Unforgettable

by Aleatha Romig

  Her smile beams larger than life. “Welcome back, Moira.”

  I nod as my heart rate races and my knees tremble beneath the satin. “Thank you.”

  “You’re lovely, dear. Mr. Santana will be pleased.”

  Hearing her speak his name brings warmth to my cheeks. As we begin ascending the grand staircase, I say, “Dorothy, I don’t know what to do.”

  She reaches for my arm and leans closer. “Do whatever he tells you to do.”

  With each step my nerves increase. When we don’t stop on the second floor, I ask another question. “What’s on the third floor?”

  “More secluded private rooms. Mr. Santana made a request. And just so you know, the rooms are not viewable. They’re also soundproof.”

  My feet stutter. “Soundproof?”

  “Yes. When we enter, I’ll show you a call button. Since no one can hear the participants if they scream, the button is to alert us if you are no longer comfortable and want to leave or need assistance.”

  I’m no longer climbing the stairs. My high heels are rooted to the plush carpet covering the stained wood. “Scream.” I suppose it didn’t come out as a question, but in reality, the one word I repeated is filled with more questions than I can articulate.

  “The other night you viewed a couple.”

  I nod. “She didn’t scream.”

  “She’s well-trained.”

  Mr. Santana’s deep voice replayed in my head from last Saturday. You have a voice. Use it. I want to hear you. I want to hear your answers. If the time comes, I want to hear your pleas and your cries of ecstasy and pain. Speak.

  I swallow. “Well-trained? That’s not me.”

  “Dear, you can turn around right now.” She shakes her head. “It would be understandable.”

  The length of the cape settles against my sheer-stocking-covered legs.

  Do I want to turn around?

  Am I scared?

  Am I also excited?

  “You know him...Mr. Santana,” I say tentatively. “Will he hurt me?”

  “You do know where you are?”

  “I do. I mean...does it hurt?”

  Dorothy purses her lips and shakes her head. The movements aren’t a negative response to my question. If I am to guess, it’s more of a disbelief in my naïveté.

  “If you’re not looking to receive, perhaps you should cancel and explore the idea of being the Dominant. There truly are endless possibilities.”

  I shake my head. No, I know what turns me on, what makes me excited. I’m nervous, but I won’t turn around, not when I’m this close. Besides, for some unknown reason, I trust Mr. Santana. I straighten my shoulders. “I’m going up.”

  “Very well. I’ll show you the call button or one last chance, I’ll take you back to the door. It’s your choice, Moira.”

  I inhale. As I do, the corset reminds me of all I’ve done to get this far, and I know that I don’t want to turn around. “The call button.”

  “Very well.”

  We climb the second set of stairs in silence as my mind fills with stories, some I’ve transcribed and others I’ve read. I imagine the woman’s red skin and her tears from last Saturday night. It’s as we reach the final step that I recognize what I only let skirt my thoughts: not only am I frightened, I’m incredibly turned on. My nipples are hard as diamonds behind the lace of the corset and the satin of the cape. My core is twisted and my thighs are slick. There is no way I’ll be able to hide this once I’m alone with Mr. Santana.

  “Dorothy, is there a restroom?”

  “If you are thinking that you should hide your arousal, may I suggest you dismiss the thought.”

  My neck straightens. “H-how did you know?”

  “Follow me to room four. Mr. Santana reserved it for tonight.”

  “Are the rooms different?” I ask as we pass other doors, each well-spaced apart, indicating the rooms hidden behind the walls are large.

  Dorothy smiles. “Yes.”

  When we stop, she knocks once. The deep voice coming from within reverberates directly to my needy core.

  “Enter.”

  Dorothy opens the door. Within the large room, the lighting is low. After one step, my feet again stop as I gasp, taking it all in.

  “Leave us, Dorothy.” His baritone timbre echoes through the large space, yet I can’t see him. He’s in the shadows at the far end of the room.

