The Rehabilitation of Master Dillon (The Dom's of the Cage Series prequel)

by Nelson, P

  “If you want to be signed off on a piece of equipment at The Cage, then you have to experience it yourself in some way.” Calla’s eyes got a faraway look on her face.

  “No, Flynn did not stuff a plug up my ass, you naughty sub.” Dillon was so horrified by the thought he laughed. “What is wrong with you?”

  “A girl can dream, right?” Calla huffed a little.

  “I had a Domme help me out.” Dillon got back to the matter at hand. “I can’t do it, and it’s not just about the submission. There isn’t a woman I trust enough to tie me up and torture me.”

  “You’re being a little hypocritical,” Calla admonished as she moved to open her car door. “You would have all the same safety precautions in place as your subs.”

  “Yeah, but I know that I’ll taking really good fucking care of them.” Dillon knew there was a bit more heat to his words than he intended, but the thought of submitting gave him the same cold sweats and roiling panic he had before he had started therapy with Calla. She reached out and squeezed his arm through the thickness of his coat.

  “Dillon, you don’t have to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. I’m only suggesting you try and experience the power exchange from another angle.” Calla smiled. “Go home and have a scotch or whatever it is you drink to relax.”

  “Beer. I like beer. Flynn’s the one with the scotch habit,” Dillon told her and wished he could have taken the words back as he looked at her face when he said Flynn’s name.

  “It’s fine, I have to go home.” She sat down in the driver’s seat of her little compact. “Think about it.” She shouted at him as he closed the door on her. Dillon watched as Calla started up the car and drove out of the parking lot of the community centre. He couldn’t believe she had suggested that he let some Domme tie him up and torture his balls. Fuck. What the hell was she thinking? He got into his car and drove down Granville Street towards the city. Turning the music up in his Mercedes, he tried to forget about Calla and her ridiculous suggestion.

  Unfortunately, he still hadn’t gotten the image of being helpless in front of some faceless Domme out of his head by the time he parked in his spot underneath his building in Yaletown. Cursing Calla’s name, he grabbed his kit from the trunk and went to the elevators using his fob to get through building security. He had a six-pack in his fridge, and he meant to drink every single one until he could safely close his eyes without having to cup his manhood.

  He rode up in the elevator to the loft. The doors opened, and he stepped out frowning. There was music playing softly from somewhere. He looked down the stairs to the floor below him. He normally didn’t hear anything from the 30-something hipster couple who lived downstairs. Shrugging off the anomaly, he walked down the hall and dug his keys out of his pocket. Dillon inserted them and realised the door was unlocked.

  Shit. Did he bust inside hoping to catch the burglars and risk getting his ass kicked? Or did he call the cops and wait outside. He tried to think whether he had locked the door behind him, but he couldn’t remember. Squaring his shoulders, he reached into his coat pocket and grabbed his cell phone. In his other hand, he put the keys in between his knuckles as he had seen chicks do in movies when they were about to face an attacker. Blood pumping in his ears, he pushed the door open quickly and looked inside.

  What. The. Fuck. All the lights were off in the room, but there were candles lit everywhere. And now he knew where the music was coming from. His speaker system was playing a melody he was pretty sure did not belong on his iTunes account.

  “Hello, lover.” Tiffany was lying down on his torture table set in the back of the loft, using her elbows to support herself, legs wide open and completely stark ass naked.

  “Did you break into my loft?” Dillon said the first thing that came into his head. He knew he jaw was hanging open, but he was having a hard time processing everything he was witnessing.

  “Not exactly, I talked to Mrs Henderson on the first floor. She still has your emergency key. Well, now, I have your emergency key.” Tiffany explained in a breathy voice. The light of the candles was shimmering off her skin, and he idly wondered if she had oiled her body up. Surprisingly, his dick didn’t give a shit that she was naked and obviously willing to let him torture her.

  “I have a restraining order against you.” Dillon felt like an idiot pointing it out to her. Tiffany’s face contorted, and Dillon watched as she tried to gain control of her expression. He was momentarily fascinated by the way she could go from sexy siren to completely crazy in under a second.

