Tucked into the back of the taxi, Isabella waits on pins and needles, her lower lip between her teeth.
“He knows all about you.”
“About us,” I amend. “He knows that you’re my collared sub and my girlfriend, and he knows we’re playing tonight.”
“Oh my God! I get to meet my Master’s Master!” She’s definitely anxious, but I’d say her overriding emotion is clearly exhilaration.
Calmly, I push ahead. “He has agreed to my guidelines. Marcus will not address you directly, nor will he touch you. Do you understand?”
“Marcus,” she repeats the unfamiliar name. “Yes.”
“You will address him as ‘Sir’ and you will address me as ‘Mr. Cullen’ once we get inside. Is that understood?”
“You will follow my commands without wavering, and you will trust me without hesitation.”
“Your safeword for tonight is ‘radish’. Just blurt it out or use it in a sentence; I don’t care. I promise to stop immediately and check in with you privately. Got it?”
“Yes. Radish,” she repeats, as we pull up to the distinctive striped awning.
“Here we go, princess,” I say to my beautiful, nervous girl, slipping my wallet back into my pocket before offering her my hand up onto the sidewalk.
She takes a deep shuddering breath and runs an anxious hand through her hair. She subconsciously adjusts her bracelet, running the tip of her finger over the field of black sapphires. I revel in the private knowledge that only the two of us share: only the briefest, most elegant lingerie supports her breasts and her vertical stripe fishnet stockings.
No, there’s no doubt that she belongs to me exclusively, and I itch with anticipation to show her off tonight.
“Mr. Cullen” laces his fingers through mine as the heavy doors open before us. He strides confidently inside, and I attempt to match his enthusiasm, though I am a bundle of jangly nerves. I know how much this Marcus means to my Master, and I ache to make him proud of me.
“Cullen for three,” he informs the hostess, who smiles brilliantly and says, “Yes, sir, your party is at the bar. Just let me know when you’re ready to be seated. We’ve reserved the corner table for you.”
Corner table…? Eeeep! Don’t think, Bella.
Master takes off with a half-skip and pulls me along toward the impressive hunk of beefcake setting down his highball glass and turning our direction. I finally put a face and body to the fantasies. So this is the man.
Late fifties, I’d judge, impressive head of dark hair offset by a distinguished smattering of silver at the temples, deep oceans for eyes, Marcus might’ve stepped out of the pages of Esquire in his grey silk turtleneck and slim-fitting black wool jacket. His eyes crinkle at the corners as his lips curl upwards into a genuinely delighted smile—the smile of a proud teacher toward his successful protégé.
“Edward,” he says, his deep voice oozing warmth and joy. Master steps into his open arms, not letting go of my hand. Marcus manages to take Master into his embrace, and the two exchange boisterous back slaps.
“Damn, Edward, you are looking good. Did you come here to tease an old man?”
Master chuckles at what seems to be familiar ribbing. “You’re not looking too bad yourself, gramps. But no, I came here to show off my girl. Marcus, meet Isabella.”
Suddenly, all four eyes are on me.
“Very nice to meet you, Sir.”
I watch nervously as the appraising gaze of Master’s guru ticks slowly down my body. I feel every bit the prize livestock vying for the blue ribbon at the county fair. When he gets down to the four-inch heels of my leather boots, he whistles and turns to Master. Clapping him on the shoulder, Marcus says, “Wow. You were not exaggerating. She is spectacular.”
Master turns proudly to me, and I remind myself that Marcus will not address me directly. This is going to take some getting used to.
“Wait till you see her in action,” Master winks, sending a cold shiver down my spine.
“Can I buy you two a drink?” Marcus offers.
“Sure, one drink will be okay,” Master answers smoothly. “Dirty martini for my dirty girl, and I’ll have a Grey Goose, straight up, lime twist.”
Marcus engages the bartender and Master pulls me in for a kiss. He moves his mouth to my ear and whispers, “I told you he’d love you, baby.”
