Chapter 40

Squatch.

I wasn’t sure what Khan and Kitty had talked about when they swam away from the boat, but I was certain they weren’t talking about the wildlife.

However, I decided against grilling Kitty about it when she returned to the boat. She sat and offered her hand to Lee, who took it and seemed grateful for the contact. I scared the little hawk submissive, and it pissed me the fuck off, but showing her my anger wasn’t going to help, so I stayed in my seat to watch Khan ski. I’d have preferred to sit with Kitty and talk to her, but my brother had asked us to take care of Lee, so it seemed best I stay away from her and try to keep her anxiety levels from going off the charts. Freckles had moved away from her, too.

Khan sat in the back seat when he finally climbed onto the boat, and Lee moved to the floor at his feet. He gave her the tiniest of nods and said, “Lips on my dick, pet.”

He lifted his butt off the seat when she went to pull his trunks down, and she pulled them only far enough to bare his cock.

Kitty looked to me in alarm, and I reached my hand out for her. She came to me, and I pulled her into my arms with her sitting on my lap. Magnum stowed the ski back in the side pocket and then returned his hand to the throttle.

“There are some nesting eagles just north of here,” Magnum told us as he eased the throttle up, so we took off slowly. He avoided other boats’ wakes and kept us on smooth waters so he didn’t interfere with our brother’s blow job.

Kitty looked around me a couple of times, watching Khan control Lee’s head. Basically, using her like a fleshlight. It sounded wet and sloppy, but there were no gagging sounds. Lee had apparently been well trained. Personally, I like the feel of a throat gagging around my cock sometimes, but I’d never tell Kitty.

When we finally arrived back at Magnum’s house, Kitty and Lee went inside to change back into riding clothes, and I used the opportunity to talk to Khan.

But instead of telling me about their conversation, he crossed his arms and shook his head. “She had some lifestyle questions. Ask me again in two weeks and I’ll give you the entire conversation, but not today. Give her a chance to talk to you first.”

I was speechless. He was honoring his conversation with her over the loyalty of the brotherhood? What the fuck?

He shook his head again. “I hope I’ve earned enough trust for you to understand it’s better if you haven’t rehearsed how to answer her questions. You’re my brother. I’d tell you if you needed to know right now. If she hasn’t talked to you in two weeks, then you’ll need me to tell you. Not now.”

I had to clear the fog of anger away enough to let his words sink in. He wasn’t keeping it from me, just giving us a chance to have the conversation organically. Okay. I could work with that. It still pissed me off, so I had to analyze why.

“Did she ask you not to tell me?”

“No.”

I let a breath out I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. She wasn’t trying to hide something from me. She’d seen someone who might have an insight she could learn from, and she’d asked about something on her mind. Khan seemed to think she’d be talking to me about it, and I trusted his intuition. The man understands submissives.

* * * *

Kitty We had nearly an hour ride back to the spa complex that evening, and it gave me a chance to consider what Khan had said. I also realized that Squatch likely knew we’d talked about something, and he’d probably asked Khan, which meant now he was waiting for me to bring it up.

But the truth was, I didn’t want to talk to him about it. I couldn’t see myself opening up and being honest.

So, when we got home, I went to the kitchen, lined a dozen shot glasses up, and grabbed a bottle of the good tequila. I’d puke my guts up if I did this with the cheap stuff.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to tell you something, and I don’t think I can do it sober. I’ll line them up in two groups of six. Can you keep recharging the line for me, until I’m drunk enough to tell you?”

“You could tell Khan sober, but you have to be drunk to tell me?”

I shook my head. “I just gave him the highlights. Enough he could give me advice. You’re going to get to hear the whole thing.”

I was sitting on the bartender’s side, and I thought he was going to tell me to move, but he sat across from me, took the tequila out of my hand, and poured it in both lines of six.

And, as I asked, by the time I finished the second line of six, he had the next line ready to go.

I don’t know how many times he refilled the lines for me before I put my hand on his to keep him from setting the next line up again. I finished the ones waiting, and wished I had a chair to sit my ass on. The room swam around me, but I needed to get this out before my metabolism burned through the alcohol.

“Mike gave me enemas to prepare me for anal training. It was hell. He was horrible.” My words were slurred. Was sounded more like wush. I took a breath and tried to enunciate better. “He used soap. A lot of soap. So much soap. I cramped and screamed and cried and hated every minute of it, but he fucking made me come before I could release! He put a little butterfly shaped vibrator on my clit while I cramped and hurt, and laughed at my pain and humiliation!”

Tears came to my eyes just from remembering, but I was pissed, not sad. “What we did to him was nothing like what he did to us, but it still made me happy that His Majesty... that Nathan chose that method of death.” We were supposed to call him Nathan now unless we were in a formal situation.

“That’s why you told me you’d clean yourself out when I offered to help?”

I nodded and the room swam violently. I held onto the bar to try to stabilize the room. Or me. Or maybe both.

