“Broken hip. He’s in a lot of pain. Look, I’m really sorry, Dylan, but you’re going to need to step in, if you can. I called the airline. They can switch the reservation to your name, if you’re able to go. You know these clients—fucking pains in the ass. After all the hoops you jumped through to restructure the deal to his satisfaction, Harrison has been grousing again about some of the terms. One of us really needs to be there to hold his hand through this last sticky bit. I would hate to see this thing tank at the last minute after all the work we’ve put in.”
Dylan’s jaw tightened, his mouth curving down in a frown. Ed continued on the speakerphone, “You’ve got about an hour to get to the Westchester Airport. I know it’s last minute, but can you cover for me?”
Dylan cast an agonized glance at Zoë, who mouthed, “Of course you can,” to him, as she forced down her own disappointment.
Dylan squared his shoulders, gripping the steering wheel tight with both hands. “Yeah, okay. I’m only about twenty minutes from there right now. I’m driving, so text me the details.”
Ed blew out an audible sigh of relief. “Okay, great. Let me know how it goes.”
“I will. You just focus on taking care of your dad. Talk to you soon.”
He ended the connection and turned to Zoë, his face a mirror of her disappointment. “I’m so sorry, Zoë. I was really looking forward to tonight. I know you were too.”
Zoë shook her head. “No, don’t be silly. I mean, yeah, I was looking forward to it, but there will be plenty of other nights, right?”
“Of course there will.” Dylan smiled, and then sighed. “Ed’s right—we’ve spent months putting this deal together and it’s been one giant pain in the ass from start to finish, but it’s going to make us a whole lot of money once it goes through. It would be a shame if it cratered at the last minute.” He shook his head. “Poor Ed. Since his mom died last year, his dad has been a mess. Ed’s their only child so...”
Zoë put her hand on Dylan’s thigh and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, you’ve got to do this. I get it. Really. You can just drop me at your place, grab an overnight bag and—”
“Wait,” Dylan interrupted. “We’re only a few minutes from the club. Why don’t I drop you off there instead? Just because I can’t go, doesn’t mean you can’t. I’m sure Louis and Jill could give you a ride home. I’ll give them a call, okay? If it’s a problem, we’ll both just head home.” He looked toward her, his face filled with hope and relief that he’d found a solution.
Though she didn’t really like the idea of going to the club without him, she could see it would make him happy to think he hadn’t ruined her evening, and so she said brightly, “Sure, that would be perfect.” She shrugged and grinned. “Maybe some hot guy will want to scene with me.”
“Ha ha.” Dylan grinned back, but then, sobering, he added, “Actually, if that seems appropriate and something you’d like to do, I’m totally cool with that.”
Zoë started to protest that she had been kidding and no way would she want to do a scene without him there, but Dylan spoke over her. “No, hear me out, Zoë. I actually think it might be an excellent test of your submissive grace. That’s the great thing about The Vault. You can trust the folks there. If you’re comfortable with an offer, I think you should accept. And I will expect a full accounting of what transpired, and your reactions. Deal?”
Zoë said nothing for several beats as she considered what he said. If you’re comfortable. Okay, then. The odds were high she would not be comfortable, and so this really was just an academic argument. “Deal,” she said. “Call me when you get to DC?”
“It’s a promise.”
Zoë felt a twinge of anxiety as The Vault’s front door was opened to admit her without Dylan’s supportive presence. He’d called ahead, however, and she was led directly through the dining room to the table where Jill and Louis already sat, sipping wine, a third glass at the ready for her.
Over dinner, Jill told Zoë about the Sub Club, a submissive support group that met a few times a month, either at The Vault or at a breakfast on weekend mornings. It was a loose affiliation of submissives, mostly women but also a few guys, who met to chat about any issues or concerns they were having either in their personal relationships, or with the whole complex and fascinating D/s lifestyle.
“We talk about any and everything,” Jill said. “It’s a great opportunity to say exactly what’s on your mind, without worrying whether you’re being a proper sub. It’s a safe place.”
