“Oh, fine. Go chase the birds.” As the dog launched into action, Kim smiled at Linda. “We don’t let Ari chase the other shorebirds, but gulls are fair game.”
As the dog ran up the beach, gulls flapped into the air with annoyed squawks, and Linda relaxed. Thank you, Ari, for changing the subject. Even with someone as understanding as Kim, she didn’t want to discuss Sam. She sighed. If he’d simply whipped her at the slave auction, she’d have no problems sharing with Kim, but the damage he’d caused hadn’t been from his whipping her. It hadn’t been physical.
That night, when Sam had stepped up to her, she’d trusted Kim’s approving nod. He’d told Linda she could have him or another buyer. If she chose him, he would hurt her, and he’d known she was a masochist. He’d driven everything out of her mind except him, the sensations he gave her, and the sound of his growling voice.
The Overseer had called her a slut and whore. Sam had made her feel like one in an emotional rape far worse than the physical ones.
Earlier today—although months had passed—her body had still reacted to his voice, craving the safety he offered. The rest of her had wanted to hide in a cave.
With a happy bark, Ari ran back and shook, sending water and sand over them both. Kim gave a token grumble. “Stupid dog.”
Panting, Ari dropped down over her feet. His wagging tail thumped on Linda’s ankle like a metronome.
After ruffling the dog’s fur, Kim gave Linda an irrepressible grin. “So about Master Sam. Do you suppose he got so good at a whip because he’s a rancher, or did the sadist come first?”
Linda choked. She remembered all too well how competent the man had been. “You know, a few months ago, you’d never have made a joke about a whip.”
“I’m better. Not all fixed, but better. Raoul made a huge difference.” She tugged at her shepherd’s ear. “Ari helped too.”
“Nice to have a four-footed counselor.” Kim had been kidnapped off the street, and afterward she’d panic if outside alone. Raoul had bought her a doggy escort.
Kim gave her a worried frown. “I figured you’d come back all tan and happy after being at your sister’s in California, but you look exhausted. Not sleeping?”
“Not much, no.” Linda managed to smile. “Maybe I should buy a dog. At least I’d have something to keep the bed warm.” But no pet would solve her problems.
“Well, maybe that guy you were dating last fall will want to heat up your sheets.”
The thought made her skin crawl. “Not going to happen.”
“Yeah, I’m not surprised. I felt like that too. Did you get counseling in California?”
“Um-hmm. It helped.” At least at first. But now the ice encased her more each day, no matter what she did. Over the past few weeks, she’d tried journaling, talking. Screaming.
Needing something to do with her hands, she pulled some grasses up, weaving them together in patterns she’d learned as a teen. Basketry had given her an escape from rigid, fanatical parents, given her a world she could control and a way to make beauty. Later, in college, she’d discovered running and how the throbbing of exhausted muscles could break through her stress and help her reconnect with her own feelings.
She’d needed that help then. Occasionally since.
Because I’m a masochist. What an ugly label, though, with its implication of perversion. Last fall, when she’d realized she needed something more in her life, she’d wanted to experiment. Why not? She was a widow. Her children grown. No real partner.
But she should never have taken that first step, never have visited a downtown kink club to learn if her fantasies and needs had any basis in reality. They did; they did. She stared down at her hands, remembering the wonder of that discovery. Even as part of her was horrified that she’d actually asked to be flogged, she’d embraced the pain. Had flown with it, and for a brief period she’d felt…whole. Alive.
Her throat tightened. Then she’d walked out of the club. Night air, so clean and salty, so quiet after the sounds of the club. In the parking lot, a low cry. Racing over. A woman, unconscious, being tossed into a van. Linda had run, screaming, and everything had gone black.
She’d been kidnapped herself. Right into slavery, rape, and abuse.
Now she wanted to feel whole again. To feel alive. She knew one way to accomplish that, but no matter how wonderful that brief experience of pain had been in the BDSM club, how could she let anyone hurt her again? She’d panic…wouldn’t she?