  I turn a small circle as Dorothy speaks, saying something about the call button. Though I hear her, her words don’t compute. I’m too busy taking in my new surroundings.

  In the center of the room is a large circular red rug showcased from a light above.

  “Remove the cape and kneel in the center of the circle.”

  Lucas

  I’ve heard it said that nothing can compare to what one conjures in the imagination.

  Watching Moira, I couldn’t disagree more.

  The memories I replayed in my head as I took care of business under a cool spray of my shower didn’t come remotely close to the reality of her here with me.

  This woman is stunning as she reaches for the top button of the cape, her gaze still searching the room, room four. It’s one of the largest rooms in the club, fully decorated and supplied with every toy and implement relevant in BDSM play. It’s a room often reserved for people like Dorothy, those wanting a more painful experience.

  Most of the accessories are visible; the painted dark red walls are lined with indirect lighting, showcasing hooks and glass cases. It is like a scene from a popular movie with the wide variety of crops, whips, belts, paddles, floggers, and even canes. A large St. Andrew’s cross is secured to one wall, complete with bondage apparatus. The large bed to the other side has four posts. They aren’t ornate but sturdy and reinforced with metal to withstand the visible bondage cuffs. Off to the side is a spanking bench designed for multiple positions, including one that would secure the submissive’s ankles as she lies back with her legs spread high in the air and her pussy exposed.

  The clothing I sent was to gauge Moira’s self-assuredness. This room is to test her willingness to discover her fantasies.

  As she removes the cape, my breath leaves my chest.

  Holy fuck.

  She was gorgeous in her black dress and without it, but tonight she is a true vision of loveliness as sexuality, sensuality, willingness, and even anxiousness seeps from her being. The emotions create a cloud of desire that makes me want to taste her, suck her, and drive her to frenzy before we even start.

  Moira stills with her cape in hand.

  “Drape it over the stool near the spanking bench,” I say, wondering if she has any idea what most of these things are and how they are used.

  “Spanking...?”

  I stand, yet I know from my position and the lighting that she still can’t see me. “Don’t make me wait, gorgeous. I don’t like to wait.”

  She takes a step toward the bench. “Is this...?”

  “You were instructed...” My timbre has slowed. “...to enter the circle and kneel.”

  Without my reassurance, she finds the bench and drapes the cape over the leather surface of the smaller stool. Turning with her sexy neck straight and tall, wearing the shoes I requested, she walks into the circle of light. Bending her legs, she gracefully falls to her knees, sits back on her calves, and with her back straight, bows her head.

  Good girl.

  I’m getting harder by the minute.

  Either she’s done this before or she has researched it.

  Her pert tits heave against the lace of the corset, half globes revealing the reddening tops of each areola. I think about the case filled with different clamps as my dick continues to grow. Slowly, I step from the shadows. My leather shoes tap the marble floor. As I get nearer, her face tilts upward. Though I am dying to see her blue eyes, this is about training.

  “Eyes down. I haven’t given you permission to look up.”

  Immediately her chin snaps to her chest. “I’m so
rry, Sir.”

  “And your hands belong on your thighs, palms up, fingers and arms relaxed.”

  Without looking up she complies. And while it’s nearly indistinguishable, I hear her humph. The sound makes my cheeks rise. I would guess that relaxed isn’t how she’s feeling at the moment. It is, however, the way I want her to feel, relaxed and trusting. That will take time.

  Time?

  Is that what I want?

  For over two minutes I walk around her, circle after circle, taking in her tight round ass, her heady breaths, and the way her thighs press tighter together.

  “In my note, I gave you a safe word. Do you remember it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  I wait. Finally, I say, “I need to hear it.”

  Her blue eyes look my way. “Sir, I remember it. I don’t want to say it. I’m only supposed to use it when I want everything to stop. I don’t.”

  I stifle a grin.

  Damn, she’s adorable.

