's it. Be a horny little whore for me. My little set of holes to use as I want."

When he turned me to face him I was insane for him, actually out of my mind. I couldn't think past the pure need that screamed in me and now that I could see his eyes, had permission to look on his face? I moaned and straddled him like he guided me to, my ass lifted like an animal in heat. I arched the way he wanted and, oh yes, I teased. I licked my tongue across his lips while he growled, his eyes holding me captive. He raised me higher, his gaze traveling down my body with hunger in it, until my pussy was right at his face, the rhythm shaking me. His nose skimmed my sex so that I cried out, breaking. "Please! Please!"

He snarled and undid his suit pants beneath me, pulling them down even while he impatiently pulled my thong off, leaving me in the garter and heels. And he switched up from the chair to his couch, throwing me back onto it, sideways, while he crawled over me. One hand locked over my wrists on the armrest and held them still while the other stroked up my back first and then reached down to guide himself inside of me.

His cock head against my slit made me arch with cries of desperation. I writhed upward, a wild thing in heat, and I thought that after his cruel edging and the show and the absinthe and the pure sexual sensation of getting to see his face and my God, dancing for him? I thought I might have attacked him. As it was my hands made clawing motions in his grasp and my body fought his, but not to get away.

He laughed above me. "Aw, look, you're like a little cat caught by the scruff of its neck. Are you my horny little pussy, baby?"

I moaned up at him, arching for him, and I was in pain. Actual pain. Everything hurt with anticipating need. "Yes, master, I'm your horny little pussy!" I would agree to anything, do anything he asked, for his cock.

And he knew it. He held still above me, his eyes watching in greedy pleasure at my mindless agony from his build. "You seem to want some cock. And yet..." He mock sighed. "I haven't even hurt you yet. Let's make a deal then." I moaned in fear and dread because I was going to bow to whatever it was and regret it later. I was too far gone to think past anything but the burning need. "I'll be a kind master and give you this orgasm for free, but each successive one is going to cost you a compounding interest of pain. And needless to say, I'll be deciding how many you pay me for."

"Yes! Yes, master!"

He laughed above me. "You're going to regret that, horny little slut. By the end of the night, you'll wonder why you didn't beg for weeks more of denial and edging instead."

I shivered at the deliciously ominous words and stared up into his eyes as they glinted with twisted deviancy at seeing me brought low, to this point where I would have agreed to anything, absolutely anything. He might as well have been a god-king of my world right then. And I did agree.

He watched me struggle for one more minute and then grinned evilly, thrusting inside of me so abruptly I squealed with the sudden feeling of being impaled on his massive size. But I ignored the pain and thrust up against him. It took two strokes and I howled with release while he grunted, my pussy constricting and milking his cock with my hunger.

And then came what he'd promised. The pain. He stopped his thrusts to bend down and bite my nipples between his teeth until I keened under my breath, hissing from the way he continuously worried the peaks. He alternated back and forth in a circuit until they were sore and then he still kept going until I wished it were the clover clamps instead. But then his next thrusts were bliss that sent me spiraling again. I tried to make it last as long as it could, whimpering in fear even when I finished, knowing that the next pain would be worse and now I was able to think clearly and realize that he was going to make this go for a long, long time. It was a special night, our first real date, and he'd shown me his face.

This was going to be torture.

————

I woke up in his bed the next morning with a moan and he actually had to wake me up. He was as bad as his word, putting me through orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. The last one had been so expensive that he'd had to cock gag me to muffle my shrieks while he caned candle wax off my pussy and tits, pierced my breasts through with needles again, and all while a spreader bar held me open. The spreader wouldn't have been so bad, except he had placed it on me hours before and held me at the widest setting in his bed. After so long it hurt, a continuous discomfort that quickly went to pain. From the orgasms leading up to that? My ass was bruised and my shoulders had markings from a short stock whip while my thighs had taken the tawse. He would torture me and then deliberately hold me down for a wand vibrator while he said, "Time to cum for me, baby, so you'll owe me more pain for the next one." And I dreaded the orgasm build. I started to fight them for fear of what followed, but he was relentless and a sexual god and I always ended up crying out in bliss. And then instantly sobbing in terror when he grinned wolfishly.

He shook me awake a second time and I moaned again, never wanting to move from his bed. It was the black sheets and covers I had seen in his photos and my God, it was more comfy than anything I'd ever felt. Fuck me, but I was willing to even try the continuation of a relationship for the hope to one day sleep with him in that bed. His sheets were like Egyptian cotton or something I didn't indulge myself in because I once upon a time thought it would be dumb. But laying in it with my body throbbing all over from his torture and sex spree made me seriously reconsider what had been missing from my life.

He chuckled. "I would be a very bad master if I let you continue sleeping, lovely. You have a few extra things to do this morning, little Tuesday."

Goddamnit. He was right. I had a fucking life and bullshit. I opened my eyes to see him standing above me and he smiled in approval when I nodded up to him unwillingly. "Grr."

He laughed and took my hand. "Come on. Shower is this way and I have clothes for you. I can spend some of the morning with you, too, and keep you company."

No. Fucking. Way. How perfect was he? He wasn't going to do it. No one was kind enough to do that after a sex spree when they could stay in that heaven of a bed.

He fucking did it. He drove to work with me and helped me open the store. He'd even given me a gamer shirt and jeans, which made me cringe to put on over the marks he'd left all over me. And oh God, the marks were torture through the day, a constant source of arousal.

He even hummed. In the morning. He hummed. I didn't know what to do with him. What, he just woke up with all that sexual energy he continuously had with me? How? I mean, granted, I had the sexual part too because I was a horny fucking slut, but the energy? No, that took coffee. Which I made as soon as I was in the store.

With the coffee came my mental ability. "Master?"

He looked up from one of the tables where he looked out of place going through Magic cards. "Yes, lovely?"

"Does this mean... um, is the routine going to change? You know, how you call and tell me what to do and all that?"

He smiled. "Oh, it will, but I think you'll enjoy the changes. Just keep telling me your schedules and following my lead. I'm sure you'll do just fine, my little relationship phobic sub. In the meantime, how do you play this?"

I laughed, but it gave us something to do so I set across from him with some of my decks and showed him, going through the rules and how each card changed those rules. Flatline was a delight to show games to, I soon discovered, and he adored anything with strategy. It wasn't an accident that he had beaten me at chess that one night. He was good. I let him look through all of my Magic decks, both current and past expansions, to see how they worked.

"Mine mostly suck or are beginning learners' decks because I sell the truly rare cards from my packs. If it's a lotus or anything else coveted, I'm not keeping it when it pays for the pack I opened multiple times over."

He laughed. "Ah, the decision between being a gamer or a businesswoman."

"Business wins for me," I answered easily.

I stood up when I saw one of my regulars, glancing back at Flatline when he looked thoughtfully at the door to watch the man pause and then leave. Which didn't shock me. He was a strange one, not that I could judge that at all. He was overly shy. Usually nice enough, always polite, but he didn't stay around when other people were around sometimes.

He would either call or come back later, though, because for some reason he got along well enough with me.

I went and sat back across from Flatline, who studied me. "That's who saw us that one night."

"Him? Are you sure? Don't answer that. Dumbest question I ever asked. Of course you're sure. It's just weird. I've never had him come in at night before. It's too busy then and he's too introverted."

He smiled at my monologue, chuckling when I instantly struck doubt from him. "I'm just telling you. Be careful for me, little Tuesday. I'm becoming a bit fond of having my own personal torture toy, so if you have problems, you are still to come to me. If you end up in danger and I find out it's some fault of your own, I'll have to introduce you to some real punishment, baby."