  “Why did you do that to me?” Her voice held enough of a squeak to make her sound just this side of hysterical. Dillon backed away towards the door. “That bitch shrink told you to, right? And Frankie the unsub. You know she’s a switch, right? Freaky bitch.”

  “Leave Frankie and Calla out of this, Tiffany.” Dillon felt his annoyance rise with a healthy amount of panic. She had accused him of physically hurting her in the past; what did she have planned by showing up in his apartment? “What the fuck do you want? And put some clothes on; you do nothing for me.”

  “I want my old life back,” Tiffany huffed as she sat up on the table, her breasts bouncing. The light of the candles made her appear more sinister, and Dillon squeezed his cell phone. He should call the cops, but he wanted Tiffany to just go away and never come back. Maybe if he reasoned with her, Dillon wouldn’t have to involve them.

  “You can’t have your old life back.” Dillon remained in the doorway. “You pretty much burned that life down and spat all over the ashes,” he pointed out. “What did you think was going to happen when you lied to people and told them I hit you and shit? That men who did scenes with you for films coerced you?”

  Tiffany shrugged and stared at him. A part of him knew she never considered the consequences of her actions. She always spoke first and apologised after. When they had gotten together, her honesty impressed him. Now, he knew she was never honest. All her observations were made for her own benefit or what she could get. Her fake tact hid that everything she said and did was a part of one giant calculation to serve her.

  “I thought I would get some media attention and the whole thing would die down.” Tiffany got up off the table, but she didn’t reach for her clothes. “Mark said the press would be good for my career.” Dillon stiffened at the other man’s name. He knew Tiffany had stepped out on him, but he had no idea what the fucker’s name was.

  “Well, I guess Mark was wrong.” Dillon’s voice was cold. “Get dressed and get out Tiffany. You have no one to blame but yourself for how things turned out.”

  Stamping her foot, Tiffany began to walk across the loft towards him. Dillon shook his head. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Tiffany, but if you don’t get dressed and leave. I’ll call the police, and you’ll go to jail for breaking your restraining order. He put his keys into his jeans pocket.

  “No, I won’t.” Tiffany stopped a couple of feet away. Dillon decided he had enough and pressed 911 into his phone as he watched Tiffany warily. “The cops will come and arrest you.” Her smile was a mixture of calculation and triumph. “You see, I came here to surprise my lover because we were going to get back together. Instead, you went crazy and tried to kill me.”

  “Holy fuck. You are bat shit crazy. Do you think accusing me of trying to kill you will get your career back?” Dillon backed out of the doorway and into the hallway. Tiffany walked up to him and pressed her body into his. She rubbed herself up and down a few times before frowning.

  “Yeah, that’s right. My dick is completely immune to you now.” Dillon held his hands above his head, his cell phone capturing everything that was happening. “You’re the first naked chick I’ve seen since puberty who hasn’t given me a hard-on. Congratulations.” He knew his voice was sarcastic, but he didn’t care.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Tiffany backed away from him and walked over to the top of the stairs. “I don’t want my career back. Mark has explained to me that par
ticipating in porn has led me astray from the path of God. He is prepared to save my soul if I prove to him I’ve seen the light.” Dillon’s heart stuttered, and his body went cold.

  “Whatever you’re planning on doing, Tiffany, I want you to stop right now.” Dillon tried to use his most commanding voice on her. Tiffany’s heels were resting on the top of the staircase; one wrong move and she would tumble down the stairs. He could hear sirens on the street below; hopefully, the 911 operators on the line had called an ambulance, too.

  “I’m going to make sure that you never, ever work in porn again.” Tiffany smiled. “You’ll be saved, too.” Tiffany’s body grew taut as she stared at Dillon. “When all this is over, you’ll thank me, and we can be together again. Properly together.”

