by Mimi Tulane
“Ahmad, I pushed my boundaries in defense of a submissive who works for me. She’s not just an employee, she’s family in my eyes. Yet I asserted my will over her contracted obligations to her own Dom with whom she’s married. Ahmad, I basically told her then helped her to leave her husband.” When her eyes took on a faraway look it caused his chest to tighten.
“May I speak freely?” He asked her permission first because what he wanted to say needed to come from him as her man, not her submissive.
“Of course, baby,” she said softly. Her vulnerable side was tearing into him.
“Shit had to be going down foul for you to feel the need to do that. I don’t believe for one moment you’d just interfere between a husband and wife. There seems to be more to this. Do you know why the council is getting involved?”
Placing her soft hands upon his shoulders, she looked him square in his eyes. “That abusive Dom—his name is Mark Comfry.”
The minute Ahmad heard the name warning bells set off inside of him. “That name sounds familiar,” he said.
“Well it should, his father is Congressman Arnold Comfry,” Jocelyn replied in a clipped tone. Ahmad began to think back on what he’d read in the papers and seen on the news about Congressman Comfry. The conservative politician had launched an all-out war on what he considered to be the “erosion of morals.”
“Mark is threatening to bring his father in if I don’t tell him where his wife is. He’s coming after me out of revenge.” Jocelyn dropped her hands from his shoulders and sighed. “If she goes back to him he’s going to kill her, Ahmad. What am I supposed to do?”
When she looked up into his eyes his heart rent inside his chest. He saw it again, the vulnerability she hid so well. He saw the worry now as she struggled with her own feelings over this matter. It killed him to see her burdened by this chain of events.
“I’ll tell you what you aren’t going to do. You will not cower down to his threats for one. He thinks by tossing his father’s name up that you’ll back down. Surely the council isn’t going to be swayed that easily and neither will you. Let me help you, baby. Not just as your submissive. Let me make a few calls. You don’t have to do this alone,” he said firmly, hoping she’d let him.
Jocelyn’s face grew thoughtful. “What are we going to do, Ahmad? I don’t want to involve you in this, it’s really my problem. I knew I was pushing the line when I stepped in. I’ll stand by my decision.” God, his heart melted from the stubborn tilt of her chin as his Angel squared her shoulders.
“I’m involved because it involves you, Angel, and I don’t take kindly to anyone that threatens you or what you hold dear.” His tone was seriously grave. “I have a few favors I can call in. If you trust me to only do what is necessary, I promise you, Mark Comfry will not be problematic much longer. Just tell me you will allow me to help you.” He could tell she was wrestling with this and perhaps needed something more to help her let go.
“If nothing else, let me take your mind off this for now. Please, Mistress.” She slid from within his embrace, walking to the other side of the room before turning to him. Whatever she needed, whatever she desired, he would give it to her freely or walk through hell and back to get it.
“Kneel, Ahmad. Hands on the floor, eyes down.”
* * * *
Ahmad obeyed her command. From his vantage point he couldn’t see her but he listened, tuning into her movements, tracking her with his ears, judging her location by the soft tread of her feet upon the carpeting. He smelled the fragrant oils he had rubbed her down with, after their shower together at his office, growing fainter when she left his side then growing stronger when she returned to where he knelt. She dropped something on the floor in front of him. “Pick it up and put it on.”
He looked—it was a leather hood.
As he began to don the hood she stood behind him pulling him up by his shoulders then helping him to put it on, properly buckling it in back and effectively blocking his sight. The air holes at his nostrils and the mesh fabric near his mouth kept him from suffocating. With the hood on he couldn’t see or hear her very well, only feel her movements. By commanding him to put it on she’d closed herself off from him and it was killing him. Along the sides of the mask were zippered ear holes. He felt her hands on the sides of his head and her bare legs against the skin of his back where her robe parted, while she opened them.
