by His Slave
“Don’t worry. I’ll give you plenty of notice, if.”
“It’s going to be interesting.” He didn’t move a muscle. Just the same, he felt closer somehow. Invading her space. Testing her.
Slouching in his leather chair, Robert studied his nails. His cuticles needed clipping, something his manicurist would do when he saw her later today. Right now he had more important things on his mind.
“I don’t trust him,” Atwood said. “He’s been here, what, nearly a year? I still can’t figure him out.”
“I was thinking the same thing. He’s a bit of a wild animal, a cougar maybe. Got too much of the predator in him.”
“Nah, nothing wild about Mace. He’s ruled by a lot more than filling his belly. You know what I’m thinking, that man’s a pit bull.”
Made more uneasy than he’d ever admit by the image of a frenzied mass of muscle and teeth, Robert glanced out his window. In the distance were treetops, proof that the city park was only a couple of blocks away. Unfortunately, the close-up view was of Edge’s parking lot.
“Pit bulls need to be kept chained,” he said. “But trained right, they’re valuable.”
“As long as no one turns their backs on them. Are you sure we’re making the right choice? Maybe someone we can keep in line?”
Robert shook his head and went back to studying his nails. “Then we’d have someone without balls. Mace has what we’re looking for, all the qualities we need at the Blind Spot.”
Sighing, Atwood began rubbing his paunch. Damn the man, he was letting himself go, not that he’d ever say anything because Atwood could sink him as quick and deep as the other way around. Like it or not, they needed each other.
Fortunately, there were rewards, specifically the Blind Spot.
“I want to see her there,” he admitted. “On her knees. Naked. In chains.”
“Not so fast. One step at a time. And most important, the whole time we’re getting there, she can’t see it coming.”
“What about Mace?”
“He’ll think he’s been given the keys to the city.”
“I’m not sure he cares about that, but if those keys work on her chains—that’s how we feed our pit bull.”
4
Caught. Immobile. Naked. Hot.
Cheyenne’s dream relaxed its grip on her by degrees. First she became aware of cotton sheets on her bare skin, then the dawn-cool air coming in the open window. Any moment the alarm would go off, and she needed to pee, but sleep continued to caress her. As long as she kept the day at bay, she could burrow into the fading memories, maybe build and expand those images until they tipped her into a climax.
She’d been in a dark room, perhaps a cave, perhaps a dungeon, albeit a climate-controlled one. Because she couldn’t lift her head to a natural position, her back and neck had ached. Harsh bars had pressed at her from all directions, even under her hands and knees.
She was in a cage barely large enough to hold her. Someone had stripped off her clothes and thrust her into the cruel contraption, and now she waited for whomever had done this to her.
Instead of terror, she panted in anticipation, her nipples so hard they hurt, pussy wet and soft and aching. In short, she was a bitch in heat, helpless and ready for—something. She didn’t know how long she’d been in the cage, whether this was the first time, or what her captor looked like.
Her captor. A man, of course. With bottomless eyes and an expression that said he had every right to do this. He stood in the shadows, looming over her, turning her into a trapped animal, drawing out the time until he’d taken possession of her.
“It’s going to be another hot day, folks, so take advantage of this temperature while you can. The latest on your commute, repairs on the Morris Bridge are still slowing traffic to a single lane. If you can avoid—”
Paying no attention to what else the radio announcer had to say, Cheyenne freed herself from her pale blue sheet and sat up. Not bothering with slippers, she padded into the bathroom and plunked her ass on the toilet. Holding her head in her hands, she tried to recapture her dream, but like ocean fog, it slipped off into nothing. Hopefully it, or one like it, would return tonight. In the meantime, she had to deal with reality.
She was in the shower before resigning herself to decision making. Her first, the easy one, was to use rose-scented shampoo. The other involved her career, or more specifically whether it was going somewhere as opposed to, possibly, the unemployment line.
Turning so her back was to the shower head, she let the spray wash over her hair. Using both hands to get at the suds made the most sense, but the task could still be done with one while the other went between her legs.
Hot up inside, wet and slippery and willing to get even more so with the slightest bit of encouragement, which she wished to hell she had time for.
How long would it take to get off this morning? Hard to say because she didn’t make a practice of keeping track. Easy to do when she combined fingers on her clit with chain, blindfold, even gag fantasies.
Mace was a dom!
A sharp shake of her head failed to throw off thoughts of the too damn big and dangerously sexy man. All that served was to make her dizzy, which came between her and finishing what she’d started with her hand job.
What would his hands feel like on her body, between her legs, caressing her breasts, hell, mauling them?
Still light-headed, she straightened and reached for the soap, but it squirted free and landed over the drain. Bemused, she stared through the water sheeting off her head. Being alone was safe, kind of, but she’d feel a hell of a lot safer without the kind of thoughts she’d been having from the first time she’d seen Mace. The man got to her. Worse and better than that, he was the perfect dom poster man.
Sexy. Dangerous.
A pro to her lower than amateur status.
