“Contestants, these are the collars you are fighting for. These are the Dominants who may claim you.” Georgia walked over to the kneeling submissives, bringing them into the shot. “If you please them enough.”
Watching Victor, Shiloh knew he was angry. His jaws were tight and he reached back to yank his hair in that merciless ponytail. His eyes bored into her, waiting for her reaction to the collar displayed before him, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. When he was upset and needed to release his emotions, he would always draw her attention, not a glittering necklace collar. No matter how much she wanted everyone to see that collar on her neck and know that she belonged to him.
The music rose to a crashing crescendo, signaling the submissives to kowtow before the dais. Shiloh leaned forward and planted her face on the floor inside the diamond made by her fingers.
“First, we’ll hear from Master P,” Georgia said.
Four submissives on Shiloh’s left rose gracefully and stepped forward to the bottom step, where they went back to their knees.
Blood pounded in Shiloh’s head. The corset made such a position difficult to breathe. She listened to Patrick’s voice droning on and on, but she didn’t really hear his words. She didn’t care. Georgia called Mistress Mal’s submissives forward, and the same judging was repeated, but Shiloh kept running last night through her mind.
One minute he was all Dominant, all Master, ordering her to his pleasure with confidence and a heavy hand, just like she’d dreamed about. But the next, he was achingly tender and filled with guilt. Tender she loved. The guilt she could do without. It made her feel too much like the last time she’d dated seriously. Michael had tried so very hard to learn enough of the BDSM lifestyle to satisfy her, but he’d hated every moment of it. In the end, his guilt and reluctance had killed his love for her and damaged hers beyond repair.
Will that happen with Victor? No matter how much he cares for me, will his guilt destroy our relationship?
“Lastly, we’ll hear from Master V. Will the remaining submissives please come forward?”
Shiloh pushed up carefully, making sure she didn’t topple over backward after kneeling for so long. It’d been a long time since she’d actually played this sort of game, so her knees and back ached with strain. Kimberly, of course, moved with that innate willowy grace that made Shiloh grind her teeth and bile churn in her stomach.
The four women knelt at the bottom step and kowtowed again, face to the floor, ass in the air, with enough room that Victor could walk among them if he so desired. Evidently he did, even though the other Dominants had made the submissives come up the dais to them. He walked down the steps, tap tap tapping that crop on his boot. Forget the stiffness and the long wait—it was all Shiloh could do not to arch her back more and lift her ass in invitation for the first blow.
In silence except for the tapping of his crop, he walked around each of them and then halted directly in front of Shiloh. She could reach out and touch his boot—if he allowed it.
“At ease.”
The submissives leaned back on their knees, rising so he could see their faces. He gazed at each of them equally. Shiloh searched his eyes, hoping to see a gleam of tenderness or even a flash of irritation, but the Master mask was fully in place. He slapped his thigh hard enough with the crop that they all jumped, Shiloh with delicious anticipation, although Kimberly made a soft sound of distress.
He turned to the submissive at the end of the line. Shiloh couldn’t remember her stage name off hand, but she was the one who’d brought chain in the first phase of the challenge. The grim slant to his mouth and the hardness in his eyes made even Shiloh squirm. “You failed the bondage challenge. You will not wear my collar.”
The woman ducked her head, wisely shutting her mouth rather than risk his ire if she begged or pleaded.
“Ruby, you survived this challenge but I won’t reward you.”
The red-haired submissive inched backward out of the spotlight without lifting her face from the floor.
He moved back to stand with one foot before Shiloh and one before Kimberly. From a pocket inside his jacket, he removed a golden chain from which dangled a sweet emerald heart.
He hooked the necklace on the end of his crop and lowered it toward Kimberly’s face. “Willow, you did well in the bondage challenge.”
Swallowing her fear, Kimberly reached out and took the chain off his crop. “Thank you, Master V.”
His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. Kimberly paled, ducked low and backed away from him, leaving only Shiloh in the spotlight with him.
