it.
36
Ice Queen
Down below, Marguerite ran her fingers down Brendan’s bare spine, watched his quivering increase. Sometimes she knew she could stay nearly motionless like this by a sub, watching and feeling as he succumbed, entering a peaceful trance while she merely trailed a line up and down his spine, along the sweep of ribs, the curve of buttock, the straining thigh. The tranquility would enter her as well. She could absorb its emanations and take it home as nourishment until the next week.
The ceiling being open for public viewing did not disturb her. The more she needed those emanations, the deeper she could go into the scene. She reflected she had been in need of an exceptional catharsis tonight. While she was the only Mistress approved to do scarification at The Zone, she did not doubt Brendan’s honesty or his devotion in asking her specifically to do it. It added to the power of this moment.
“Watch her,” Lisbeth whispered to Tyler. “She’s there, but she’s not there. She neither loves nor hates him. Simply accepts him. She’s inhuman.” Tyler’s fingers caressed the stem of his glass but he didn’t respond. He kept his gaze fixed on every nuance of the tableau below. Myriad emotional and physical reactions boiled through his system as he watched her build to her finale.
Marguerite positioned one mirror before Brendan, one behind, angling them so he could see the affected area of his back, the first brand and the smooth expanse of skin where the other two would go.
“It looks beautiful on you, Brendan.” She picked up the next brand. One step, two steps. “Keep watching this time. Don’t take your eyes off of it. And again, no sound, no movement.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he said hoarsely.
Tyler noticed that this time some of the audience had to look away as the brand came down. Jeremy actually covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief out of Brendan’s view range. Though she held no watch or timer, Marguerite appeared to know exactly when to lift the brand. Tyler suspected the temperature gauge he’d seen her check on the teakettle the other night was only for her staff or if she got interrupted.
While concentrating like this, she probably could calculate milliseconds in her head.
Brendan’s eyes watered with the effort to keep them open. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth where he’d apparently bitten down on his tongue to keep from screaming. When his breath came like a rasping bellows, Marguerite nodded to Jeremy, assuring him that the young man was fine, that his response was normal. She handed him the iron and went back to the head of the bench.
Stroking Brendan’s sweaty hair off his brow, her hand descended and covered his mouth and nose, cutting off his air and causing a surprised exclamation from the audience.
His body jerked in shock but Marguerite kept her face close, her voice a whisper that nevertheless carried well over the speakers.
37
Joey W. Hill
“Take the pain into yourself, Brendan. Make it one with everything you are. Breathe in and out of your soul. If you want my brand there, you have to let it reach deep down into you, past the flesh. Burn the deepest part of who you are.” As she spoke the words, Brendan’s eyes started to roll, the precursor to a faint.
Marguerite took her hand away, a smooth move without hurry. She spoke in the imperious voice of a Mistress. “Your deepest breath, Brendan. Now.” His chest expanded. He gasped, his eyes blinking, focusing again. Tyler noted without amusement that there was a rush of air as the audience around him and on the main floor below drew in almost at the same moment Brendan did, not realizing until then that they were holding a collective breath.
Miraculously he did look more tranquil, even as his body continued to make convulsive jerks from the pain and the near-orgasmic state of his body.
“Mistress,” he said, just gazing into her face. “Mistress.” She brushed her
36
Ice Queen
Down below, Marguerite ran her fingers down Brendan’s bare spine, watched his quivering increase. Sometimes she knew she could stay nearly motionless like this by a sub, watching and feeling as he succumbed, entering a peaceful trance while she merely trailed a line up and down his spine, along the sweep of ribs, the curve of buttock, the straining thigh. The tranquility would enter her as well. She could absorb its emanations and take it home as nourishment until the next week.
The ceiling being open for public viewing did not disturb her. The more she needed those emanations, the deeper she could go into the scene. She reflected she had been in need of an exceptional catharsis tonight. While she was the only Mistress approved to do scarification at The Zone, she did not doubt Brendan’s honesty or his devotion in asking her specifically to do it. It added to the power of this moment.
“Watch her,” Lisbeth whispered to Tyler. “She’s there, but she’s not there. She neither loves nor hates him. Simply accepts him. She’s inhuman.” Tyler’s fingers caressed the stem of his glass but he didn’t respond. He kept his gaze fixed on every nuance of the tableau below. Myriad emotional and physical reactions boiled through his system as he watched her build to her finale.
Marguerite positioned one mirror before Brendan, one behind, angling them so he could see the affected area of his back, the first brand and the smooth expanse of skin where the other two would go.
“It looks beautiful on you, Brendan.” She picked up the next brand. One step, two steps. “Keep watching this time. Don’t take your eyes off of it. And again, no sound, no movement.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he said hoarsely.
Tyler noticed that this time some of the audience had to look away as the brand came down. Jeremy actually covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief out of Brendan’s view range. Though she held no watch or timer, Marguerite appeared to know exactly when to lift the brand. Tyler suspected the temperature gauge he’d seen her check on the teakettle the other night was only for her staff or if she got interrupted.
While concentrating like this, she probably could calculate milliseconds in her head.
Brendan’s eyes watered with the effort to keep them open. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth where he’d apparently bitten down on his tongue to keep from screaming. When his breath came like a rasping bellows, Marguerite nodded to Jeremy, assuring him that the young man was fine, that his response was normal. She handed him the iron and went back to the head of the bench.
Stroking Brendan’s sweaty hair off his brow, her hand descended and covered his mouth and nose, cutting off his air and causing a surprised exclamation from the audience.
His body jerked in shock but Marguerite kept her face close, her voice a whisper that nevertheless carried well over the speakers.
37
Joey W. Hill
“Take the pain into yourself, Brendan. Make it one with everything you are. Breathe in and out of your soul. If you want my brand there, you have to let it reach deep down into you, past the flesh. Burn the deepest part of who you are.” As she spoke the words, Brendan’s eyes started to roll, the precursor to a faint.
Marguerite took her hand away, a smooth move without hurry. She spoke in the imperious voice of a Mistress. “Your deepest breath, Brendan. Now.” His chest expanded. He gasped, his eyes blinking, focusing again. Tyler noted without amusement that there was a rush of air as the audience around him and on the main floor below drew in almost at the same moment Brendan did, not realizing until then that they were holding a collective breath.
Miraculously he did look more tranquil, even as his body continued to make convulsive jerks from the pain and the near-orgasmic state of his body.
“Mistress,” he said, just gazing into her face. “Mistress.” She brushed her
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