by Unknown
Only If It Pleases
Sindra van Yssel
Iron Butterfly, Book 1
When Vanessa is gambled away by her Dom, she ends up the slave of the handsome Hart Wolfe for a weekend. Hart has a well-deserved reputation as a strict Master into heavy play. Vanessa isn’t sure if she can live up to Hart’s expectations, but she’s certain that he’s in control and knows the way to pleasure a kinky woman.
Hart isn’t sure he even wants a weekend with Vanessa, though he’s attracted to her. He knows right away she’s not into the kind of pain he’s become so skilled at dishing out, much to the delight of Baltimore’s masochists, but decides to teach her a few things to help her get a better Dom. Little does Hart know Vanessa will rise to any challenge. Her desire to submit can capture even the hardest Master’s heart.
A Romantica® BDSM erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Only If It Pleases
Sindra van Yssel
dpgroup.org
Chapter One
Saturday night at Devil’s Workshop, and all around Vanessa people were playing. Sandra was getting flogged by her Dom, Chuck. Lola had two hunky guys tied up together, and was walking around flogging each one in turn as the two boys kissed. The screams from a waxing in the corner filled the air. Heavy music with loud drums made her want to move and dance. Naked around a bonfire might be fun. Or fucked up against a wall. Instead, she was still wearing the short black vinyl dress she’d hoped would make her irresistible to her Dom.
She was kneeling quietly as ordered, watching Walt, her Dom, and Hart Wolfe play with another girl. They had a curvy, gorgeous redhead named Carol who had a taste for pain stretched out on the X frame, securely tied by Hart. Carol was wearing only her panties. Vanessa had told Walt that she wasn’t the sharing kind. He probably thought because he wasn’t touching Carol, it was all okay. Vanessa could only concede that it was borderline. Walt was supposed to be calling the shots, but this time she wished he’d asked for permission. She wouldn’t have given it. Maybe that’s why he didn’t ask, or maybe Doms just didn’t.
She turned her gaze to Hart Wolfe. He was built—rumor had it he worked in construction. Most women, including Vanessa, were envious of the long, black hair that hung in waves down his shoulders. His features were a blend, part Native American, part Anglo, with a strong, rugged jaw. Everyone knew Hart Wolfe. He had a reputation for being one of the most skilled Doms around, and one of the most strict. He had a taste for high protocol and intense pain. The protocol fascinated Vanessa. The intense pain did not. There was a reason Walt was playing with Carol and not her, and that was because there was no way she was going to be the bottom in the scene he was doing.
Carol was blindfolded. Two clothespins were attached to her pink, upturned nipples. They’d been going on and off Carol’s large breasts for the last half an hour. The two Doms had made a bet. They’d each flick their whip, trying to knock off a clothespin. If one succeeded and the other didn’t, the loser would owe the winner ten dollars. If the whip actually touched skin, they’d owe Carol fifty, and Carol would have a nasty mark. She already had two angry red lines that crossed her left breast as a result of Walt’s misses. The whips the two men were using were single tails, and Carol’s screams had been loud and long. There was a pile of money on Hart’s toy bag, and another under the X-frame. It had all been Walt’s money when they’d started.
There were more boring ways to spend a Friday evening. There was at least a strange kind of tension about what they were doing, and Vanessa cringed every time the whips flicked out so close to Carol’s breasts. But her mind still wandered to all the things she wanted BDSM to take her mind away from. Her screen door needed repair. She’d need to take out another loan to pay the property tax on the huge house her parents had left her, and the house itself would be her only collateral. The garage door was stuck. She had a couple of trees that needed to be cut down before they fell down, and that too would have to come out of the loan. She would be better off moving out and into a small place that she could keep up on her wages, but it was hard to give up on the place that had been her home as long as she could remember. But unless business looked up, she’d lose it eventually, even if she could cling to it for years.
