I hadn’t engaged in wax play since the last time Mistress Valentine had done it on me.
When she stopped in front of me, she lit one of the candles and, together, we watched it burn for a few moments, watching melted wax form.
She brought the candle to my chest and dribbled a little wax down my pectoral.
I sucked in a breath when the wax touched my skin. Though both flogging and wax play both cause pain, they’re two very different sensations.
Mistress Valentine moved to my other pec and dribbled a little more wax this time. By the time the candle neared its end, I was so keyed up, wanting something more, something different.
I remembered back when I used to come to Mistress Valentine’s dungeon, she’d had a special for Halloween, something I’d never tried before.
Wanting to bury my problems, my internal pain, deeper and deeper, I eagerly asked, “Do you still do the Halloween special?”
The special was a form of bloodplay, vampirism. I didn’t know much about it, but in the moment, I wanted it.
Her eyes narrowed. “Caleb,” she said, her voice terse.
“Please,” I begged.
“I don’t do bloodplay,” she replied. “I never have. It isn’t something I’m comfortable with.”
Thrashing against my handcuffs, I shouted, “You’re a fucking domme and can’t do bloodplay? Or you just won’t do it on me because I’m so goddamn pathetic?”
She took a step back, her eyes narrowed. “This scene is over,” she said. “You’ve had enough.”
“No!” I screamed. “No no no no no! Please, you can’t do this!” Lowering my voice, I said, “Mistress, you can’t do this. I need more, I need so much more.”
Huge tears sprang into my eyes, and Mistress Valentine’s face softened. She laid her hand gently on my face and said, “That’s exactly why it has to end, Caleb. You know that. In your own dungeon, you’d never let someone continue if they were in the state you’re in right now.”
She was right, damn it, she was right. I’d put both the physical and mental needs of someone in my dungeon before any of their desires. But I didn’t want her to be right, now when it came to me. I wanted to hurt.
I started crying in earnest and she quickly tossed the nub of the candle aside and grabbed the keys to the handcuffs from her pocket. As soon as she unlocked the second cuff, she reached for me. I collapsed to the ground, dragging Mistress Valentine with me, and sobbed on the floor as she held me.
The second I hung up with Jackson, I threw on some jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed my keys, and floored it to the address he gave me. He lived in a nice condo on Lake Mead Blvd. which, on any other day, I would have admired. But not that day, not when Caleb was in trouble.
I knew I couldn’t blame myself for his actions, but it didn’t stop me from feeling guilty about the turn things had taken since we broke up.
After parking my car, I ran to Jackson’s building and saw that he was already waiting for me by the door.
I threw myself at him, wrapping him in a fierce hug. Despite my terror for Caleb, I couldn’t help but enjoy the way it felt to have Jackson’s arms around me again.
When we broke apart, I asked, “What are we going to do, Jackson? It’s been a week. How will we find him?”
Jackson took my hand and said, “First, we’re going to scour all the dungeons in Las Vegas looking for him.”
And we did. Normally, dungeon masters never would have divulged if a particular person was currently in their dungeon or not but, as the owner of a dungeon himself, Jackson had some sway. Especially when he explained to them Caleb might be in trouble.
My hope dimmed a little more each time we went to a dungeon only to find out that he wasn’t there and no one had seen him recently. No one we talked to even had an idea of where he might be if he wasn’t in any of the dungeons in town.
It was close to dawn by the time we left the last dungeon Jackson knew about. He told me it was possible there were more dungeons in the city, seedier places that perhaps didn’t view BDSM with the care it needed, but he didn’t know where any of them could be. Neither did any of the people we’d talked to that night.
“Where will go now?” I asked when we got back into the car.
“Let’s check Caleb’s house. We can look around, see if there are any clues that tell us where he might be.”
Caleb lived in a cute white house on El Valle St., his yard decorated with desert plants.
Once the car was parked, Jackson and I leaped from it and ran to the door. He pulled fumbled for the right key, finally found it, and unlocked the door.