I never let my father dictate my actions to me again.
Family isn’t just the people you’re related to by blood, but I still need a certain connection now, despite not knowing how to begin this conversation.
Sloane answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“I saw Mark James.” Well, then, I guess we’re just diving right in, mouth. “He’s back in town and he found me and...feel free to jump in any time.”
Sloane hesitates, finally sighing. “I know. I sort of gave him your address.”
Disbelief and anger war inside me for a long moment. “What?”
“He came into the store, and...well, he seemed different. Maybe not different, but like he knew how much he’d fucked up, so I went with my gut. I’m so sorry if it went sideways, I only meant it to be a good thing for you. I thought you could get some closure or something. Are you mad?”
“I’m pissed.” And yet, maybe a part of me had always wondered where he’d gone, and if he’d left because he hadn’t wanted me at all. Like maybe I’d made the whole chemistry up, remembered it wrong or inflated it over the years. Seeing him again, realizing our connection had been real all along—even though I knew it had been—feels good. I unclench my fist. “But maybe it’s a good thing for closure. I’ll call you later.”
“I’ll have Darko make you some of those cupcakes you like.”
“I’ll definitely take you up on that guilt-baking.” I hang up and take three deep breaths, in through my nose and out through my mouth. I do a quick Kundalini meditation, picturing the energy of that fiery serpent flowing up from the base of my spine. I don’t know if it’s real, I just know it feels better after I do it. Usually.
Sloane may have had the best intentions, but Mark James coming back into my life at this point in time when I’m trying to focus on the Games is irritating as hell and meditation’s not going to do it for me today.
Yoga may be good for relaxation, but paddling the shit out of a bratty sub is better.
And the brattiest sub I can think of?
Milena.
She’s been playing with Carey Clark lately, but there’s been some tension there. Carey’s not a terrible person, though he is a sadist. But who knows what happens behind closed doors when the clothes come off and the boundaries come down.
I find Milena by the bar, dancing gracefully, even though there’s no music playing.
I run my hand over her shoulder, trailing down to the tattoo of a swan on her lower back. “Are you busy, Milena?”
Her dark eyes sparkle. “I am now, Mistress.”
Her long, dark hair is pulled into a high ponytail, the way I like it best. I divide the tail in two and spread the sections with a sharp tug, tightening the elastic. She gasps at the more severe pull on her scalp. “In my room. Now. On the bed, Milena, spread-eagled. On your back.”
We head down the hall and into the elevator, stepping out when we reach the level the private rooms are on. I unlock my door and lead her inside, not bothering to repeat my instructions.
Milena scrambles into place while I open a drawer and make my selection. The tension claiming my shoulders loosens as soon as I grab the crop and walk to the bed, letting every footstep fall heavily, resounding throughout the room. My room. “Look at me.” Tucking my crop beneath my arm, I cuff one of her arms and one leg to each of the bedposts with the heavy restraints. Leather lined with satin because her skin is deliciously sensitive. Eye contact because I want to watch her pupils dilate from my actions.
There’s a headiness that comes with turning someone on by dominating them. You’re the one in control and they love it. You love it. Everybody wins.
I feel twenty percent better already.
Instead of walking around the bed, I get on it and crawl toward her. Milena’s eyes widen when I straddle her. She’s so slight and seemingly fragile. “Unbutton my shirt.”
Her free hand makes quick work of the buttons on my blouse, and she drops it back to the mattress. I shrug the shirt off. Slowly, I reach into my pants pocket and pull out the length of chain. “How long has it been since we clamped you?”
“Seventy-three days, Mistress.”
Her mind fascinates and excites me. Such a good memory. I palm her pert breasts and thumb her nipples into stiff peaks before slipping a clamp over one. I smile and reach up, winding the chain around the ponytail before clamping her other nipple. Milena is a thrasher—now if she throws her head back, the taut chain will pull on her nipples.
And she is going to thrash around. I’ll make sure of it.
I slide off, and cuff her other arm and leg. Then I walk to the foot of the bed. “Bend your knees.” She has just enough slack with the cuffs to comply. My shirt hits the floor, and I pull another chain with a clamp on each end from another pocket. She gasps. A blush already stains her cheeks, and she tries not to move her head again.
This chain, I wind around her legs, and then secure the clamps on her labia, spreading her wide, revealing the glistening entrance of her pussy. “Look how wet you are already. It’s embarrassing.”
“Yes, Mistress, it is.”
“How many people have you fucked this week?”
She looks away, and I push her already spread legs open a fraction more, making the chain tug her pussy lips further apart. She cries out. “Four!”
I trail the tip of my crop up around her clit. “Four what?”
“Four, Mistress!”
“And how many last week?”
“Five.”
I slap the crop just above her clit, hard enough to sting.
She yelps and bites back a smile. “Five, Mistress!”
I let her get away with murder, but tonight I need to work some of this out of my system to better deal with the return of a certain redhead. Milena seems tiny, frail, and unable to take the worst I might dish out, though that’s not true. Still, I put away thoughts of Mark James, who has no business being in the room with Milena and I.