Bending over, she snagged the soap. Then although logic said she should bring it and her washcloth together, she pressed the bar between her breasts.
Decisions. Accept the challenge Robert and Atwood had thrown at her. See if Mace really was what their employers had made him out to be. Play sub to his dom and write the article of her career about the experience.
Or...
There really wasn’t an or, was there? Not if she wanted to go on paying her bills.
Cheyenne had argued, ad nauseam, that she didn’t want to go to Indulgences with Mace. Smart and savvy girls kept their own wheels under them on the first date. No way was she going to be beholden to him for getting to and from the club.
He’d shut her up by pointing out that security cameras scanned the parking lot. There was only one way to pull off their act of being a couple of consenting players in the BDSM scene, and that was by playing according to the rules.
And the rules said he dressed in snug black slacks, shiny shoes, a muscle-hugging turtleneck, and drove a black sports car while she huddled beside him sans bra and panties wearing a skirt that kissed the top of her thighs and a see-through blouse unbuttoned to the middle of her breasts.
If her folks could see her now, not that they’d care.
“You come here a lot?” she asked around the knot in her throat. Although she didn’t hug the passenger’s door, she kept to her own space as much as the small interior allowed. “Would they call you a regular?”
“I was for a while. Not so much lately.”
“Why not?”
It was night, the boulevard jammed as befitting a Friday evening. Any driver who valued his life and wheels kept his attention on the traffic. Fortunately, Mace fit that demographic, which meant she could occasionally glance at him without being studied in return.
“Things change. I change.”
“What do you mean?” Would he guess that her questions, in part, were designed to try to keep her nervousness tamped down?
“We all change, Cheyenne. At first the new is exciting. Then it becomes familiar and the seeking starts all over again.”
She could ask
what he meant by seeking, but if the condition went as deep as she suspected, he wouldn’t open up any more than she would. “I don’t know. Sometimes the familiar is the perfect base. For example, I’ve always loved the written word. To me it’s kind of like having a hundred blank canvases and an endless supply of paint. There’s no end to the possibilities.”
“You’re good with the written word.”
“I appreciate the compliment, if that’s what it is,” she said. “There must be something that turns you on the same way diving into a new project does me.”
“Sex turns me on. Isn’t that enough?”
No, she wanted to yell at him, no! Life in all its forms was to be embraced, celebrated. At least that’s what the manual said. But what if no matter what she put into her life, her parents never considered it good enough?
“Sex in general?” She forced the question. “Or the kinky kind like what’s going to happen tonight?”
His silence gnawed at her. Should she shut up or, even better, ask for an explanation of what to expect? Cover his fingers with hers and absorb more of whatever the hell was swirling around her?
“A lot of game playing goes on at Indulgences,” he said. “I trust you understand that. What you’ll see isn’t necessarily the real thing.”
“I realize fantasy plays a role in the BDSM scene, if that’s what you mean.” Okay, if he insisted on keeping things professional, she’d meet him in the middle. Except they were hardly a couple of bean counters divvying up beans.
“In part what I’m saying is, some Indulgence members live the lifestyle twenty-four/seven. Others, the majority, check their real selves at the door and assume new personas.”
“What about you?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Why not, Mace? What are you hiding from me?
“You don’t like hearing that, do you? Get your story, just keep me out of it.”
“That’s hard to do considering I can’t get the story without you body guarding me.”
“That’s not all I’ll be doing.”
“You’re right. Mace, why didn’t we talk about this before?”
There it was, another of his silences. If only she could root around in his brain—and other places.
He tapped the brakes, glanced in his rearview mirror. “We should have.”
Until now, she’d successfully kept her hands semi-folded on her lap. Now, thinking about how soon she’d be stepping into a world she’d only fantasized about, she laced her fingers together. The lump that had been in her throat returned, larger than earlier. “I should have brought it up,” she admitted. “Granted, I’ve done my research, but that won’t fully prepare me for the real thing, will it?”
Slowing, he flipped on the right turn signal. “Do you trust me?”
“What do you mean?”
They were turning off the boulevard and onto a narrow, ill-lit street. She started sweating.
“This is my turf. If you’re willing to follow my lead, you’ll get through it; but if you don’t trust me, you’ll panic.”
“Are you sure? You don’t know me very well.”
“I’ll know you a hell of a lot more by the time the night’s over.”
“Does that work both ways?”
He was traveling less than twenty miles an hour. Because he wanted to finish what they’d started before reaching their destination?
“Maybe.” For the first time since picking her up at the Edge parking lot, he looked at her. As they passed under a streetlight, she caught a glimpse of his eyes but couldn’t see beneath the surface. What she suddenly understood was that he didn’t want her getting any deeper into him than she had. Because there was nothing there? Too much?
Her head aching from what she’d just discovered about the powerful man next to her, she stared resolutely at the building looming ahead. A single, subtle light illuminated the word Indulgences over the door to a single-story, sprawling structure that made her think of a warehouse.
