In a roped-off area, Raoul was using a long single-tail on Kim. Having seen the damage a whip could inflict, Linda could only stare as the end flicked lightly over Kim’s back, over and over, never leaving a mark.
Kim was giggling so hard that her Master snorted, then made the whip crack over his head before swirling it back to snap on Kim’s butt. This time it was hard enough to make her jump. And giggle some more.
Linda shook her head. Who would have thought the ex-slave would have fun when her Master used a whip? The cracking sound still made Linda freeze.
Beth came up beside Linda and wrapped an arm around her waist. “He never goes much harder than that, at least not with the whip,” she whispered. “Kim enjoys a sexy flogging and even a paddle, but not the whip. He gave her a few stripes when he collared her, and it was so beautiful.” Beth sighed. “She proved she trusted him to give her pain, that their relationship and her submission meant enough that she’d risk her worst fears. He proved to her he could hurt her without going crazy and slicing her to pieces.”
Linda realized Jessica was on her other side. “Yeah. Raoul loves playing with that whip. The first few times, Kim was stiff and scared, but…look at her. She’s going to earn herself a few lines just because she won’t shut up.”
Raoul walked over and redid the ankle straps, widening Kim’s legs. She couldn’t wiggle anymore, and her pussy was…awfully exposed.
Linda bit her lip, remembering how Sam had caned her, moving up her inner thigh to hit her labia. What would Raoul do? “Is he going to get mad at her?”
Jessica shook her head. “Watch.”
Kim sassed him again. Linda realized he’d moved so Kim couldn’t see his flashing grin, and his stern voice didn’t convey his amusement. “Chiquita, you are begging me for some pain, yes?”
Raoul had a great voice, Linda thought. Smooth and deep and with that tiny accent.
But she preferred gravel. Harsh with an edge of mean sometimes.
Raoul’s next lash made Kim squeak but left only a tiny pink mark.
“Damn, he’s good,” Linda whispered.
“So’s Sam.” Beth squeezed her hand. “He and Raoul were showing off out at Cullen’s once. I couldn’t figure out which one was better.” She shook her head. “I still don’t like whips.”
Linda shivered, remembering the first time Sam had whipped her. It had been at the auction with some triangular leather thing called a dragon’s tongue. He’d sure known what he was doing with that. Then again, he also seemed just fine with big and little canes. And his hand. Linda swallowed, feeling heat wash through her. Darn the man, just thinking about him got her all hot and bothered.
As a gust of wind rattled the windows, rain hit the glass panes like a drumroll. The storm was picking up.
“God, I’m glad I don’t have to drive in this stuff.” Jessica glanced at Linda. “Z’s going to keep the place open all night and let people sleep in the second-floor rooms if they want. But if…ah…you don’t want company, you can use our guest bedroom.”
Company. Linda’s lips curved. She kind of liked that room they’d used on the second floor so long ago. “I think I’ll be fine.” You got it bad, girl. “Where’s your man?” she asked Beth.
Beth turned toward the bar. Although Nolan was talking with Cullen, his gaze never left Beth for more than a second.
“He really keeps an eye on you.”
Beth grinned. “He says I disappeared on him once and it’s not going to happen again.” She deepened her voice. “‘Not on my watch.’”
“Sheesh, I’m surprised he let you come.”
Beth glanced at Jessica. “All the Masters showed up tonight. Because.”
Because of Linda and her hunt. Some of her fear ebbed.
Jessica put her arm around Linda. “We’re here for you too.”
When Linda grinned—the little blonde was all of five feet two and didn’t look as if she could down a fly—Jessica sniffed. “I’m not going to attack anyone. Our job is just to keep an eye on you. The guys can’t follow you around, but no one notices us subs.”
Oh. “Thank you,” Linda whispered, warmth spreading through her. She glanced over at the bar, caught the bartender’s frown, and winced. “I need to get to work. Master Cullen looks like he’s going to have a hot-guy hissy fit.”
To the sound of laughter, Linda headed for her assigned area.
As time went on, she checked on drinks and took orders and listened. Nothing. Nothing. And more nothing.