Milena was one of those overachievers who went to great lengths seeking her father’s approval—which, I know from experience, never works. No matter how great your accomplishment, they will never truly see you for who you are. They see what they want to see. Milena became a successful surgeon chasing that approval before realizing her heart wasn’t in it and quitting.
I glide my hand up her silky thigh. Milena gets off on both pain and humiliation. I do not get off on humiliation, but it appeals to some part of her conservative upbringing that I know still messes with her head sometimes, the roots of that upbringing I’d love to tear from her psyche and free her. Our experience, however, is not about what I want, so I play along. “You realize I will be unavailable for a while?”
“Yes, Mistress. For The Games.” She sighs unhappily.
“Yes. Shall I give you something to remember me by? Not that you deserve it, spreading your legs for whoever will take you,” I raise my voice. “You unworthy little slut.”
“You’re too good for me, Mistress. But please!” She squirms with pleasure and her eyes light up. She loves being jealously yelled at and claimed.
“Please what?” I straighten and drag the crop between her breasts and down to her bellybutton, leaving stinging slaps along the way to wake up her nerves.
“Please mark me as yours.”
“You don’t deserve it.”
“Then make me worthy. Please.”
Pleasure ripples through me like a heat mirage, and carries me over to my drawer. “What’s one way we purify things, Milena?”
She moans. “Fire.”
“Very good. What’s your favorite color?”
“Purple.”
I pull a lighter and a very high quality wax crayon from a box. Pure, so it burns at a lower temperature, which is good since I won’t be dripping it onto her skin. The higher the wax drips from, the cooler it is when it reaches the skin. My flogger replaces my crop, and I stroke the lashes and look at her on the way back to the foot of the bed.
&nbs
p; “What is your safeword?”
“Strychnine.”
I smile. “Good. Nine people you’ve fucked in the past two weeks?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’ve only fucked four people, some of them multiple times.”
“Some of them at the same time, I bet.”
Her hips buck. “Yes, Mistress.”
There is no such thing as slut-shaming in our world. Unless collars are involved, being sexually free is expected. No one cares who you fuck or don’t fuck—some clients are only into watching. But Milena gets off on being demeaned. As the Domme servicing her, I am responsible for her pleasure—and pain—for the scene. “You think that makes it any better, letting people use your body like I’m going to use it? Now anyone touching you while I’m unavailable will know what kind of girl you are. Count for me.” Before she can blink, I slap the flogger onto the outside of her upper right thigh.
“One.”
And then the other thigh.
“Two.” Her hips are really working now, pussy lips as flushed as the ones she’s currently sinking her teeth into.
A lash to her sensitive inner arm. She tolerates that for me because she knows that pleases me, a trade-off of the scene.
“Three.”
And the other arm.
She gasps. “Four.”
“Once more, and you will not move this time.”
“Please, no! I’ll be good!” She pulls at the arm cuffs, but doesn’t use her safeword.
The lash marks on her thighs are a faint pink, barely noticeable. This round, I go harder, and she cries out after each lash. “Beautiful, Milena. You’ve earned a reward for being such a good girl.”
“Was I a very good girl?”
Her gaze drags down my body, bringing a smile to my lips. “I said you earned a reward. I didn’t say I was it.” I fetch a vibrator from my drawer, and rub it all over her wet pussy. She thrusts her hips up to meet my actions, but I don’t allow her motions to drive it inside any faster. Despite wanting to ram it inside and make her come fast and hard, as punishment for moving, I ease it in so incrementally that when it fills her, there’s no relief. Only more frustration from wanting me to fuck her hard with it, and a pleasurable, torturous fullness.
But I need her to spread wide for the next toy, so I remove the clamps from her labia. Her legs immediately spring wider open, and she rotates her hips, trying to find something to grind against to bring relief, finding none. From my drawer, I grab another couple toys, and drizzle lube on the smaller vibrator before dripping more over her ass. Her eyes widen as her knees spread, giving me better access.
She gasps as I work it inside, pausing to pull it back and add more lube before plunging it all the way in. Then I grab the vibrator buried in her pussy. Her moan almost hurts my ears when I fuck her with the vibrator for four hard, long strokes and stop with it deep inside her. The clamps pull her nipples when she throws her head back, and she cries out before deliberately repeating the motion.
My little masochist. This is what I love. Not yelling at, or hurting her. Unlike some of the Dominants here, I don’t get off on demeaning people, or inflicting physical pain—even when people beg me to do it. I love driving her senses wild until she forgets everything in the world except what is happening in this bed. I get off on obliterating all thoughts from her mind, emptying her world, her mind of everything except exquisite pleasure sharpened by pain, and the fact that I am the one bringing her to such heights.
It lets me forget everything in my own life as well except for what’s happening inside this room.
“Please, Mistress.” She squirms, by now, feeling the effects of the warming lube.
“You think you’ve earned your release?” I remove the purple crayon and the lighter from my pocket after I prepare her skin for the wax-play. This is a trick I learned from Darko. Milena was his favorite submissive before he met Sloane, though they still have scenes together occasionally. “What should I write on you this time?”