I won’t make such a mistake, Shiloh swore. She deliberately licked her lips.
He pulled out another necklace and draped it on the crop. “You won the bondage challenge, Gift, pleasing me greatly.”
Her mouth was watering, which was silly. He wasn’t going to let her get too crazy with the camera rolling, but she knew the best way to turn him on. A good submissive would always lick or kiss the Master’s chosen tool, and Kimberly should never have used her hands to receive his gift.
Shiloh made herself wait until the crop was an inch from her mouth, and then she leaned forward slightly, turning her face so she could rub her cheek along the leather. She couldn’t help but let out a small moan of appreciation, remembering how that leather had caressed—and cut—her flesh. Working her mouth up the shaft, she licked the chain into her mouth and delicately removed it from his crop.
He stroked the crop along her cheek and down her neck. Gripping the necklace in her mouth, she didn’t dare beg, but he knew what she wanted. He’d always know. He fisted his hand in her hair and jerked her against his thigh. Just like the original storyboard she’d shown him, she wrapped her body around him and buried her face against his hip.
“This week, our top sub is Gift, and the top sub’s reward is…”
The overhead lights dropped so they were backlit, their bodies shadowed for the camera.
She fisted her left hand in his shirt, her muscles shaking with anticipation. From the corner of her eye, she saw his arm lift. The crop whistled through the air to slice across her buttocks.
Throwing her head back in ecstasy, Shiloh whispered, “Master V.”
Chapter Sixteen
Bored to tears, Shiloh blinked and made herself concentrate on Victor. The three Dominants sat at a dining table they’d set up at Silken—to take advantage of their kitchen and more elegant setting—chatting and eating like the old friends they were. Other VCONN and Silken staff handled the serving, including the young man, Brandon, who had been so desperate at the tryouts. If she’d known he was so vulnerable, she wouldn’t have brought him on set, although she had to admit his breakdown was just the kind of emotional impact they needed to make it real and believable.
The episode was titled “Serving the Master,” but the contestants knelt off to the side and weren’t actually participating in the serving of the food at all. That would surely have been at least amusing, especially if they’d been bound as he’d teased last night. The more she thought about it, the better that idea sounded.
Maybe he’d accidentally on purpose drop his fork beneath the table and make me fetch it…which would put my mouth very close to a certain tasty part of his anatomy, which I could service while hidden beneath the tablecloth…
“Remember our deal,” Andy—Beau for the show—whispered beside her.
“No deal,” she hissed out beneath her breath. “He already knows everything. I told him the truth. You can’t hurt me.”
By the curl of his upper lip and the wrinkle in his nose, Andy totally disagreed with her statement, but Georgia turned to them for the next segment.
“Contestants,” Georgia said, “Prepare for the quizzes.”
Shit. She was going to suck at this. She might not even get Victor’s questions correct. She wiped her sweaty palms on the petticoat and picked up the marker and pad of paper before her.
“These questions are for all contestants, regardless
of which Dominant has taken interest in you. The contestant with the most correct answers will win this challenge. At each Dominant’s discretion, the contestant with the worst performance may be punished.”
Uh oh. By the narrowing of Victor’s eyes boring into her, he didn’t like that idea at all. Shiloh tried to keep the hopeful glee off her face and turned her attention to Georgia.
“The first question: How did Master P order his steak prepared?”
They had steak? Shaking her head, Shiloh scribbled “well done”. Patrick was such a fastidious dandy that he surely wouldn’t eat bleeding meat.
“Contestants, show your answers.”
Shiloh turned her pad around and Victor’s eyes narrowed to slits. His jaws worked as though he were still eating and his right hand was clenched on the table.
The prick beside her snickered beneath his breath.
“I’m sorry, Gift, everyone got the answer correct except you. Maybe you’ll have better luck with this next question. Did Mistress M drink sweet or regular iced tea?”
