Brokered Submission

by Claire Thompson

  Excusing himself, he’d taken the call. When he’d returned to the table, something in his face must have made it clear he wasn’t blowing smoke when he informed them he had an emergency at home and had to cut things short. Donald Harrison had surprised him by offering him the use of his private jet and pilot, allowing him to make it to the club in an astonishing hour and a half.

  “Calm down,” Louis said. “Zoë is in good hands. She’s with Jill and the girls.”

  “I did a thorough exam,” Michael added. “She’s got a few nasty welts, and of course she’s shaken up, but she’ll be fine. The last thing she needs right now is for you to go bursting in and upsetting her all over again. Just take a second, okay? Come back to the office so Hank can give you the full story. Then you can go to Zoë, okay, buddy?”

  Dylan blew out a breath of frustration, but nodded, recognizing the wisdom of their advice. “Yeah, okay.”

  They made their way through the club to the back office, where Hank was waiting. Once the door was closed behind them, Dylan looked around, half expecting to see Cameron. He realized he was clenching his fists again, already imagining the satisfying crunch of bone as he smashed that smug, handsome face. “Where is he?” he demanded.

  “He’s gone,” Hank said. “We sent him packing.”

  “What? I wanted to see him,” Dylan said angrily. “He had no right—”

  “He’s gone as much for your sake as anything,” Louis interjected. “The last thing you need right now is to beat up some guy because you’re pissed off. That won’t solve anything, and you know that, if you stop a minute and cool your jets.”

  “We read him the riot act,” Michael added. “He’s not welcome here, and I’ll make sure no one else in the BDSM community has anything to do with him. He’s blacklisted from this moment forward.”

  “Yeah,” Hank added. “And if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll get the fuck out of town and never come back.”

  Dylan sank into one of the chairs in front of the desk, tugging at his tie and pulling it off. Michael went to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room and returned, holding out a bottle of beer in Dylan’s direction. Dylan accepted it, twisted off the cap and took a long pull. “Okay. I’m calm, I promise. Tell me what went down, and then I want to see my girl.”

  Though Dylan had the basics from Louis’ phone call, Hank explained in more detail what they’d witnessed on the security monitor. “Cameron claimed it was all consensual, but it was clear from the video stream that she was in distress. And his locking the door…” Hank glowered, shaking his head. “We’re going to have that lock removed first thing in the morning. Fortunately, we got to her fast, thanks to Jill.”

  “Fuck,” Dylan swore, his voice cracking. “This is all my fault. I pushed Zoë into this. I essentially ordered her to engage in a scene without me. I should have been there. I should have protected her.”

  “Stop,” Louis said, putting his hand firmly on Dylan’s shoulder. “You can’t take the blame for someone else being a total asshole. None of us knew Cameron was a fraud. He’d scened with Jill, for god’s sake, in front of us all. There was no way to know what happened was going to happen.”

  “What Zoë needs now from you isn’t self-recrimination and certainly not pity,” Hank added. “She needs to see your quiet strength and determination to help her deal with what happened. She needs to know you don’t blame her one iota for what happened, and that you can move forward as a couple to heal whatever damage was done.”

  “Yeah. I know you guys are right.” Dylan ran his hands over his face. He looked around at his friends and managed a smile. “Thanks for talking me back from the ledge. I need to see Zoë now, okay?”

  He stood, struggling to keep the desperation he felt tamped down in front of the others. He had encouraged her to scene without him, and some fucking bastard had violated her trust. God, would she forgive him for what had happened? Would he forgive himself?

  Forcing himself to speak calmly, Dylan said, “Take me to her, please.”

  Louis led Dylan to the recovery room. The door was closed, and Louis rapped softly and then turned the knob. As the door opened, Dylan saw Zoë nestled on the daybed beside Jill, her feet tucked under her, looking very young. Dylan wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting, but he was surprised to see all the women were laughing, Zoë included. When he came closer, he could see she had been crying, and a fault line opened in a ragged, painful line across his heart.