“It’s an excellent resource,” Louis added. “Unfortunately, though most Dominants and would-be Masters have their hearts in the right place, there are some clueless guys out there who don’t know what the hell they’re doing. It can be very difficult for a sub to confront her Dom, and sometimes she doesn’t even realize that what’s happening has fallen out of the realm of safe, sane and consensual. The Sub Club can be a good sounding board to help someone get more perspective.”
“And a good way for acquaintances to become real friends,” Jill said, smiling warmly at Zoë.
Real friends.
Zoë used to have those, hadn’t she? Back before she let her job basically consume her life. How long had it been since she’d just hung out with the girls, shooting the breeze, lamenting or celebrating their latest relationships, and sharing their dreams and hopes? Since Dylan had taken her home two weeks before, it was as if whole layers of a life she thought was all that mattered had been stripped away, returning her to a simpler and more genuine place—a place where love and friendship mattered more than the constant pursuit of money and control. She was ready for friends—real friends.
“Sounds great,” Zoë said. “Count me in.”
After dinner, Louis excused himself to talk to Michael and Hank about some ideas he had for an upcoming event, and Jill took Zoë over to the long bar that flanked one wall of the old dining room.
“Zoë, meet Betty and Angela,” Jill said, introducing Zoë to two women who sat side-by-side on stools at the bar. “They’re both members of the Sub Club.” Betty was a fifty-something brunette with a round face and a kind smile. She reminded Zoë of her favorite librarian from elementary school, except that she was bare-breasted, heavy silver hoops dangling from her pierced nipples, her back marked with fading and new evidence of a recent whipping. Angela was in her twenties, tall and willowy, with hair dyed silver, the tips a dark blue. She had very pale skin, accentuated by lips painted a deep red. She wore a sheer black silk blouse tucked into a tight black leather mini skirt, her long, shapely legs bare, her feet tucked into Barbie doll stiletto heels.
They exchanged small talk for a few minutes, and then Jill said to Zoë, “Let’s go into the dungeon. Louis has given me permission to do a scene, if the mood strikes me. How about you—did Dylan say you can scene without him?”
Zoë nodded. “He did, actually. Though I doubt I will.”
“Why not? It can be a great way to test your submissive mettle, if you will. To see how you handle a scene without your lover smoothing the way for you.”
“That’s kind of what Dylan said. But I don’t know,” Zoë mused as they walked together into the main dungeon. “It sort of seems like cheating.”
Jill shook her head. “Not at all. In fact, that’s one of the great things about the scene—you can engage in a truly extraordinary experience with someone without even touching them. A real Dom—he can be incredible in a scene, even if you want nothing to do with him afterward.” She laughed, adding, “In those instances, it’s about the D/s connection, not sex. It’s not the guy, it’s what he’s giving you, and what you give in return. A pure and meaningful exchange of power.”
Zoë couldn’t help but laugh. “You make it sound like a religious experience.”
“Oh, no,” Jill countered with a laugh of her own. “It’s way better than that. No guilt and shame, just pure, sublime, erotic pleasure. Oh!” she said suddenly, turning her head. “That’s Master Kyle over there. He p
romised me a needle session. He looks like he’s alone. I’d better get over there before another sub girl grabs him up!”
“Needles, ugh,” Zoë murmured with a shudder, though she followed Jill, who made a beeline for a station where a tall, thin man with dark, brooding eyes was busy setting out rows of plastic-wrapped needles on a black tray.
Jill introduced Master Kyle to Zoë and began to negotiate the terms of a scene with him. “You’re free to watch,” Master Kyle informed Zoë, looking down his long nose at her, “though I require any sub at my station to kneel quietly on the perimeter, arms behind your back.”
Zoë was spared the necessity of refusing by a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see the man she recognized as Master Cameron as he flashed his dazzling smile at her. “Good evening,” he said in his charming Australian accent. “You’re Jill’s friend, aren’t you?” He nodded toward Jill, who nodded back with a bright smile, though she was in the process of being bound, facing outward, to an X cross by Master Kyle.
