The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel

by M. F. Sinclair

  “You’re my whore, Marjorie,” he said darkly. “Like it or not, you have agreed to this, and now you’ll have to surrender to all of my urges, no matter how tasteless they may seem to you.” Hard amusement lit the depths of his spectacled eyes as his gaze met mine. “But you’re not at all put off by it. You like it. All of it. Every move, every word. I wouldn’t be talking to you this way if that weren’t the case. So just accept it. Surrender to it, darling.”

  I took the chain from his fingers and slid it back into my corset, flinching from the pleasure-pain that traveled through my body when he tugged on it. I leaned against the car’s leather seat and said nothing. He was right. I did like the things he did and said to me, no use in denying it. But…

  “I have no problems playing sex games with you,” I said, “just as long as they don’t monopolize my existence. I do have a life of my own, you know. I’ve got things to do, people to see—”

  “Oh, really?” he cut me off, voice snappish. “Like who? That blonde chap you were sitting with at the coffee shop?”

  I frowned. “Mitch? He’s one of my authors. I edited his book last year.”

  “Right. Okay.”

  His words held an edge that deepened my frown. Was he jealous of Mitch? Was that the reason he ignored me that morning? Surely not. Yet there was something in his voice that stirred uneasiness through me. Something bothered him, but what?

  He studied me silently for a second, eyes glinting puzzlingly in the slightly darkened car. A faint sheen came from the tainted windows, casting a phantom-like shadow across Seton’s hard features. “Why does it bother you so much that I call you a whore?”

  I crossed my arms and shrugged. “It’s not a nice thing to say.”

  “But it turns you on.”

  “Maybe,” I responded, blushing, “but it’s nevertheless insulting.”

  “But you are a whore, my dear.” His voice was flat. Cold. “You’re doing this for my book, are you not?”

  So that was what bothered him! But why? Wasn’t he the one who approached me about it? Hadn’t he set up the whole meeting with Alfred? He had wanted me to accept his offer—didn’t he? So what the hell was his problem now?

  He looked at me as if daring me to deny his words. I wasn’t about to argue with him, nor was I going to tell him that he was wrong, not when it was superfluous. The end results would be the same no matter what happened in the future. After he sold his book to a publisher—whether it was Bookends AtoZ or some other house—we would move on with our respective lives, and that was that.

  I stretched out in the seat and glanced over at George. He was peering at us through the rearview mirror. He could see everything, hear everything. I squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable.

  “Could we please talk about this some other time?”

  Seton said nothing for a few moments, just hooked his arm through mine and guided me toward him. “Come sit on my lap, my pet,” he said sternly.

  Before I could react, he hoisted me up and settled me on his lap, my thighs stretched out over his. The long, thick length of his erection strafed my ass as I wiggled against him. He groaned softly.

  “Seton—”

  “Not a bloody word if you’re only going to complain,” he said sharply. “You’re here to obey me. Go with it.”

  His hand skimmed my thighs, his fingers gliding into the pantalets’ opening. He lingered there, smoothing his fingers across my silky folds. His caress was slow. Gentle. He moved them up and down, ever so slowly, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Grasping his shoulder to steady myself, I turned worried eyes to George. He was staring at us in the rearview mirror, eyes slightly narrowed, mouth curving into a lascivious smile. An odd mixture of arousal and embarrassment passed over me as I cast pleading eyes to Seton.

  The smile that tugged his lips was decidedly wicked. “Wouldn’t it be naughty if I fucked you in front of George?” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, my pet? You’ve fantasized about being watched, and I’m about to make it happen.”

  What the—? “How—how did you know that?” I asked, stunned.

  Amusement touched the corners of his eyes. “Lucky guess.”

  Lucky guess, my ass! He knew my clothes and shoe sizes, knew I’d fantasized about bondage, and now knew about my exhibitionistic fantasies. I never gave him all of that information, so how the hell did he know it?

  Was he guessing? No friggin’ way.