  “Stop!” Dillon shouted and reached out the hand not holding onto the cell phone, but it was too late. Tiffany, still grinning, took a step back off the top of the stairs into nothing. Her body appeared to hover over the edge of disaster for a couple of seconds before she tumbled backward. Dillon ran after her but stood helpless as her body careened down the steps and folded itself into an ungainly pile on the landing below.

  “Holy shit.” His downstairs neighbour had come out of his apartment and was checking Tiffany’s pulse, just as the police came rushing up the stairs. “Your ex is fucking crazy.” He stammered as the police moved his neighbour away. Vaguely, Dillon realised he must have heard the entire conversation. He knew he should say something, but he couldn’t seem to breathe until one of the cops shouted for the paramedics. Tiffany was obviously still alive.

  Dillon fell back against the brick of the hallway and tried to drag air into his lungs. He looked down at his phone and realised that he was shaking like a leaf. His eyes were dry, but for the first time since he was a kid, he wanted to cry.

  “Sir, can you tell me what happened here?” A cop asked as he stood in front of Dillon. He knew the other man had to ask the question a couple of times, but Dillon felt as if his head was swimming. “You’re going to have to come down to the station and answer our questions.” Dillon nodded in a daze. He looked down at his phone, slowly raising it up to his ear; he could hear the 911 operators on the other side.

  “Thank you,” Dillon rasped out. His voice sounded as if he had been in the desert for a week without water. Disconnecting the call, he looked at the police officer. “Is she going to be ok?” he couldn’t bring himself to look down the stairs where the paramedics were working to place her on a board.

  “Looks like she bumped her head,” the policeman stated. “You want to sit down for a minute?” Dillon nodded and went back into his loft. The multitude of lit candles still burning made the smell of burning wax unbearably strong. He couldn’t breathe with all the wax burning and the flames dancing around making shadows crazily over the walls and ceiling.

  He glanced out the front windows and realised there was a crowd gathering on the street below. Dillon watched as the policeman took in all the BDSM equipment set up around his space and knew he was going to be in for a long night of questioning. The other man was already reaching for his handcuffs. Dillon looked down at the phone clenched in his fist and let his instincts for survival take over. He scrolled down and found the number he wanted and pressed the button.

  “Flynn, man. Yeah, I’m in deep shit. Tiffany, well, she went fucking crazy, and now the cops are taking me downtown,” Dillon said into the phone. He didn’t get any more out before the officer grabbed the device out of his hand and hung up on Flynn.

  “Somebody is in big trouble,” the policeman said as more officers came into his space and shook their heads. He knew exactly what they were thinking. That he was some kind of pervert. The policeman motioned for him to turn around. “You lure that girl here in the hopes of doing whatever sick fantasies the voices in your head make up?”

  “That girl’s name is Tiffany Moretz.” Dillon swallowed a lump in his throat. He was the victim here. “She’s my ex-girlfriend, and you’ll find I have a restraining order against her.”

  “We’ll definitely look into it.” The officer surveyed the loft. “Quite a place you’ve got here.”

  “I’m a Dominant and an adult film star.” Dillon squared his shoulders and looked at police officer in the eye. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was, despite the fact he had been badly shaken tonight, there was no way he was going to let some judgemental prick belittle him. Dillon had brought pleasure with his bite of pain to countless subs.

  “Why don’t you tell us exactly what happened tonight?” A woman police officer said as she looked at the table where Tiffany had been lying. Dillon heard the cold tone of her voice but decided it was better if he answered their questions up here rather than be dragged through the crowd downstairs. He did not need the negative exposure. Dillon walked over to one of his armchairs and sat down.

  “I was at a community centre down on south Granville all evening giving a course on the BDSM lifestyle.” Dillon recounted as the male police officer began scribbling notes into a small book. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the rest of the police officers combed through his belongings. He felt violated in a primitive way, but he managed to continue with his story. His hands clenched as he heard them whispering and watched them shake their heads. The feeling of being torn apart swept through him, and Dillon forced his mind to shut down. It was the only way to survive.