“I thought you were returning to Australia, Master Cameron,” Jill said as Master Kyle cuffed her ankles into position. “If I’d known you were here tonight…” She trailed off as Master Kyle scowled, and Zoë suppressed a smile.
“Yeah,” Master Cameron said. “I’ll be staying until the end of the week. So much to see, so much to do,” he added, his eyes shifting from Jill to Zoë. “You’re here alone?” He looked past her and then back at her face.
“Unfortunately my Dom, Dylan, couldn’t be here tonight,” Zoë said, missing him acutely at that moment.
“Oh, what a shame,” Master Cameron said, though his eyes said otherwise. “Would you care to engage in a scene? Is that permissible?”
Dylan’s words drifted into her mind. An excellent test of your submissive grace. Recalling the scene on stage with Jill, clearly Master Cameron knew what he was doing. Plus, she didn’t want to watch Jill get stuck with a bunch of needles, and what else would she do—wander around the dungeon watching various scenes like a kid with her face pressed up against the window of a toy store?
“It is permissible. I’m not sure, uh…” she stammered, her usual confidence in her ability to handle herself derailed by the newness of the situation. Just treat it like a business transaction, she told herself. This guy is a pro. Negotiate the terms like any other deal, and never let the other guy see you sweat. Speaking with more confidence, she said, “What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking we could break in one of my new floggers. Or perhaps one of my other new toys.” He indicated the large gear bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m sure we can find something that suits in here.” He glanced around the dungeon. “It looks like all the stations are occupied. Perhaps we’ll check out the smaller dungeon?”
“Yes, all right,” Zoë agreed, relieved at the prospect of a more private scene. She glanced again at Jill. Her blouse was unbuttoned, revealing her bare breasts and narrow torso. She was focused on Master Kyle, who was unwrapping and arranging the needles. He lifted one for Jill’s inspection, and Zoë turned away.
Surprisingly, the small dungeon was empty. “All to the good,” Master Cameron said. “I prefer a private scene the first time out with a new sub.” He pushed the door closed and held out a hand to indicate Zoë should precede him into the room. “Let’s sit down a minute and talk about expectations, shall we?”
Zoë noticed a sofa set against the back wall, the only available place in the room to sit, and she moved toward it, wishing he’d left the door open, but not sure enough of herself to say anything. She sat on the sofa. Master Cameron dropped his large gear bag at his feet and sat beside her. He shifted a little so he was facing her. “What’s your experience with sensory deprivation?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Being blindfolded, ears stopped, gagged—that sort of thing. You know, hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil?” He grinned, looking suddenly boyish, and Zoë found herself relaxing.
“I’m pretty new to the scene,” she explained. Would he run for the hills if he knew just how new? “But Dylan has introduced to me to bondage and blindfolds. We haven’t used a gag or ear plugs, though. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”
Master Cameron nodded. “No problem. We’ll start slow so I can get a measure of your limits.”
That sounded reasonable to Zoë. “Okay.”
Master Cameron reached for the gear bag. He unzipped it, revealing a cache of whips, floggers and canes. He lifted out a heavy flogger that was dyed a royal blue. Zoë could smell the rich scent of fine leather.
Though she was excited, she was also nervous, alone with a strange man. She wished Dylan were there now, observing and guiding the process. She was out of her ken, but at the same time she wanted to prove, both to herself and to Dylan, that she was up to the challenge.
As if just thinking about him had somehow conjured his spirit, she heard his deep, sexy voice of encouragement in her head. You can do this, Zoë. Make me proud. Show your submissive grace.
Master Cameron stood and gestured for Zoë to do the same. “Let’s start with a flogging, shall we?” He ran his fingers through the suede tresses, pulling them straight. “You’ll need to take off that gown,” he added, his tone matter-of-fact. “I wouldn’t want to ruin it.”
Zoë swallowed, her face heating. She knew she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t a sexual thing, she reminded herself. No big deal. And she would keep on her panties.
She allowed Master Cameron to unzip the long zipper at the back of her gown. She stepped carefully out of it. Master Cameron took the gown from her and placed it on the sofa.