  Anger rose, and it was all I could do not to launch at him and make him tell me how he knew so much about me. Damn it all if he’d been going around town, meeting with my ex-lovers and asking them questions about me!

  “Who have you been talking to?” I shot out, outraged. “Where did you—oh!!”

  My anger abruptly left me when his thumb encircled my clit—caressing, probing, tormenting. I gasped and shuddered, then shifted on his lap so that my legs were spread apart, granting him greater access.

  Seton chuckled softly, then curled his free hand around my neck and pulled me toward him. His mouth claimed mine in a hot, passionate kiss, possessing me in a way that no other man had.

  As he ravaged my mouth and stroked my clit, I opened my eyes and glanced over at George. He was concentrating on the road, his eyes traveling over to the rearview mirror from time to time, lust flickering in his dark eyes. He was obviously enjoying the show. And I, shameful as it was to admit it, took pleasure in watching him watching us. How I’d feel about this afterwards I had no idea, but I wouldn’t worry about it, not now that Seton was doing all kinds of wonderful things with his questing fingers.

  “That’s right, my pet,” he said when he abandoned my mouth. “He’s watching us, watching you get frigged in the back of my car.”

  At that moment, his thumb pressed into my clit, stroking faster and harder, and it was as if the heady sensations, mixed with George’s occasional glances and Seton’s dirty talk, had stirred something wild within me. My body quivered, writhed, as the sweet pressure built and built and—

  A loud cry escaped my throat, and I dug my fingers into Seton’s coat as the most exquisite waves rocked through me.

  After what seemed like an eternity, awareness returned. “Why do you have a driver?” was the first thought that entered my slow, foggy brain.

  Seton laughed, withdrawing his fingers from inside me and smoothing them over my lips. I flicked my tongue out, tasting myself. “George is my assistant,” he answered, eyes smiling through the round glasses. “He’s got various duties, one of which is driving me about town. I haven’t gotten my US driver’s license yet and I’m being a law-abiding foreigner.”

  A law-abiding foreigner who frigged women in the back of a car. Incredible.

  I placed a hand over his chest, holding him still and in place while I scrambled to my side of the seat. Seton tried to keep me on his lap, but I held my ground. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Good. I was too embarrassed to be ordered around now. I didn’t think I’d be able to look into George’s leering little eyes again. Sighing, I pressed my face against the window, avoiding both their gazes.

  “Does he do this a lot too? Does he watch you have sex with all of your girlfriends?”

  A confused silence met my ears. Then, “What are you on about?”

  I shrugged and absently traced a circle over the misty window. “Just wondering if you do this kind of thing often. Are you seeing other women at the same time you’re seeing me?”

  Pause. “Does it matter?”

  Which didn’t exactly answer my question. Then again, did I want it answered? Seton had a point, it didn’t matter. Or, at least, it shouldn’t matter. Not to me.

  I shrugged again, watching the night sky speed by as George drove on. “No. I was only curious, that’s all.”

  “Well, remember we’re doing this for no other reason than to get something in return. Be sure to keep that in mind the next time you’re curious about my personal affairs.”

  Ouch. Point
taken. This was just sex, nothing more. We would have our fun for a while and then move on. No feelings involved, just the way I liked it. A rush of sadness stirred within me, and I immediately squashed it away. I had never longed for anything, or anyone, in my life, and I wouldn’t start now. Especially not for a man who only wanted me for his amusement. I sighed and wondered if the expression on his face matched the cold tone in his voice, but I didn’t spin back to him to find out. Moments later, I felt him give my shoulder a gentle squeeze. Was the unexpected gesture a form of apology? I was tired of trying to figure him out. Closing my eyes, I pretended to sleep and hoped that George would reach our mysterious destination soon.

  ***

  “This cannot be the place!”

  “Oh, but it is.”

  Seton held out a hand and helped me out of the car as I cast a dubious glance at our meeting place. It looked like an ordinary house. There was a single wooden door with a welcome mat at front. I would have thought nothing of it had it not been swamped by lights and guests. Luxurious and sporty cars were parked near it, and several people dressed up in period costumes bustled into the house.