She had been trying to convince herself that Walt and she had a future, even though she’d known better for a while. When she had his attention they were decent play partners, but that was really as far as it went. She’d gone out and gotten herself tested—even though she knew she was clean—in the hopes of convincing him to do the same. The test results were in her purse. It was a silly way to try to deepen a relationship and she regretted the idea already. He’d made it quite clear that if she didn’t want to do something, he’d just do it with someone else. How could she trust him with unprotected sex? She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
Hart flicked his single tail. The clothespin flew off Carol’s breast to land in front of Vanessa. Carol shrieked. That was the third straight time the clothespin had landed right near Vanessa’s knees. Could Hart be that good as to do it on purpose? Hart grinned at her. Intentional or not, he was going to take credit.
Walt swung and missed. Sighing, he pulled a ten out of his wallet and tossed it on Hart’s pile. She’d been counting the money. It was now two hundred dollars, which was all the money Walt had gotten out of the ATM earlier that night.
“Can we do something else now?” Vanessa asked.
Walt glared at her. Hart raised his eyebrows. She had to be careful not to show Walt up in front of Hart. She rephrased. “Can we do something else, Master?”
“No,” Walt said. “Close your eyes and look at the floor, Vanessa.”
She sighed—audibly, but she couldn’t help that—and looked down. And closed her eyes. She barely stopped herself from pointing out that she couldn’t do both at once. She suspected it would be one more thing on Walt’s list of why she wasn’t a very good sub. Maybe I’m not. I want to be. Darn it. When it worked, when she and Walt gelled, it could be quite good, even if she wouldn’t go so far as to say wonderful. If only that weren’t so rare.
“I’m out of money,” Walt said.
Good.
“Well, practice at home, and maybe you’ll beat me next week,” said Hart.
Carol took a sharp intake of breath. Vanessa guessed Hart had taken the other clothespin off.
“I have an alternate proposal,” said Walt.
Vanessa felt her stomach sink. Why did Walt even care that much? She’d already told him she wasn’t ever going to let him use a single tail on her, so what was he practicing for? The things scared her. Hell, she flinched every time she heard one crack, even if it was all the way on the other side of the room. She’d been cringing for the last half hour. She didn’t know how Carol could stand not knowing if Walt would miss or not. For the fifty dollars? Carol was a nurse, which wasn’t the best paying profession in the world but she wasn’t living on food stamps either. Vanessa suspected Carol got off on the uncertainty somehow, but she didn’t understand it.
“I’m listening,” said Hart.
“Vanessa, let’s have you take Carol’s place for this.”
Red. She looked up quickly to say it, and only stopped because Hart was shaking his head. Walt didn’t notice her head jerk up, but Hart most definitely did. Hart frowned at her and then turned back to Walt. “No.”
“Why?”
Because he can tell I don’t want to. But what Hart said instead was, “That’s not fair to Carol. And if you’re out of money, then why were you still playing? If you’d hit Carol you’d have owed more than the ten dollars.”
“I need the practice,” said Walt.
Hart sighed. “God knows it’s true.”
Vanessa suppressed a snicker. She lowered her
head again at Hart’s stern look and Walt’s glare.
“The best thing you can do at this point is practice without a live target,” said Hart. “Aim at a spot on the wall. Flick clothespins off a clothesline.”
“Well then, another alternate proposal,” said Walt. “One more try. If I win, I get all my money back from you. If I lose, you get Vanessa for the weekend.”
Excuse me? She looked up. Even if Hart glared at her again, she wasn’t going to keep looking at the floor.
“What do I get out of it?” asked Carol.
“Do you like girls?” asked Walt.
“Sure. If you miss and hit me, I get Vanessa for the weekend? And by the way, you aren’t getting my cash back.”
“Fair enough,” said Walt. “Do we have a deal, Hart?”
Hart looked at Vanessa and she looked boldly back. She didn’t feel like obeying any of Walt’s orders at the moment, and she didn’t care anymore about showing him up. There were worse things than a weekend with Hart Wolfe. What am I getting into? Maybe there aren’t worse things. He’s supposed to be horribly strict. Just because he’s drop-dead gorgeous doesn’t mean that a weekend with him is going to be fun. He’s a heavy player, much too heavy for me. Maybe thirty minutes necking with him in the back of my car, sure. I’d take that. But a weekend as his?