I’m the toy he’s brought to school for his turn at Show-and-Tell. Question is, how much will be shown and told?
“Right this way, sir,” the hostess leads us through the cavernous restaurant. After passing through the main dining room, we find ourselves in a slightly smaller side room, with maybe twelve tables, all filled with animated diners.
“Miss?” the hostess addresses Isabella, sliding out one of the heavy upholstered chairs. She begins to sit, when I interject, “No, the lady will sit right here.”
“Of course, sir,” says the hostess deferentially. Isabella moves into the chair I’ve selected facing the corner and I push her in.
“You’ll have fewer distractions this way,” I announce, bringing a bright pink glow to her cheeks. Marcus sits to her left and I sit to her right, arranged so both of us can closely monitor the room.
Just as the hostess begins to offer the opened tri-fold menu for Isabella, I abruptly interrupt.
“She doesn’t need that.” The now befuddled hostess promptly draws the heavy leather folio back and looks at Isabella with mild concern. Isabella smiles sweetly. The hostess mumbles, “Your server will be over shortly,” and hastens to turn tail and leave.
“No collar?” Marcus observes.
“Show him your bracelet, sweetheart.”
Isabella places her wrist on the table. Marcus looks, but he doesn’t touch. A broad grin seeps across his features. “You always were a classy guy, Edward.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all your former trainees.”
Marcus chuckles. “Hell no, I do not. The kid I’m working with right now has one of the foulest mouths I’ve ever heard. Practically sprained my wrist working that one’s back side last week!”
Isabella’s eyes widen and I chuckle softly into my napkin before spreading it over my lap. The server makes his appearance, drops off the bread basket with a trio of dipping sauces, and rattles off the night’s specials. Isabella perks up when braised lamb shanks are mentioned.
“Can I get you another round of drinks here?”
“Marcus?” I inquire.
“No, I’m good.”
“We’re all good,” I respond for Isabella and myself, dismissing the server.
“You know, Edward, there are plenty of excellent training techniques to combat that slouch.”
I sense Isabella straightening in her seat. No doubt she’s blushing furiously as well. “It’s been a challenge. I’m considering a bondage sleeve at this point.”
Marcus splits apart a warm roll and dips the edge into the seasoned oil. “If it’s a persistent problem, there are more effective methods.” Marcus gets that self-satisfied grin, and his eyes contain a question mark. How far do you want me to take this?
I regard my submissive girl, who is now putting forth her best posture for us; shoulders back, tits forward, chin high.
I offer, “She’s not fond of the correction, are you, princess? Why don’t you tell Marcus how I like to reinforce good posture?”
She hesitates for just the briefest moment. “He lifts my hands to the back of my neck and spreads my elbows wide apart.”
“And?” I prompt.
“Mr. Cullen ties my elbows back with rope so that I don’t forget myself again.”
“Hmm,” Marcus replies. “If I wanted to extinguish the behavior, I’d opt for an instant feedback loop. I assume nipple clamps are an option?”
“Of course,” I answer quickly, flashing a knowing grin at Isabella, whose fresh embarrassment causes an awakening inside my boxers.
“Good, then this is an easy fix,” Marcus continues, pulling out a pen and a business card from his inside jacket pocket. He draws a diagram of a complicated rig with clamps and spreader bars and thin wire. I watch the evil genius at work, eager as ever to learn from my old Master.
Watch this, he scrawls next to the picture, before handing me the card.
“Once you get her properly trussed up, one hunch of the shoulders ought to fix her. If she’s particularly stubborn, it might take two.”
I sneak a peek at Isabella’s heated response and shake my head in awe. “Instructive as ever.” I break off the tip of a breadstick and pop it into my mouth. “Mmm, salty. Here, sweetheart. You’ll like this.” She opens her mouth obediently. I push the end of the breadstick in and let go, leaving her one beat longer than comfortable with the thin protrusion coming from her mouth.
