Carl had been a wonderful, patient and attentive instructor. She couldn’t have asked for a better introduction into this lifestyle. After that first scene, they’d switched places again, as she experimented with her role as a mistress. His encouragement made her feel good about herself and her abilities, but the confidence she’d developed one‑on‑one with him wavered some now when surrounded by so many strangers who obviously lived the life in a more hardcore manner than she desired.
She glanced around the club, searching for Carl, as she sipped her beer. He had told her the basics of what he did at Incognito, that his job as Kat’s slave was to be an extra pair of eyes, so that kept him on the move throughout the multi-storied club most of the time. He was a bouncer when needed, and a host of sorts, seating the patrons as he’d seated her and the Montgomerys the night of the auction.
After a brief separation while he readied for work, she’d been shocked senseless at her first sight of Carl’s costume. Not that he hadn’t looked hot in next to nothing; he had, in fact, looked too damn good for her libido. Only the knowledge that he viewed the spandex and chains as a work-related uniform kept her from commenting on it. Still, she’d had to battle the insane urge to whisk him away from prying eyes all evening.
She released a disappointed sigh when she didn’t see him anywhere.
Two tables over, in a not-so-darkened corner... Oh my goodness. The guy’s hand was up the woman’s skirt. All the way up. The woman was on his lap, their mouths locked in a kiss that was hot enough to steam glass, and she was riding his hand like a wanton. Right there in public.
She turned away and stared off in the opposite direction. Whoa. Olivia had told her about the scenes played out on the stage occasionally, but just an average couple sitting together at a table?
Her gaze landed on something even more...disturbing. Sitting on a low settee with two almost-naked redheaded women at his feet—licking his boots, for gosh sakes, while he stroked his cock, which hung out of his open leather pants—was a man that made her skin crawl. He had a thick black mustache and eyes too small for his head. He held a striking resemblance to the man who had tried to ruin her life. The man who’d all but chased her out of California. Her ex-boyfriend, Salvador.
She ducked her head and stared at the tabletop. She’d managed to keep that asshole out of her head for more than twenty-four hours. Carl had the sweet ability to make her forget every horrid thing Sal had done to her—or at least tried to do to her. Ruin her reputation, her livelihood—turn her into a paid whore in the eyes of her friends and people she’d worked with for years. Worse, he made her look like a criminal.
Thank God for Olivia’s invitation to come to Florida. Thank God she’d gotten away when she did. She’d never go back there. And now that she’d found Carl...
Oh, jeez, I’m an idiot.
Why was she basing her decisions—any decisions—on a man? Yeah, Carl was great in bed, but that did not a relationship make. She shouldn’t get her hopes up. Hadn’t that proven to be a trap the last time? And she’d known Sal for years.
She barely knew Carl. Sure, he called her Mistress instead of whore, but Carl used that title for every Domme at Incognito. Of course, she’d spent the most fantastic days of her life with him, but she’d decided to stay in Florida before she’d met him. And she would stay. To be closer to Olivia. To start over and start fresh. Carl was just a really nice treat. One that might not be around long, she reminded herself.
Still, a part of her hoped he would be around. She couldn’t help it. She really liked him. The tender, selfless way he cared for her, pampered her, was willing to do anything to please her. What would it be like to have that 24/7, not just for a few days? And, well...the sex was beyond amazing. She’d never had so many orgasms in such a short span of time in her life. To have a man who would withhold his own pleasure to see to hers...
She sighed and looked up, a smile curving her lips. Any man who would place so much trust in her, to teach her the things he had... She thought back to her dominatrix training, and her smile grew into a grin. He was a true submissive. Even while fucking her brains out, while supposedly commanding her, he’d waited for her to tell him it was okay to come. He saw to her needs first. Why would she ever want to give that up?
She couldn’t imagine any man she would trust the way she did him.
Her gaze went back to the Sal look-alike. Dios, the Dom gave her the creeps. Why would some dude come to a place like this to sit and masturbate while chained women licked his boots? That was about the weirdest fetish she’d ever witnessed. And did the man think anyone wanted to watch him jack off?