Her pulse raced. She’d led a sheltered life between boarding school and the nannies that followed her around when she was at home. She’d met Walt through an online dating service, and he’d introduced her to the BDSM scene. She had felt alive for the last few months in a way she never had, even though she had the lingering feeling that something was not quite right. He’d pushed her to try new things, some of which she hadn’t liked much, but some of which she loved, and she’d been brave. Lately she had a feeling that their relationship was winding down, that he saw her faults more than he took pleasure in her. This is another new thing to experience. She was pretty sure Hart would at least stop her from thinking about the house.
Of course, if he missed and hit Carol, Vanessa wouldn’t be looking at a weekend with Hart. She’d never told Walt about the time she’d fooled around with her roommate in college, so maybe he thought a girl would be a new experience for her as well. But she’d dipped her toe in that water and felt confident it wasn’t for her. Survivable, yes. But not something she wanted. Possibly it was an idea that turned Walt on. Maybe he’d strike Carol on purpose.
She could use her safe word and stop it all. Walt wasn’t going to win. She felt the pressure of the two men waiting for her answer. She needed to negotiate, not simply say yes or no. She knew already that Walt would accept the safe word, but other than that, she was expected to say yes. Yes or Red. Red or Yes. She shrugged. She didn’t care much what Walt thought right then. Oddly, she actually cared more that Hart saw her as a good submissive. She raised her hand. It seemed a reasonable compromise to blurting out. Walt was glaring at her.
“What do you have to say, little one?” asked Hart.
She didn’t think she was particularly little, but she wasn’t feeling quite enough of a smart-ass to look behind her and pretend that Hart was addressing someone else. “If Walt hits Carol, I’ll pay Carol the fifty dollars. And Walt will be my slave for the weekend.” She’d never felt any particular desire to top, but right now, she had a number of things she’d like to do to Walt, and none of them were pleasant.
“Honey,” said Carol, “you sound like you have some frustrations to work out.”
“A little bit,” Vanessa agreed.
“I’m good with it, if we get to watch.”
Walt was still glaring at her. “You realize if I’m that worried about hitting Carol, it’s going to be harder for me to hit the pin.”
And that’s my problem how? And maybe the idea of giving me away for the weekend should worry you more than switching roles. Instead she smiled at him. “You can do it, Sir. I have faith in you,” she lied.
He gave her a curious look and then nodded. “Fine. Deal.”
Walt and Vanessa looked at Hart, who looked like he was thinking. His gaze was fixed on Vanessa. She turned up her chin and met it, wondering if this was such a good idea. The most likely outcome was that Hart would win, after all. But she’d always have her safe word, and she knew enough of Hart’s reputation to know he’d honor it. Still, a whole weekend…
The one thing she was certain of was that she’d never forgive Walt.
She wondered if Hart was deciding whether she was worth risking his hundred dollars. She clenched her teeth. Maybe he simply didn’t want a weekend with her at all. Maybe he had other plans. She wasn’t sure what was going on between him and Carol, after all.
The silence lengthened. Finally, Carol said, “Don’t leave me hanging, honey.” Blindfolded, she wasn’t privy to the way Vanessa and Hart were studying each other.
“Honey?” asked Hart sharply.
“Master Hart.”
“Better. I’m in. The entire weekend, Vanessa. Until Sunday evening.”
She nodded slowly. She’d be sure to get a good night’s sleep before Monday morning that way. She needed to make a go of her pottery business, and she couldn’t afford to come to work dragging. Maybe a weekend with Hart would have her looking forward to work. Or worse, maybe she wouldn’t want it to ever end. Only one way to find out.
Hart put on the clothespins, and Carol breathed sharply in. “Your choice, left or right,” he said to Walt.
“Right.”
“Fine. Ready, Carol? Breathe in and stay still.”
Carol breathed as directed. Crack went the whips, and both clothespins flew off. Carol shrieked. A true masochist, she enjoyed the pain. Even, Vanessa suspected, the pain when Walt missed. Better her than me. Walt had always been disappointed in her ability to take pain. She could do it for him, but she didn’t enjoy it. What she enjoyed was the interaction of Dom and submissive. Giving up control. Giving him her total attention and getting it back. Making him come. Knowing she was pleasing and would be given no choice but to be pleasing.