“You can use your hands.” She gratefully pulls the food from her mouth and reaches for her water glass.
“Sweetheart,” I direct her, easily loud enough for him to hear, “tell Marcus what you’re wearing under your clothes.
She flushes but turns to him and answers, “A bra and garter belt, Sir.”
“Hmmm,” Marcus addresses me. “I thought this one was a writer.”
From the look of mortification on her face, she seems to be wondering if I’ve actually shown Marcus her stories. “Isabella, help our friend visualize exactly what’s going on below the silk and leather.”
She blushes deeper as I knew she would. “Sir, I’m wearing a lace bra the color of ripe cherries and a floral garter belt to match. My fishnet stockings are held up by four sets of crystal clips with red elastic bands.”
He smiles at her but addresses me, “Well that certainly sounds promising. She’s not wearing any panties then?”
“Not a stitch. And… she’s about to spread her legs for me.”
Master has just given me a direct order, and he turns to watch me obey, though there’s nothing much to see above the line of the table, other than the fact that my cheeks are practically on fire at this point.
Thankfully, the white tablecloth reaches to the floor, and I’m realizing this was no accident. There must be a special Zagat Restaurant Guide For Doms with ratings on a scale only they could appreciate. Service: wait staff to provide additional humiliation; décor: privacy of under-table areas; food: ample selection of mouthwatering dishes to deny your submissive.
“You don’t need to check?” Marcus queries.
“Oh no. Isabella never fails to spread her legs. Tell Marcus why, sweetheart.”
Hesitation will get me nowhere good. “It shows Mr. Cullen I’m eager for him.”
Marcus smirks and nods approvingly to Master.
“Thirsty, sweetheart?” Master’s comment might sound like a question, but the three of us are crystal clear on the command. I lift my water glass, consoling myself he’s not necessarily going “there.” Most likely, he’s just looking to counter the dehydrating effects of the drink I guzzled at the bar.
Not that I could be sitting here calmly between these two sexual dynamos with such a charged past without the slightly slackened inhibitions of said guzzled drink.
I know it’s wrong on so many levels…I know I shouldn’t…and if only Master would divulge even a snippet of his time spent learning at Marcus’s boots, I wouldn’t have to create my own vivid fantasies starring my very own, gloriously naked, blindfolded, perfectly aroused, helplessly chained Master down on his knees, with this intimidating man demanding—
“Princess, my napkin?”
Oh, crap. I’ve floated and missed Master’s cue.
“Sorry, M—Mr. Cullen,” I say, hastily jumping out of my chair and retrieving his napkin for him, squeezing my thighs together tightly as I bend my knees so as not to flash the entire side of the restaurant. Instead of taking it from me, he lifts his hands out of the way and I refold the rectangle and slide it onto his lap. Seconds later, Marcus “drops” his napkin to the floor and regards Master expectantly.
Oh my God. I’m the ball girl!
I jump from my perch and retrieve Marcus’s napkin. I feel his eyes on me, and for all my thigh clenching, I am wet. Servicing another man for Master, even in this relatively innocent manner, feels foreign and exciting. Without the physical barrier offered by the chat room, I’m trusting even more heavily in Master’s command of the situation and Marcus’s integrity.
Following protocol, I replace Marcus’s napkin without touching him.
“So, as I was saying…” Master begins, then slides his elbow along the table, “accidentally” knocking his spoon to the floor. “Oh, darn.”
I scurry from my seat around to his right side and pick up the spoon.
“Knee,” Master commands on my way down, forcing me to remain on one knee at his side, where Marcus would be unable to share the view. My skirt is a useless band of material stretched too far up my leg to cover the wide opening between my legs. Master leers appreciatively for a few beats before helping me up.
I hate the idea of returning this dirty spoon to Master’s place, so I slip it next to my plate and give him my own.