Exasperated, she returned to the bar with her drink orders, then had to wait for Cullen.
The giant bartender was whistling along with the music as he poured a glass of wine for a Domme. Finally he wandered down to her. “Got some orders for me, pet?” he asked, leaning a forearm on the bar top.
She handed over her tickets. Some of the trainees could remember who ordered what, but she sure wasn’t one of them. Old age, maybe, only—she huffed a laugh—she’d never had a good memory.
Cullen flipped through the notes and turned toward his submissive. “Andrea.”
She didn’t notice. Dressed in a catsuit that had more parts missing than were present, with cute white ears and a long white tail, Andrea remained intent on the beer she was drawing.
Cullen snorted, then leaned over and grabbed her tail.
Linda winced when she realized the tail wasn’t attached to the costume, but to a butt plug instead.
Using the tail as a leash, Cullen pulled his submissive backward. Grinning at the spatter of Spanish profanity from her, he said, “If that plug comes out, love, I’ll use a bigger one.”
Linda’s backside tightened in sympathy.
Andrea backpedaled more quickly.
“When you finish that beer, set up the drinks for these, please, pet.” Cullen handed some of the tickets to Andrea before looking back at Linda. “Run along and take more orders. By the time you get back, we’ll have these ready.”
Clever Dom, keeping her moving. But as a roll of thunder went through the room, Linda frowned. Between the pounding music and the storm outside, she was having trouble hearing. She leaned forward. “What did you say? The music’s too loud. I can’t hear you.”
Cullen hesitated, then even as he repeated himself, he nodded his understanding. Exchanging insults and jokes with the people seated around the bar, he moved toward where Master Z sat at the end.
Before Linda reached the back of the room, the music had changed to something quieter.
* * * *
Damn neighbor shouldn’t keep a bull if he couldn’t keep him penned up. Still grumbling, Sam turned into the long driveway to the Shadowlands.
Z had promised to watch over Linda when Sam called, but hell. Every minute that passed had increased the tightness in his gut.
And he was late for nothing. Capturing a horny bull in the rainy night had proven impossible. Looked like he’d have a couple of calves he hadn’t anticipated.
To top things off, he’d had to bring Conn along to make sure the damn dog didn’t try to run the bull off, which was how Sam had discovered the downed fence in the first place.
“You got a death wish, don’t you?” he asked the muddy mutt curled up on a horse blanket beside him.
Conn gave a happy whine. Dog loved riding in the truck, and tonight he’d contentedly nap in the cab until Sam had time to let him out for a run. From the sound of it, the storm wouldn’t let up anytime soon, and Z would encourage the members to sack out in the upstairs rooms.
With luck—and he’d damn well make that luck—he’d talk Linda into one.
Maybe after Conn got a walk. The soft-hearted woman would undoubtedly want to come out and pet Conn. And she’d get soaked.
A good Dom would order her to strip out of her wet clothes.
A good Dom would spank her if she hesitated.
A good sadist would redden her ass even if she didn’t.
Sam parked his truck at the entrance—hell with the parking lot. No one else would
be arriving at this point. After a dash to the front, Sam pounded on the heavy door. Locked, as he figured. Ben opened the door and stepped back. “Z said you’d be along. Surprised you came out in this mess.”
Like he’d leave Linda here without him? “Surprised anyone did.”
Ben took his seat behind the desk. “Most came before it started raining heavy.” He frowned. “The lights have flickered a couple of times. We might end up without power.”
“Won’t that be fun?” Sam shook his head, spattering the floor with drops. The emergency lighting wasn’t bright enough for safe scening. Last time the power had gone out, everyone gave up and sat around the bar, Ben included. “You might end up with a drink tonight.”
“Sounds good.” Ben’s ugly face split in a grin. “I’m not into the action, but those corsets? Oh yeah.”
Sam snorted in amusement, then entered the clubroom. Cullen and Andrea still manned the bar, although someone would relieve them soon so they could play the last few hours. A lot of the equipment had been shoved into the corners, so Z must have rearranged for some reason.
