“Understood.” He turned and crooked his finger at a young man poised at the end of the bar. “Tell Greg to pour Mistress B a glass of my private reserve.”
“Yes, sir, right away sir.”
“I rate the private reserve on my first night?”
“I imagine a woman of your stature doesn’t drink house wine.”
Her stature. There was another reminder on why she’d chosen the mask and become Mistress B. Then no one knew her a corporate executive and an heiress to billions; they saw her as formidable for an entirely different reason. She flashed Master Merrick a frosty smile. “My stature in the club is Mistress B and I’m perfectly content drinking house wine. But I do appreciate your gift as a welcome gesture.”
His eyebrows rose. Then he smiled. “Understood. And I see that you and I will get along very well indeed, Mistress.”
The young submissive returned with her wine and Master Merrick took his leave.
Shiori sipped her wine. This definitely wasn’t the house special. She looked around and realized she was still getting curious stares. It would be interesting to see who approached her first. When she turned, she realized part of the reason for the interest in her was the young submissive sitting at her feet. “You may look at me,” she said softly.
He tipped his head back and gazed at her with wonder.
Oh, how she’d missed that. “What’s your name?”
“Justin, Mistress.”
“Well, Justin. Why are you sitting at my feet?”
“Because I want to serve you tonight, Mistress.”
She took another long sip of the luscious red wine and considered him. He was young—twenty-two at the most. He had the blonde hair, sharply defined cheekbones and icy blue eyes she associated with a Nordic gene pool. He wore a tiny pair of black athletic shorts and the green bracelet that identified him as a submissive.
“I can strip so you can decide whether my body pleases you,” he offered.
“Tell me, Justin. Do you have a preference on whether you submit to a Master or a Mistress?”
“No, Mistress, no preference.”
Such a shame. She didn’t waste time with men who went both ways. She smoothed her hand over his soft blond hair. “I appreciate your honesty. You’re dismissed.”
He lowered his head and his shoulders slumped. “Thank you, Mistress for the consideration.”
She wandered over to the bar.
The bartender smiled at her and offered his hand. “I’m Greg.”
She shook his hand, noticing he didn’t wear a bracelet. “Mistress B. I’m new to this club and I’m not exactly sure what that signifies.” She gestured to the black band around his biceps.
“The black bands are worn by security, although that’s a loose interpretation of what I do. I float between keeping an eye on the rooms to make sure the rules are being followed to pouring drinks, to providing certain services to submissives as well as Masters and Mistresses.”
“‘Certain services’ sounds ominous.”
He shrugged. “It means sometimes I function as a third player in threesomes. Or mete out discipline. I intervene if a submissive uses their safe word in a scene. Pretty much jack of all trades.”
“So is it like an apprentice level? Before you become a Master?”
“No. Black bands are their own station here. Not everyone aspires to be Dominant. Or submissive. We are the peacekeepers and we keep the balance in check. We are neutral.”
“It’s the first I’ve heard of that kind of role in a club like this.”
“Merrick doesn’t define the club, except for the privacy policy. So the members run the gamut from hardcore pain sluts, to newly ‘out’ submissives who aren’t sure what aspect of BDSM appeals to them—that’s the Friday night members—to dabblers in the lifestyle, to Dominants and subs just out for a good time, or on the flipside, Dominants and subs looking for a permanent partner. That means the membership fluctuates.” He grinned. “Which makes my job interesting.”
“I’ll bet. So are there any special events going on tonight?”
“A violet wand demo on the main floor. Besides that, just the usual.” He sipped from a bottle of water. “What specifically are you looking for tonight, Mistress B?”
“Are you asking because I sent Justin on his merry way?”
“I’m asking because maybe I can help you out.”
She smiled at him. “I’m only interested in hetero male subs, if you’re curious about me.”
He grinned back. “Never hurts to ask.”
Shiori finished her wine and slid the empty glass toward him. “Thanks for the info.” She adjusted her vest and headed down the hallway to see what awaited her.