“Nice,” Marcus comments. “What happens when she runs out of silverware?” He pushes his fork off and I trade him for mine. I’m practically out of breath when the server comes back to take our order.
“And what can I get for the lady?”
“She’ll have the lamb shanks,” Master interjects.
Our server regards me briefly before recording the order. “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the Porterhouse, medium rare, and we’ll need two more place settings. I apologize. She’s quite clumsy.”
Marcus stifles a laugh, then places his order. The server seems relieved to be done with us, but Master calls him back. “More water for the lady, please.”
“Isabella, remind me, what color was that last stoplight we saw on the way here?”
“Green, Mr. Cullen,” I answer immediately. Green, yes-and-more-please, green, please-don’t-stop, green!
If she’d hesitated for even a second before saying green, I’d have saved this for another day.
“You know, Marcus,” I exaggerate waving my fork, “I was just thinking…” and my hands disappear under the tablecloth.
I don’t love exposing myself to the harsh teeth of my zipper, but the prize is worth it. Readied for her, I place the fork delicately between my legs. I don’t want her to miss what I’ve got waiting for her, but I also don’t want to impale myself on the sharp tines.
“Shoot. I just cannot seem to hold onto my utensils today.” I shrug pointedly at Isabella, and she slips dutifully below the table. I hold myself out to her, the signal unmistakable. Isabella does not disappoint, or even hesitate. I can’t help my smug grin as she latches on to me. I run my fingers tenderly through her hair, another message she is sure to receive: Beautifully done and thank you most kindly, princess.
“Jesus,” Marcus whispers incredulously, leaning across the table, “Is she blowing you?”
“God, what a pervert you are.”
I have to laugh. “Look who’s talking.”
Impatient with my proprietary behavior, he barks out, “Get her back up here.” He wouldn’t be saying that if her lips were sealed around his cock. Spoiled sport.
“Fuck, you used to be way more fun.” I hook my thumb into Isabella’s mouth and she returns to her chair while I stuff my engorged cock painfully back into place.
“Moving on…” Marcus says, shaking his head at my antics. “Tell me, Edward, what’s been your biggest challenge?”
I regard Isabella’s flushed, fresh-off-my-cock face and she seems curious but not anxious over what I might reveal. Perfect.
“Look at her, Marcus. Sometimes, I just get carried away.”
Isabella smiles gloriously at me.
Marcus shakes his head and chuckles, “Control was never really your best thing, my friend.”
Isabella coughs suddenly and I give Marcus an accusatory stare. “Now look what you’ve done. Here, sweetie, finish your water.” This will be her third glass and she’ll be getting fairly desperate very soon. Because I’m an evil bastard, I slip my full glass next to her plate while she finishes the one in her hand.
She must be thinking anything but gracious thoughts, but she very sweetly thanks Mr. Cullen.
Our food arrives, and I slice into my steak and place the juicy meat onto my tongue. The earthy aroma of the lamb tempts her, but she knows full well to wait for my signal before lifting her fork.
“After you finish that water, you may eat.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cullen,” she forces out with a smile. I notice it takes her a little longer to get this one down, and if I were to look carefully, I could probably make out the water level rising behind her eyeballs.
Marcus chuckles and shakes his head. “So cruel.”
“Learned from the Master,” I retort proudly.
“So what would you say is her best quality?”
“Easy,” I answer him. “She is the most eager beaver one could ever hope to collar.”
He elaborates. Awesome.
“I’m telling you, Marcus, this girl is ready, 24/7. I can wake her from a sound sleep and she’s dripping for me.”
“How nice for you.” Marcus grins. “I believe you know my stance on dry pussies and flaccid cocks.”
“Yes, I recall,” Master answers darkly, rolling a large piece of meat into his mouth.
Oh my God. I feel as though I’ve entered an alternate universe. Seriously, the room is starting to spin. Sure, that might be all the water I’ve consumed on top of my cocktail. But more likely, it’s the domfest taking place at this table, with me the token submissive.