  In two strides, Dylan was the across the room, his arms outstretched. To his relief and joy, Zoë flew into his arms. She nuzzled her face against his neck as he held her tight. He was vaguely aware of the others leaving, but he couldn’t let go of Zoë long enough to pay too much attention.

  As the door clicked quietly closed, he moved toward the daybed and settled back against it, Zoë still cradled in his arms. “Baby, baby, oh baby,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Zoë pulled back, gently disengaging from his embrace. “I’m okay, Dylan. Jill and the others are amazing.”

  “I should have been here.” Tears momentarily blurred Dylan’s vision. He blinked them away.

  “You were closing an important deal,” Zoë replied, shaking her head. “I feel terrible that you were dragged away like this.”

  “Are you kidding me? Nothing in this world is more important to me than you.” As he said it, he knew in his heart it was absolutely true.

  Zoë stroked Dylan’s cheek, a soft smile on her face. “Thank you, Sir.” Love bloomed inside him like a flower unfurling in time-lapse photography. “The girls really helped me work my way through it. I understand now I should have followed my gut. I let him get me in a compromising position when I wasn’t entirely comfortable. I didn’t trust myself enough, and as a result, I ended up giving that bastard too much power.”

  “That asshole betrayed your trust. What he did is tantamount to rape. He violated you. I would totally understand if you want to give this whole thing a break for a while.”

  Zoë shook her head. “No, no,” she said softly but emphatically. “I didn’t let him in enough for that. The violation was superficial. He frightened me, yes, but I won’t give him that kind of power, Dylan. I remain intact. I promise.”

  Dylan took Zoë’s hand, squeezing it, his heart full, in awe of this amazing woman. “I love you, Zoë.” He paused a moment to let those words sink in for them both. Zoë said nothing, though her eyes sparkled as if lit by an inner fire. He repeated more firmly, “I love you so damn much. I am so, so sorry this happened.”

  “I love you, too, Dylan. And I’m okay. I promise.”

  They grinned at each other like kids for several moments. Then Zoë said, “Hey, did you ever ride horses when you were a kid?”

  Dylan shook his head, confused by the line of questioning, but going along. “Nah. I’m a city boy, born and bred.”

  “Well, I did. And the first thing you learn is if your horse throws you, you just dust yourself off and get right back on.” She shifted so she was facing him. “You talk about the courage it takes to submit, right?” As Dylan nodded, she continued, “It takes courage to dominate, too—don’t think I don’t get that. You want to give your sub that intensity of experience she craves, but at the same time, you feel a responsibility to keep her safe from harm. You feel right now like you failed in that regard—like you failed me.”

  Dylan opened his mouth to deny it, but realized it was true. He said nothing.

  Zoë shrugged, her chin lifting with the determination he had first witnessed during their business dealings together. “Understand this—you didn’t fail me. Or us. Neither of us got as far as we have in our lives by slinking away and licking our wounds when we get thrown. I can’t speak for you, Dylan, but I, for one, want to get right back into the saddle. The experience we’ve shared over these past few weeks together has completely changed and opened my world and my life in a way I never dreamed possible. I’m not about to let that go because of s
ome bully in Dom’s clothing.”

  Dylan laughed in surprise and then shook his head with admiration. “You’re a wise woman, Zoë. And you’re right. If you’re still willing to be a part of this journey with me, I want to be a Dom worthy of claiming your submission.”

  As if by some silent accord, they both stood. Dylan reached for Zoë, aching to kiss her. But she held him at arms’ length as she looked up at him with a clear, somber gaze. “And I,” she said softly, “already belong to you, Sir.”

  Chapter 12

  The four of them sat around the table in The Vault’s dining room, sipping coffee and port. Louis was regaling them with a funny story about his first fumblings as a Dom back in his college days, when there was no such thing as the Internet. Dylan was only half listening, unable to take his eyes off his lovely sub girl.

