Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (108 page)

“No, I don’t think so. You’re not the only one that can have a fit and get away with it. I’m sick of everyone’s shit! You are all selfish bastards- every last one of you!” Marcus shouts. His face is red and strained with suppressed anger- anger at Ezra and Cortez that has marinated for decades.

“What the hell did I do?” Dexter shouts back. “Syn is scared to death of me when it comes to sex, that’s why you want me to do it. I’m might be a sadist, but I’m not a rapist.”

“Raping someone isn’t that bad,” Marcus growls, and it stuns the shit out of all of us. “Getting raped really sucks. I guess you two will have to work it out or it won’t be very pleasant.” Marcus speaks as if he’s talking about afternoon tea, not violently violating me.

“I’m leaving,” Dexter snarls. He picks his chair up and slams its feet on the floor.

“You leave and we’re done,” Marc calmly replies.

“Fine, because you aren’t worth my time if you make me do this. You get that, right? Marc, you’re falling off the deep end. You don’t have to be in control of everyone’s lives. We do have free-fucking-will,” Dexter angrily hisses. His skin turns a dark shade of fury and frustration.

“Out in the hall,” Marc orders, walking from the room. “NOW!” he screams at his cousin.

“Just do whatever he says,” Ez whispers to me. “Trust me on this. He usually keeps himself in check… but not tonight, apparently.”

“He wouldn’t really do that, would he?” Cort asks Ez, like a child begging his parents to tell him that Santa Claus does exist.

“Ask my mother, Cort,” Ez whimpers, a shudder runs through his body. “He left for Las Vegas immediately after. I haven’t seen him like this since that night.”

“Just do whatever he says,” Cort says to me, agreeing with Ez. They speak of Marcus like he is their own personal boogieman. The fact that they are agreeing instead of fighting is the tipoff.

“Sit down,” Marcus demands in a cold voice that makes me shiver. We all take our seats around the card table. An hour ago, we were laughing and taunting as we played cards and gorged ourselves on fatty snacks. Now we are being tortured by someone we trusted.

Marc pulls a chair out and puts it in the center of our only escape. He parks his ass in the chair and stares us down. We ain’t leaving, unless we go through him. I’m in a room with no windows and the only weapons are ones we are all proficient in using- impact toys. No amount of training would prepare me for fighting Marcus. He’s fourteen inches taller than me and more than a hundred pounds heavier. I wouldn’t stand a chance. His cousin, son, and lover sure as fuck wouldn’t help me.

“I’m tired,” Marcus says, and he sounds it. “I listen to these two bitch constantly. I’m putting out fires all over the place. I deal with tantrum
s from all of you as if you are toddlers. I’m done. Freewill, what is freewill? It is a choice, and I am giving you one,” Marcus says.

I want to tell Marc that I feel his pain, because some of those fires I’d helped start. I’ve tried to stop many of the nasty, malicious plays my fellow game players have brought against him- the majority are made by my brother. Marcus Zeitler is rich, and Boyd loves a rich mark. I want to explain the game, but it wouldn’t make him feel any better… and it’d be an automatic death sentence for me
, or depending how you look at it, automatic suicide order.

Marc doesn’t speak again for several long minutes. The silence is uncomfortable.
He’s making us stew in fear and frustration. I’m shaking so badly that my teeth chatter. Cortez’s arms are wrapped around his chest, hugging himself. Ez is stone-cold and emotionally calm, but he’s still wholly Ez. An air of power flows from Marc that is bone-chilling.

“Let’s see how much you love, respect, and trust one another- a lifetime of friendship is on the line. This is the ultimate test, pass it and you will gain your Master status. Fail and I’m taking Ezra and Dexter’s Master status as well. I won’t be disrespected. It will start a nasty habit among my people. We wouldn’t want Whitt and Regina turning into spoiled youngsters, too. We can’t have that, now can we?”

