The List 26: Epilogue

Click here to start with Part 1

Previously: “Come on, get up.” She helped him to his feet, and reached around to shut the trunk of the car behind him. She carefully led him into the house, grabbing her purse and shutting the garage door as they walked by. She walked him into the bathroom, and raised an eyebrow, looking at him one last time before raising the pillow case and pulling it off his head. He blinked at the sudden light as she pursed her lips and shrugged. “That’s it, end of the list. What now?”

His eyes slipped closed and he leaned against her, exhaling heavily. “I think I’d like to take a shower.”

She carefully kissed his temple, and nodded. “Sounds reasonable.” She fished her keys out of her purse and walked around him to undo his handcuffs. One bracelet popped open, then the other, and he brought his arms around to rub his wrists. She gave his nudity an appreciative leer, taking in the bruises and abrasions, the words written on his chest, the dried saliva and stains on his body, and raised an eyebrow. “You want some company?”

He grinned back and nodded. “Sure.”

They trudged towards the shower, and she shed her clothes while he adjusted the water. Steam started to fill the room as she followed him into the shower, and they stood under the water for a few minutes, letting the warmth fill their bodies.

His shoulders slumped, and she idly ran a wash cloth over his arms, then his back. “You going to give bad advice over the internet anymore?”

He winced as she scrubbed at a bruised shoulder, and shrugged. “Not for a couple of days, at least.”

She snorted a brief laugh and kept scrubbing, then handed him the washcloth and turned around. “I’m pretty proud of you for not safe-wording. That got intense in a couple of spots.”

He started rubbing her back, then frowned and paused. “I could have safe worded? Fuck. I never thought of that.”

She started to ask if he was joking, then just smiled and closed her eyes. She leaned back against his hands and purred, deciding it didn’t really matter. He’d say or do something again, and she’d have another reason.

Not that she really needed it.

Author’s note: So that’s pretty much it. What do people prefer, longer stories with continuity, short stories, something else? Any thoughts or comments welcome.

Preview: “Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

Want to support the author (who is me)? Buy a compilation of some of my favorite stories on this blog for your e-reader at Smashwords or Amazon.

Sounds of Home

*swish* *swish* *thud*

Laying on the bed, with his eyes closed, he could almost imagine the muffled sounds weren’t coming from the people upstairs. He could pretend he was handcuffed to the bedposts, on his knees, with a hood or blindfold over his eyes as she stalked from one side of the room to the other deciding how to hurt him next. A thudding pain erupting across his shoulder blades, or a stinging pain appearing on his ass.

The handcuffs biting into his wrists, his body jerking against them, metal gouging into his flesh. Harsh, hot breath pouring out of his mouth reflected back at him. Moans, tears, agony filling his brain, erasing every conscious thought. Shoving stress, anxiety, and worry out of his brain until all that was left was one simple thought: Take one more hit. He reached over and flipped off the light, focusing on the sounds coming from above him.

*swish* *swish* *thud*

Her dress rustled as she moved across the room, and her luggage made a soft impact as she dropped it on the floor. The sounds tugged at her consciousness, reminding her of awkward rustlings as his jeans slid across the carpet in their home. Of the sound of his knees hitting the floor as she grabbed his hair and shoved down. She walked back across the room, just to hear the sound again.

Another hotel room in another city. Work had her on the road a lot lately, and she missed those sounds. Of dragging him from room to room on a leash, but more of his crawling to her of his own volition. Of his sitting on the floor in front of the couch and wrapping her legs around him, leaning back against her, letting her know that he wanted to be taken.

Memories of pushing him down, breaking him into pieces, then pulling him up and putting him back together washed over her. Of seeing how strong he was, and helping him be stronger. She walked back across the room, focusing on the sounds, and flopped down on the bed, looking up at the usual painting of a landscape on the wall.

*swish* *swish* *thud*

She was checking to see how many bars she had when the phone rang. His name flashed across the screen, and she smiled.

