Finding Their Balance

by M. Q. Barber

  As the older man launched into his answer, Henry graced her with an eyebrow salute. Master Laurence took roles seriously. Gender roles, maybe—he carried old-fashioned women-are-children notions—but mostly lifestyle roles. She’d presented as a submissive at their first meeting, and he’d accorded her less status. Now she presented as a mistress, and he spoke to her with an accommodating, if pedantic, attitude.

  “My guests of honor have arrived,” Cal called. With black leather pants, a whip holstered on his belt, no shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat, he overshot sensual power and landed on cartoon ringmaster.

  Jerking to attention, Jay returned to fidgety watch stroking while Master Laurence halted his dissertation on patterned socks.

  “The emperor himself,” Will muttered. “Someone ought to burn his closet.”

  Snickering with Jay, a welcome crack in his tension, she sidled closer. He’d have to project his strength in front of Cal, but she could buttress him.

  “How exciting.” Cal approached, his shark smile gleaming. “I suppose you simply couldn’t stay away.”

  “No, not with your thoughtful invitation, so painstakingly worded.” Henry studied Cal. “Though I do apologize. I missed the directive to don costumes.”

  As she bit her lip, Jay ducked his head and Santa turned a chortle into a cough. Only Henry and Master Laurence maintained polite neutrality.

  “You miss many things, Henry.” Cal sneered with pretty-boy ugliness. “But I’ll demonstrate them all.” He flung his arm in a grand sweep. Toss in a handlebar mustache and a red coat, and the ringmaster illusion would be complete. He probably thought he looked fantastic. Blind to his flaws—in dress, in mannerisms, in recognizing the basic humanity and dignity of other people. “I’ve reserved you a place so you’ll have an unobstructed view of the proceedings. I know how you love to watch me work.”

  How dare Cal bring up the night he’d assaulted Jay as if his grotesque betrayals belonged amid casual chatter over cocktails. As if Henry hadn’t castigated himself over and over again for not stepping in sooner.

  In silence, Henry weathered the jab with a stone’s equanimity.

  “Do try to keep your jealousy in check tonight.” Sneer reappearing, Cal glanced at Jay. “Stealing is bad form.”

  “So is continuing without consent.” She darted into the conversation with more righteous anger than conscious thought.

  “You’ve brought the kitten who clipped your balls.” As Cal ogled her, his slippery ice-blue eyes threatened freezer burn. “Is she growing a cock now?”

  Palming her back, Henry lent her his calm. Goading Cal would be ineffective if she lost control. She had to keep hold of herself if she meant to keep hold of her men.

  “Don’t need to.” She slid her hands past the edges of tailored suit coats and cupped Henry and Jay. “I have two perfect specimens right here.”

  As Henry kissed her temple, Jay brushed his lips against her neck. Warm breath and nuzzling noses eased her surging blood pressure.

  “I’ve always been an overachiever.” Dual twitching cocks more than gratified, but she chased other quarry tonight. Releasing her gentle hold, she pasted a bored glaze on her face. “Not everyone has”—she eyed Cal’s skintight pants with disdain—“impressive enough qualifications.”

  “Your pets are bold, Henry.” Irritation flickered in Cal’s eyes and rippled through his voice, but he held himself together with frequent glances at Master Laurence. Impressing the board might rank higher in his goals than knocking her, Henry, and Jay down a peg. “They’ve forgotten their manners.”

  Someone had. Sniping at Henry and her without so much as a hello for Master Laurence, Cal had misstepped. But the older master issued no reprimands, answering with bland neutrality all but the initial surprise she’d handed him in her ribbonless state.

  Narrowed eyes and lowered brows suggested Cal had caught on. “And you’ve forgotten to tie pretty ribbons on your pussies. How will we know they’re yours? You’re too soft for anyone to know you’re a dominant otherwise.”

  Emboldening Cal with his silence, Master Laurence sharpened her hunger for details of the master’s talk with him after the business with Leah.

  “They’re dominants in training today, Cal.” Henry, naturally, ignored the slur against his own skills. Only jabs at his lovers merited attention. The rest flowed beneath his concern like so much sludge to the sewer. “May I present Master Jay and Mistress Alice?”