A very long time ago, Wil violently taught me what the word rhetorical meant. Even after that vicious lesson, my lips are eagerly begging to say,
no, we can’t have that. But we can’t afford an ego-maniacal Master to be controlling our lives either
. I’ve smartened up over the years. My mind thinks it, but my lips don’t spew it- progress.

“Let’s see how selfish and cowardly you are. If one fails
, you all fail. Poor Dexter shouldn’t be taken down because the three of you won’t work together. Choice: Dexter fucks Faith, whether she wants it or not. Or Cort gets over himself and makes love to Ezra. That is the choice. Who will be the selfless one and who will be the cowardly selfish bastard?” Marcus drops a huge motherfucking bombshell.

Marcus leans back in his chair, legs spread wide and arms crossed over his chest. Just begging us to try and get past him. He’s ready for a fight.
He wants a fight. He expects a fight.

With a malicious smirk, he announces, “Begin.”

~Chapter Ninety-Five~

We all stare at each other, our minds viciously spinning. One of my biggest fears is Dexter. He humiliated me and scared me with his whip, in this very room. I don’t want my mentor like that, and I don’t want to see him like that, and I don’t want him to see me like that. It would lessen our friendship- cheapen it. I’m also scared of the size of him- he would tear me in two.

Sex is intimate. We give our bodies and minds away too freely. I believe a real connection merges two people during the act. Why would I ever have sex with someone I don’t care about? Reason, because I have to save two people I love, trust, and respect.

Cort stares at his hands. His large body is shaking so badly his chair is making a sound as it vibrates against the floor. Ez is blank- numb. The partners haven’t touched since I was with them. They’ve had angry makeout sessions, but not real sex. This would be real sex- sex that should be private.

I can tell that Cortez can’t do it. It would break something vital within him. He loves Ezra, we all know this. But he has been warring with himself over his sexuality. He fears Ez like I fear Dexter, but for very different reasons. Cort knows that if he touches Ez, there is no going back- he’ll never stop, and it scares him to death
… and Ez realizes this, too.

Choices… there is no choice. Sex between Dexter and me wouldn’t be the end of the world. Sadist or not, he respects me enough not to hurt me. Wil would understand my reasons and not judge or punish me.

There is no choice, because I won’t irreparably harm the men I used to call best friend. I understand Marcus’ comment about this being the ultimate test of love, trust, and friendship. Do I wish that Cortez wasn’t so selfish and Ezra so cowardly? Yes. But I am neither. If it doesn’t kill me or someone I love, I’ll do it. It’s why I don’t need a fancy title that says I’m a master. You can never change who you are- title or not. I am a dominant person, and I take care of those I love. I get shit done.

“Well played, Master,” I respectfully say to Marcus.

I understand what Marcus is up to. He needs Cort to either walk away or finally commit to Ezra. Screwing twenty or thirty women a week isn’t healthy for all of those involved. Hell, it’s killing me to watch him self-destruct. Marcus loves Ezra and Cortez- he bleeds for them. I can see the agony in his eyes. Marcus was hoping their love would conquer all, since it hasn’t, he’s hoping their love for me will.

“Nice try, though,” I mumble. “Does this have to be watched?”

“Yes,” Marcus responds, not surprised that I was the one who stepped up to the plate, but he is severely disappointed. His eyelids are at half-mast, covering the amber flame glowing beneath. His full lips are stretched taut across his face.

“Sorry, Dexter. Just remember, behind the ink and metal and hair dye, I look just like my very submissive sister.
That ought to help out the ol’ blood flow,” I ramble as I unsnap my leather pants- pants that Dexter bought for me. The man is a total leather whore. His pants are identical to mine… fan-fucking-tastic.

My eyes flick to the Ezes. Ez is staring at his white-knuckled hands clasped in his lap, and Cort is staring off into space. I watch Marcus watch them with a disgusted expression on his face. I can almost see the thought form in his mind. He’d thought he’d raised them better than this.

“Sadist,” I say to Dexter with a smirk. I stand before him, pretending to be cocky, when inside I am shaking like a sonofabitch. “Please be gentle,” I whimper.

