After we’ve eaten, while I’m disposing of the uneaten food and clearing the plates away she resumes her place sitting uncomfortably on the couch, her eyes gazing into space. Once I’ve tidied up, I walk over to her and lift her chin with my hand. Looking into her eyes, she seems haunted. “You okay?” I ask, quietly.
She takes a second to focus on me. “I’d pushed everything that happened to me out of my mind, Jon. I never spoke about, never thought about it. Now it’s all flooding back and it’s all I can think about.” Then a little shiver shames her body, “I am worried about going to Tiacapan, and if I’m concerned about that I know how stupid it was to think I could go to a club on my own. I know what happens there, I’m happy enough to write about it. But seeing it?” She pauses, and her next words come out almost as a plea for help, “But this is something I want to, need to do. If I don’t, my writing will stagnate.”
I kneel in front of her. “We don’t have to go tonight if you’ve changed your mind, if it’s too much for you. We can stay in, watch a film, or if you prefer, we can go back to Epping. There’ll be another time when you’re better prepared. We don’t have to rush it. The Club’s not going anywhere.” And neither am I. Aren’t I? The thought surprises me.
For a second she hesitates and then pulls herself up straight. “No,” she says firmly. “There’s no point in delaying; there’ll never be a right time. I want to go, tonight. Seeing a real club is something I’ve wanted to do for so long. Those bastards have already taken so much from me; they’re not ruining anything else. I’m going to go tonight.”
Watching her cautiously, part of me wonders whether she is ready for this, but her words and attitude remind me of her inner strength, even if she doesn’t appreciate how strong she really is. And another part of me very much wants to take her to the club and bring her home in the right mood to sink my cock into her, right up to the fucking balls. Well aware of my perverse personal interest in the possible outcomes of the night, I know I’m being a bastard as I make no further move to discourage her. I simply nod, showing I’m accepting her decision.
As I stand, I reach for her hands to help her up. “Come, I left the clothes for you to wear in the spare room. I’ll show you where it is.” It’s her desire to go to a real BDSM club, but I’m leaping on that bandwagon with all two fucking feet, and loving every minute of it. Talk about something dropping into your lap.
I take her to the guest room and leave her alone. Shutting the door behind me, I no longer have to suppress my grin, picturing the expression on her face when she sees the outfit laid out on the bed that I bought for her today while she was at the salon. I took a long time choosing it, and my final choice was completely for me. I suspect she won’t like it at all.
I’m counting down from ten and have just got to five when the door is flung open! Mia’s standing there, a corset in her hand. “I can’t wear this!” Her voice is shrill. “And what the hell is this?” She holds up a barely there, wrap round mini skirt.
Leaning lazily back against the wall; my feet crossed at my ankles. “It’s fetwear, sweetheart. Trust me. Wearing this you’ll blend in; wearing anything else you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.” Frowning, I look at her intently, “What do your characters wear when they visit clubs?”
Her eyes narrow, and then, after a brief pause she replies, “Fetwear.” Then her eyes widen in horror. “But I don’t know if I can do it.” Now they start filling with tears. “It’s slutty!”
I don’t need to be a qualified psychologist to know what she’s thinking. Putting my hands on her arms I hold her little distance away from me, but my grasp is firm. “Look at me, Mia.” I wait until her eyes meet mine. “Yes, it’s slutty. And tonight I might call you my slut because that’s what people wear in a BDSM club expect. It’s the language we use, as well you know. You’ve written that in your books. But how you’re dressed won’t influence a thing. Anything that happens in the club will be safe, sane and consensual.” I put a heavy emphasis on that last word.
Waiting to make sure she’s taking my words in, I continue, “You can wear the sluttiest clothes in the world, or even be naked, and nothing will happen to you that you don’t want to happen. The way you dress doesn’t give anyone the right to take advantage of you.” Again I pause until I’m confident she’s listening and my words are sinking in. As her eyes flit to the floor, then back up to meet mine I can almost see her mind working, and have to keep a tight rein on myself as anger rises inside me, directed towards her fucking mother. How the hell could a woman tell her daughter she deserved everything she got?