He didn’t ogle her bare breasts, and indeed, barely seemed to notice she was nearly naked, save for thong panties, thigh-high stockings and heels. His matter-of-fact manner reassured her. This guy was a pro, and she could trust him.
“We’ll start with your hands behind your head, feet shoulder-width apart,” he said. “We’ll add restraints as I gauge your comfort level.”
That sounded good to Zoë, and she assumed the position, her skin tingling in anticipation of the stinging kiss of leather. He started slowly, just as Dylan did, letting her skin warm and accustom itself to the stroke, and then gradually intensifying as he applied more force to his swing. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation, visualizing Dylan standing before her, watching her.
Just when the strokes were edging from sensual pleasure to erotic pain, the flogging stopped. Zoë opened her eyes and twisted back to regard Master Cameron. Had she done something wrong?
“Good,” he said with apparent approval. “You handled that well. I’d like to secure your wrists, to give you more balance as we progress.”
Zoë, a little wobbly on the high heels, nodded her agreement. She glanced toward the X cross. Master Cameron, following her gaze, shook his head. “I want to suspend you right here.” He pointed to the chains hanging from the ceiling just over her head. Zoë swallowed at this pronouncement, but could see no real reason to protest.
He produced a pair of black leather wrist cuffs and some clips from his gear bag. The cuffs were lined with sheepskin, and they felt comforting as he closed them around her wrists and secured the clips to the chains.
He went to the wall and turned a handle attached to a pulley apparatus that caused the chains at her wrists to rise, pulling her arms taut over her head. A tremor of nervous anticipation shuddered its way through her frame, and she glanced at the closed door. “Don’t you think we should open that?” she queried.
Master Cameron, who was rummaging in his gear bag again, shook his head. “No. Let’s enjoy our privacy while we can.” He slipped some things into his pockets and returned to her holding up a satin sash. “I find it helps a sub to relax and focus on the sensations more effectively when visual stimulation is removed.”
“I’m not sure,” Zoë began, but he cut her off.
“That’s okay. I am.”
Just go with it, she told herself, trying to igno
re the sudden, jagged edge of worry that cut its way into her psyche. Then something occurred to her, and she blurted, “My safeword. You didn’t ask for my safeword.”
“Right. Apologies.” Master Cameron was now standing behind her. He placed the satin blindfold over her eyes and brought the two ends of the sash behind her head. “What’s your safeword?”
“Buyout.”
“Pardon?”
“Buy. Out,” she said slowly and distinctively.
“Buyout,” he repeated. “Okay, got it.”
She could hear him moving behind her, and then she sensed him standing in front of her. She startled when something cool and hard was pressed between her breasts. “Oh, what is that?”
“It’s a cane,” Master Cameron said. “A lovely, whippy cane.”
The sudden, whooshing sound of something being whipped in the air made Zoë flinch. “I don’t like canes,” she said quickly. “No canes.”
“Oh, I think the lady doth protest too much. I saw the way you were staring at my cane display last week. You crave the purifying experience only a cane can offer. Don’t bother to deny it.” His voice was playful.
“No, no,” Zoë blurted, a tendril of panic curling its way through her gut. “You’re wrong. I don’t want that. I don’t like canes.”
The playful tone edged into something harder. “I don’t remember asking you if you liked canes. It’s not your decision, sub girl. It’s mine.”
“No, wait,” Zoë insisted, confused and upset. “That’s not right. We’re supposed to negotiate a scene—”
Her words were cut off by something firm pressed over her mouth. It took her a second to realize it was his hand. She twisted her head, instinctively trying to step away, but her cuffed wrists prevented her. “Stop all that nonsense,” Master Cameron said with a small, unpleasant laugh. “Just go with it, love. You know you want it.”
He removed his hand. Shaken and shocked, Zoë blurted, “Buyout! Buyout, buyout, buyout!” Panting, she waited for him to remove the blindfold and let her down.
Nothing happened.
Brokered Submission Page 12