Master turns to me. “Isabella.” Holy hell, it’s showtime.
“Yes, Mr. Cullen?”
“You’re wet right now, am I right?”
“Of course, Mr. Cullen.” And now, wetter still, thank you so very much.
“Ask Marcus if he’d like to see evidence.”
I turn to Marcus, who’s watching me expectantly. “Sir, may I please show you that I’m eager for Mr. Cullen?”
“Day-ummm, Edward! You finally found a girl with a vocabulary!”
“Told ya,” Master answers with a proud nod.
“Yes,” Marcus replies casually, as if he hasn’t just virtually dragged his fingers through my otherwise private parts. “I’d love to see that.”
The two of them continue to cut their food, chew, and even swallow, but every ounce of their attention is focused on me. As they await my compliance, I search the table desperately for the proper implement. The knife catches my eye, sleek and steely. I slide it furtively beneath the tablecloth.
“I want to hear about it,” Marcus prompts Master.
“Isabella, tell Marcus how it makes you feel to slide an eating utensil between your legs at this elegant restaurant, while people all around you are dressed in their finest clothes and enjoying gracious service and gourmet food.”
Marcus rolls his eyes. “I was imagining something less Village Voice restaurant review and more, ‘How does it feel to be playing with your pussy under the table?’…but I suppose that’ll do.”
Gahh, the way these two bat about the word ‘pussy’ the way normal guys would toss out stock prices or sports statistics!
I turn to Marcus as the blunt end of the knife reaches my wet slit. “Sir, the knife feels cold and hard inside my soft body.”
Master places his hand on my inner thigh and squeezes. “Use your proper words, princess,” he warns.
“Inside my soft… pussy,” I whisper. Master slides his hand further up my leg, pinching my flesh while I twist and pump the knife handle.
“You’re not letting her get off right now, are you?” Marcus asks in a severe tone.
“Of course not.” Master says, “Show him.”
I draw the knife out carefully, and hold the glistening handle up for his inspection.
He takes the knife out of my hand and brings it directly to his nose. “She is impressive.”
HOLY SHIT! Did he just inhale my pussy juice at the dinner table?
Master laughs and shakes his head.
I seriously need to mop up below. Not to mention the fact that my bladder has now decided to get in on the act, and the challenge of containing myself between these two—without panties, no less—is an increasingly dangerous proposition.
“Excuse me, Mr. Cullen.”
“Yes, what is it, princess?”
“May I go to the bathroom?”
“You mean, you just want to walk over there to the door and come back?” he challenges lightly.
“No, I mean I need to go inside, please.”
I see Marcus shift in my peripheral vision. Master narrows his eyes. Uh-oh.
“I’m surprised at you, girl. You know how to ask properly.”
His tone is worrisome. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cullen. May I use the toilet please?”
There’s an awful moment of silence where he doesn’t answer, and my heart jumps to my throat.
I stifle my gasp. Master has never denied this request before. Either he’s feeling especially cruel or I’ve really pissed him off. Either way, I have to deliver the disappointing news to my bladder that it’s not getting emptied any time soon. I do my best to clench muscles that are easier clenched when not gaping widely open.
“Thank you, Mr. Cullen,” I say with a forced smile, straightening in my chair and redoubling my efforts to please him.
“I apologize, Marcus,” Master says, making me feel a million times worse.
“Edward, with your permission,” Marcus starts quietly, dabbing his mouth and setting his napkin next to his plate, “I’d like to take Isabella to the bathroom.”
From Master’s expression, I can tell they did not discuss this earlier, and I’m prepared to hear his refusal. Master regards his mentor and measures his offer. There’s an entire conversation that takes place between their eyes that I cannot begin to understand, nor is it my place.
Master nods his assent to Marcus. My stomach plummets to the floor.
Eyes back on his steak, Master calmly says, "Go with Marcus," as if he didn't just give this stranger carte-blanche to do God-knows-what with me in the Ladies' Room.
