Page 57 of Dozer

I sat and looked at him a few moments. Was he saying this would go past the five years? I’d thought we could just be husband and wife after, but then I’d told him I didn’t want sex to change.

He sat patiently while I thought it through.

I was the one who’d pointed out he was better at figuring my life out than I was, and he was figuring it out so I could have what I want in life — so I can earn a living with art. Not only that, he’d given me a challenging assignment, and my art was thriving with purpose for the first time since I’d spent the summer in London when I was sixteen.

We’d agreed on the subject, and I’d sketched it a few dozen times small, until it was exactly right, and now I was working on it with the tattoo machine on fake skin before I put it on the eight-by-ten inch piece of leather, and then I’d sketch it huge, the size it would be on the large piece of leather, before I started the process of tattooing it to be framed.

I met his gaze and told him, “You have my best interests in mind for the big stuff. The little stuff is about having a sexslave who makes you happy, but the big stuff is about having a successful person by your side, happy with who she is, who can be a life partner to you. I didn’t see it for a while, but I do now, and that means I can trust you to keep looking out for my best interests, so yeah, I’ll agree to be your slave-wife past the time of our contract, because you’ll know how tight to keep the binds between us. I trust you to do what’s best for both of us — our relationship, you as a person, and me as a person. I also trust you to help train me so I won’t be a burden on you, so I can be a whole person who might want a keeper, but she won’t need one.”

An adult, rather than a child. I’d tried being an adult and had completely blown it. Maybe Dozer, as my Master, could do the job my parents hadn’t, and teach me how to be an adult.

Though, to be fair to them, I’d probably left before they were done, since they thought they had me until I turned twenty-five.

“There’s something I’m going to want from you.” He’d looked serious since we started the conversation, but now he lookedmoreserious. Solemn, almost, and it scared me a little. “Shortly after you signed the contract, I made the appointment for this Thursday,” he continued, “because the guy Viper recommended was booked solid for months, and that was the first time he had a big enough hole in his calendar for a house call. My original intention was nipple piercings and a clit-hood, but if you’re to be my wife, I’m going to want more.”

He showed me a picture of what he called a clit-shield when it was on someone, tucked between the labia, and then the top of the shield by itself, then the bottom.

There was a dime beside it in one of the pictures, so I could see it was actually tiny, but that didn’t make it better. I wouldn’t be able to touch my clit, with this thing on. Not only that, some of the pictures showed bars through labial piercings, locking my vagina away, too. He could lock my entire pussy up. Not just total orgasm denial, but total pleasure denial.

“You can see that the shield covers your clit, so you can’t touch it,” he explained. “This piercing gets locked to a Christina piercing, or possibly a vertical hood piercing, the piercer will decide that depending on your anatomy, and then the two labia piercings help keep it steady.”

“And the piercings over my vagina lock it up, so nothing goes in unless you unlock me,” I noted.

“Yes. It’ll mean eleven genital piercings on Thursday, and it’ll mean I’ll have total control over your entire pussy — clit and hole. Still want to be my wife?”

Again, he sat quietly while I thought it through, but the truth is, I kind of liked the idea of him being in control of my sex. It terrified me, but it was also exactly right for our relationship. The next logical step.

“The Dodge is yours,” I told him. “You keep it locked up when you aren’t using it. No reason you shouldn’t be able to lock your wife up, too.”

“So that’s a yes? I need to hear it, little flower.”

“I still want to be your wife, and it bugs me not to call you Master, so I guess that means I still want to be your slave-wife.”

“Okay. Good. That’s good.” He looked down a few seconds, as if he didn’t know what to say, but when he looked up, he was my Master again, even if he wouldn’t let me call him that.

“Okay, and to be clear, the clause where you get fifty-K five years after you signed the contract still stands. I don’t want you to think I’ve found a way to weasel out of it. Trust is important to me, and I can’t always be honest with you about everything, so I need to keep that promise.” He took a breath and changed the subject. “Once we get all the legal issues dealt with, so your parents know where you are and have to let you live your life, do you want to try to have a relationship with them?”

It seemed two big changes of subject, but I answered him, rather than commenting on either of them. “I don’t think Iever had one with them, to be honest. I have fond memories of my dad and brother calling me Daisy May, and nice Christmas memories, but other than Christmas, most of my memories with my family happened during vacations, and not at home. I was rarely at their home when Christmas decorations weren’t up.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Right. It didn’t. “I don’t think I have an answer for you right now, but I think the question means they know where I am, and you’re doing this now, all of a sudden, instead of waiting until after I’m pierced because you need me to be your wife in order to try to circumvent whatever they’re planning.”

His nod sent my heart racing, but he pulled me into his lap and held me, and that helped. “You’ll see a psychiatrist tomorrow who’ll declare you of sound mind, so we have that on the record before we marry on Monday. From that point forward, I’ll be in charge of any medical decisions. Husbands trump parents, so even if they manage to get a judge to say you need a legal guardian, I’ll be the guardian and not them.”

My heart raced in my chest again and panic threatened to take hold, but I breathed through it. Master would hire really good attorneys, ones capable of fighting my parents. They had a game plan. There was a chance my mother would blackmail the judge, or buy him off, but what were the odds she’d know any judges in this district?

I still needed to answer his question about my parents, so I told him, “Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry for the drama, but thank you for taking care of me. It makes me sad to think I might never speak with my parents again, though I know it might come to that. If I have to choose between you and them, I’ll choose you, every time.”

“Okay, little Daisy. Once everything calms down, we’ll revisit the question later.”

“Do slave-brides get a say in what they wear to get married?”

He smirked. “True slave-brides get married naked while sporting a butt plug.”

My clit chose that moment to wake up and throb at me. I tried not to squirm in his lap, but he knew — healwaysknew.

“I can send someone to the mall to look for a dress for you,” he told me, his face serious. “If Gen isn’t busy, I’m sure she’d love to, and she can take pictures of the ones she thinks will work and text them to you.”

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