“I want you to hear my commands but I don’t want you to speak and I don’t want you to see my face. You asked to help me take my mind off my troubles, Ahmad. I’m going to grant you your request.” Despite not being able to see her face, he heard the quiver in her voice. She was upset. Damn it! This wasn’t the time to submit, it was a time for action. Yet if by submitting he was helping her past this, he would.
He remained kneeling, his hands, thanks to her physical direction, positioned behind his back at parade rest. Without his sight he became acutely aware of her scent, the air that stirred as she moved about, the sounds of her feet on the carpet. He found the hood to be a bit disconcerting at first but not unpleasant. It was mainly in part of his being deprived of viewing her.
He loved to watch her, in fact found taking his eyes off of her upon command to be the hardest thing for him during his training. He’d spent five years gazing at photographs, memorizing the details of her face, her body—it was all he had during those secluded years of his life. Of course she knew this. She knew it because he’d shared with her his feelings, shared with her the moments he’d spent just longing for her. She was being merciful to allow him his hearing.
He could pinpoint her location judging by the sounds she made as she walked. He heard jingling then the opening of a door. If his memory was accurate she’d walked over to the locked wardrobe she had in her bedroom. He had yet to be introduced to her playroom. So far their play had been confined to her bedroom. Her gait became quieter and he strained to hear her, to locate where she might be in relative position to him. The sound of her donning something had him concentrating. He heard the rustling sounds of fabric and wondered what she was putting on. The next sound he heard was of a zipper first once, then once more. Her gait had changed. She had put on footwear, what type he couldn’t be sure since the plush carpeting muffled the sounds of her walking. But he didn’t have long to wonder.
“Bow down, Ahmad, lean forward on your forearms, back straight, that tight ass up. Do you recall the tapestry, the one you found so mesmerizing, that hangs in my bedroom? I want you prone just like the submissive woven upon it.” Ahmad swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. The response his body, especially his cock, was having was at odds with the situation that necessitated their current play date. His balls had grown heavy and the bulge forming behind the leather shorts he was wearing was putting a chokehold onto his dick.
Was his Mistress a mind reader or had he somehow whispered during the night as he slept at the foot of her bed, shackled and naked, of his desire? It was as if time was moving in a disjointed manner, elongating the moment as he did as his Mistress commanded and assumed the exact pose he remembered from the tapestry. He waited, his cock growing harder, his body tensed and coiled like a panther ready to spring. Of all the times, he’d donned the leather shorts she was fond of and now his cock was encased, trapped behind the constricting fabric. He wanted to spread his thighs a bit more but didn’t dare ruin his form. He listened as she walked over to him and then he felt the sharp bite, the sting of her stiletto boot heel as she placed it between his shoulder blades. She nudged him forward a bit more so that he was prone, his ass up—an offering to her.
No warning came. Nothing preceded the arch of her swing except the quick stir of air as she brought her arm down and landed a well place blow upon his ass. The leather of her instrument had connected upon the leather of his shorts with a resounding thwack! He bit back a hiss, his ass jerking in response.
“In case you’re wondering it’s the same cat-o’-nine from the tapestry.” Another blow came causin
g him to growl. “I’ll be listening for your safe word. I know the mask muffles and distorts the voice but not enough for me not to hear you, Ahmad. I need to release my frustration and, baby, you are just the medicine for what ails me.”
She struck his ass again and he moaned partly out of longing and partly out of frustration. He could only imagine within his mind’s eye the cutting figure she posed as she punished him. He knew this wasn’t about her doling out discipline. His lady, his Mistress, was hurting. She felt impotent against the situation brought on by Mark Comfry. She needed solace and she chose him to comfort her.
“Are you able to continue?” She was now caressing his ass where, just moments before, the tails had been heating it up. “Yes, Mistress, let me help you release your frustrations. Let me help you let it all go.” He spoke deeply, firmly, and quite clearly despite the hood. His strength was hers if that’s what she needed. He’d bear her lash just as she had bared her struggle and her fear over the outcome of the impending council meeting. He wanted to make it all better, to lift the burden from her shoulders, and if prostrating himself while she flogged his ass was what it took he was damn good with that.