  As Cal’s amusement crumbled, his lips twitched in a proto-snarl. “Are you making a joke?”

  The old man might support Cal—or he might be observing how far Cal would go if no one steered him back. Master Laurence hadn’t objected to Will’s characterization of Cal as a naked fool. But he sat on the board, and the board had agreed to tonight’s demonstration.

  “Speak to my partners all you like.” Warning scraped along Henry’s neutral lilt. “You may be assured they’ll respond in kind.”

  Equal footing. A hard place for Jay to stand, but a necessary one. The freedom to recognize he owed nothing to Cal beyond the barest courtesy required of all club members.

  “You make a mockery of dominance. True masters would be appalled.” Cal’s scowl deepened, his twisted mouth an angry red scar beneath the glass-sharp shards of his eyes. “The cunt maybe has fight in her worth beating out. But this bitch?” He waved at Jay with five fingers she ached to grind beneath her heel. “He was born to live on his knees. He’s a whining, cock-hungry fuck-slave, and that’s all he’ll ever be.”

  Rage darkened her vision, turned the lights fuzzy. An iron band enclosed her wrist.

  Henry.

  Sweet Christ, she’d almost hauled off and decked Cal.

  Fist pinned to her side, she unclenched trembling fingers. Henry had silenced his cutting insights. Will had muted his diversionary humor. She had to settle her anger and let Jay shine. If he stumbled, they’d all be in place to help—but they had to let him go, first. To feel his worth himself, not handed to him in others’ praise. To acknowledge his value, real and distinct from their love.

  Jay stood unbowed. Quiet sincerity flooding his deep brown eyes, he met ugliness with faith. “I’m not a slave.”

  “You’re a slave dressed in a master’s clothes.” Cal fingered the whip hanging at his hip. “Purely because your so-called master enjoys being dominated by his fucktoys.”

  “I decide what I am and who I’m with.” In his unblinking stare, Jay carried Henry’s implacable grace.

  Like a defensive dog expecting the snap of teeth, Cal raised his chin sideways.

  “I made the wrong choice a long time ago.” Hands clasped behind his back, Jay measured his truths by the minute hand. Slow, steady strokes. “I respected someone unworthy of my respect.”

  Leather flicked at Cal’s hip. A single brass snap kept his bloody threat holstered.

  “I know better now.”

  Henry threaded his fingers in hers.

  “And when I choose to serve—” Jay breathed deep and thrust his shoulders back. “It won’t be you, Calvin Gardner. It’ll never be you.”

  Elated, she throttled the urge to thrust a triumphant fist into the air. To shout until her throat went raw and her cheers dried to a rattle.

  The whispers of nearby eavesdroppers would have to suffice. Jay hadn’t raised his voice, but he hadn’t tempered his tone, either. A low roar raced away, fueled by the perpetual motion of the rumor mill.

  A red flush ruined Cal’s icy composure. “You aren’t fit to lick my boots.” Pitching his voice overloud, he spilled adolescent insecurity, a thirtysomething who’d never grown up. “I have a better class of slaves waiting. It’s time to prepare them for their debut.” His abrupt spin slapped his whip against his thigh. “Master Laurence, I appreciated your vote of confidence at the board meeting.” With his sidelong sneer, he targeted Henry. “It was well in keeping with my father’s wise decisions when he ruled here. If you’ll excuse me.” S
currying off, he pushed his way through the crowd.

  Henry, glancing after him, hummed quietly. “How like Cal to believe the board rules rather than serves.”

  Wrinkles overtaking his face, Master Laurence pursed his lips. If God were gracious, the just-enough-rope approach dangled in his head. He’d seemed disappointed over the Leah situation. Maybe he’d grown tired of managing an old friend’s sociopathic son.

  “That was—” Like autumn leaves fluttering to ground, tiny tremors rippled through Jay. “That was amazing.”

  She flung her arms around him. Fuck the watching crowd. Impetuous and eccentric could be a good look for her. “I’m so goddamn proud of you.”

  Over her shoulder, Henry claimed a rough kiss. Brief enough for decorum, long enough to send relaxation cascading down Jay. As Henry drifted back, a wisp of happy-Jay-whimper floated by her.

  The lights flickered, two times. The milling crowd shuffled toward the waiting seats.