Dexter’s deep laugh
is amused and nervous. “Now when have you ever known me to be gentle, little black and purple,” he salaciously purrs, running a fingertip down my cheek. I quiver, and it makes him smile widely. “Get completely naked and sit on the card table,” he orders.

“Dexter?” I whisper his name as a question. He looks like a sadist when I expected my friend to be the one to touch me. If he gets into the sadist mindset, he’s going to brutalize me. He was just getting started last time when Grant interrupted. I don’t think I can survive the whole experience.

My mentor leans into me and kisses my forehead, and then he whispers in my ear, “Trust me. They will save you if I make it look worse than it is. I won’t hurt you. I promise. But they need to learn this lesson. They will forever feel like cowards if they let you get pounded by me. Follow my lead and look frightened, little rabbit.”

“Oh God, Syn is so fucking scared,” Dexter evilly sings. “I can taste her fear on the back of my tongue. It coats, thick and sticky like honey.”

The sinister laugh almost has me wetting my pants. If I were to relax my shaking muscles, I would have pissed on myself. To save my clothing from an unfortunate and embarrassing accident, I strip naked, because after this, I’ll definitely need clothes. I don’t prance around or do a strip tease. I get undressed like I normally would: boots first, socks, pants and underwear, and lastly, shirt and bra. I stand naked before four men and only one of them is looking at me- it’s the one who has never fucked me and never will, but he is thoroughly fucking me over right now.

Dexter undresses himself while Marcus memorizes the ink on my body. “Zane, your son?” he asks after he reads the large scripted letters written over my left breast.
Wil has a matching tattoo, but his is on his right pec, because a purple pixy is on his left.

“Yes, Master,” I answer. I sit
on the table, trying to keep my bits off of the tabletop. My ass is fleshy enough that my butt cheeks save my pussy from making contact with the surface we were just playing poker on- I don’t have OCD, but this even skeeves me out. Wil and Zane would have an aneurism. I sit on my hip and cross my thighs. I don’t cover my breasts, but I want to. I cross my arms just beneath them. I have nothing to be ashamed of.

“Get over here and stand by me, you cowardly selfish bastards. You get to see what you’re putting y
our friend through because you’re too weak,” Marcus spits the words out as if they are distasteful on his tongue.

“Zane is ten, correct?” Marcus asks.
His face is soft with understanding, when I don’t want him to understand a damned thing. I’d rather fuck Dexter than answer these questions. Because of some invisible signal, Dexter stands naked, waiting for Marcus to finish his interrogation. I ignore Dexter’s monstrous erection. I try to, but it’s taunting me-
I’m going to make you bleed. I’m going to tear you in two and get off on your pain.
Jesus, Dexter is going to be in Sadist heaven in a few minutes.

“
Yes, Master.” I don’t wimp out. I hold Marc’s questioning gaze and try to look innocent- that is if one can look innocent while sitting on table buck-assed naked, with four guys trying not to stare at her tits. Gay or straight, girl or boy, hot or not, put a naked person in the room and all eyes are on them. It’s like a car wreck.

“If I were to meet your son, would I know who his father was?” Marcus eyes the Ezes, cataloging
their traits. “Have they met him?”

“Yes on both accounts, Master.” Yay for me, my voice doesn’t even waver. “Zane is the spitting image of his father at that age.”

“So his father is someone you knew at the age of ten?” Marc pulls out his lawyer brain and tries to trap my ass. I shove my foot so far into my mouth, I’m eating my knee. Talking to Marcus is like navigating through a field of landmines.

“Yes, Master.”

“Hmm… how many times have they met your son?”

“I’m…” I shake my head and shrug. “I’m not really sure.”

“Guesstimate,” Marcus coaxes me. “Give me a ballpark figure.”

“Combined or separately?” I snidely say, but I reel the disrespect in. Marcus is a bloodhound on a scent trail. “A thousand times, maybe.”

“That’s at least once every three days,” Marcus computes in a heartbeat.