I don't know this Master.
I vaguely notice Marcus shuffle to his feet, and I have the sense that I am expected to do the same. But I can’t. I’m locked in place. My bladder problems fade to the background as a new kind of fear grips me.
“Izz…a…bella,” Master forces out through clenched teeth, his reddening face still locked on Marcus.
My blood runs cold. Is he so angry that he’s willing to lend me out to another man?
Isabella doesn’t understand that Marcus has just offered me a way to allow her a trip to the bathroom, which she so clearly requires, despite her errors. I trust him implicitly, and I know that our rules will still guide his actions. He won’t allow any harm to come to her, and he won’t touch her.
I turn my head, afraid of what I might see. Sure enough, Bella’s lower lip has disappeared between her teeth, and I’d lay odds she’s about to start quaking. Yep, here it comes. Shit.
“Isabella, look at me, please.” I speak firmly, but more gently than before.
She turns doleful eyes my direction. She knows she’s let me down, but from what I can tell, she believes I’ve just betrayed one of her hard limits, and that is the worst possible place she can be. Anxious to put an urgent end to this, but allowing her to control the safe word this time, I offer, “How do you feel about those bitter, red, hard balls they cut up and put on salads?”
“I…HATE…radishes, Mr. Cullen.” Her voice is measured and controlled and scared and angry.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Excuse us, please, Marcus?”
“Of course. I really am going to the bathroom. Take your time,” he says evenly before slipping away from the table.
“Talk to me, Isabella. No ‘Mr. Cullen.’ No ‘Master.’”
Her eyes brim with tears but she doesn’t seek physical comfort. “I know I messed up, but were you really going to send me off and let him have his way with me?”
The tears overflow and her beautiful face is marred by sadness.
I shift my body closer to hers and though it kills me, I honor her need for space. I settle for touching my knees to hers and bending forward onto my elbows. “Of course not, sweetheart. Marcus would never have touched you. There was no ‘having his way with you’ in the deal.”
“But you gave him permission!”
“Just to walk you to the bathroom. So that you could go, even though you messed up the protocol.”
“I don’t understand,” she sobs, swiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. “Why was it okay for me to go with him when I couldn’t go alone?”
I offer her my hand, palm up, hoping she’ll take hold. Reluctantly, she does. My eyes follow Marcus across the room, and my lips curl up involuntarily. “Marcus would’ve found a way…something totally acceptable to all of us…for you to make it up to me. By serving me through him.”
“Serving him? I don’t understand.”
“Well, we can ask him what he had in mind when he returns.” I feel myself flinch when I add, “He can be very creative.”
She mops up her face with her napkin. “Don’t talk like that and not expect me to conjure up all kinds of scenes between the two of you.” A brave little smile breaks through.
My own tension eases when I see that she’s relaxing again. “Conjure away, sweetheart. It’s all good.”
“I really need to pee. Do you think you could come up with a way I could…just service you?”
“Sure. Come on.” Our hands are still clasped together, and we walk together to the Ladies’ Room door. “Okay, go in there and remove your bra. I will meet you back at the table, where the scene will resume. You will pass your bra to Marcus under the table, and all will be forgiven.”
“Thank you, Mister Masterward Cullen Velvet Prince Santa.”
I feel her lips curl into a smile while she’s kissing me. Not the most romantic spot in the place, but it works.
I push open the Men’s Room door and Marcus is just zipping up. “Everything back to good?”
“Yeah, we’re fine. Just a little misunderstanding.”
He crosses his arms. “I hope I didn’t make matters worse for you, Edward.”
I unzip, and I see his eyes drift downward. I try to pretend it doesn’t affect me. I turn my focus to the urinal wall. “I understood what you were trying to do, Marcus. Thanks for that. I’ve explained it to Isabella.”