  The word is cupcakes. I don’t know why. It is a word not often mentioned during BDSM, one that would definitely get my attention. If she doesn’t want to say it, I’m not forcing the issue. I have battles to choose and training to continue.

  “Eyes down.”

  Resuming her position, Moira remains silent.

  Walking away, I make my way to the wall with the crops and floggers. Over the last few days, I’ve imagined baptizing her with fire, using a cane or a thick leather strap. That was what I insinuated to Dr. Kizer. That was before. Now that she’s here wearing what I sent, I can’t do that. I don’t want to.

  There’s something about this woman that makes me want to please and protect as much as I want to hurt.

  Even measures.

  The tips of my fingers graze over the different crops until I find one with a slender, semi-stiff handle covered in leather with a folded leather strap at the end. It will redden her skin with a quick bite, but won’t strike hard enough to leave her sore or harm her beautiful skin. With it secured in my grasp, I make my way back to the radiant woman still kneeling.

  Taking the crop, I run the leather over her slender shoulders, with just enough pressure to tease. As I do, her flesh prickles with goose bumps. When I stop in front of her, I bring the end of the crop under her chin and lift. “Look up, Moira.”

  I’m momentarily stilled by the serenity of her stare.

  “Are you scared?” I ask, keeping emotion from my tone.

  “No, Sir.”

  Her voice washes over me like a liquid melody. I feel its life-giving tune as well as hear it. And then I consider her answer.

  She isn’t scared.

  If this is her first time, she should be. Yet she claims not to be. “Rule number one is complete and total honesty at all times. That’s not negotiable. If you lie to me, you will be punished. If it happens repeatedly, we will be done. Tell me again, are you scared?”

  “No, Sir. I’m not.” Her lips curl into a smile. “I was, Sir. I almost didn’t make it here, to the club or up the stairs, but now that I am...here, with you...I’m not scared.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  Her gaze doesn’t leave mine. “I don’t, but I trust you. You may prove me wrong.” She quickly looks around the room before back to me. “This may all be wrong. I may be wrong for wanting to be here, for wanting to be with you. However, the answer to your question is still no, Sir, I’m not scared.” Her nipples push against the lace.

  “What are you?”

  “I’m excited, anxious, and...” Her cheeks fill with a flash of pink.

  “Talk to me, gorgeous. I want your voice.”

  “What about my screams?”

  “What?” I ask, taking a half step back.

  Marji

  “My screams, Sir.”

  Mr. Santana extends his hand, gesturing for me to rise. “Come with me, Moira.”

  Come with him.

  Where?

  I don’t ask. I take him in. His suit tonight is gray and his tie matches the color of the mask he sent for me. He’s a tall man, as tall as I’d remembered. Though I can’t see the entirety of his face, I see his strong chiseled chin, high cheekbones, and firm lips.

  I lift my hand to his and marvel at the way it fits within his grasp. His steady support helps me stand. In just the short time I’ve been kneeling, my feet are prickly. Shifting my weight, I fall into him.

  In one swift move, he reaches down, cradling me behind my back and under my knees, and effortlessly lifts me into his arms. The gesture is oddly reassuring as I melt against his broad chest. At the same time, his chest inflates as his nose comes close to my hair. It’s as if he’s taking in my scent.

  It’s weird and hot as his rich cologne fills my senses.

  Mr. Santana lowers me to the edge of the giant bed and helps me to lie back against the soft cover. His finger comes to my lips. “Honesty works both ways, Moira. I don’t know why you’d mention screams, but you did. If you’re asking if I want those...” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “eventually, yes. However, I would venture to guess that what I want isn’t what you’re thinking.”

  What am I thinking?

  My gaze goes to the St. Andrew’s cross. From where I’m lying, I can only see the top, but I know what it is, what it’s used for.