As Sam walked through the room, he assessed the happenings. A couple of new members were using the spiderweb; rough old Smith and his sub were on the nearest St. Andrew’s cross; screams came from the bondage table area where electroplay was happening. Mistress Anne had not one, but two submissives at her feet, one man in a frilly apron with a lacy maid’s cap. Would have been better if the guy had shaved first. The other had been locked into an elaborate cock ring and looked near blastoff.
Finally he spotted Linda.
He’d told her last night the trainees could wear the costumes kept upstairs. Apparently, she had. She was damn fuckable in all brown leather, from the bustier that pushed up his favorite assets to the laced-up leather skirt that gave glimpses of garters. Her only jewelry was the trainee cuffs.
Guess he’d better see about putting some ribbons on those cuffs, although he wasn’t real happy about that thought.
When he reached her and turned her around, her eyes lit with relief. “I’m so glad to see you.” She put her hand on his. “I feel safer with you here.”
The feeling of being needed was a heady one. “That the only reason?”
She leaned into him, brushing her breasts over his chest, and murmured, “Perhaps not.”
Hell, yes. He pulled her in for a long, hot kiss and let his hands roam over her gorgeous curves. Her pussy was bare under the skirt, and he couldn’t resist filling his palms with her soft, round ass cheeks. “Girl,” he murmured.
She actually giggled. Putting her hands on each side of his face, she held him an inch from her lips and whispered, “You’re the only person I know who can say ‘girl’ and mean ‘I love you and want to fuck you.’” She kissed him lightly. “I love you, Sam.”
Damn effective how she could turn a man’s brain to mush. He smiled down into her pretty eyes. “Get to work, trainee.”
As she laughed and walked toward the bar, he turned to watch. Yeah, the view was even better from the rear. She’d laced the skirt tight enough that it hugged her round ass. Be fun to inch it up to her waist so he could enjoy what was under.
Hell, now he had a hard-on to match the ones Anne’s subs sported.
As he moved to where Cullen was mixing a drink, he heard the distinctive crack of a bullwhip. What the hell? “Who’s using a whip? And how?”
“Anyone who wants.” Cullen grinned. “Z roped off a couple of areas for single-tails.”
Well, damn, the evening was looking up. Sam pulled his favorite bullwhip from his bag, adjusted the coil, and clipped it to his belt. “Sounds good.”
“Yeah. Z hoped you’d give a demo and lesson for the newer Doms.”
“No problem.” His favorite kind of lessons. “Trainees okay?”
“They’re fine.” Cullen jerked his chin to the left. “Uzuri’s staring at one of the new Doms.”
Sam turned. He’d seen the guy before. Multiethnic, like Uzuri—maybe African-American and Asian. As a farmer, Sam had learned hybridizing made for stronger plants and animals. Made damned fine humans as well.
Uzuri didn’t care about a man’s race though; she just wanted a man who was gentle and dominant. But Sam had noticed the new Dom had a decided preference for darker women.
After taking the man’s order, Uzuri walked back to the bar, hips swaying in a way that no man could mistake.
“Want that one?” Sam asked as she set her tray on the bar top.
Her eyes rounded. “Oh. I—” Her dark skin darkened further. Glancing over her shoulder, she let out a sigh. “He’s even better looking than Denzel Washington. But he could have anyone here, so why would he want me?”
Marcus had walked up in time to hear her words. He frowned. “You’re pretty as peach pie, Uzuri. Sweet. Lively. Smart.”
“Any Dom you’ve been with requests you again, missy,” Sam said.
“Really?” Her face lit up. “They like me?”
Sam’s gaze met Marcus’s. Yeah, they’d be working on her sense of self-worth in the next few scenes. He’d have to pick Doms who could handle that. He turned to study the new guy. Needed to talk to him.
“But, don’t…don’t bother that one. I still—”
Sam gave her a look that shut her up. The little mite had worked her way into his affections. He’d damn well be sure she was safe. “You don’t have anything to say about it. I’ll be talking to him. See if he’s worthy of you.”
Her mouth dropped open. Then she shocked him spitless with a hug before dancing down to where Andrea was setting up drinks.
Sam heard Cullen’s sub whisper, “You hugged Master Sam?”