“I meant what I said, Edward. She is spectacular. It warms my heart to see that you’ve found someone so obviously perfect for you. She’s a lovely sub. But she’s certainly no pushover.”
I chuckle. “No.”
“You haven’t told her yet, have you?”
“No. I was waiting to see if you two had chemistry.”
He looks amused. “And…?”
“I suppose I can feel a bit of a seismic rumble."
Now, he laughs out loud. “Not sure you can attribute that to me, pal. I see the way she leans into your words and soaks up your praise. It’s really beautiful to behold.”
It’s getting a bit awkward having this conversation with my willy hanging between the two of us, semi-stiff and all. I shift my shoulders away from Marcus, hoping maybe he’ll take the hint and leave me to pee in peace.
“Yeah, well, you missed the part where she accused me of sending her off to be mauled by the likes of you.”
“Ouch,” he flinches for both of us. “Hmm, perhaps you’ll want to give it a little time then?”
I sigh, loudly. Speaking of time…
“Hey listen, could you…um…y’know?” I tip my chin toward the sink area.
“Seriously? You’ve still got it bad for me, don’t you, kid?”
“What can I say?”
“All right,” he says with a cocky grin. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”
“Oh,” I call over my shoulder as the pee finally starts to flow. “Isabella is going to give you something at the table.”
“I want it back at the end of dinner.”
“Business is good then?” Master observes appreciatively, as Marcus closes the leather folio around his Amex black card.
“Can’t complain,” he answers. “I’ve got a steady group of doms who hire me to break the bad habits they themselves have created. The subs are brats who have either been getting away with topping from the bottom or they’re pain sluts who draw punishments because it’s the only way to get their needs met.”
Marcus sighs a weary, tired sigh. “If any of those doms had come to me the way you did, they wouldn’t be paying for your dinner right now. I’d take another one like you over the lot of them any day.”
“I love you, too,” Master grins, accepting the compliment. “Thank you, Marcus. This was most generous of you,” Master says.
“Yes, thank you for dinner, Sir. It was delicious.”
Marcus chuckles. “She didn’t even eat, poor thing. Oh, and here, Edward. I wouldn’t want to break up the matched set.”
Master smirks and places his hand face-up in the center of the table, and Marcus sets my carefully folded bra into his palm.
“Mr. Cullen,” I venture, “Would you mind asking Sir about that thing we were discussing earlier?”
Master smiles and asks, “We’d like to know what your bathroom escort would’ve entailed.”
Marcus grins knowingly. “Sure. I was going to allow Isabella to use the Ladies’ Room first and then wait outside the Men’s Room door for me.”
“That’s it?” Master asks, cocking his head in disbelief.
“Well,” Marcus smirks, “I would’ve let her know that I was planning to give myself a very thorough hand job in her honor while I was in there.”
“And were you?” Master asks.
“Oh I absolutely would’ve done it. I just can’t guarantee that every thought would’ve been spent on your sub.” Marcus winks at Master, who shakes his head. But I can tell he’s pleased.
“Isabella will be sending you a copy of her submissive journal reflection of tonight’s events,” he promises Marcus, whose warm eyes dance over my face.
“I will be delighted to receive it,” he tells Master. “That will provide at least some measure of compensation for having to return her lingerie.”
We all move to the door and coats are donned. “You take care of this beautiful girl, or I will personally come back and kick your ass and greatly enjoying myself in doing so.” He punctuates his promise with a stern finger point. “And you know that’s not an idle threat.”
“Yes, Sir,” my Master answers in a clipped voice, sending a chill down my spine.
The men hug once more, while Master holds me protectively behind him. I catch Marcus in a rare, unguarded moment as he closes his eyes and places a kiss on Master’s cheek. I have always known about the strong bond between the two men, but until this moment, I did not fully appreciate Marcus’s restrained attraction. He opens his eyes and catches me staring. He opens his eyes and catches me staring. Rewarding me with an affectionate smile and a wink, he understands I will keep his secret.