“I feel like he owns that part of me. Like he owns something you don’t. I need you to give me enemas. I need you to take control of it, but no soap, at first. Gentle. Sweet. Eventually, I think you’re going to have to put soap in and make it a control thing, but maybe not. I want you to do it, but the reality may not work.” I took a breath. “And I’m going to need a safe word for this.”

He shook his head. “You know I don’t work with safewords. You also know I’ll stop if you’re in genuine distress.”

Yeah, I knew, but I’d still had to try. I glared at him, but I had a feeling my drunk-assed-glare wasn’t terribly intimidating. “Okay, then we won’t use a safeword, but the first time you give me one, stop is going to have to mean motherfucking stop.”

He gave me a half-grin. “You’re adorable when you’re drunk. We’ll talk about it again when you’re sober. We’re also going to talk about the fact I don’t want you cussing when we have sex. I’m thinking maybe your tongue will need to be punished if you do.”

I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Fuck you.”

He smiled. “Yes, I think I will.” He touched my chin and met my gaze. “For the record, that’s your last free cuss word. Any further while you’re supposed to be submissive will earn some kind of consequence.”

Twenty seconds later, I was lying on my back on the dining room table, my jeans were ripped open and tossed on the floor, my knees were up by my ears, and Squatch’s fat cock pushed into my slippery cunt.

* * * *

Squatch Enemas aren’t my kink. They’re like doing the dishes, or brushing your teeth. A necessary chore. Usually, you can poke around in a cunt with your finger and feel for solid matter in the rectum, and if it’s there and I want anal, I’ll give them a quick Fleet to wash it out, because scat isn’t my thing, either.

I’d never had to clean Kitty out, though a couple of times I’d felt solid matter and opted to just fuck her cunt. Most of the time when we have time together and it isn’t spur of the moment, she’s been clean, and yeah, I’d assumed she was taking care of it.

But if she needed this from me, I’d do it.

I wasn’t going to half-ass it, though. If we were going to do this, I’d do it my way. Something different. She thought she needed gentle, and she probably did, at first, but what she really needed was for me to make it different than Mike had. Something unique between the two of us.

While I’d fucked my still-tipsy girlfriend, I’d made her tell me what he’d used. Turns out, he’d used the old-fashioned red rubber bladder.

So I went online and ordered a bucket-style enema, two butt plug nozzles, and two dick-shaped ones — one of which was nearly as fat as me. I also ordered the hardware to install a plumbed enema system into my shower, so I could give them to her without needing to set anything up.

But our first experience, before the shipment arrived, was going to be a let-down for her. By design.

I didn’t want to send a prospect to the store for liquid suppositories, so I went myself. They’d make her go with minimal cramping and not much fuss, but they’d get us started. Crack the door open, so to speak.

After breakfast, which followed ten hard smacks of her favorite paddle during our morning routine, I put her to work with a few boxes of things from her apartment, with orders to distribute them throughout the house. Her cast iron skillet, spatulas she liked, cookbooks, a floor lamp, some throw pillows, an area rug. Completely random shit that felt like she’d picked them out with purpose and not because they’d been cheap, or items she’d brought from home when she escaped the ambush. Or, in the case of the cookbooks, that she’d replaced because there hadn’t been room to bring them from home. I’d seen the same books in her father’s kitchen.

While she did that, I went to a drugstore and bought liquid suppositories.

And a wooden hairbrush.

I made it quick, when I returned home. I sat on the edge of the large tub, had her strip to naked, pulled her over my lap, five strikes to her right ass cheek, then the left, then the right again, and the left again. I gruffed out an order to be still, uncapped the applicator, stuck it in her ass, squeezed it a few times until the liquid was out of the tiny bulb, recapped it, tossed it in the trash across the room, and then skated my palm across the heat of her ass.

Liquid suppositories are fast. Thirty seconds to two minutes. We’d barely passed the lower threshold when she squeezed her cheeks together, pulled her knees in, and then straightened her hips, her entire body as stiff as a statue.

“What was that? Fuck. I need to go!”

“Count to twenty and then you can, but you’ll pay for that fuck once you’re finished.”

She counted from one to twenty in around seven seconds, and I walked out of the bathroom to let her go in peace. I had no desire to stay and watch her take a shit.

I grabbed a set of clover clamps from my closet, and returned to the bathroom when she turned the shower on.

“Tongue out, sweetheart.”

She looked at the clamp and I scented her fear and trepidation, but she only hesitated a few seconds before she opened her mouth and offered her tongue.

The scent of her pain saturated the bathroom when I released my fingers from the clamp to let it fasten onto her outstretched tongue, but she didn’t whine or complain. I left the second clamp dangling from her tongue. “It can get worse, Kitten. A lot worse. You need to watch that pretty little mouth when we’re in power exchange. Cuss all you want the rest of the time. I think it’s adorable then.”

She glared at me, I kissed her forehead, and left her to it. “Lube your ass before you leave the bathroom.”