Yet how could she go home like this? So different from who she really was, with as much emotion in her as a wooden post. Her children would be horrified. And Lee, the man she’d dated off and on? What would he think?
Every day was growing worse. Recently, she had trouble even laughing. She couldn’t continue like this. With a shuddering breath, she rubbed her hands over her face. She knew what she had to do.
That night at the slave auction, she’d been more closed off than now, yet Sam had blown her walls wide open, as if his cruel whip had cut fissures to relieve the pressure.
Maybe if I…if I could get help one more time, then I’d be all right. Back home, with life returned to normal, I’d never need it again.
She couldn’t allow herself to need it again. When she returned to Foggy Shores, she would need to go back to being normal. To pick up her life and habits and keep everything quiet. Sane.
But she wasn’t home yet.
If she could just find someone to…hurt her. Just one time. If she could endure it. Her stomach turned over as she thought of returning to the Tampa club, the one where she’d been kidnapped.
She realized her hands had clenched into tight balls. Finger by finger, she opened them. Earlier, Kim had mentioned that she and Raoul belonged to a BDSM club. A private one.
No one would know her there. And she wouldn’t be alone. If Kim was there—and Raoul—maybe she’d feel secure enough to…do something.
Slowly she turned to face Kim. To meet her compassionate eyes. To force out the request. “Would you and Raoul take me to the Shadowlands?”
Chapter Two
Flanked by Raoul and Kim, Linda walked into the exclusive BDSM club known as the Shadowlands. Light from wrought-iron sconces flickered ominously over the dungeon equipment lining the walls. The overwhelming scents of leather, sweat, and sex slapped into her and stole her breath. The sounds of pain were like a kick to her stomach. Even the music held a savage bite.
At least no one would see her reactions—or who she was. The black mask she wore concealed her face, leaving only her lips and eyes revealed. Now, if she could only get her feet to move. The little voice inside her screaming get me out of here grew louder.
When Raoul put his hand on her shoulder, she jumped. “Chiquita.” His dark brown eyes were worried. “You would be safe in the Shadowlands, no matter what. But you’re also with me.”
“Thank you.” Considering the man had more muscles than the beach had sand, he was a reassuring presence.
“Linda, let’s go home,” Kim said. “We don’t have to stay.” Her blue corset matched her eyes, and her black collar held a silver engraving: Master Raoul’s gatita. Of all the women in captivity, Kim had seemed the least likely to want to be a slave. But the love between her and Raoul was so strong it almost shimmered. Somehow, Kim had moved on and found happiness.
Linda hadn’t. Even worse, she was unraveling as emotions ripped through her. She cringed at the sound of a paddle against flesh. A woman’s screams made her hands turn cold and numb. As the trembling in her belly worked outward, her knees started to shake. She couldn’t escape the memories of horrors. This was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.
“Raoul.” A gray-eyed man blocked their way, and his gaze swept over her face, her shoulders, her hands. “What are you doing? She’s terrified.”
Well, sheesh. She could have sworn she’d hidden her fear fairly well.
“She wanted to come,” Kim protested, then closed her mouth when Raoul tugged her collar.<
br />
The stranger was lean and graceful, wearing all black as a Dom would—only he had no need to wear black to establish his authority. Power surrounded him like the scent of aftershave. “You must be Linda. Little one, you should go home.”
Raoul squeezed her shoulder. “Linda, this is Master Z. He agreed to give you a temporary membership, and he’s the reason you are safe here.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Master Z.” So this was the infamous Master Z who owned the Shadowlands. She swallowed. Kim hadn’t come close to describing how intimidating the man was. “Kim’s right. I wanted to come.”
He lifted an eyebrow in an unspoken command to continue. In just one night at that other club, she’d discovered how a Dom in full command mode could turn her spine into jelly.
“I wanted…” Why had it been easier to explain to Raoul, even if she hadn’t explained everything? “Wanted to remind myself that people do this for fun. Consensually.”
“You want to replace the images in your head with better ones,” he said gently.
“That’s it.” And maybe find someone to hurt me. God, that sounded so sick.
