Dark as Ivory 3 by Payne_Hall
Immerse yourself in 'Dark as Ivory 3' by Payne_Hall, a captivating erotic sex story that explores desire, passion, and forbidden romance. Discover the allure of sensual encounters and complex relationships that will leave you breathless. Perfect for fans of steamy fiction, this tale promises to tantalize your imagination!<br/>
Ivory turns more romantic with Tuesday and she realizes his romance isn’t exactly what is typical. His is a torturer’s love. , Tuesday
It took the entire ride to a parking garage but by the time he parked I was a little more coherent again. And it was mostly thanks to that hotter than hell sports car he had that I started coming back to reality. Otherwise I might have just stared at Flatline some more, like a fucking idiot. But when I saw his car, my eyes went wide. “Woah. Bitching ride. What made you decide on it?”
He grinned and then I was talking to him easily because I wasn’t looking at him, instead distracted by the smooth as silk interior. His car was one of my favorite models for my own reasons but I wanted to hear his. And it was easy to talk about that because Flatline and I had enjoyed many conversations, both sexual and not. Distracted by something else to look at, it was easy to talk with him and as the conversation went on while we disagreed on engines and talked older cars and newer cars and sports models, it started to sink in that this was a man I knew. He had fucked me in perverse ways, cut me, made me fear for my life, kept me safe, lecherously licked my tears, castrated me from orgasms for days at a time, and always, always taken care of me with every game.
He took a second to kiss me in the parking garage, smiling again. “There’s my Tuesday again. Come on, baby, let’s go see a show.”
“A show?” I trailed after him, my heels a little strange for me but not uncomfortable. He hadn’t been cruel with those and they were small kitten heels. “What kind of show?”
He laughed at that. “Dearest Tuesday, you haven’t broken my rule about questioning my games yet. Don’t start now.” He pulled me beside him, shaking his finger in a tsking motion. “No ruining my fun surprises.”
I was smiling, still staring every now and again, and even more dangerously enamored than before. God, he was beautiful in a way that screamed sin, with that dark hair and the way his entire demeanor shouted warning and danger. It wasn’t just his massive stature or his obvious muscle build. It was his gait, the way his eyes sharply noticed everything, the way he didn’t ask any questions but seemed to know exactly what he was doing. And the way he glanced at me every now and again when he felt me watching….
Dear God. Even on a date and without the collar there was no way I could forget I was his sexual object to hurt and fuck at will. Even dressed like a princess, I was his slutty masochist of a princess, and any glance he gave me just underlined that fact in bold.
He guided me to a theater, covering my eyes with a flirtatious whisper in my ear, “Just a little longer.” And I had to laugh at his insistence on his surprises but I’d never fight him with those. He only kept my eyes behind his palm while we walked through the door.
The place was gorgeous, but also currently had a strange vibe in the exotic sense of the word. Just like some of the people I saw were… slightly strange. A few of them anyway, the ones that stood out. Most everyone was actually pretty normal, but the attire was definitely formal. Flatline led us to a box overlooking an auditorium, making sure I couldn’t see any kind of indicators as to what was going on. He was in high spirits too, tugging me along with a playfulness like the night he collared me and said he had to kill his private room coordinator.
Was that playfulness… wait. Was that Flatline’s form of being nervous? It was way different than anyone else’s brand of nervous if it was. He was so smooth and easy and of course to him there was nothing unusual about talking to me when he saw me all the time, most often naked.
“My God, you are unfair to look at.” I watched him in our mostly private seating, glad for that privacy. It felt like a chance to breathe and take him in. He had buttoned his suit up and put on a tie, fixing it in his car mirror and it was a deep red one that matched me. To me, female formal attire had so much variety and men’s seemed almost boring, but he for damn sure didn’t make it look boring.
He laughed, talking with me softly in our seats, his arm easily around my shoulder. And I realized that almost naturally I was leaned into him, my body aligned towards his to speak to him. It was all totally feeling based but so subconscious too, a side effect of having felt him while blind for so long. “If you’d look in the mirror a little more often, you’d realize that you are too.”
Amazing. My belly tossed with butterflies. He didn’t apologize for looking gorgeous and didn’t deny it, but I knew he wasn’t a narcissist either. My God, he’d been dating me without even using his good looks so he obviously didn’t need to delude himself about it. He was just confident, in a way that made me remember three goddamned days of his edging torture. “That might be true.” But I laughed. “But I like my sleep a lot too, so I end up rushing past the mirror. Also I can’t see hair colors when I try them and end up with tiger stripes.”
“Dear lord, you tried to dye it yourself? You are not one to let a physical setback stop you from adventure at all, are you?”
He was smiling in a way that made me smile, a way that made me love my impulsive antics. Some people I’d tried to date before I knew myself well enough had always treated that recklessness like a failing, but not Flatline. He approved and it was clear that he did. Of course he might have been biased since that same behavior led me to date him. “Not at all. I could give a little more effort in something like styling though, it’s true. I don’t even have a color excuse for that.”
He stroked a stray hair behind my ear gently. “Oh, I don’t know. I have dreams of those French braids you wear like a little Million Dollar Baby and that Osgood hockey jersey with nothing else beneath it while you serve me scotch or coffee.”
I laughed. “I started buying his jerseys after the octopus thing because he really was bloody brilliant. Okay, what’s your favorite cookie?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Favorite cookie? Peanut butter chocolate chip, I suppose.”
He would choose a difficult bloody cookie. I jumped when the lights went down, catching a glimpse of the wicked little smile on his face before it was dark and the stage was lit. I buried my face in his shoulder, blushing but delighted, when the introduction said the phrase “annual burlesque show”. He nudged me, his whisper insistent. “Really? I release you from months of blindness and you hide your face? Not on your life, Tuesday.”
I grinned and turned back to watch what he wanted me to, knowing it was to tease me all the more. When he got a chance he disappeared for a moment and came back with two small glasses. “Tell me, have you ever had absinthe?” Sparks danced in his eyes, sadistic sparks, and I shook my head.
He lifted a glass to my lips and I obediently drank. It hit my tongue like licorice flavored fire and my eyes went wide with delight. Much like any other intense sensation, it killed any hope of taste for the rest of the night. He fed me both small glasses after that and the night seemed to grow more and more magical with every sip.