  Zoë’s diamond choker slave collar glittered around her throat. In the two months since Dylan had placed it around her neck, she hadn’t removed it. The matching ring he’d had made was nestled in a small box in his pocket, and he fingered it now as he tried to focus on Louis’ words.

  “So I posted a want ad in the back of this underground BDSM magazine I’d picked up at a sleazy adult bookstore. I got some responses, and I ended up meeting this girl in a bar. She was older than me, with lots of teased blond hair and tons of makeup, but she looked pretty hot, and I was twenty-one and horny as a goat, so I wasn’t that particular,” Louis said with a grin. “We had a couple of drinks, and the chemistry seemed right, so when she suggested I come back to her place, I said, hell yeah.

  “It was the first time I’d ever used a flogger, and she seemed to really be getting off on it, and I was so excited I nearly ejaculated just from the experience. When I was done flogging her, the girl got on her knees and”—he glanced at Jill and then Zoë, censoring himself in advance—“thanked me for the flogging. Then she started to do this strip tease, and that’s when I figured out that she was actually a he.”

  Dylan had heard the story before. He watched with amusement as Zoë processed what Louis had just said. “Wait, what? She was a guy?”

  “Yep,” Louis confirmed with a bemused shrug. “Turns out the magazine where I’d posted the ad catered to the gay and cross-dressing population in the scene. ”

  “So what did you do? What did he, I mean, she, do?” Zoë asked.

  “I thanked him, uh, her for the experience, zipped up my jeans and beat a hasty retreat. She just laughed, called me a clueless kid, and told me not to get my scrawny ass caught in the door on the way out. It was pretty embarrassing, but I’ve done worse. There was one time—”

  “Louis, dear”—Jill smiled sweetly at her husband—“I know Dylan and Zoë would love to sit all night and listen to your stories, but you promised me a turn at the wax station tonight?” Her voice lifted in a question, but Louis got the hint.

  “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? How about you two? Going to do a scene tonight?”

  Zoë put her hand on Dylan’s arm, her fingers cool against his skin. They’d returned to The Vault a number of times in the months since that asshole Cameron had pulled his stunt, and though Zoë remained receptive and fearless in their deepening exploration of BDSM, she hadn’t wanted to engage in another public scene, and Dylan hadn’t pressed her, nor would he now. When the time was right, she would know it, and if that time never came, he had assured her that was fine with him, and he meant it.

  He started to tell Louis no, but something in the press of Zoë’s fingers on his arm kept him silent. She glanced from him to Jill, and Dylan followed her gaze. A silent conversation seemed to take place between the two women. Jill gave Zoë a small, encouraging nod.

  Zoë lifted her chin and said, “Yes, I think we will do a scene tonight, Louis.” She turned to Dylan, her eyes sparkling. “I’m ready, Sir,” she whispered. “I want others to witness our continuing journey.”

  Pride in her courage and grace swelled inside him, and Dylan replied, “I want that, too, sub girl.” He turned to Louis and Jill. “After your wax play, would you be our witnesses?”

  “We can play with wax any old time,” Jill said with an emphatic shake of her head. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do or anywhere I’d rather be right now than watching the two of you do a scene together.”

  “Agreed,” Louis said.

  ~*~

  The four of them moved through the crowded dungeon looking for an empty station. It was a Saturday night and a full moon to boot, and every member of the club seemed to have come out to celebrate their kink with friends.

  Zoë’s heart fluttered and swooped like a hummingbird. She clutched gratefully at Dylan’s hand as they edged past naked and leather-clad people with whips, floggers, rope and chain. The air was laced with the scent of sweat and arousal, moans of ecstasy and cries of pain weaving in harmony around them.

  “I don’t see an open station,” Dylan said at last, as they continued to move through the crowd.

  “We could go to the small dungeon,” Zoë said, though just the words made her mouth go suddenly dry. She’d meant what she said about getting back in the saddle in their BDSM exploration, but memories and nightmares of the horrific scene with Cameron had continued to plague her, especially in the first few weeks afterward. She’d steered clear of the small dungeon, afraid it might trigger the bad memories, but she told herself now she was done with that. It was giving Cameron too much power—allowing him to take up space in her head that he didn’t deserve.