He held his hand out, and her fingers were in his grip before she realized she’d moved. He studied her for a minute, then nodded. “All right, Linda. I think you have the strength, but don’t push yourself into a panic attack.” He arched a brow at Kim. “Your companions are quite familiar with the symptoms.”
Kim actually giggled. The beautiful sound showed that healing could happen, even after horrors.
“I’ll be careful,” Linda said.
“Very good.” He released her hand and moved off with the lethal grace of a big cat.
Linda blew out a breath and glanced at Kim. “Well. You tried to warn me.” If nothing else, Master Z had broken into her nightmare and got her moving again.
Kim grinned. “And you didn’t believe me.”
Linda laughed and looked around. The place was certainly different from the one she’d gone to before. True, her single visit to a BDSM club hardly made her an authority, but she’d spent hours there before doing anything. This place was more expensive. The equipment was padded with leather, the burnished hardwood floors reflected the flickering of the wrought-iron sconces. The general populace was older and quieter, although—she enjoyed the spectacle of a woman in a full catsuit followed by a naked submissive—the costumes were just as outrageous.
“Do you want to wander around or settle somewhere?” Kim glanced over Linda’s shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Uh, let’s just go to the bar.”
Linda turned. The nearest scene was a man on a St. Andrew’s cross with a Mistress putting clamps on his nipples. The spiderweb next to it held a restrained submissive struggling to evade the flick of a crop. Then a spanking scene. Then several people watching a Dom with a flogger.
When the Dom turned slightly, Linda’s lungs felt as if they were being pinched in wickedly tight clamps. Sam. Sam was here. She’d forgotten the dangerous vibe he gave off in dominant mode. Almost half a foot taller than her five-seven, he wore black jeans, black boots, a black belt, and a black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His silvery hair didn’t make him look old—just really, really experienced.
He was using a full-sized, heavy flogger with brown leather strands. No fancy colors for him. The woman on the cross was in tears, her back reddened. As Sam flogged the blonde with a smooth rhythm, Linda wanted to hate him for inflicting such pain.
Yet, as the woman went up on tiptoes, she pushed her bottom back to get more. Her face gleamed with sweat and tears, but her half-agonized, half-blissful expression was that of a masochist getting what she wanted.
I want it too. Linda felt like a shaken soda with the cap screwed on too tightly to let out the increasing pressure. Pain might give her a way to open up and spew everything out. I need that.
Not with Sam though. No no no. And yet… She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself over her silky shirt. Watching him with a woman made her feel odd. Wanting and angry and unsettled. After a minute, she forced herself to turn away. Thank heavens she’d worn a mask.
Raoul was watching her, his dark eyes narrowed. “Shall I find you a Dom to play with?”
How had Kim found someone so sweetly protective? But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—have another person make those choices for her again. “Thank you, but I’d rather choose my own if I decide to…do anything.”
And she’d be very careful. She’d pick a sadist, but not one who was also a Dominant. During her night at the club, the Dom she’d spoken to had told her she was submissive as well as a masochist. As if one perversion wasn’t enough, I’ve got two.
But it had been Sam who had showed her how a powerful Dom could push her limits—could go past her limits. At the auction, she could have handled being whipped, but he’d done…more. Damn him.
“As you wish. Then let us have something to drink while you decide.” After pulling Kim to his side, Raoul guided them to the bar.
Linda glanced longingly at the bottles of tequila, scotch, and rum.
Raoul shook his head. “You may have water or a soda.” He turned to Kim and settled her on a bar stool, kissing her hair lightly.
But I want a drink. Linda sighed but had to admit he was right. Alcohol, in this place, might do as much harm as good. She needed to stay on top of things. In control.
The bartender’s assistant came over to get their orders. As Kim talked with her, Linda looked over her shoulder at Sam. Again.
He’d finished the scene. The blonde with spiky hair who might have looked tough at one time was trying to bury herself in his chest. When he rubbed her undoubtedly tender back and she cried harder, he grinned. Definitely a sadist. But a caring one. And strong. She remembered the steel-like feeling of his arms. He might be in his fifties, but he was all bone and muscle.