  Henry squeezed Jay’s shoulder. “We may go if you like.”

  Tucking his lip in his teeth, Jay eyed the platform and its St. Andrew’s cross. “The victory would be just mine. He’d target other people here.”

  “He would.” Low-toned and serious, Henry smoothed Jay’s lapel from the mess her clinging embrace had left. “Whether his bad behavior is your responsibility to obstruct is a question you must decide for yourself.”

  Fidgety nods escaped first. “I want to stay.”

  They claimed seats in the so-called place of honor the staff had roped off. Delicate short couches acted like box seats to the front and right of the filled rows of sturdy wooden folding chairs. Master Laurence and Santa William claimed one couch, and Emma and her board-member escorts a second.

  When all had settled, Alice sat between her men. Henry laid his arm across the sofa back in a masterful stretch. As tight as the men hedged her on either side, Henry’s hand rested square against Jay’s back. She’d have rather snuggled Jay between them, but the appearance of independence benefited him. He’d get his snuggles at home.

  The overhead lights dimmed. Striding into the spotlight came Cal, his booted feet thudding up the three steps to the platform. Behind him trotted two hooded figures on leashes.

  He blathered on, playing the ringmaster in a showy, arrogant speech devoted to a litany of his own talents. “And, of course, hold applause until the end, lest your appreciation impinge upon my concentration.” He strutted to the front and tipped his hat toward them. “Welcome to our honored guests from the board, who require no introductions. If I may, I’ll dedicate tonight’s demonstration to Henry—excuse me, Master Henry, our beloved coddler, who prizes safety over pleasure. What a wonderful mother he makes.”

  Henry remained unmoved. A handful of chuckles spilled in a crowd approaching a hundred, ten rows of ten seats of awkward shifting and silence.

  As if he expected a cape to swirl behind him, Cal spun about and stalked away.

  “Cal’s mother wishes she had such a hard cock for her pleasure.” Will’s whisper heralded low, spreading laughter as the quip traveled.

  Back stiffening, Cal clicked his heels to a stop. “Not all appetites are so tame.” Standing between his subjects, facing the crowd, he spread his arms wide. “There’s pleasure in danger when I hold the whip.”

  He stripped the subs’ cloaks to the floorboards.

  Snatching her hand, Jay wrapped them together on his knee. “I’m not leaving.”

  The man on stage shifted lean, muscular legs, the lanky strength in his calves and thighs leading to a trim waist and firm abs. Sparse hairs dotted his chest, and he boasted a thick, shaggy mop of black strands falling across his forehead. With his soft brown gaze, he surveyed the crowd in a state of attentive calm. His waiting pose.

  Jay looked out from those eyes.

  Oh God, she was going to be sick.

  Henry tightened his embrace. A deep inhale brought her the gentle bite of citrus, light and fresh and oh-so-welcome.

  “Not leaving,” she echoed. But Jesus Christ.

  Flickering beyond Henry’s solid bulwark, audience members rotated their stares between the stage and their resolute trio. No fucking wonder. The woman, dark blond and curvy, carried attributes a smidge more generous up top than her own, but Cal more than made his point with the pairing.

  “Step forward and be seen, slave.” Cal scooped up a short crop and slapped the man’s thigh with it.

  Yelping, he skipped front and center. His brown eyes flashed below the fringe of his hair before he bowed his head.

  “Seen, I said. Not heard.” With the crop, Cal prodded between the slave’s legs. “Spread.” When the man widened his stance, Cal drew back the crop. “Be still.”

  Balls swaying from the hit, the slave confined his flinch to a silent grimace.

  “What’s this? No thank-you for your master?” As Cal switched him, rapid strikes on his inner thighs, he targeted Jay with his stare. “What an ungrateful slut you are.”

  Though the slave shuddered, his cock rose. “Please, master, this slave is sorry and thanks—”

  “Too late. You’ve been ruined by impotent masters who dole out praise when punishment is deserved.” Cal’s shit-eating grin at Henry made adding fuck you redundant. “Retraining is a must.”

  As Cal delivered punishing slaps, the crop whirred like playing cards tucked into bike spokes. Jay’d shown her on his spare bike one Saturday. They’d ridden up and down the street, building up speed, fake-revving their “engine” as the turning back wheel snapped the cards over and over. A fun sound. Sickening, now, when thighs glowed exit-sign red and tears streaked the slave’s cheeks.