Preview: She never told him she was waiting for the smile.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

The Tyrant and the Subject

“I kind of like it when you just take things.”

She shrugged, and threw another book in the donate pile. “I appreciate that, but sometimes I also appreciate it when you just give me things.”

“Sometimes I just give you things because I think you’ll just take them if I don’t.” He put the book in a box and rearranged another pile of “Keep” before it fell over. “Hope that doesn’t ruin it for you.”

She shrugged again. “Not really, I mean, let’s face it, you always have your safeword, and if you really wanted to stop, you’d use it. I know on a certain level that everything we do you want to do, your occasional screams and protests aside.”

He looked at the book and frowned. “Bellows, those are more like bellows.”

She grinned and threw a book at him. “You need original material, you’ve used that quote before. And I’m pretty sure you got the wording wrong anyway.”

He nodded agreeably. “I’ll try to think of some. About the taking thing?”

“Uhm-hm.” She looked from pile to pile, finally sighed and threw another book in the donate pile. At the rate the author was writing she’d be long dead and civilization would have crumbled before the series ended anyway.

“What if we compromised? For every one thing you just took, I gave you one thing?”

She mulled the idea over. “I think it could go very badly for you. Give me an example?”

“Well… I don’t think you could take everything, I’d still not into the 24/7 mistress/slave uber-BDSM lifestyle. But maybe tyrant/subject?” He flipped through a book in the keep pile and pulled out an old grocery list. “I figure a good tyrant would get about 1/3 of a subject’s productivity, that’s 1/3 for the subject, 1/3 for the tyrant, and 1/3 for God. So what if I gave you 1/3 of my orgasms? Wore the chastity device for 1/3 of each day?”

“You want to give me your locked up cock for eight hours a day? To be honest that sounds really inconvenient. I think I’ll just take one-third of your cock. I want the third on the end, you can have the rest. I’ll be generous and still let you piss out of it, but if you want to jerk off, no touching the last third. And if I find the urethral sounds, I’m going to do some renovating.”

He thought it over. “Okay. What do you want to take?”

“You need about 1100 words of vocabulary to have a decent conversation. I want one-third of your words.” She frowned as she did the math. “So I’ll be taking 366, starting with yellow and red. I’ll let you know the rest as we go along.”

“Hey! Those are my safewords!”



She nodded and started on another shelf. “If you seriously want to do this, yeah. So far I own one-third of your cock, that’s the third furthest from your balls, which I’ll let you keep all of because I’m not at all interested, and one-third of your words, including red and yellow. Oh, also the word ‘no.’ I’ll take that one as well. Agreed?”

“Well, yes, because I can’t say the other word.”

“I look forward to making you scream ‘Antonym of yes’ over and over by the way.”

He laughed along with her. “I look forward to screaming ‘Crimson, Ruby, Barn Red’ if things get too heavy.”

She walked over and sat on the floor beside him, leaning back against the wall and putting her hand on his leg. “See? That’s my point. Even if I took away your safe word, I’d still respect it if you used it. So I can only do so much taking before it all feels fake, and like I’m just telling you what to give me, and I prefer it when you find things on your own. You surprise me, and it’s nice to know you just gave me those things, because you wanted to.”

He rubbed the top of her hand with his own, and listened carefully. “I see your point. Worst tyrant ever, but I see your point.”

She smiled at him. “Worst? Or best?”

He frowned. “I’m really not sure, but it seems to be working out well for both of us.”

She kissed his cheek, and got back up. “It was working out well for you. One third of your books would have cleared a lot of space on these shelves. And I definitely thought about it.” She walked overt to the shelves and frowned.

He smiled too and stood up, walking over to hug her from behind. “How about a fifth?”

She nuzzled into the crook of his arm, and purred. “See? I’d rather be given a fifth than take a third.”

“Best tyrant ever.” He kissed her neck and started sorting his books.

Preview: She laughed again, appreciating his caution, not impatient. Yet.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.