I take my time heating the wax, drawing out her anticipation. The vibrators move on their own, her pussy and ass clenching, needing more.
She bites her lip. “Useless Slut.”
I tilt my head. Darko once told me that he never wrote the words she wanted on her skin. He’d always write Beautiful Woman or variations thereof in his language. He said he would never defile her body with shameful words. Not even in a foreign language. Not even for a scene.
I’d asked what was stopping her from looking up the words later, whether he forbid her to or not. He said she had, just so he would have to punish her. She does love a spanking. But in the heat of the moment, she’ll think she’s gotten her way. Everybody wins.
Left thigh done, I move to the right and repeat the heating and tracing, leaving a waxy purple word on the right while she practically purrs through the entire process. I respect her word choice though she’s anything but useless. Milena is a fabulous submissive, and a favorite of mine for a reason. I’d share her with the world, if it meant they could experience her gorgeous spirit. Soft noises of pleasure hum inside her throat, and she tries to sit up when I fasten a butterfly vibrator over her swollen clit. I grab my crop, and a cooling lotion from my drawer, but I won’t use it until after she’s come four times.
Once for each person she fucked who wasn’t me.
A symbol of my “jealousy.”
The wax has stiffened, and I slowly peel the letters off. The marks should last for about three days.
I remove the cuffs around her ankles. “Turn over.”
“Mistress?”
“Not tonight.” She wants me to fuck her with a strap-on. Last night I would have.
Her face falls, not understanding why I’m not already buried inside her. “Was I bad?”
“No, darling.” Gently, I kiss her frown away and flip her body. Then I turn all three vibrators on at once, and cover her ass with stinging blows of the crop while she moans then screams into the pillow as she comes. “You weren’t bad at all.”
I just can’t make love to her with Mark James still inside my head.
Topping Milena was supposed to burn off the excess tension simmering beneath my skin when I think of Mark. Unfortunately, it hasn’t helped at all.
If anything, it’s made it worse.
CHAPTER NINE
Mark
The twelve minutes of sleep I managed to get were filled with nightmares. I’ve slept better in war zones and that’s saying something, but I couldn’t get the images of Tessa on the floor out of my head.
How many years until the guilt, fear, and shame slithering around inside my guts settle down and stop making me nauseated? Whether or not their father is right, I can’t let this go. Maybe before the pictures, but now? I can’t take the slightest chance Tessa’s in a vulnerable position or being taken advantage of. Unfortunately, she’s not going to be in any mood to chat after the way our reunion ended.
Sloane helped me once, maybe she’ll do it again.
I put on a pot of coffee and wait until a more socially acceptable hour to call her.
Sloane answers on the second ring. “Mark? What’s up?”
How to play this? Direct is best. “You need to get me into that club so I can make sure it’s really safe.”
“I can assure you it’s safe. You don’t need to step foot inside it for that knowledge.”
“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”
She laughs. “You don’t need to be the judge of anything, Mark. Not only is it none of your business, you lost the right to make any kind of demands when you walked away from my family.”
“You gave me Tessa’s address before. You know I only want the best for her. On some level you still know I care about her.”
She interrupts me with a scoff. “Playing matchmaker wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I gave you her address. You don’t just get to waltz back in after a few years and pick up where you left off as though you have any au
thority over us, or even any investment in our well-being. God, that’s so arrogant and presumptuous.”
“I realize that.” I run my hand through my hair, wanting to pull it out from frustration, but she’s right. “If it had been up to me, I never would have left her at all. I can’t change the past, but I’m trying to make sure she’s safe now.”
“I already did that. I wouldn’t let my sister come to any harm. Believe me, I completely understand the need to want to jump in and see The Underground for yourself. Been there, done that...earned the t-shirt. But you need to talk to her instead of going to the club.”
“I’ve been leaving messages and she won’t talk to me—I think she’s too mad. This is the next best thing. If I can’t talk to her, I can see the place for myself.”
“And you don’t think she has the right to be pissed off?” Her tone changes, slicing through the phone like a blade being pulled through a sharpener.
“Please, Sloane. I need to make sure she’s okay. You’ve had years to get to know her and understand her A-to-B journey. I’m trying to catch up but the things I learned...I need to see things for myself before I can let this go.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m an idiot, but for some reason, I truly think you care about her, even after all this time.”
“I do. And the thought of someone taking advantage of her, tying her up and abusing her is making me...I just can’t stand the thought of it. Please.”
“The only reason I’m going to help is because I once thought the exact same thing, pictured the same things you are now. I was wrong, but I had to see for myself.” She sighs. “And I never want anyone to feel the way I did then. I’ll text you the address and tell them to expect you. Saturday.”
It’s Tuesday now, which gives me a few days to try and get through to Tessa herself first. “Thank you.” Relief and gratitude swell through my chest, making me feel dizzy.
“Don’t make me regret it. No matter what you learn, if you can’t find a way to fix what you did, Tessa’s never going to give you the chance to talk her around—not that I’m saying that’s even what should happen. Either way, you need to respect her wishes.”
Take Me (The Submission Games Book 2) Page 6