  Part IV

  “She met him at a party in LA months before she came out with her original allegations,” Flynn explained as he sat behind his large desk in his office at The Cage. He looked like a relaxed lion as he sat there explaining what his private investigator had found out in the week following the incident. Dillon refused to acknowledge Tiffany’s bid to take him down for domestic abuse as anything but the incident.

  “I knew she had the potential to fuck around on me,” Dillon spoke the words and knew the truth behind them. Maybe he had never really trusted that Tiffany could be faithful or any woman for that matter. Right now, there was nothing less appealing to him than getting in between any sub’s legs.

  “This Mark guy is a recruiter for a religious group. They believe porn is the work of the devil.” Flynn shook his head. “Fucking zealots. They’re saying the police have distorted the facts around Tiffany’s accident claiming they’re being bought off with dirty porn money.” Dillon shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t care. In the days after the incident, the mainstream media had dogged his every step. Tiffany’s sister had promised to take her in.

  “Does your guy know where she is now?” Dillon repressed a shudder. Tiffany had not shown up to any of her court-appointed meetings with the psychiatrist.

  “Apparently, she got across the border and is now living with the religious group. They’re praying the crazy away,” Flynn sounded disgusted.

  “More importantly, Master Dillon, is how you’re coping with everything.” Calla spoke from her seat next to him. Dillon swung his gaze to the woman who had worked so hard to get him back to his old Dom self. How could he tell her he was broken again? Every time he walked into his loft, he felt the same terror and helplessness he had the night of the incident.

  “I’m coping,” he mumbled.

  “Bullshit,” Flynn swore and Dillon tried to ignore him. Calla wore an expression as if she wanted to say the same thing, but she would get a spanking for swearing at The Cage. A small part of him was happy to see the two of them agree on something. Unfortunately, he would rather their unholy alliance had nothing to do with him.

  “This is the first time you’ve been to The Cage since Tiffany tried to frame you.” Calla was using her professional shrink voice.

  “Are you going to advise me to have vanilla sex again?” Dillon shot back. “Because at this point I don’t think the missionary position is really going to help me get my head back on straight.” Flynn didn’t bat an eye at Dillon’s comment. Even though he had never asked about Dillon’s sessions with Calla, he owned the club and knew what Dillon did th
ere.

  “I think you should seriously consider the advice I gave you the night Tiffany showed up at your place,” Calla’s voice lowered, and she pointedly kept her answer vague. She was trying to protect his privacy in front of Flynn. Since Dillon was never, ever going to let a Domme tie him up and make him helpless, especially after everything that happened with Tiffany, secrecy really wasn’t important.

  “There’s no way I’m going to let a Domme anywhere near me with rope, cuffs, or any other restraining device,” Dillon ground out. “Now if you’re finished with me, I’m going to find a sub who’d like her ass tanned and her pussy fucked.”

  “You need to sit back down and listen to what Calla has to say,” Flynn’s voice boomed out. “You are not alone in this, and we’re here to support you. Every person out there in that dungeon wants to help you,” Flynn pointed vaguely towards where the dungeon was in full swing with kinksters getting their sadomasochism on.

  “I can’t believe you expect me to let some Domme torture my dick.” Dillon stood up. “I know damn well you’d never let your own balls get tortured.” He watched as Flynn’s eyes flicked over to where Calla was sitting before he stared back at Dillon. His expression had gone from pissed off Dom to tired friend.

  “Calla has gotten you this far. I trust her professional opinion, and I know deep down that you do, too.” Flynn tried to be reasonable. “You’ve had one hell of a ride, and because you refuse to say anything negative about Tiffany in the press, you’re getting your ass kicked. It’s fucking hard to watch, man. If showing you that it’s ok to be vulnerable is going to bring my friend back, then yes, I’ll tie you up myself and torture your dick.”

  “No thanks.” Dillon blurted out, and Calla let out a sharp bark of laughter. Flynn must have realised what he said because after a moment he joined in with the laughter. It was the first time Dillon had seen him without his grim expression of solitude since he broke things off with Calla.