If the contestant had even a somewhat sane personality, the judges took turns giving them little commands. Patrick asked one woman to remove her panties. She did so…and tossed them in his face. He tilted his head back, dangling the scrap of silk from his nose. “She’s a keeper.”
Mal tried the same thing, only to have the male contestant moon the panel and stomp off set indignantly.
Victor had to admit that he hadn’t had such fun in years. Dallas viewers were going to eat this up and beg for more. So far, they’d managed to include the best and worst of reality TV, yet Shiloh still managed to convey the more somber realities of alternative lifestyles.
A young man in his early twenties walked in and went to his knees before the table with no prompting from the judges. His identity was masked by a metal helmet that made him look like some kind of alien bug, emphasized by skintight lime green pants and matching shirt. Despite the contestant’s costume, Victor had no trouble recognizing Brandon, VCONN’s most talented computer effects programmer.
In her best Mistress voice, Mal asked, “Why do you want to be America’s Next Top sub?”
“I’ve been trying to find a Master for years.” Really getting into his part, Brandon wrung his hands with desperation and his eyes glistened in the stage lights. “I’m tired of hanging out in bars trying to find a man who knows exactly what I like. Without…” The young man bowed his head and sobbed loudly.
Victor didn’t need him to complete his sentence. Without injuring me.
Gay male submissives abounded with few trained Dominants available to take care of them. All too often, they went home with someone a little too edgy without a steady Dominant’s control, and they ended up hurt. Or dead.
Victor knew Brandon was gay, but he’d never seen him at Silken before he quit going. He hoped the young man was merely acting, because he hated to hear about this kind of story, especially from one of his employees.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick said gently. “I’m not homosexual.”
The young man peered up at Victor and gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“Nor I,” he said, and before asked, “and no, we can’t pretend just to help you get off. Domination and submission are sex for us.”
Brandon’s blush rushed down his neck, clearly visible despite the helmet mask covering his head. “I know, sir. That’s why I need it.” He looked to Mal and his shoulders slumped with defeat. “You neither I suppose.”
“Next round, we’ll have a homosexual Dominant,” Victor promised, meeting Shiloh’s gaze to make sure she heard. She gave him a little nod and jotted a note in her planner. “Try back then.” He made a mental note to ask her and Mal privately if Brandon was a plant—or if he seriously needed help. Victor would make sure he got it.
The next contestant was Ryan. He stood before the judges, eyes lowered like a proper submissive, but any Mistress worth her salt would recognize the defiance in him. His shoulders were tight, and he kept wiping his palms on his pants. Mal asked him a few questions, and he kept licking his lips and tugging on his ear, both signs of nervousness. If a woman gave Victor those signals, she’d be a definite no, no matter how physically attractive he found her.
“Kneel,” Mal ordered in a deceptively pleasant voice.
Ryan did so immediately and kept his gaze down, good, typical submissive behavior, but his shoulders were still too stiff.
Mal left her chair and walked around him in a circle, casually looking him over like he was a horse for sale at the fairgrounds. “On your face.”
His shoulders vibrated briefly and then he leaned forward to do as she ordered. That slight hesitation was a failing grade. Victor would have struck him a sharp blow across the shoulders with the crop if this were his scene, and then walked off in disgust.
“Kiss my feet.”
Ryan jerked his head forward and gave a quick peck to the toe of her Jimmy Choo’s.
Turning away smoothly, Mal returned to her seat and didn’t spare him another glance. “No.”
Ryan stumbled to his feet. “What? Why? What’d I do wrong?”
“Everything. I wouldn’t let you rub my feet, let alone warm my bed.” Mal planted both hands on the table and glared at the trembling man. “If a Mistress tells you to kiss her feet, you make love to her feet. You shine her shoes with your breath and wash them with your saliva. If she’s barefoot, you lick each toe until she tells you to stop. You’d never survive as my submissive, and you’re certainly not fit to be on this show.”