I know that Mia thinks she’s come to accept she was a victim and didn’t deserve to be abducted and raped, particularly not because of the way she had been dressed. But because of the lack of support when she fucking needed it most, deep down there’s still part of her that believes she influenced the outcome. Something about the way she dressed or acted caused the rapists to pick on her, rather than anyone else. She’s come such a long way, providing therapy for herself by way of her writing; her characters behave as they like without being hurt, without being accused of ‘asking for it’. But Mia’s got to take the next big step and apply that rationale to her. And I’m going to be the one to help her.
I give her the time she needs to process what I’ve told her, and I know I’ve successfully got through when she gives a small nod and a tentative smile. There she is! She’s back with me. So now I change tack. “The clothes are part of the lifestyle; they’re for fun.” Well, I’ll enjoy them at least. Squeezing her arm, I lighten my voice, “And we’re going to have fun tonight, Mia.” I wait until her smile broadens, showing her fear is now at least tinged with anticipation, and then turn her around to face the guest room again. “Now you get yourself back inside and get dressed. Five minutes, else I’ll come dress you myself.” I use my best Dom voice and give her a light slap on her bum to encourage her to get moving.
“Ouch!” She turns, pretending to be affronted, but runs into the bedroom playing the game.
“Five minutes!” I reiterate sternly, before turning away and leaving her, taking myself off to the lounge.
I’m looking at my watch when four minutes and forty-five seconds later she appears. I draw in a deep breath, using every ounce of control I have to stop my cock standing too obviously to attention. Bloody hell!
“Mia, you look fucking fantastic,” I exclaim, getting off the couch and to my feet. With a come-hither gesture, I motion her to come and stand closer to me. I make a full circuit around her, and then stop when I’m standing looking straight at her face. Slowly my gaze drops lower, “This needs tightening.” The corset laces up the front, but it’s too loose. She holds steady as I undo the knot and unthread the laces from the hooks. A panicked expression comes into her eyes, but she relaxes when she realises I’m not undoing it all the way although it’s taking a tremendous amount of restraint not to expose her breasts to my eyes. I’ll leave that for later.
But I will see them. I’m fucking determined on that. I thread the laces back around the hooks. “You know,” I tell her, smirking, “I’m far more skilled at taking these off.” She gasps as the corset tightens, and the top of her breasts are pushed up over the top. It would only need pulling down a fraction to reveal her nipples. “There. That’s better.”
“Better for you,” she huffs out. “How am I supposed to breathe?” She looks into my eyes in protest, but I can’t hide my predatory expression and her eyes quickly flick down. Unfortunately, it’s also impossible to conceal my growing erection either, touching her, even in that small way has resulted in my cock is straining at my jeans and this time she notices it. A flush comes over her face, but her sharp intake of breath tells me it’s not caused by fear.
I’m evil and wicked, and I’m starting to know my girl. “Turn around, Mia,” I instruct her, my voice low and gravelly. She obeys instinctively. Good, that bodes well for the night. “Bend over.”
She shivers. I think she’s going
to refuse, but then she does what I said.
“What the fuck are those?” I ask, incredulously.
“My knickers.” Her voice shakes; she knows she’s done wrong.
“Go and change now. I left you the underwear you’re to wear tonight and I want to see you wearing it.”
She looks at me in distress. “But everyone will see….”
“I’ll give you one minute, Mia. Else we’re not going to the club.” I would put her over my knee for such an infraction, but I don’t want to frighten her off before we even get there. Later, however, she’ll learn what happens when she disobeys her Dom.
I think she’s going to refuse, but then she turns and runs down the hallway to the guest room. She’s back within the minute. I don’t make her show the barely-there thong I trust she’s now wearing, not yet. “All ready?”