“You know what it means to be a sub, at least the rudiments,” he said as he eased into the crowded gravel parking lot. “The regulars will see you for what you are, a newcomer. There’s no need for you to pretend to be anything else. However you respond to me will be spontaneous. Here.” He tapped the jockey box between them. “Put it on.”
Suspicions about what she’d find helped not at all. Her fingers did the jerky dance as she lifted out a dark leather collar with an oversized metal locking device. The lock would take a key to undo. A metal ring was imbedded in the leather.
She could do this. Her growing up had prepared her for facing life head-on. Beating it down if that’s what it took.
The leather was softer than she’d suspected and felt almost like velvet around her throat. Still, she started as she clicked it in place. Step one taken. Sub label in place.
“Good,” he said as he pulled into a parking slot.
“You had doubts I’d go through with it?”
“Can’t blame me.” He put the car in Park and killed the engine. “Here’s the basics. You speak only when I give you permission. I’ll keep things basic and hopefully within your comfort zone. I can read your body language. If I’m about to take you too far, I’ll know before you do.”
She couldn’t stop herself from fingering the ring. Couldn’t think how to open her door. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not going to tell you, slave.”
Slave.
“You don’t want to blow your cover, right?” He watched her restless fingers.
“No.”
“Then this is how it has to go down. Be authentic. Keep telling yourself that, authentic. You ready?”
Not trusting her voice, she nodded. Then he leaned toward her, and she didn’t know whether to take a header through the closed window or bury her head in his lap and squawk out her fear. Instead, she dropped her hand so he could connect a chain to her collar.
“Wait here,” he said and reached for his door handle.
5
She sat alone in the silent, dark car. A couple of men were going into Indulgences, not that she gave them more than a glance because Mace was walking around to her side. In mini-seconds, he’d order her to get out. She’d plant her weight over her too-high-for-safety heels and do whatever he ordered her to. Go inside that mysterious and exciting building, and be changed by the experience.
A quiet click followed by a rush of summer air jolted her. Saying nothing, he reached for the chain and tugged her out. There was nothing playful about his grip and nothing sympathetic or comforting in his cool appraisal.
Changed? Already happening.
Arms dangling at her sides, she trailed after Mace as he hauled her along like some obedient dog. Walking on gravel forced her to concentrate on her footing.
Mace opened the large door, stepped in, jerked her against his back. If the surroundings weren’t sucking her dry of composure, she would have slapped him.
“Hey, Master M, good seeing you,” a masked and caped man with a smoker’s voice said. “If you’d have let us know you were coming, we’d have made a few calls. Gotten some of your fans in here.”
“Not interested,” Mace said. “I have another agenda tonight.”
“So I see.” A soft hand landed on her shoulder. “Your slave have a name?”
“Not tonight. Anything in particular happening?”
The soft hand remained in place, prompting her to stare up at the man who’d invaded her space. He wasn’t particularly tall, with a belly that made him look about five months’ pregnant. His mask added to her sense that she was out of her element. She also didn’t appreciate being pawed this way.
“Master JJ has reserved the center stage for an auction starting soon. Last I heard, he’s selling five of his slaves.”
Mace’s laugh lacked warmth. “Ever the showman. I wonder how much he paid them to play his little game?”
“None of my business.” The masked man massaged her shoulder, drawing h
er blouse off her collarbone as he did. “You want one of the private rooms, or will you be taking this public?”
“Right now we’re just watching. Got it, watching. And no sampling.”
The man lifted his hand off her. “Hey, don’t get your shorts in a knot. You can’t blame me for being interested in a little fresh meat. Where’d you find her?”
To her relief, Mace didn’t answer. However, neither did he acknowledge her existence before striding into the large, heavily populated, and dimly lit room. At first the room, which was a step down from the entryway, made her think of a gymnasium, but no gym she’d ever been in had held a population like this.
People stood in groups or milled around. Voices, mostly male, clashed. Their costumes took two forms. Either, like Mace, they were draped in black, or they’d stuffed their bodies into too-tight leather. Not enough flesh was covered, and a few had their cocks on display. If she had one word for the way they walked, strut won hands down. Whether they were pretending or for real, they gave out auras of control and confidence, arrogance, and the capacity for cruelty.
As for the women—well, there was no lack of skin there either. Or collars, cuffs, ankle restraints, even chastity belts. Some were gagged, a few had been blindfolded. Breasts hung out. Shaved pussies were on display. Heads sagged submissively.
The BDSM Internet sites she’d visited had featured nubile young women with painted lips and false eyelashes. Most had helped plastic surgeons pay their bills. The talent knew where to stand to best advantage for the camera, how to shout out their supposedly forced climaxes, how to best struggle in their restraints so their assets were displayed.
In contrast, the women at Indulgences came in all sizes and ages. Some had nearly nonexistent breasts, while at least two of the slaves’ breasts hung nearly to their waists. Granted, there were a few prime specimens, but she’d stack up pretty well next to them, pretty darn well.
Not that it mattered.
“You renting her?” Whoever had just spoken was so close behind her that she felt the speaker’s breath on the back of her head. “If you are, I’m interested.”