Clenching his hands at his side, Ryan trembled, his face red but sincere. “Please, Mistress, let me try again. I can do better. I didn’t know what you wanted. Train me! I’d be perfect! Give me another chance!”
With a small jerk of her head toward Victor, she silently asked him to make a statement. Letting his cruelest Master smile twist his mouth, he slammed the crop down on the table in a loud crash. The other man paled, gulped, and raced for the door.
Another contestant stepped forward, and his amusement at Ryan’s retreat faded. Kimberly stood before the table, demure and pretty in a baby blue dress that displayed her figure to perfection.
Sitting back down, Mal gave him her sweetest—and most alarming, for anyone who truly knew her—smile. “This one’s all yours, V.”
Chapter Eight
From the sidelines, Shiloh willed herself to view the scene as the show runner and not as a competitor for Master V’s affections. They needed a woman who was a terrific sub but had a very low tolerance for pain. Beautiful, graceful and well trained, Kimberly was perfect.
However, watching him rise from his chair and approach his ex-fiancée with that small smile flickering on his lips was like a knife in the heart.
“Why do you want to be on America’s Next Top sub?”
Jealousy burned in Shiloh’s gut. Had he ever used that silky voice for her? Even when he called her baby it came out with barbs and hooks to dig into her psyche.
“I want to serve,” Kimberly whispered. God, she even made trembling look fantastic.
“Do you want to serve me?”
“If that is your will, sir.”
He walked around her, lightly tapping the tip of his crop on his boot. Arching his brow, he released a pleased little sound at her rear view.
For the camera’s sake, Shiloh retorted silently. He’s putting on a good show. Nothing else. Right?
He sauntered back around to stand in front of Kimberly. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear, but loudly enough for the cameras to pick it up. “I think you’re afraid of me.”
“A little,” she replied in a tremulous voice.
Staring over her shoulder directly into Shiloh’s eyes, he smirked. “More than a little, I’d say. I can hear your teeth chattering.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help it.”
“I didn’t say it was a problem.” He straightened and winked at the camera. “I like my sub to be afraid of me and worry about what I might do with this crop. How hard will I strike? Where? For how long? Will my arm tire? Will my will fade? How long can you endure the pain simply because I want you to? Or will you crumple at the first blow and give me your safeword? You do have a safeword, right?”
Shiloh fisted her hands and clenched her jaws, fighting to remain calm and unmoved by his taunting. So much of what he was saying to Kimberly, he was also saying to her. Warning her.
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“You’re afraid of my crop.” Lightly, he stroked the tip over Kimberly’s bare arm, his voice gentle and sure. “You already hate it.”
She flinched and hung her head. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. You should always fear the Master.” Victor returned to his seat. “You may remain until you fail me.”
Keeping her head down and avoiding the camera, Kimberly rushed off the set. She saw Shiloh watching and hesitated. Her mascara had run in black pools down her lovely face. Her nose was red, her eyes accusing, See what kind of man he is? Averting her face, sh
e pushed by the remaining contestants, bumping them out of her way to make her escape.
In that moment, Shiloh hated him, just a little.
He knew full well how much Kimberly had cared for him. She’d been shocked and scared when the darker side of the Master had been revealed after he’d taken such pains to conceal the sadist for so long. After their talk earlier, Shiloh couldn’t help but like the woman, even though the thought of her with Victor—making love to him, his tenderness, his exquisite care not to alarm her for months—drove her insane with jealousy.
He hurt Kimberly deliberately, and not just for the sake of the show. Those harsh words from the man she’d once loved had devastated her gentle soul. She knew she’d failed him, and nothing hurt a submissive as much as disappointing her Dominant, especially when in a committed relationship.
He locked gazes with Shiloh again, his mouth still twisted with brutal intent. Shadows had swallowed his blue eyes, clouding them over like a thunderstorm. He stroked the crop, running his fingers over it lovingly, and she knew what he was thinking. Despite—or rather, because of—Kimberly’s fear, he yearned to bring that leather down on her tender flesh just so she would scream out her safeword and quit.