The sound of busy scribbling filled Shiloh’s ears, winching her anxiety higher. She had no idea. Mal was a Southern girl, so surely she’d selected sweet tea. Right? But was it a trick question?
Georgia actually tittered this time as she read Shiloh’s answer. “The correct answer is regular tea.”
A loud crash jerked Shiloh’s attention to the Dominants’ table. Victor had slammed the crop down on the top so hard that the dessert coffee cups had fallen over. Face dark and mouth a flat, grim slant, a thunderstorm brewed on his face.
She ducked her head and waited for the next question.
“What did Master V drink with his dinner?”
I know this one! She wrote down red wine and waited until Georgia gave the signal to reveal their answers.
“The correct answer is Francis Coppola’s Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon.”
Fuck, Shiloh growled in her mind, risking a quick peep at Victor’s face to see how angry he was. He was tapping his thigh—hard—with the crop.
“Master V, will you accept Gift’s answer of ‘red wine’?”
He gave a short jerk of a nod, but he slapped his thigh so hard his eyes and nostrils flared with pain.
“We have a tie between Willow and Beau, so this last question is only between them to determine who is tonight’s top sub. If your Dominant were to order dessert, what do you think he or she would be most likely to select?”
Although she didn’t have to answer, Shiloh burned to know what Victor would select. Brownies? Crème brulee? Strawberry shortcake? She had no idea.
“Display your answers. Master V, is ‘ice cream’ the correct answer?”
“No.”
Kimberly’s shoulders sagged with dismay, while Shiloh wanted to scribble madly on her pad, flipping page after page until he finally admitted what he would have ordered.
“Is ‘hazelnut chocolates’ the correct answer, Mistress M?”
“Mmmmm,” Mal drawled out in her sexiest voice. “I love me some Rocher.”
Shiloh shared a miserable glance with the woman beside her. Victor had lost tonight because of her. She hadn’t expected to do well, but she’d hoped Kimberly would be able to pull off a win for him. His competitive nature would not be pleased, not at all.
“Now for the catch to this challenge,” Georgia practically purred. Damn the woman; she didn’t have to sound so pleased that Shiloh was going to get punished. “Master P, do you wish to punish Peppi?” He shook his head. “Fancy?” Again, negative. By now, Shiloh’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed a gallon of Pepto Bismol. “Gift?”
He gave the perfect Hollywood smile and leaned over to slap Victor on the shoulder. “Absolutely. I’ve been dying to get my whip on that fine little pony.”
Shiloh swore she could hear Victor’s teeth grinding even though he sat at least ten feet away.
Mal agreed to punish all of the losing contestants, but Shiloh wasn’t fooled. She knew the formidable Mistress would save the worst for her.
“Master V, do you wish to punish Gift for failing you tonight?”
Shame burned Shiloh’s cheeks. She had failed him, not deliberately, but she was goading him, and that was a serious offense worthy of punishment.
“No,” he said in a cold, hard voice that made her cringe. “It sounds as though Gift has finagled enough punishment for one night.”
What the fuck is she doing?
Fuming, Victor glared at Shiloh, willing her to meet his gaze and explain herself. Mal had called a filming break in order to set up the punishments. The crew bustled around, talking excitedly, but Shiloh kept her head down, refusing to look at him. Had she planned this whole thing just to get back at him for suggesting a service round? Or was she trying to make a different point? That perhaps other Dominants would be willing to give her the pain she craved if he wouldn’t?
Either way, he was royally pissed.
Damn it all to hell, the last thing he wanted to endure was the sight of Patrick uncurling his whip and contemplating which luscious inch of her back to mark.
Her back is mine to mark, mine to bruise, mine to cut with leather, and not just any leather, but my crop.
“Put the cross here,” Mal said in an entirely too bright and cheery voice. She stood directly in front of the table, ensuring he’d have a perfect view of his sub getting punished by another Dominant. “For this one, we definitely want to make sure she’s bound.”