She laughed at herself and looked away. She’d been watching, hadn’t she? Well, hadn’t Carl suggested she come to the club tonight to observe the world of BDSM firsthand? She was supposed to be watching; how else could she learn? A Domme in training she might be, but he’d convinced her over the past few days that she was a natural. She could handle seeing—
A muscular blond with a huge dragon tattoo running down one beefy arm walked past. Leather pants, matching vest, and no cuffs or collar. Definitely a Dom. Wow, he smelled good, too, she thought as she caught a whiff of something expensive and spicy. He went up to the bar, and Tyrone greeted him by name. Soren. Even his name was sexy.
Okay, so maybe leather wasn’t such a bad thing. That Soren guy looked way better than the skinny Sal look-alike. She couldn’t keep herself from taking another peek. The redheads were still licking. Did they ever get tired of that? And the guy was still stroking. She wondered if he would ever come, or if he just...stayed hard all night. Was that possible?
Jeez, she’d had quite a bit of experience with men and sex, but this place sure added a lot to her list of didn’t know and was way too curious about. She’d have to ask Carl what was the longest he’d ever kept an erection. Hmm. Maybe she’d just test him herself. If he never came until she instructed him to...
The man with the twin redheads stood up, cock still in hand, and snared her gaze.
Oh, shit. Carmen looked away. Wait. She wasn’t a sub. Only subs weren’t allowed to stare. No, that couldn’t be right. Staring was rude in the real world, too. She shouldn’t have been staring.
Not knowing where he’d gone was killing her, so she glanced back and, to her horror, he stood on the other side of the small table from her, arms folded, cock hanging out for the world to see. Dios mio. She thought she might be sick. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She could run over and hide behind Tyrone. He was a huge mountain of a man this weenie wouldn’t dare go up against.
“Enjoying the view, stray?” the man asked, his voice a little nasally, irritating. “I have a spare collar just your size. And mine’s attached to a chain so you won’t be able to wander off.”
Carmen’s eyes went wide for a second as indignant fury shot through her. A collar? Chain? She shot to her feet and planted her hands on her hips. “How dare you?”
The smarmy man smirked. “A feisty bitch, I see. I accept your dare.”
Carmen’s breath lodged in her throat, which was a good thing because if it hadn’t, she would’ve lambasted the asshole for calling her a bitch.
Wait. What? A dare? He thought she was a stray...a slut...one of those women who fucked anything that moved in this place? Like hell! Even if she had been one, she wouldn’t go near this... Eww. Even if he didn’t remind her of a bad memory—
“I’m sorry, but you’ve made a mistake. I’m not a sub,” she said, trying to be polite despite the urge to do otherwise.
“Don’t lie to me, bitch. I saw you watching. I know what you want, but you have to earn it. Drop to your knees, now. I want to see you crawl.”
So now she was a liar? Of all the nerve! “I said you’ve made a mistake,” she said in her snootiest, highbrow tone. “I’m neither a stray nor a bitch.”
He made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh. “Only a stray would have such a wide-eyed look of interest.”
&nbs
p; Carl walked up to the table, his head bowed, but he looked her directly in the eyes. “Is there a problem, Mistress Carmen?”
She smiled at him, a little relieved he’d shown up, but she really wanted to put this overbearing weirdo in his place. “Everything is fine, Carl.”
“Get lost, slave.”
Carl glanced at the jerk. “I can’t, Master Patrick. Mistress Carmen is a guest of mine. She’s a new Domme here and hasn’t learned protocol, yet.”
“Carl, I can handle it,” she said, keeping her voice low but stern. How dare he step in to save the day? Didn’t he think she could take care of herself?
“Since when does a slave speak for a true Domme?” the man asked with a snort and a sneer that showed he didn’t believe she was dominant at all. Then he eyed Carl. “Katriona has always given you too much leash. One of these days it’s going to strangle you.”
“Hey. You can’t talk to him that way,” Carmen jumped in.