Another arch and a blow landed squarely on his ass. She wasn’t in a hurry. She struck with precision, one borne of a practiced hand. He was amazed at just how rock hard his cock was growing, uncomfortably hard. He wanted to rock forward to let the material of his shorts rub against his growing erection to ease the building tension in his scrotum.
“There was a reason I wanted this mask on you, Ahmad.” She sounded strange and he became alarmed.
“Mistress…” The cat-o’-nine tails struck him this time on his thighs, the bite pronounced.
“I don’t recall asking you to speak, Ahmad,” she said, yet her voice was digging at his soul. He needed to hold her, he needed to do more than just kneel at her feet, but he dared not assert his own will at that moment. “I couldn’t…” Her voice gave way to a sob.
He heard the cat-o’-nine tails dropping to the floor and her hands fumbling with the clasps of the hood. She pulled it roughly from his head and guided his face up for him to confirm what he knew, what he’d felt and heard in her voice. His eyes fell on her tear-stained face and it broke him. When she reached for him this time, he didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face into the soft flesh of her body. He then stood to his feet no longer in a submissive stance.
“I can’t let you do this to yourself, Angel. You are punishing yourself for a perceived failing that wasn’t yours. Damn it, baby, I won’t let this happen.” He lifted her in his arms and walked over to the bed laying her down upon it. He propped one of her legs up on his shoulder and removed one boot then the other. “I can’t tell him where she is. She’s safe. If I give her up to him he’s going to hurt her, maybe even kill her next time! But my club! My life! I could lose it all!” She sobbed, turning her face from him and the sight ripped his heart from his chest. To hell with protocol. He was not about to let that bastard get away with hurting his Angel. Her only crime was extending mercy in defense of someone she cared for. Not on his watch.
He climbed in beside her, spooning her body with his own as he held her and rocked her in his arms as she wept. Oh no, he wasn’t going to let that shit slide. “It’s going to be all right, Angel. Don’t sell yourself or that council of yours short. Are you going to let me help you with this?” When she nodded her head he let out the pent-up breath he’d been holding.
“Ahmad? Thank you,” she said.
“For what?” he asked her softly, gently caressing her shoulders, kissing the crown of her head.
“For loving me.”
Chapter 14
Jocelyn was tired. She hadn’t slept very well despite Ahmad’s doting upon her for the remainder of last night. Her mind was on Donna and the danger she was in. She’d come to the realization that her fear of losing her club wasn’t the issue she had. It was the fear of exposure. She didn’t relish tangling with Congressman Comfry—that would be the beginning of a public crusade she didn’t want to have to deal with. But if it came down to that so be it. She was not bowing down to Mark or his threats and she was damn sure not going to trade Donna’s welfare to remain in her private little niche.
Instead the first thing she did when they got up that morning was to call her parents and asked them to come over. Ahmad said he was ready to meet her parents, but afterward he’d have to leave her side to finalize his end. The meeting with the council was scheduled later that night. He still hadn’t told her what he planned to do but the one thing she didn’t doubt was his ability to deliver. He’d been taking care of her from the sidelines for years. Ahmad had come to mean more to her in the few weeks they spent alone together. He wasn’t just her submissive. He was her lover, her champion, her confidant, and the man she had fallen in love with. She told him of her decision to divulge what she was to them. She wanted them to meet him and know that their daughter had finally found the man she wanted to be with for the rest of her life.
He nearly stole her breath away from the smile he gave her when she confessed she’d fallen in love with him. They were going to face this and every day together. She accepted she could be both vulnerable and Dominant with Ahmad and he loved her just the same. She could trust him to be in her corner and if need be to handle business as well. The doorbell was the only thing able to break the passionate kiss they shared. Her parents had finally arrived. She whispered, “I love you, Ahmad” before going to answer the door.