“Yes.” Her voice is soft, with a slight tremor.
Chapter 14
Mia
Seven years ago
I’d lost all sense of time. It could have been hours or days I’d been forced to endure this abuse on my body, being used roughly and violently time and time again. It seemed never ending, and I knew nothing but pain. There were two of them, two different voices—both cruel rough, and coarse—but I couldn’t see them as they continued to keep me blindfolded.
“Your turn.” This man sounded the older of the two; he was the one that gave the instructions.
“You fucking bet!” His voice was too eager. He gave me no time to recover after the first man got off when he started. He wasn’t as rough as the first, but it hurt worse as I was already sore.
They had taken, no, stolen my virginity, and I would never get it back. Something that had been mine to give had been so cruelly robbed from me. When the second man pulled out, I lay sobbing; hoping that that was the end of it, that they were going to let me go, but the slap round my face and the harsh tugs on my nipples warned me they were not done with me yet. The first man spoke close to my ear.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth now, bitch.”
I shook my head violently, clenching my teeth.
He just laughed. “I’ve got something for that,” I heard him pull away, then only moments later he was back, and something was forced into my mouth, opening it wide preventing me biting down. I was compelled to take what he wanted to give me, with no option to refuse. Gagging, I wanted to die.
Present day
All the breath seems to have left my lungs as I manage to gasp out the words, telling Jon I’m ready. I’m lying. I’ll never be ready. But oh boy, I’ve dreamed of visiting a BDSM club for so long; wanting to make sure my writing portrays the atmosphere accurately, and to get ideas for new material. To see, in person, the dynamics of the power exchange at work, to feed off the emotions and arousal.
But now the opportunity is here, I freeze. I’d always expected to go as an observer, never a participant – not after everything I went through. And I’m standing here, dressed in a way that can only be described as being designed to attract attention, and to incite lust. Bile rises into my throat, and I have to turn quickly away, clasping my hand over my mouth as memories of the injuries I suffered and the hell those men put me through come flooding back to me. I don’t mind the theory, but to see, hear it in practice? To watch people being spanked or whipped or whatever they do there? Suddenly I realise what a bad idea this is. I don’t want to go. My hands start trembling.
What I’m wearing makes me feel more like a whore preparing to tout for business. I’m so exposed it scares me, taking me back to that fateful night when I went to the party, dressed in what I thought looked pretty but what my mother told me made me look like a tramp. And here I am now, deliberately looking like a prostitute. And I’m proposing to go out in public like this! What if it happens again? What if someone else thinks I’m fair game?
“I’ll take care of you, Mia.” Jon’s level voice cuts through my dark thoughts. “You won’t be alone; I’ll be with you. Anytime you want to leave, you can. Even if you don’t want to put a foot through the front door, we’ll come home. The choice is yours. At Club Tiacapan, the choice is always yours. Now take a deep breath, and try to relax.”
His hand comes out and takes mine, and again he puts his fingers to my pulse. His touch, his care soothes and reassures me. As he suggests, I inhale air as deep into my lungs as I can within the restraint of the tightly tied corset, trying to get my rapidly beating heart to steady. I want to do this. I’ve wanted to have the experience to make my books come alive for so long. So why am I even thinking of chickening out now? Do I want to let those bastards win again? Letting out one last breath, I turn my face up to his. “I’m ready.” I’m proud my voice sounds firm with only a small tremble.
He raises the hand he’s holding to his lips and places a feather-light kiss on my palm. “That’s my brave girl.”
His touch soothes me, even making it possible for me to attempt to joke. “Are we taking a bike or car?” I ask him, not very seriously.
“Hmm.” His eyes sparkle as he looks down at my costume, the skirt so short it barely covers my backside. “That’s a good question. I can just picture you on the bike.” He steps back as if to get a better view, and then comes forward again, leaning close, “But I think the car has the edge tonight.”