***
Knox twisted the handle as he swung, sending the flogger to reconnect with the same section of skin as the last three blows. The man made a loud “uff” of pain and his Master stepped in.
“He’s done.”
“Sir, I can take more,” the man in the chains protested.
Knox didn’t get involved in the argument. While he had a break, he grabbed the towel and mopped his face and stepped in front of the fan to cool down. He uncapped a bottle of water and drained the entire thing in four long swallows.
Master Rand motioned to him to help unhook his sub from the chains.
As soon as the guy was freed, he sank to his knees. He wrapped one hand around the back of Knox’s calf. “Thank you. That was . . . what I needed.”
“Happy to help.” He watched as Master Rand hauled his sub to his feet and led him away.
One down; one to go.
He twisted his neck and shoulders, trying to ease the ache in the middle of his back. He’d need a massage after his last scene tonight. Master Angus expected that immediate explosion of pain from the first lash to the last lash. No build-up, just continual bombardment for fifteen minutes. Having a set time frame helped Knox keep his stamina. Wielding a whip for that long took its toll on him as well. Everyone expected a big guy like him to have superior strength and staying power, so that’s the image he maintained even if he could barely move the next day. He’d gotten smart and limited himself to three sessions in a night, so his skills were in high demand for those members who craved the type of pain he provided.
Stepping out of the hot box, Knox noticed a crowd had gathered in front of one of the open use rooms. He meandered that way, thankful his height allowed him to see over everyone’s heads.
But he didn’t have the greatest view of what held the crowd enthralled, so he got closer.
A platinum blonde Domme in leathers was whipping Dex, a male submissive, with a short handled whip. The instrument of torture wasn’t as interesting as where she was leaving marks. She’d reddened the area around both of his nipples and the skin below his hipbones. She’d stretched him out—a spreader bar between his ankles and his arms equal distance apart above his head. That position gave her access to the front and the back sides of his body.
Dex had been a club member for a few years and hadn’t asked Knox to deliver the pain, but most of Knox’s scenes were at the behest of submissives’ Masters and Mistresses. Since Dex was an unattached sub, Knox wondered who the woman was because she clearly knew what she was doing. Dex’s cock, bound with a cock and ball strap, was fully erect.
Knox watched as she cracked the whip and the tip landed on the inside of Dex’s thigh. His entire body jerked and he started to beg her to let him come. But she didn’t respond, she just gave him a matching whip kiss on the inside of his other thigh.
Dex hissed—a sound of pain tinged with pleasure.
When the Domme walked behind Dex and delivered two strikes to the backs of his legs, Knox studied her. Her hair might be real but he doubted it. And then there was the mask that covered her face.
She grabbed Dex by the hair and pulled his head back so she could speak directly into his ear.
He nodded and squirmed when she coiled the whip around his calf with a flick of her wr
ist and dragged it up across his thigh. Then she did the same thing on the other side. She reached between his legs and released the restraint.
His relief was short lived when she snapped two hard strikes on his inner thighs and followed through with two more hard strikes on his balls. He immediately started to come and the Domme used the handle of the whip like a riding crop, connecting with the marks on his inner thighs as he shot his load into the air.
When he slumped against the chains, the crowd thinned.
But Knox remained in place, watching the Domme bring her sub down to earth with whispered words and gentle touches on his chest and back.
And Dex looked at her adoringly. Dex. The submissive the Dommes always complained about because he tried to top from below.
When the blonde Domme circled Dex and came to stand in front of him, Knox had a niggling sense of familiarity. When she stood on tiptoe to release Dex’s arms from the cuffs, her identity hit him with the force of a spinning back fist to the head.
He knew that biteable ass.
He knew she struggled to reach items in the store room because she was so short.
When she turned her head, Knox groaned.
He knew those fucking luscious lips too.