* * * *
The meeting with her parents was going surprisingly well. Jocelyn was in for an even bigger surprise when her parents not only accepted her lifestyle choice but confessed they already knew her role in her club wasn’t an act.
“Jocelyn Grace Mackenzie, I’m not sure what wool you thought you were pulling over our eyes but, dear, there was no way in hell we were going to believe you just put on a burlesque show. Besides, your father went to check out your club.” Ruth Mackenzie’s dry tone and the look she pegged her husband Ronald with were as priceless as the devilish grin her father held.
“You do? He did? When? Neither of you never said anything to me.” Jocelyn stated shocked.
This time her father cleared his voice. Jocelyn wasn’t sure what he was going to say and it chagrined her to know her daddy may have seen something that could have traumatized him or worse yet lose his respect for his only daughter. “Baby, there is nothing you could do that would ever make me less proud than I am of you.” Her father’s loving declaration threatened to shed the tears welling in her eyes. Her parents knew and they were both okay with it! She told them the truth of the matter and why the meeting with the council was taking place. Her father at times would size up Ahmad who had so far remained silent. “Jocie, you should know that a Mackenzie does not run in the face of difficulty. Besides, I’m not without resources. If this thing goes public, we’ll do what we always have done—stand together as one, as a family.” Jocelyn sniffled but beamed in her father’s direction.
However, the look he gave to Ahmad, who for the sake of his dignity she had allowed to dress to impress, made her nervous. Ahmad had chosen to wear his training collar. He wore it, he had told her, to show her parents his devotion and commitment to her. As he faced her parent’s scrutiny, she never loved him more for his selfless act.
“Young man, I’d like to know your intentions toward my daughter? She’s my baby girl my only daughter and I won’t take kindly to her affections being toyed with. I may not be into what you kids are, but I’m no dummy. You don’t look like the begging-for-an-ass-whippin’ type.”
Jocelyn’s hopes sunk, her father was using his military voice and had alluded to their Domme/sub relationship. He was using that same voice he used on her dates when she’d begun dating that ran many would-be teenaged suitors away. Maybe in hindsight that was why she chose to keep her love life private. Deep inside she feared she’d never meet a man that could handle both her being a
Domme and the males of her family.
However, Ahmad was not backing away in the slightest with his reply. “I plan to continue protecting her, cherishing her, serving her, and loving her, Sir. I give you my word. I am standing with her, beside her, and nothing and no one will get in the way of that.”
Jocelyn melted and swiped at the tears that had finally broken free from her eyes. Her mother graciously nodded her head accepting Ahmad’s declaration but she said nothing, preferring to let the men come to an understanding without her input. Jocelyn understood as well that some things were just between men, and when a loving and overprotective father meets a loving and extremely protective man, one who has professed his love for his only child, well some things had to be made plain—especially if it involved a Mackenzie.
She watched with bated breath for signs of rejection or acceptance. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if her daddy hated him. She knew she’d love Ahmad and would be with him regardless but it still would be wonderful to have her parents’, both parents’, blessing.
“Then we’ll shake on it. Welcome to the family, son.” Jocelyn could have wept for joy when her father extended his hand to Ahmad and he in turn shook it firmly, his resolve never wavering.
Ruth leaned in and whispered to Jocelyn, “Now see there, and you wanted to hang that young man out to dry when he came to the party. Mmmhmmm…” Jocelyn could only smile as her mother pulled her onto her breast holding her as she did when she was just a small child, consoling her as only a mother could. “He’s a good one, Jocie. You take good care of him now, you hear?” At her mother’s admonishment she whispered back, “I will, Mama. He’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“So what’s your plan of attack, Ahmad?”
Her father’s question to Ahmad got her attention as she sat up letting go of her mother to rejoin the conversation at hand. Jocelyn saw the spark of fire leap in Ahmad’s eyes, the very same one she had come to know when his mind was working things out.