A shiver ran up Linda’s spine. Don’t look.
Turning away, she let herself sink into the sounds of the place. The slap of paddles and floggers and canes. Moaning and groaning. A shriek. Low conversation. A half-heard man’s laugh—the sound familiar and horrible—sent memories oozing through her. Caged on a boat. Men talking about—
She shook herself loose, feeling cold sweat trickle down her back. I’m free. At the Shadowlands. And as she listened, she realized the noise was different from the slave auctions. The sobbing was that of a release; the shriek had excitement accompanying the pain. There were none of the hopeless cries, the pleading, and the screams of pain that wouldn’t end. She shuddered.
“Linda. Look at me.” Raoul’s gaze was watchful. Measuring.
“I’m okay.” And she wasn’t lying. His voice, his steady eyes had settled her. She gave him a shaky smile. “Thank you.” Her deep breath calmed her further as she carefully cataloged more differences. She’d thought the downtown BDSM club smelled of leather, sex, pain, and fear. Now she knew fear stank of piss and blood and sour sweat. Nothing like here.
The Shadowlands held laughter, and not only from the male Doms. There were women laughing. To one side, some submissives giggled as one negotiated with a Dom. Linda took a quick survey of the room before turning to Kim. “The percentage of Doms to submissives seems pretty even.”
The bartender’s submissive grinned at her. “Good eye. I’m Andrea, by the way.” She glanced around the room and answered Linda’s unspoken questions. “Master Z keeps the membership balanced, no matter how long the waiting list gets. It’s nice. I’ve visited clubs where I felt like a sheep surrounded by a pack of wolves.”
“That’s it,” Linda agreed. “There’s no sense of being stalked.” In fact, the unattached subs were having a good time with each other. More weight lifted from her shoulders. She’d be safe here, if… Could she really do this? Let a sadist hurt her? Her fears and needs seemed to twine together, creating a macramé of self-loathing. Why couldn’t she be normal?
Her gaze fell on a man by a St. Andrew’s cross. Tall. Thin. He was packing up his toy bag after
using a cane on a younger woman who’d quickly wimped out. But he hadn’t tried to dominate the woman. As he picked up his bag, he met Linda’s gaze and nodded politely.
She continued to stare at him, and he tilted his head, reassessing her.
Raoul’s hand covered hers. “Are you sure, chiquita? Edward is a sadist but not a Dominant. Sam might be—”
“Not Sam.” When his eyebrows rose, she winced at her bluntness. “I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologize for being honest.” His gaze stayed on her face. “Continue.”
“Just…I don’t want a Dom. Or Sam.”
His jaw tightened. “Did Sam do something that—”
“No. No, it’s nothing. I just like making my own choices.” To escape more questions, she kissed his cheek in a hasty apology, then went to meet the sadist halfway.
AS SAM CLEANED the equipment and kept an eye on Dara, he half listened to the sounds from the adjacent scene. Holt was using a cane on a submissive, pushing her boundaries and heightening her arousal. From the noise the brunette was making, the Dom was doing an excellent job.
After putting the cleaning supplies in the stand, Sam went down on one knee beside Dara. With a blanket around her shoulders, the Goth trainee had eaten her chocolate bites and was sipping the sports drink he’d given her.
“How you doing?” Sam asked, running his knuckles over her cheek.
“I’m good.” Her eyes were clear, skin warm, speech coherent. He’d learned Dara didn’t want much aftercare, didn’t want to be held. She liked moving around and enjoying the buzz. She grinned at him. “That was really fun, Master Sam. Thank you.”
“All right then.” He stood and helped her to her feet. After giving him a quick hug, she trotted off toward the restrooms—undoubtedly to admire the stripes he’d put on her thighs and ass.
Feeling a tad deprived, he headed to the bar. What was the world coming to when a Dom enjoyed aftercare more than the submissive?
Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am Page 2