Pitiless, he radiated his need to raze and ravage and punish.
He hurt her because he enjoyed it. And he’s going to hurt me too.
Impatient, Victor checked his watch for the hundredth time. They’d been taping for hours with very few breaks. A thirty minute lunch of cold cuts ordered in from the deli down the street had come and gone ages ago. Sitting here watching Mal coo and torment her sub like she hadn’t played with every single part of his body a thousand times and more made Victor want to throw up.
His frustration simmered hotter, flashing toward ignition. Shiloh hadn’t even looked at him for at least an hour. He knew, because he could sense her attention like a quarterback blitz from his blind side, and he hadn’t felt that tingle since Kimberly had raced off the set in tears.
Damn it all to hell, what did Shiloh want from him? If he’d been nice to his ex-girlfriend, she would have been even more pissed at him. So he’d been mean, all sadist, getting a few digs in to help salve his wounded pride—she had dumped him, remember?—and now Shiloh refused to look at him.
At the last break, he’d jerked his hair back into a ponytail. He hadn’t intended to leave it loose for so long anyway. When he’d seen that the morning’s taping order listed a scene with just the two of them, he’d tried to send her a subtle message. Evidently a fucking waste of time.
God, he ached so badly he wanted to toss the table aside and beat the shit out of anybody who stood between him and Shiloh. Maybe he’d just throw her across the table and give her his crop for the camera. She wanted it. He knew she’d enjoyed the single stroke he’d given her this morning. She sure as hell wouldn’t flinch away when he touched her with it. She’d arch her back and beg him for more.
Merciless hunger gnawed in the pit of his stomach until his fingers ached on the crop’s handle and his breathing rasped too loud. “Enough,” he broke in. “Tell him to stay or get the hell out of here, I don’t care. How many more contestants remain?”
Mal managed to look a bit guilty as she returned to her seat. Andy swaggered off the set with a knowing little smirk that made Victor grind his teeth together. There was something about that young man that jarred his instincts. He definitely liked Mal’s type of scene; he gleefully took whatever his Mistress saw fit to give him. But for a sub, he seemed to hold something back.
It wasn’t his body. He displayed none of the hesitations that Ryan had so skillfully demonstrated as the prideful sub. Andy had secrets, and Victor was fairly certain that his friend was too besotted with her young man to care. Perhaps it was no coincidence that it had been Mal’s show that was leaked to KDSX.
“Only one,” Mal replied.
One. That meant Shiloh. He closed his eyes and pulled his hair tighter, giving himself a mental shake. Control, V. You can do this without crossing the line. Remember the cameras. Remember the show. Focus on the end zone.
Patrick stood. “I’ll handle this one.”
Victor’s eyes flew open. He planted his palms on the table and started to rise. Fury pulsed in him, so ugly and vicious that he made himself stop. Sit down. Release his death grip on the crop.
Shiloh halted a few feet from the table and gave him a pleading, panicked look that made him feel a bit better. He managed to give her a little nod of encouragement, and then narrowed his gaze on the other Dominant.
Nobody was going to lay a finger on her. Nobody was going to hurt her. Nobody but him.
The Master had given her the nod. He wanted her to do this scene. Whatever that entailed.
She shouldn’t feel betrayed. After all, Victor hadn’t laid formal claim to her. She wasn’t truly his sub. She wasn’t really dating him. The most she could say was that she worked for his company, and now they were doing a reality show together.
Absently, she rubbed at her breastbone and tried to slow her frantic pulse.
“You don’t look like top sub material to me.” The Dominant named Patrick made the same lazy circle about her that they others had done around their interested subs. “Are you sure you’re in the right place, honey?”
“If this is America’s Next Top sub, then yes, I’m in the right place.”