  “Proper order must be maintained. Slaves are a carpet of bones and flesh for my amusement. When they rise above their station?” Twirling his crop, Cal glared at Jay. “Well, it’s the cross and the whip for you.”

  Jay turned her fingers white, but his face masked the distress leaching from his grip. He and Henry sat unmoved as matching bookends, a mix of boredom and faint disapproval graven in straight lips and slow blinks.

  Scowling, Cal circled his slave and studied him face to face.

  Anticipation. Henry mastered them with their own excitement most days. His murmured promises—

  Cal straight-armed the slave in mid-chest. Grunting breath billowed out, and the slave stumbled back. His shoulders hunched as he sucked in air.

  Arm extended, hand raised like a stop sign, Cal laughed. “To the cross, slut.”

  The biddable Jay-copy complied. Cal manipulated him into position with flicks of his crop. Red splotches rose along outstretched arms and legs.

  Henry had taught her to follow his tune with teasing feathers and gentle hands. When they played, her heart sang a giddy harmony with his and Jay’s.

  The man strapped and padlocked to the heavy frame met his master’s training methods with gritted teeth and wide, rolling eyes. Skittish as a horse confronting a prairie rattler.

  Cal unsnapped his whip. The coils thumped at they dropped to the boards, and the slave flinched. Stepping closer, grasping handfuls of muscled back, Cal grinned. He raised the whip handle—a fat, foot-long leather-wrapped club—and extended his arms over the bound man’s shoulders.

  “A slave serves at his master’s pleasure.” Jamming the handle against the slave’s throat, Cal throttled him with a two-handed grip. “The animal’s own enjoyment”—he kneed the gagging slave in the balls—“though sport for laughter, is unnecessary, and ought to be strictly controlled.”

  The whip hung around the slave’s neck, the weighted handle and stinging tail dangling down his back. His breath came in pained wheezes.

  Cal abandoned him. At the corner nearest their seats, he slowed his swagger and stroked the bulge in his fancy pants. “A master, of course, is free to indulge his appetites where and when he will.”

  He must have trapped Jay long ago with the seductive charm he poured into the smile he targeted h
er with now. His lone trick, useless when he couldn’t resist showing the serrated teeth waiting to tear into fresh meat.

  As he leered, his eyes lit up. “He compels obedience from mouthy bitches using every tool at his disposal.”

  Calling on her is-this-boring-ass-lecture-over-yet face, she gave him no edges to gnaw or scabs to pick. Audacious jackass. As if she’d jump out of her seat and beg to join him.

  Cal worked his jaw sideways and stalked away.

  A hmpf sounded behind their couch. “He cheapens his gifts—”

  Holy shit, the quiet, gentlemanly resignation was coming from Master Laurence.

  “—with such a distasteful attitude.”

  The nude woman on stage remained in the spotlight. She’d watched the cropping and binding with nonchalant interest. Either she’d perfected her mask of indifference the way Alice and Jay had at home all week, or she truly didn’t care about her co-submissive.

  Cal passed behind her. Without a word, he yanked her by her hair, twisted her neck until she faced him on her knees, and ground his crotch against her cheek.

  Nothing of Jay’s worship or her own love for sucking Henry’s cock came through the woman’s dead-eyed gaze. She allowed Cal to mash himself against her, but she wore the vacant stare of a clock-counter. How many minutes until her shift ended and her life would be her own?

  In Cal’s hands, a pile of leather and buckles became bonds for the woman. Sleeves captured her forearms behind her back, and straps secured her wrists to her ankles. She rested on her haunches, immobilized.

  Cal kicked her knees wide. “The animals must know who is the master here.” He dragged his boot, a scuffing rasp on the boards, and probed her sex with the black leather toe. Grabbing her by the hair, he jammed her face into his groin.

  The woman uttered muffled groans and swung her shoulders, a pendulum out of balance.

  “Their fear and struggle is the master’s reward for his toil.” Paying no attention to the woman at his feet, Cal reserved his sadistic glee for eye-fucking Alice. No telling how often he’d jerked off to this scenario with her in the key role.