She hated disappointing.
Hart didn’t bother to collect the clothespins this time, instead getting two more out of his bag. He put them on and Walt looked closely.
“Left.”
The two men switched places. For her, the fact that Walt might miss and hit Carol with the whip turned what was painful to watch into something almost unbearable. She’d changed her mind about doing nasty things to Walt. She’d rather just walk out on him and take a taxi home. She closed her eyes, but then curiosity overcame her squeamishness. She opened them to see the whips crack and the clothespins clatter. “Almost got you that time,” said Walt. From his voice, it almost sounded as if he would have regretted it.
“Indeed,” said Hart. “Vanessa, if you end up winning—which is to say, if Walt hits Carol—would you like a little lesson in how to use a single tail?”
Walt paled.
Big chicken. You can dish it out but you can’t take it yourself, can you? “Yes Sir, that would be lovely.” She knew what Hart was trying to do—make Walt so nervous about hitting Carol that he’d miss.
“What if you hit Carol?” asked Walt.
“Not gonna happen,” replied Hart.
“If he hits me, then he has to take me on as a slave for the weekend,” said Carol. “And give me marks. Lots of marks.”
“Agreed.” Hart reached into his toy bag, got some more clothespins and put them on. He didn’t look flustered in the least.
“Right,” said Walt.
They switched places again.
Carol breathed in. Walt swung his whip, and this time Hart waited, taking the smallest of backward steps. Carol twisted—she couldn’t move much because she was bound tight, but just an inch was enough to make Walt miss the clothespin. Hardly seems fair. Then Hart’s whip whistled through the air and flicked Carol’s other clothespin off. Carol wasn’t trying to make Walt miss, Vanessa realized. She was trying to make Hart hit. Which also wasn’t fai
r, but Vanessa supposed she couldn’t blame the girl for trying, even though the thought of a single tail striking her own breasts made her cup them for protection. The idea of trying to make it happen on purpose—well, there was no way. Carol must really want to spend time with Hart.
“Shit,” said Walt. “She moved.”
Hart flicked his whip again and knocked the other clothespin off. “She did. But not in a way that made it any easier for me than you.”
“You waited.”
“I anticipated. It’s part of serious single tail work. You have to know how your sub is going to move, how she’s going to react, what she wants. Those are things a Dom should know.”
Walt stared. Hart’s voice showed no malice. He wasn’t trying to show Walt up. The problem was that Walt thought he was an equal, and Hart saw himself as the teacher, providing Walt a lesson. Perhaps that was the point of the whole interaction for Hart, and the money just his payment for teaching. He’d offered helpful pointers all along the way.
For a long moment, Vanessa thought there was going to be a fight. Then Hart turned away and started working on Carol’s bindings, whispering something to her. Whatever he was saying, Carol nodded. Walt breathed and turned away.
“That wasn’t fair,” he told Vanessa.
She was inclined to agree with him, but there was a point in what Hart had said too. She wasn’t about to go home with Walt anyway. Not at this point. Does he think it’s sexy to gamble me away? It’s not sexy for me. Especially when Walt had so very little chance of winning. She sighed. Hart was ignoring her and Walt had let her go. With her limited capacity for pain, no wonder. Doms liked subs like Carol, a self-professed pain slut. The whole setup made her feel anything but pleasing. “A deal is a deal.”
Walt took a step to stand in front of her. “I’ll see you Monday night, okay? We can do dinner, and then you can show me what Hart has taught you.”
“Right.” Not likely. My self-esteem may not be sky-high right now, but it’s better than that. But as she thought about what he said, she realized that perhaps that had been what Walt had been after all along. Walt loved to play chess, and was always talking about what he called a “fork”—a situation where he had two options on his next turn, both of which were good, and his opponent could stop only one. Either he got his money back, or Vanessa got “trained” without Walt having to put in the effort.