  “One of my best friends owns this place,” Seton said. “Don’t be fooled by the ordinary exterior. This is an exclusive fetish club. Only a small number of us are members. The location and look of it don’t draw attention to the occasional traveler.”

  Seton grabbed my elbow, linking my arm with his as we marched toward the entrance. “You’re free to go,” he told George. “I’ll call you when we’re ready to leave. And you,” he said to me, “wear your mask. You are to conceal your face throughout the evening.”

  I donned the mask, adjusting it over my eyes. Once my face was obscured I felt more comfortable. Now I was invisible, unrecognizable. Free. It helped calm my racing heart to a more normal level.

  “How come you’re not wearing a disguise,” I said, pointing to the round spectacles perched over his nose. “Those don’t hide your face, you know.”

  He glanced down at me as we stalked up the front steps to the house. “I’m not in disguise. I know the people who attend this club. We only protect the privacy of our lady guests.”

  And how many “lady guests” have you brought here? I wanted to ask, but didn’t. Having been put in my place in the car earlier, I promised myself that I would never pry into his personal life again.

  Amusement touched his lips. “Yes, I come here quite often with the women that I meet.” He said it as if he’d read my mind.

  I sighed and said nothing. Maybe he did read minds. That might explain how he knew so much about me.

  “Only wealthy and important men attend these parties,” he confided. “Doctors, lawyers, politicians, judges, you name it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t they afraid someone might spill the beans?”

  “Not at all. No one would dare breathe a word because in order to do it, they’d have to explain how they knew about it.”

  “True. But there are ways to get around that, you know. Someone could send out an anonymous tip to a reporter or something.”

  He shrugged. “My friend would simply shut down the place if such a thing happened. I don’t think the members would want that.” He turned smiling eyes to me. “Are you thinking of exposing me and the other gentlemen in this club?”

  I laughed. “Well—no. I was just thinking—”

  “You think too much,” he interrupted, frowning. “That’s your problem.”

  Seton opened the front door and ushered me in. The foyer was dark and empty, a few small wall lamps cast a sort of mysterious glow across the long hallway. Sounds of laugher and music drifted through the walls, and I knew that they were coming from the basement.

  A cheerful-looking blond girl who didn’t look a day over twenty-one stood by an old wooden door near the kitchen. She smiled at Seton and me through her bubble-gum pink mask, opening the door and waving us in like a spokesmodel on a game show.

  “That’s Claire,” Seton whispered in my ear, indicating the girl. With his thick English accent, he’d pronounced it Clae-ah. “She’s the pet slave of a famous politician. She’s probably misbehaved because he’s appointed her the duty of greeter.” He grinned. “So you’d better be good this evening or you’ll end up greeting guests at the door and missing out on all the fun.”

  A steep flight of stairs led us down to the basement, dully illuminated by tiny lamps designed to look like gaslights. Seton twined my arm tighter against his as I carefully moved down the steps. It was so damn dark I could barely see my own shoes.

  A few seconds later we emerged from the dusky shadows of the staircase and landed in a large, smoky room filled with round tables and guests. After my eyes adjusted to the smoke and flickering light from the mock oil lamps, I gasped at the sight in front of me.

  The place looked exactly like a turn-of-the-century saloon. Men in dark suits and bowler hats were all over the place, and their female companions wore hooker outfits that were almost identical to mine. All of the women, I was amazed to note, looked comfortable and relaxed, as if they’d been to this place many times before. And maybe they had.

  The sounds of amiable male chatter and laughter poured into my ears. It wafted through the air, mingling with the strong scents of cigar smoke and aftershave. Female servers hovered near the guests, wooden trays full of cigars and drinks hung from their necks. Judging by the solemn looks that passed over their semi-covered faces, I’d say they were slaves who had disobeyed their masters and were now forced to work as servers. My eyes widened when I saw the chains clasped over their ankles, linking their legs together. Ick! How could they walk like that? No wonder they looked so miserable!