Rage pulsed so dark and ugly through him that he trembled. He’d never bound her, and now another would do it and make him watch. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, instead of ripping that damned contraption apart with his bare hands and dragging Shiloh upstairs where he would bind her, punish her within an inch of her life, and then make savage love to her until she never again even thought to invite another Dominant to lay a hand on her.
Something touched his knee and he flinched, his eyes flying open. Shiloh huddled at his feet, her forehead pressed to his leg. “Forgive me, Master V. Give me the order and I’ll refuse. We’ll re-film the entire episode, and I’ll endeavor to watch everyone’s food selections instead of daydreaming about what I could do under the table with the tablecloth to hide me.”
Some of the turmoil shredding his gut faded. He heard the sincerity in her voice. By the catch in her throat, she might actually be near tears. Silently, he laid his hand on her head, rubbing his fingers against her scalp.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Yes, you did.” He sighed out a long breath but kept his fingers gentle on her head. “I’m assuming Mal helped you plan this out?”
“She said it would be risky,” Shiloh admitted, twisting her head so she could look up at his face. “Are you very angry?”
“Yes. And I’m going to be much angrier after I have to sit here and watch Patrick ogle my sub while he whips you.”
Her eyes were dark and solemn. “Am I yours?”
He tightened his fingers on her hair slightly, a subtle signal to draw her tighter to him. “I told you I’d give you my collar, didn’t I?”
“For the show.”
Gripping her chin none too gently, he forced her up off his knee and leaned down to glare into her face. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Damn it, why would she cry about his collar? He’d already said he’d give it to her. “Is that it? You want a commitment from me off the show? You want my collar now? I’ll give it to you.”
“All I want is you.” She kept her voice soft but she jerked out of his grip and stood, moving away to a safer distance. “You don’t understand this part of the challenge at all, do you? I’m not trying to make you jealous, V, because nobody could possibly hurt me as good as you.”
“You get off on pain, Gift, so you’re going to have sex with another Dominant in front of me, after I told you I was a selfish bastard who refused to share you with anyone. I’d say that gives me the right to be pretty fucking jealous.”
Sh
e shook her head, turned her back, and walked away. “I’m not going to feel pleasure in this, because the whip and the flail won’t be in your hand. If you don’t believe me, watch. See if I come. I’m telling you I won’t. I’ll endure it, no matter how badly they hurt me, simply because I failed you and I’m trying to make a point to you.”
“What?”
She threw back over her shoulder, “Exactly what I told you last night.”
Last night, she’d said she was falling in love with him. Words that had both thrilled and terrified him. Today, he’d tried to pretend he hadn’t heard those words, that he didn’t hope and pray for her love with every fiber of his being, because in the end, he was bound to hurt her. He was bound to scare her.
I’m bound to lose her.
They strapped Shiloh face down on a St. Andrews cross. There wasn’t anything to rest her head on, and they made sure she could see Victor. So she would be forced to watch his reaction. That was the real punishment, not whatever they’d do to her back.
Mal had suggested that she strip down to the shift and pantaloons to make sure the corset didn’t bite into her. Plus it would make it easier for her to breathe through the pain if she could actually expand her lungs. She knew they weren’t going to spare their blows for the show.
They were going to punish her, for real.
There would be no sensual arousal to help balance the pain. No petting and stroking, no soft words of encouragement from a loving Dominant. No, this was pain and lots of it.
Her stomach felt curdled and tight to her spine. Her pulse beat so frantically she couldn’t hear whatever Georgia was saying for the camera. It would be so much easier to bear if it were Victor dispensing the pain. Just the thought of him lifting a flail—it didn’t have to be his crop—and bringing it down on her flesh was enough to turn her on. It wouldn’t matter how much it hurt. The more the better. In her mind, the pain would blend with the need she felt for him and become something overwhelmingly and frighteningly orgasmic.
Hurt Me So Good Page 15