  Dylan glanced down at her, the concern in his eyes making it clear he understood her fears. “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

  Ironically, this acknowledgment of her fears somehow gave Zoë the courage and certainty she needed, and she replied stoutly, “Absolutely sure. It’s just a room, Dylan. There are no ghosts there, unless we give them access.”

  He smiled and placed a comforting hand on the small of her back as they made their way to the small dungeon, Louis and Jill behind them. There was already another scene in progress in the room. Mark, a submissive male owned by Mistress Laura, was suspended by his wrists from the chains Cameron had used to secure Zoë. He was naked, and another man was kneeling in front of him, arms bound with rope behind his back, Mark’s cock thrust down his throat. Mistress Laura stood behind Mark, cracking a wicked single tail against his flesh.

  Dylan led Zoë to the X cross. He dropped his gear bag to the ground and said, “I’m thinking a full body flogging—”

  “No.”

  Dylan stopped mid-sentence and stared at her.

  Zoë hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, and she quickly amended, “What I mean, Sir, is please, will you use the cane?”

  The surprise was evident on Dylan’s face. Since the debacle with Cameron, he’d made it clear that while he would one day like to incorporate the cane into their erotic play, he would wait until she asked for it. She wasn’t entirely certain what made her so sure she was ready tonight, but in her bones she knew she was.

  Concern was etched into her Dom’s features. “I don’t think—” he began.

  “Dylan.” Louis cut him off, placing a hand on his shoulder. “If I may intervene, I suggest you honor her request.”

  “Yes.” Jill, who had recently been encouraging Zoë in their weekly Sub Club meetings to take the step back into public scening, added, “Trust your sub’s instincts, Sir, even if you don’t entirely trust your own.”

  Dylan nodded slowly. A change moved over his face, his mouth lifting in a sensual curve that edged into something exciting, even dangerous. "Who do you belong to, Zoe?"

  Zoe stared into the dark fire that had ignited in his eyes and felt heat move through her body like the kiss of a flame, melting her core. "You, Sir," she whispered, not trying to hide the reverence in her tone.

  Dylan cupped her breasts beneath the leather of her corset, and then slipped his fingers into the bodice. He lifted her breasts so they popped out of their leather casing. Zoë kept her eyes fixed on her Master as he roll
ed her nipples between his fingers. She couldn’t suppress the small moan as they hardened to points beneath his touch.

  Letting her go, Dylan bent down and unzipped his gear bag. He lifted out a long, whippy cane, the handle wrapped in dark blue suede. They’d chosen the cane together, but this would be its first use.

  He held it up for Zoë to see. Her engorged nipples throbbed even while her gut tightened with nervous anticipation. “Take off your skirt,” he ordered quietly.

  Zoë untied the sash of her long velvet skirt and stepped carefully out of it. The corset came only to her hips, its garters holding up sheer black stockings. She wore no panties.

  “Face the cross, sub girl,” Dylan instructed, the quiet power in his voice sending a shivery thrill through Zoë’s body. “I will give you what you crave.”

  She leaned her midriff against the intersection of the smooth wood and lifted her arms, placing her wrists into the open leather cuffs. Dylan clipped the cuffs closed and then crouched behind her to secure her ankles. She leaned into the cross, secure and snug in her bonds. Her entire body thrummed with anticipation.

  In spite of her desire, the first stinging taps of the cane against her ass made Zoë flinch. Without meaning to, she clutched her hands into fists over her cuffs, and had to fight the sudden, unwelcome rush of panic threatening to wash over her. Cameron’s words slithered into her brain: I don’t remember asking you if you liked canes. It’s not your decision, sub girl. It’s mine.

  “Zoë, find your grace.” Dylan's voice pulled her back to the present. “Relax your hands. Breathe deeply and remember where it is you want to go. I will take you there.”