  There’s one of those in each of Dr. Kizer’s cabins. I’ve transcribed the notes as the Dom describes the scene. In many cases it’s like a ritual for him, binding his wife, his submissive, knowing he’s going to bring her pain while the submissive willingly accepts her fate. The women’s accounts vary but only by perspective. They speak about the cleansing release that comes with a cane or a whip, how the world’s pressures no longer matter as the only thing they can think about is the searing pain. They describe it favorably. It seems wrong, yet upon entering Lace and Leather, right and wrong no longer seem to apply or maybe those words take on different meanings.

  “Moira, look at me.”

  I do, and I’m lost in his dark stare, the intensity and realness.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me why you mentioned screams,” he demands, yet the edge from earlier has smoothed.

  “Dorothy,” I answer honestly.

  His brow furrows. “Dorothy? What the fuck?”

  I nod. “She said this room is soundproof and people can’t hear my screams.” There’s a micro-expression or twitch that I can’t identify in Mr. Santana’s lips. I go on, “She told me there’s a call button to push if I want to leave.” My head moves up as I try to look around. “I don’t know where it is. I guess I was overwhelmed walking in here.”

  His knuckle caresses my cheek. “Moira, do you want to be here, with me?”

  “Yes, Sir. You’re all I could think about this week. I swear, I am about to lose my job.”

  His cheeks rise as he grins. “You’ve been on my mind too. The room is soundproof. That’s a fact. I’ll be happy to point out the call button. I won’t lie to you. One day I want to hear you scream, but not from pain. A well-trained submissive doesn’t scream with pain. A vocalization is voluntary. You can control it. A well-trained submissive will remain silent unless instructed otherwise.”

  I stare upward, hearing not only his words but the care in which he delivers them. He’s talking about hurting me and me not crying out and yet I’m not afraid. He makes it sound like a goal to achieve.

  When I don’t verbally respond, Mr. Santana shakes his head as his gaze lowers to my breasts and below. “The way you knelt, I thought maybe last time wasn’t your first experience.”

  “With this?” I ask, clarifying his comment. “With all of this, it was my first time. If you are asking if I’m a virgin, I’m not.”

  Mr. Santana chuckles. “Neither am I. I wasn’t asking, but now that we have that out of the way...”

  I can feel the heat in my cheeks. “I didn’t think you were.”

  “Yet you know some things about this.” His gaze moves about the room.

  I don’t want
to mention my work. “I have read and listened to things. I guess I wanted you to think I knew what I was doing so you’d be real with me.”

  “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  My head shakes. “No, Sir, but I want to learn.”

  His gaze slides over my body, from my face to my high heels, each inch bringing heat to my skin as if flames are growing stronger into a raging wildfire within his dark orbs. “You’re stunning in the gift I sent you.”

  His praise fills me with warmth.

  “Scoot up the bed. I’ll show you where the call button is.”

  Doing as he says, I move until my head is upon the pillow. “Sir?”

  His dark stare meets mine.

  “I’m not scared. I don’t need the button, but I don’t understand about the screams.”

  “Beautiful Moira, the time to scream isn’t as I bring you pain. It’s as I bring you pleasure.”

  Like fireworks in my circulation, his explanation heats my blood, racing it to where my core clenches.

  “Tell me,” he demands, with a deepening tone. “Would you be willing to learn how to hold the screams back until the pleasure arrives?”

  Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Lift your hands. I’m going to make sure you don’t change your mind about the call button.”

  I do as he says as soft lamb’s wool-lined leather cuffs are secured around each of my wrists.

  “Talk to me, gorgeous.”

  I’m still looking up at the cuffs. “They’re bigger than I imagined.”

  “They’re wide so they won’t leave a mark.” He does something over my head and the cuffs lower. “Now roll over. I want to get a better look at your beautiful round ass.”

  It’s not easy to move with the cuffs, yet I do. Once I’m rolled over, he helps me lift to my knees and elbows. Then, he again adjusts the cords connected to the cuffs and hooks my wrists together.