My heart is still pounding as I sip at the cool bottle of water. That scene had been…
Fuck. The way she had cried for him?
It had been fucking perfect, everything Xavier has ever wanted in a play partner.
She knew she could use her safe word. But she never did. It’s like the word disappeared from her vocabulary the moment she agreed to use it.
Now, she hangs from the cross, head tipped forward, hair a cascading, sweaty mess all over the place, with Xavier kneeling behind her, carefully using a scalpel to leave a mark that, if I didn’t trust him implicitly, I wouldn’t be letting him do.
I’m here as her safety and to stop him from going too far. Being able to add to the scene was just a bonus. However, like a few of my marks will leave non-permanent blemishes, I know the one he is leaving her with right now will outlast the ones on her back and inner thighs, but it won’t leave a permanent scar.
The crying lady tattoo on his shoulder ripples with his movements as he runs the scalpel over Emery’s ass cheek. He’s been at it for a couple of minutes. The scalpel came from a vacuum-sealed, sterilized bag, and he is wearing black latex gloves.
Every other cut on her skin was minor, baring the ones near her pussy. Those are going to need antiseptic cream and a promise from her that, if she starts to feel any discomfort, she will contact us, as well as book an appointment with a doctor. Same will go for the mark on her ass cheek.
He finally stands and takes a step back so that I can finally see what he’s been doing. And there it is. One word.
Mine.
The fucker carved mine into her skin, deeply enough that blood was bubbling along every line.
“Seriously?” I queried, a touch of mild annoyance, mixed with a large dose of exasperation. “You couldn’t have written ours?”
He throws a smirk my way before dropping the scalpel into the metal bowl and peeling off the gloves.
I’d watched everything from my hiding place behind the curtains.
Her confusion.
Her clear fear that we had abandoned her.
Her mischievousness as she’d realized she could explore without repercussions. Not that we would have stopped her if we’d been here. Quite the opposite, actually. I know I want to spend more time with her, teaching and explaining about all my kinks and desires. I’m certain Hudson and Darcy want the same.
Then the outright terror that had briefly flickered across her features as Xavier had pressed the blade to her throat. The tension in her body had eased, as soon as she’d realized who was holding her hostage, but even then, she’d held herself in check, clearly not fully trusting of the situation she was in.
Picking up the bottle of water I’d brought over for him, I lean forward and tap it against his bicep. Xavier glances down and accepts the bottle before taking several steps backward and leaning against the dresser with me.
“How was it for you?” I ask, ignoring that my chest tightens as I ask. It’s not only Emery who has to be happy with a scene for this thing to work out with all of us.
“I’m keeping her,” he states, twisting off the cap and taking a sip.
It physically hurts not to roll my eyes at him. “Well, clearly, with how you have claimed her.” I gesture at her ass. “But how was it? Did it feel right?”
He flicks a look my way, and I have to work incredibly hard to keep my face neutral.
Xavier knows what we all want. We came dangerously close to asking Emery for more before his scene, which wouldn’t have been fair to anyone.
“Yes.”
That’s all he gives me. But it’s enough. It’s all we need to move this thing forward.
“Excellent, I’ll send Darcy and Hudson a message to bring an extended contract with them when they return.”
Xavier grunts. “No need. Already done.”
I glare at him but don’t bother saying anything about it. “We should start aftercare.”
He grunts again. “Need a few more minutes.”
Inhaling, I try to thrust the daddy in me down a little. Her shoulders must be screaming by now and probably filled with pins and needles.
Xavier heads over to his bag, which we all lovingly refer to as his “torture kit” and pulls out another, much bulkier, case that I’ve only seen a few times. He places the hard plastic briefcase-style case next to the bowl and unclips the latches before opening it to reveal his camera.
He fiddles with it for several moments before turning and facing Emery. The lines on her are still a fiery red, however the rest of the skin is also pink. The few streaks of blood along her back have mixed with sweat, the watery color meshing with the few purple stripes that remain from my scene with her yesterday.
I trace my eyes down her back, over her ass, to the trickles of cum that slide down her thighs. There is the faintest hint of smeared, dried blood beneath the semen.
Xavier gets up close and personal, taking photos from every angle and distance. By the time he is done, he has taken several dozen images, and I have a feeling that the one with her inscribed ass check, cum trickling out of her entrance, and blood on her thighs is going to make it into a printed piece that hangs in his house.
My cock twitches at the thought. I may need to put in an order for one of those, myself.
When he lowers his camera, I straighten. “Now?”
He grunts and nods.
As he puts the camera down, I immediately start work on the cuff around her thigh. I support the limb and unhook the chain from the upper support and slowly lower her leg to the ground, then make quick work of getting the Velcro undone. Her wrists are red, especially around the darker marks that were clearly a spot where a knot had sat during Darcy’s scene.
I frown at the sight. Those will all need to be checked.
With that decision made, I wrap my arms around her and gently lift.
Emery lets out a tortured noise, and I imagine that the sudden reduction in stress on her joints is simultaneously painful and wonderful.
Xavier joins me and works on all the other restraints. Once we have her free, he bends and scoops her up into his arms, bridal style, and carries her over to the padded medical table. It’s supposed to be used for scenes, but we chose it for the first phase of Emery’s aftercare.
I help him turn her so that she is lying face down, head supported by a pillow and turned to the side. When we have her settled, we both start the process of rubbing feeling back into her arms.
We work each significant portion of the limb. My concern for her discomfort shoots up when I feel how cold her fingers are, but after only a few minutes of massage and rubbing, they begin to warm under my ministrations.
Every now and then, she twitches or makes a noise that sounds just the slightest bit pained, which is both good and bad. Good, because it means normal sensation is returning. Bad, because all my instincts are screaming to make the pain go away for her.
After I have worked her shoulder and lowered her arm back down to the table, I look to Xavier to see if he still requires help or if I should go prep the shower.
We want to get her under warm water to rinse her clean so that Xavier can apply all the necessary precautions to her cuts. It would ruin him if she experienced any issues, long-lasting or otherwise.
For as long as I have known him, he has been an apt student in his kink, never once thinking himself too knowledgeable to learn from another master. In the time that we have been friends, I’ve seen him take lessons from paramedic submissives and receive formal lessons on piercings and tattoos, among other things.
Xavier gives me the nod to proceed, and I leave the two alone as he starts to massage her hips and outer thighs. I’m only gone long enough to get the water running and the shower steamy, but when I return, Xavier has removed the blindfold and Emery’s eyes are open, if unseeing.
Her eyes are red and her cheeks are tear stained.
I brush hair away from her cheek, but all she does is blink.
Unable to help myself, I lean down and press a kiss to her temple as my excitement builds. I still can’t get over how deep she falls into subspace.
It’s fucking beautiful.
Straightening, I turn and face Xavier. “Are you carrying her, or am I?”
He answers non-verbally by gently rolling her over and picking her up again.
I watch as he walks away with her, my throat tight with hope and worry. With the four of us ready to offer her a much longer-term extension, all that is left to do is convince her to sign on the dotted line.
Hopefully, it is as simple as that.