Patrick tsked and paused off to the side, gripping his chin in contemplation. His fingers were long and graceful, an artist’s, or perhaps a pianist’s. She couldn’t see him lifting a weapon with any real force. “That’s what I mean, honey. You don’t have the right attitude. The other contestants have all been smart enough to say sir, ma’am, or even Master or Mistress. They’ve ducked their heads and shown the proper respect.”
“I haven’t agreed to play with any of you, so why should I kneel?” Shiloh kept her voice pleasant and made direct eye contact. “Until we come to some sort of agreement, I’m a person, not a submissive.”
“Very good,” Patrick purred, giving her an appreciative nod. “Smart and spirited, a formidable combination. The spirited fillies are always the most fun to break, wouldn’t you agree, V?”
“Ponies aren’t my kink, Pat.”
Evidently Master V didn’t need his crop to land a perfectly placed blow, because the other man’s face reddened. “Oh, I don’t know. I think this little filly would look quite fetching in a bridle. Would you like to play with me, honey? I’ll teach you to whinny real pretty.”
Shiloh didn’t try to stop the laughter that burst out of her lips. “Um, no thanks. That’s not my kink, neither.”
Still and coiled like a poisonous viper, Patrick stared at her much too intently for her liking. “What is your kink?”
Stupid, she knew, to irritate a Dominant, especially on this show. She’d have to interact with him and Mal to succeed in the challenges, but she just couldn’t help herself. “I don’t feel inclined to share that information with you at this time.”
“Would you be inclined to share with Master V?”
She couldn’t help but look at Victor. He gripped his crop, his eyes heavy lidded and snapping with fire. Her knees went weak. “Yes.”
She was too absorbed in staring at him to notice that Patrick had circled behind her, until he whispered in her ear. “So fierce. So mean and cruel and hard. Aren’t you afraid of that crop, honey?”
Swallowing her saliva, she shook her head, not trusting her voice.
“Ah,” Patrick breathed out, making her shudder. His breath on her made her skin crawl. “So pain is your kink. I neglected to tell you that I can do things with a long-tailed whip that my friend here can only dream about. Would you like me to bring out my favorite toy, honey?”
Before she’d met Victor, she might have been tempted. She didn’t feel any attraction whatsoever when she looked at Patrick. He didn’t turn her on. His whip might have…before she’d seen the crop in Victor’s hand.
“My whip can kiss your body as gen
tly as an angel’s wings.” Patrick leaned in and nibbled on her ear. “Or I can split your back wide open. How do you like it, honey?”
She jerked her head away but didn’t back down or lower her gaze in surrender. She had nothing to fear from him. She owed him nothing. “Not interested. Sorry.”
Laughing softly, Patrick bowed deeply to her. “Don’t cry later and claim that I didn’t try to save you.” He returned to his seat, oblivious to the daggers stabbing out of the other Dominant’s eyes. “Who do you want to play with, honey?”
“I want the Master,” she rasped out, “with the riding crop.”
“This ought to be good,” Mal said with a laugh. “Test her thoroughly, V.”
Focused entirely on Shiloh, Victor barely heard her. He controlled each movement, forcing himself to move with slow, deliberate care. He even managed a friendly pat to Patrick’s back that didn’t knock the man unconscious.
He halted in front of Shiloh and simply looked at her, unblinking and intent.
Bowing her head, she whispered, “Master.”
“Do you want to play with me?”
“Very much, Master.”
After endless hours of taping, this is what he’d been waiting for. He’d been waiting for this since yesterday when she’d first looked into his eyes and let him squeeze her hand until her knees gave out.
No. He’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.
He stepped off to her side, keeping the camera in sight. Landing a single, teasingly light tap to her outer thigh, he asked, “Are you sure?”
He was sure the camera had zoomed in to catch the moan that escaped her lips, the heaving of her breasts as she struggled to breathe. “Yes, Master, please!”
He flicked the crop out again. She sucked in her breath and quivered, but she didn’t cry out. There was no need. Even Kimberly could have borne that much pain, if she wasn’t so terrified of him.
Hurt Me So Good Page 7