“Shh,” Carl said to her, which really pissed her off.
“Don’t you shush me. And you,” she said to the Sal look-alike. “Take a hike. I’m so not interested in you or your little dick.” She’d gone too far. She knew it the moment the words came out. Inside she groaned and flinched, but outwardly she met the jerk’s gaze with brazen contempt.
Carl turned toward the man. “Master Patrick, accept—”
“Shut up, slave. You,” he said, pointing at Carmen. “I demand to hear an apology.”
Demand... She’d had enough of Sal’s orders; she’d be damned before she’d comply with the so-called demands of another arrogant asshole. “You can demand until hell freezes over. I don’t owe you a damn thing.”
“You need your ass whipped for taking such a tone with me.”
“I’d like to see you try,” she said even though her bravado was fading fast. What the hell had she gotten herself into? How was she going to get out of it? That dude was not going to lay a hand on her; that was for sure. She might be new to all of this, but she was a Domme. He had no right to treat her like one of his boot-licking slaves, especially when she vehemently denied his advances.
She started to point her finger back at him just as Patrick took an ominous step toward her. Carl, in a move so fast Carmen couldn’t believe he’d done it, landed a shoulder against Patrick’s chest.
“Carl!” She reached for him, but missed as Carl’s momentum sent both men tumbling to the floor. He’s crazy! He can’t fight with cuffed wrists.
In the blink of an eye, Tyrone vaulted the bar and broke through the stunned patrons. He grabbed Carl and dragged him off the other man.
“What is going on here?” Dalton demanded, his voice low but hard as he plowed his way to the front of the gawkers gathering around them. In his wake was Katriona, armed with her ever-present riding crop.
“I...” Carmen started, but Tyrone released Carl who turned to face her. That’s when she noticed a drop of blood trickle from his nose. “Damn it!” She snatched up a napkin from her table and cupped the back of his head as she pressed the cloth to his nostril. “Lean your head back.”
“I’m fine,” he said, sounding a bit nasally, but he did as he was told.
“This wouldn’t have happened, you know, if...” She glanced around to see Tyrone help a battered, ruffled Patrick to his feet amid a sea of surprised faces, including Kat who stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.
Shit. Carl was Kat’s. She let him go and backed up. Carl looked at her then Kat, and then lowered his gaze and dropped to his knees in front of Kat.
Carmen made a face and folded her arms over her chest as unfathomable anger coursed through her. He acted all meek and submissive now that he was in front of Kat and Dalton, but when she’d told him to butt out, did he listen? Damn it, why hadn’t he just let her deal with it? Some slave he was. He didn’t take directions worth a damn.
“You may speak,” Kat said, her tone imperious as she unlocked his metal cuffs and handed him another napkin.
“I feared Mistress Carmen’s welfare was in jeopardy,” Carl said, holding the cloth to stem the mild blood flow.
“Oh, please,” Carmen said on a huff. “I wasn’t in jeopardy, and if he’d gone away like...” She waved her hand in Patrick’s direction. “...that guy told him to, I could have dealt with it.”
Patrick rubbed a bruise on his cheek and glared at her. “I demand satisfaction for the insult made upon my person.”
Carmen saw that the creep had at least tucked himself back into his pants. How anyone in his right mind could run around with his dick sticking out was beyond her. Wait... “Insult?” Carmen scoffed. “I’ll make you think—”
“I will accept whatever punishment you deem appropriate, Mistress...Katriona,” Carl said, interrupting her, his voice raised to gain the undivided attention of everyone present.
“Punishment? No, Carl—” Carmen began.
“Fine,” Patrick said with a sneer aimed at Carl. “I’ll accept a piece of his flesh in lieu of the alternatives, since he did attack me. You all are witnesses. I demand he be flogged.”
“Flogged!” Carmen searched the room, for what she didn’t know, but everyone she saw seemed to be staring at Carl. “Now wait just a minute.”
