“You are heretofore not allowed to tease me with your confusing terms unless we have privacy,” Bash orders.
“Oooh. Sounds like you're threatening me with a good time.”
“I am.”
I wink at him. He snorts fire.
Cyden shakes his head at us. And he mutters, “I know what a goodie box is, Isla. Are you seeking something like this?” He rummages through a pile of what looks like scrap metal—until he holds up a freaking chastity belt.
I stare at it, wide-eyed. It looks like the ones I’ve seen in movies and social studies and history class (where they taught us they were 100% real, by the way, only for everyone to be told twenty years later on Ripley’s Believe It Or Not that medieval noblewomen did not walk around with rusty crotches developing a serious aversion to locks and keys. But men don’t change. If women are still being forced to wear them in India and elsewhere today, the eccentric and egocentric did it back then, says I), with a giant metal front and decorative metal Brazilian brief butt-cheeks...
And the crotch has teeth.
HOLY FUCKING FRIED JIMINY CRICKETS. There’s a pussy-slit with freaking METAL TEETH on this thing!
“That’s not an Everlast!” I cry.
There’s even a round metal-toothed anus-protector welded below the crotch-biter section.
“That is not an Everlast!” I repeat. I point to it, my head swiveling up to stare at the hob. “WHERE did you get this—and what happened to it?!”
Because maybe most alarming of all? This chastity belt looks broken and it’s been scored by deep, deep slashes. Most of the grooves seem centered on the metal waistband… like something tried to claw through it.
Rather than simply answering me, Cyden sets the belt back on the pile. “I’ll return swiftly,” he vows, glancing between Bash and I before he tugs his heavy-looking leather apron over his neck and tosses it on a bench as he walks out.
Bash’s eyes are pure apple jade when his long arm snakes out and he hooks a claw in the contraption’s waistband, lifting it for examination.
Then his gaze lands on me. “You will wear this for me?”
Ever seen an Eastern screech owlet? Sure you have. There’s a thousand memes of these cute little suckers with huge-ass startled eyes. Do yourself a favor and do an image search for funny owls. That’s twenty minutes of your life gone as you scroll through pictures, but you’ll do it laughing. Because there are few things so emotive in the animal kingdom as these huge-eyed little birds of prey. Startled, suspicious, smiling, squinting, glaring, staring, and sleeping—it’s amazing what you’ll ‘see’ when you look at those big eyes.
Right now, in the face of Bash’s question, I’m displaying the ‘WTF’ variety of owl expressions. I’m just missing the super cute eyebrow-ears.
But what I say is, “I will totally wear a chastity belt for you.”
Bash must hear the reassurance he’s clearly seeking, because I watch his entire body almost relax.
His gaze flicks from me to the belt. He surprises me with a grim smile. “The idea of you being kept in this should horrify me. It should.” His eyes pan back to the belt, fixing on the gleaming metal—specifically to the toothy form of protection. The iron-clad—ha, ha… literally—guarantee that no one will be putting their dick near that kind of craziness. “But Isla?” His eyes are on me again, the gleam to them entirely alien. “It does not.” His gaze burns a brighter shade of emerald.
I look from his face to the way he’s still holding the belt suspended by one of his huge claws. “Something tells me that we’re going to need to visit the kinky stores when your birthday rolls around.”
Bash looks contemplative at this declaration.
Cyden reenters the smith stall, returning with none other than Mandi’s alien cat.
“OOOOH, the plot thickens!” I crow, clapping. My eyes must be the size of dinner plates as I point gleefully to the clawmarks on the metal contraption. “Oh, kitty cat, did YOU scratch someone out of that?”
Jaw ticcing, the alien feline glances at the chastity belt like it has offended him. “I tried.”
“OH MY LAND,” I exclaim, eyes rolling in bliss until they find Bash. “This is the best day ever.” I turn back to the cat. “More please—I need to know more.”
“So do I,” the hob butts in. He raises his brows at Mandi’s cat. “What can you tell me about making one to fit Bubashuu’s Isla?”