Giving me no more time to reflect, he takes my coat from the hook and hands it to me. I put it on quickly as though it’s a shield; it’s three-quarter length, and I fumble as I do up every single button, right to the neck. I’m surprised and more than a little bemused when he places a gentle kiss on my forehead before putting his hand on my elbow and leading me out of the apartment. What did that intimate gesture mean? Friendly encouragement? Or something more? Just what exactly does he expect from me?
I’d have to be blind not to notice the effect my costume had on him; it’s impossible to miss the zip of his jeans straining to hold in his erection, and for once, the evidence of a man’s blatant interest doesn’t make me want to turn and run. I’m actually proud that I’m the one to cause his discomfort. I trust him when he says nothing will happen that’s not consensual. He’s not going to push me further than I can go, I believe him when he says he’ll bring me home at any time, even before we set foot in the door. As I realise there’s no need to be afraid; I start to interpret signs in a different way.
The sight of his bulging jeans, the illicit sensation of the clothes I’m wearing starts to affect me, resulting in my indecently tiny thong becomes damp with my juices. My body is excited and prepared, but my mind’s still got some way to catch up. What had Gorgeous said? She said he’d be my Dom tonight. Shit! I hope she’s mistaken. However much the idea might turn me on, might elicit physical feelings I never thought I’d have, I know in my heart of hearts I’d never have the guts to go through with it.
I won’t be playing tonight, with anyone. And definitely not with him. Casting a glance up at the handsome, self-assured man walking next to me, I know I’d only disappoint him. If he has got any ideas about giving me practical experience of the club, I’m going to have to do something to disillusion him.
In the elevator we’re both silent, each thinking our own thoughts. I try to look anywhere but at the man beside me, worried the insignificant piece of satin between my legs isn’t sufficient to contain the moisture that just looking at his impressive body invokes. God, wouldn’t that be embarrassing if he knew the effect he was having on me? I turn my head away and feel the chagrin on my face. Fuck it, Mia, pull yourself together! Reaching the car he politely opens my door, allowing me get in first and I remember to wrap my coat around me and keep my legs close together, so I don’t flash him. His smirk shows me he knows what I’m doing. I turn my head away.
As we drive he starts talking, his voice dark and deep like rich velvet as he runs through some of the things I’ll be seeing tonight, and summarising the rules of the club. I try to listen, being reassured to learn that full on sex isn’t allowed in the main room – there
are private rooms for that – but half of the information he’s giving me goes in one ear and straight out the other as it’s impossible to quieten the thoughts in my brain. My mind is racing ten to the dozen as, despite having written books on the subject, I’ve still don’t really know what to expect tonight. This is a real BDSM club I’m going to – not a fictional one!
“We’ve been through your limits, Mia, but are there any triggers, anything you might see or hear which could particularly upset you?” His direct question surprises me, and I give it some serious thought. There’s probably nothing I’m going to see tonight that I haven’t already written about, and I use explicit words and descriptions in my writing.
“To be honest, I can’t give any guarantees. But I don’t think so, Jon. The only thing that would upset me is if I see someone being forced to do something they don’t want to.” I sigh, “Take dental gags, for example, I’d never allow one to be used on me, but I’ve researched them, and as long as the person isn’t objecting, I’d have no issue with it. In fact, it might help me to see what I comprehend as instruments of torture being used for pleasure.”
He takes his hand off the wheel and gives mine a squeeze. “If anything does upset you, tell me immediately. We’ll either leave or just move on to something else. I’m here for you, Mia. But remember, anything you see has been agreed upon by all parties, and if it worries you, it’s only how your brain is interpreting it. Look, I appreciate you can’t know how you’re going to react, so talk to me, tell me if you’re getting concerned and we’ll talk things through. At any point, if you want, I’ll take you home. Communication is key, Mia, do not suffer in silence.”
Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2) Page 17