  A muffled scream drifted up from somewhere inside the room, and I spun to the direction of the noise.

  There was a small stage in the far corner of the saloon, mock oil lamps brightening the center. A scantily-clad woman kneeled in front of a man, hands behind her back, no doubt bound together, a silken material covering her mouth. She screamed through the gag as the man delivered merciless slaps across her breasts.

  Shocked, I stared at the kneeling woman. The expression on her face clearly reflected the erotic pleasure she was getting from the man’s apparent cruelty. She cast occasional glances at the guests, checking to see if anyone was watching. Our gazes met for a few heartbeats. I turned away, shivering. The air caught in my lungs for a second, making it difficult for me to breathe.

  “You look like a child at a candy store,” Seton said to me. I jumped at the sound of his voice as I turned wary eyes to him. A faint smile touched his face.

  My eyes traveled over to the stage. “I—I’ve never been to a place like this.”

  His smile widened. “So I see.”

  “David! How’ve you been, mate?”

  We whirled around at the cheerful Irish lilt that spoke behind us. The pudgy, balding man was not much taller than I. He had a round face and a reddish goatee. His dark green frock coat looked like it barely fit. The buttons looked ready to pop out at any second. The overall effect made him look like a bloated leprechaun.

  Seton gave the man a curt nod. “How are things, Victor?”

  “Fine, fine. Taking some time off to unwind and have fun. It can’t all be work, eh?” His jubilant face turned to me, and the glint that passed over those small, piggy blue eyes of his made me wrap my arm tighter around Seton’s. “And who is this little morsel?”

  Seton glanced sideways at me, a pleased look flickering across his face. “This is my new pet. Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Quite,” the man said, his gaze roving over my body in a way that made me very uncomfortable. “I wish I could see her face, but the rest of her looks mighty fine. May I?” he asked Seton, indicating my corset.

  “By all means,” Seton said, voice amused. “That’s what she’s here for. Aren’t you, my pet?”

  My heart accelerated. They talked about me as if I was nothing more than an object that could be passed around
from person to person, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Victor reached out and cupped my breasts through the corset, kneading them like two lumps of dough. Drawing in a sharp breath, I jerked upright, and felt the heat creeping over my neck and cheeks. I stepped away from the man’s touch, but Seton pulled me back.

  I peered up at him through the mask, my body tensed with the effort of holding back apprehension. “Seton, I really don’t—”

  I stopped when I saw his expression change from the smooth, relaxed look of a man enjoying a show to obvious annoyance. “What did you just call me?”

  My mind spun with confusion for several heartbeats, then realization sank in. “Sir, I—I’m not sure I like this.”

  “You do like it. You’re just not used to it.” He bent his head to brush a gentle kiss across my lips. “Come now, my pet. Don’t disappoint me.”

  The short, fat man continued to squeeze my breasts. He wasn’t gentle, his touch clumsy and unskilled, and I had to fight the urge to run the hell away from this bizarre place. I remembered my first tryst with Seton and all of the things that had transpired when I tried to do things my way. Begging would get me nowhere. My pleas would fall on deaf ears. Anger would make things worse, and the outcome would be the same. So, I just stood there, miserable, fighting to keep under control the bile that welled within me.

  Suddenly, Seton’s hand encircled my elbow and pushed me away from Victor’s beefy hands. He shot Seton a puzzled look.

  “My pet is not enjoying this treatment,” Seton explained, voice neutral. “And her pleasure is the only one that counts. I’ll see you around, Vic.”

  Victor opened his mouth to say something, but I’ll never know what, because Seton spun me over and marched me to a nearby bar.

  “My sincerest apologies, my pet,” he said humbly. “I should be better at reading people’s reactions by now. You let me know when something is truly bothering you, okay?”

  Smiling with relief, I gazed up at Seton and nodded. I liked his concerned look. It was an oddly touching gesture coming from him and it relieved some of my escalating trepidation.