Page 56 of The B!tch is Bad

Slushy blared, “A perfect day needs a perfect soundtrack. Jam out with your clam out.”

Santiago Slayer eased in next to me. Amber was his date today apparently, having a gas with her invisible steering wheel facing the ceiling, trying to become an influencer. He said, “Town is very ecstatic that you’re becoming the next Prospect. Now he can get fully patched and stop serving drinks and cleaning toilets.”

I’d have to take his place, devoting some of my winery hours to the club. Patience agreed to step up to the plate, and we’d already hired a Klozov replacement. “Well, I can’t start ‘til I get back from my honeymoon.” I frowned. “I wonder what sort of ordeal they have in store for me.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“You do? Pray tell.”

“Let us just say, they are going to soak your new cut in fluids. And make you wear it until it dries.”

I shrugged. “Fluids? That’s not bad. Doesn’t sound like it’ll take long to dry.”

Yet the sneaky expression on Slayer’s face led me to believe the fluids were something other than water. Of course Slayer would spill no more intel. The crowd continued steering their Cadillacs and Lincolns to the moon. The mood became sultrier when Slushy switched the tune to “You’re A Big Girl.”Some people bailed on the dance floor, too shy to act out the lyrics, and only romantic couples stayed.

“Music is love in search of a word,” suggested Slushy, as I took ahold of my wife.

I nuzzled the side of her neck, inhaling her woody, oriental perfume. The Philly Soul group crooned, “You’re a big girl now. No more daddy’s little girl.” I murmured along to the lyrics, but left out the “no more” part. She was just daddy’s little girl.

“You know,” Patience said thoughtfully, nibbling my earlobe, “I think I will take your name. Patience Trucks. It’s got a jaunty ring to it. And of course our baby will be a Trucks.”

“Of course.” I ringed her satin waist with my fingers. “Why don’t we retire to our room? I’ve got some new hemp rope I want to try out.”

Patience hopped to it immediately, drawing Slushy’s attention. I held my finger to my lips to tell him to shut the fuck up and not comment on our departure. He put his finger alongside his nose, winking. Ford, his chin on his old lady’s shoulder, did see us sneak out, but he just nodded in agreement with whatever our plans were.

No more pigtails in your hair

No more doll for you to play

Of course our Trick of the Light room had a tall wooden stool Patience had stolen from the bar. As much as I regretted removing her shiny, form-fitting satin dress, the payoff would be worth it.

“My Zaddy is now my husband,” Patience purred as I unbuttoned the back of her bodice. ”My husband with big dick energy.”

I liked it when Patience talked about BDE. “Oh, yeah?” I growled, nuzzling her cleavage as I drew her sleeves off her shoulders. I had tossed my arm sling onto the bed after chucking my tux jacket there. “What’s big dick energy?” I always pretended not to know.

She struggled to sound thoughtful and detached as I popped her tits from her underwire. Gasping when I mouthed one, her voice wavered and trilled. “It’s not cockiness, not power tripping. Sort of the opposite. It’s healthy, satisfied. A confident way that you feel.”

She allowed me to slide her full skirt over her butt, her thighs, and the dress was off. Her full, buxom boobs jutted erotically when I ran my hemp rope above, between, and below them. I didn’t yet want to blindfold her. A sort of exhibitionist myself, I liked being watched when I performed my banging hot act.

Patience was the ideal rope bottom. She sat poised on the stool, spine erect. I went around and took my time building a pattern of diamonds down her back, carefully placing each rope where I wanted. Patting, manipulating, shaking the rope depending on the sensation I wanted to evoke.

I refrained from knotting the rope and passing it under her. She needed to be free and clear for my penetration. So I tied her ankles together but not her knees, and I didn’t bind her to the stool.

“How does this feel?” I murmured in her ear, pressing a knot to her abdomen.

She whispered, “I feel secure and safe in your arms.”

“Good. Then you’ll learn to trust me.”

And I blindfolded her with a long silk scarf.

“What are you . . . “ Her voice trailed off. She knew not to question me.

She couldn’t see me pick up a fork from the dresser. I’d laid everything out previously, while Patience was preparing for the wedding, then covered it with the silk scarf. I knew Fingerhut had beaten her with his hands, not implements, so varying sensations against her skin were new to her, in a good way. She got excited by the edge of a credit card or paper clip.

I touched the first tine of the fork to her bare shoulder. She jumped, smiled, hissed in air. I drew the metal down her bicep, then forearm, pleased at goosebumps that appeared there. Her nipples shriveled and hardened, and her smile let me know she was fine.

“Do you trust your Lord and Master?”