Kat and Dalton glanced at each other, and then both faced at her. “He’s wronged a Dom,” Kat said, her tone brittle. “You stated so yourself. Your welfare was not in any danger.”
“Yes...but...he thought—”
“That slave has never known his place,” Patrick cut in. “I look forward to putting him in it.” He turned to the women still on the floor next to the settee. “Bring me my flogger.”
Oh, no. No. Carmen stepped around Carl, who still knelt on the floor, his head bowed and hands fisted. Why wasn’t he protesting this? Why had he suggested punishment in the first place? “Kat. You’re not going to let that guy—”
Kat gave her a hard glare, but then blinked and with a slight shake of her head, turned away.
Carmen’s insides knotted. Damn Carl for being a stubborn ass. Damn herself for opening her big mouth. She looked to Dalton for some kind of reassurance, but he stood there, arms folded over his chest, his expression like stone.
“Get up, slave,” Patrick ordered.
“Hold on,” Kat interrupted and put her hand on Carl’s bare shoulder. “He’s my slave. I’ll do the punishing.”
Carmen relaxed a bit, even as she bristled at that comment. He wasn’t Kat’s, not really. He’s mine, damn it. But to everyone here, he was Kat’s slave. They didn’t know it was his job. At least Kat wouldn’t hurt Carl. They were friends. And he worked for her. She couldn’t beat her employee.
“Because he’s your slave you shouldn’t do it. You’ll be too easy on him.” Patrick flicked the multi-strapped flogger against his leather pants, and it made a terrible hiss‑snap sound.
Kat’s glare could have burned holes in steel. “I said I would punish him, and I will. Do you compound tonight’s folly by insulting me?”
Patrick shook his head and shrugged. “I demand a flogging. Nothing less.”
With one curt nod, Kat dropped her hand from Carl’s shoulder. “Get up.”
Carl got to his feet, head bowed, hands at his sides. What the hell was Kat going to do to him?
Patrick smirked. “’Bout time that slave got put in his place.” Then he ambled back to his settee and sat down, tossed his arms along the back of the seat, and watched them.
“Kat, I...” Carmen heard Carl murmur.
“You went too far this time,” Kat told him. “There’s no way out of it. What the hell were you thinking?”
Carl’s jaw ticked, but he refused to say anything more.
“Let’s get this over with,” Kat said, slipping her finger into a loop at the back of Carl’s collar and guiding him toward something that looked like a short gymnastic horse.
Carmen made to follow, but Dalton’s touch on her arm stopped her. They stood off to the side, away from most of the obse
rvers. “Do you know what happened here?” he asked.
She winced. “I think so.”
Carl leaned over the horse at the waist, hands holding the edge near his hips.
“When a Dom or Domme feels they’ve been offended, according to club rules, they can demand satisfaction. What that entails depends on who committed the offense against whom. When the conflict is between dominants...”
Kat pulled down Carl’s shorts, baring his sexy ass to the entire room. Carmen’s hands fisted. She didn’t like that all these people got to see his butt. Not at all. That was her butt to look at, to touch.
“...isn’t injured.”
“Excuse me,” she said, realizing she’d missed much of what Dalton said while her attention was focused on Carl. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“When the offender is a sub, usually the offended dominant does the punishing themselves, but because Kat knows that Patrick can be unduly harsh, she will carry out the flogging herself to make sure Carl isn’t injured.”
Hearing him say that offered some relief. As ticked as she was at Carl, she didn’t want him harmed, which was why she kept her gaze glued to the scene unfolding by the gymnastic horse.
“So he won’t be in any real pain? I mean...that whip thing doesn’t look like it would feel good.”
Dalton leaned back against the wall, folded his arms, and crossed his ankles. “Kat is not going to make this real pleasant for Carl, but in the right hands a flogging can bring ecstasy.”
Carmen scoffed. “Yeah, right. That thing looks like it’d hurt.”
“Pain can lead to pleasure if used properly. There are many people who can climax just from a flogging or a spanking.”
Anna Leigh Keaton & Madison Layle - Incognito 06 - Charming Carmen Page 9