In the past eight months he’d fantasized way too many times about taking that sassy mouth in a dozen different ways. And he almost had last night.
Knox watched the rest of the scene unfold. After she freed Dex from his wrist and ankle restraints, she sat him in a chair and draped a blanket around him. She handed him a bottle of water and when he was too shaky to drink, she helped hold it to his mouth.
This wasn’t her first time dealing with a submissive’s aftercare.
As if her expertise with a whip wasn’t already a sign she was no amateur playing a role.
But fuck him.
Shiori Hirano was a Domme.
A fucking Domme.
He shook his head to clear it and watched as Dex dropped to his knees in front of her. He wrapped one arm around her shin and looked up at her beseechingly.
She petted his hair and spoke so softly Knox couldn’t hear. But whatever she’d said, it pleased Dex and he stood, clutching the blanket around his naked form before he wandered off.
Leaving the two of them alone.
From the shadows he said, “I like you as a platinum blonde, She-Cat.”
She turned around slowly, her gaze zeroing in on him even in the shadows. She said nothing as she sauntered forward, her carriage as purposeful as it was in the dojo, but her hips held an enticing sway he’d never seen before. She kept hold of the whip, flicking it with annoyance like a cat with a twitchy tail.
Too late he realized she’d cornered him completely.
“Well, well Godan, if this isn’t an unexpected treat, running into you at my new club.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your new club? You’re a member here now?”
“Full-fledged.” She ran her whip up the outside of his thigh to his hip. “Identity verified and dues paid.”
“How long have you been a Domme?”
“How long have you been a member?” she countered.
“As long as I’ve known Ronin. Your turn She—”
She pressed the whip handle against his lips. “Ah ah. The name is Mistress B. Understand?”
He nodded.
“I’ve been a Domme for three years. I tried out two other clubs in Denver before this one. Neither worked out for me.”
“Does Ronin know?”
“That I’m a Domme? No. So he’d have no reason to expect he’d see me in this club. And it’s not like he’s been here in months anyway, right? That’s information I learned from his missus, not club secrets. When he gets back we’ll sort out the details.” She traced the edge of the black band around his biceps. “You’re security. A neutral party according to Greg.” Those beautiful golden eyes of hers bored into him. “Why?”
“I started out as a security goon. When Merrick changed the membership rules, he needed more proactive security. We all chose something that interested us. I trained with a Master who specialized in punishment. I’d already been working with Ronin on kinbaku and shibari.”
“Are you any good with ropes?”
When he took a breath to explain, he caught a lungful of her exotic scent. Damn her and the intimate web she was weaving around him. He wasn’t some green submissive who easily fell under the spell of a Dominant. “Back up She—Mistress B.”
“Am I making you nervous?”
“No. You’re making me late for my next scene. So why don’t we just agree to avoid each other at the club from here on out?”
She immediately retreated. “Easy enough to find willing men to occupy my time.”
Knox should’ve shut his mouth, but something about this woman just got under his skin. “The male subs won’t play with you if all you’re doing is beating them and getting them off.”
“And you know that . . . how?”
He didn’t. But any man worth his balls would want to get her off—why else would he subject himself to pain and humiliation if he didn’t get to put his hands and mouth all over her?
“Knox?”
“Maybe if you’re really nice someday I’ll tell you.”
Whap. The whip handle landed across his chest. “Or I could make you tell me.”
“You think you can bring me to heel?” He laughed. “Gonna hafta grow a bit, kitty cat.” He sidestepped her and started down the hallway.
“You can’t stop me from watching your scene.”
He turned and grinned. “Not me, but the Master I’m beating prefers privacy.”
“Maybe I’ll request your services for next weekend.”
His humor fled. “I don’t beat women. Ever. Not even if they get on their knees and beg me. Not even if they piss me the fuck off by insulting me.”
“Knox—”
“Drop it, Mistress. Find another toy to play with.”
He walked away and didn’t look back.
Schooled Page 12