“My reputation’s going to hell,” Sam grumbled, giving Linda a quick check before turning away.
“You’d best go beat on someone,” Marcus agreed.
* * * *
At the bar, the spotter watched the older redhead—the ex-slave—serve drinks. Yes, that was a slave he’d like to break. To shove his cock in every orifice. Then his knife. Make her bleed.
Aaron shifted on the bar stool as he hardened, and his head began to buzz. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d had any real fun. At one time, he’d been able to wait months between kills, but then he’d linked up with the Harvest Association. His price for targeting potential slaves had been to fuck the unpurchased ones. To kill the damaged ones.
Fine times.
Didn’t look as if the redhead would be available anytime soon. He’d heard Davies tell another Dom she was being evaluated and wouldn’t be released to play with anyone for a week or so.
Even when she was, Aaron would have to be careful. Sam seemed to have a special interest in the trainee.
In the meantime…perhaps he’d take a trip to Miami and pick up a whore. Indulgently, he watched the ex-slave as she picked up empties from a nearby coffee table, filling her small serving tray. She looked tense.
“Hey, Aaron, got a joke for you.”
He turned his attention to the Doms standing nearby. He’d played poker with two of them; a couple he didn’t know. “Yeah?”
The man grinned and started, “In a mental institute, there’s a sadist, a masochist, a murderer, a necrophile, a zoophile, and a pyromaniac. They’re sitting on a bench, bored out of their gourds, looking for something to do.
“‘How about having sex with a cat?’ asks the zoophile.
“‘Let’s have sex with the cat and then torture it,’ says the sadist.
“The murderer perks right up. ‘Yeah. Let’s have sex with the cat, torture it, and then kill it.’
“‘No, no, let’s have sex with the cat, torture it, kill it, and then have sex with it again,’ suggests the necrophile.
“The pyromaniac bounces up and down. ‘Let’s have sex with the cat, torture it, kill it, have sex with it again, and then burn it.’
“They sit in silence. After a minute, the masochist speaks. ‘Meow.’”
Along with the other Doms, Aaron
roared with laughter, and the redhead stiffened as if someone had pinched her. As if she’d heard something she recognized.
Fuck. Fuck! Aaron spun back to his drink. Before she could turn, he’d set his elbow on the bar and was intently watching Cullen’s big-titted submissive. Anyone looking would see he wasn’t part of the group of Doms. A glance showed her attention had focused on the men who were still laughing.
His gut turned to lead. Maybe she hadn’t seen him on the slave boat, but she’d recognized his voice. His mouth thinned. The other night in the dungeon, had she heard him? Was that why Davies’s scene had gone sour? No wonder she was tense tonight.
Was she just afraid, worried she’d heard someone that sounded like a slaver, or was she actually trying to ID him? Fat chance. Too many men sounded alike.
He relaxed slightly. No, if she had been certain, Z would have lined up the entire membership for her. He wouldn’t fuck around.
So Aaron had time. He could just go home. Not return until she was gone.
But if the slut told Z now and pointed to the Doms who’d been laughing, one would remember Aaron had been part of the group. A similarity of voice might not be admissible in court, but an investigation would turn something up.
And a search of his apartment would recover the hanks of hair in his bedside table. Souvenirs to liven up his memories as he jacked off. He’d watched enough CSI to know that even disposal and a thorough cleaning might not work.
He took a slow sip of his drink as his options decreased.
He’d just have to make sure she never had a chance to hear him speak. No slut was going to disrupt his life. And he’d have to do it tonight.
Tilting his head, he listened to the wind wailing around the building. Easy-peasy to sneak up on her in a rainy parking lot.
He’d wanted to play with her. Now he wouldn’t have to wait.
* * * *
God, it was him! The slaver’s voice—his laugh. Linda’s stomach churned as if she’d chugged a bottle of cheap tequila, and for a second she was afraid she’d vomit. Taking shallow breaths, she forced her body to relax as she looked around. A couple of Doms sat at the bar, sipping their drinks. Not talking with anyone. Not them. Just behind them, four Doms were trading stories and laughing. So…one of the four. But which one?
Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am Page 32
