by Mari Carr
Heavy silver cuffs were locked around each of her wrists…and a matching collar around her neck. Vincent carried the key on a silver chain around his neck. Charlotte had shivered but not protested when Vincent locked them in place.
As skimpily as she was dressed, Charlotte had on more than Christian. He’d stripped down to nothing, then pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs. Unlike normal underwear, there was no name on the elastic band at the waist, just unrelieved black. They were tight, more like biker shorts than underwear, but when Vincent ordered Charlotte to tease him after they were on, and she ran her hand over his cock, the fabric had offered no resistance—and no coverage—as his dick hardened. Like underwear, and unlike biker shorts, there was an opening in the crotch, which meant his cock had emerged for everyone to see.
Christian wore cuffs and a collar that matched Charlotte’s, but unlike hers, there was a chain connecting his wrist cuffs together. It was about a yard long, so he had plenty of room to move his arms, but he couldn’t spread them full width, and when he walked, the dangling chain clanked ominously. Vincent had draped some extra lengths of chain over his shoulders before they left the little room.
Dressed like that, they made their way up another flight of stairs to the top floor of the warehouse.
Worn wooden floors were scattered with thick mats meant to protect knees and backs. There was a boxing ring in one corner, but instead of fighters, there was a naked woman standing in the center, her arms stretched out to her sides, secured to the ropes with thin chain. Another woman stood behind her, paddling her ass with a ruler, while two men idly plucked and pinched her nipples.
On the opposite side from the boxing ring was a stage. A large frame made of heavy pipes was bolted to the corners of the stage, the crisscrossing pipes overhead offering masters and mistresses a variety of places to get creative as they restrained their subs. There were tables scattered in front of the stage, as if this was a dinner theater. There was no bar, no bartender, only a few wood shelves covered with expensive bottles and a stack of glasses.
Beside the stage, there were medieval-looking stocks, a few things that looked like gym equipment, a heavy wooden desk, and an area of floor scattered with large, plastic-encased mattresses. The large open area was not the entire square footage of the warehouse. The dark mouth of a hallway hinted to some private space available on the far side of the building.
It felt dangerous and powerful. Just like Vincent.
They claimed a table near the stage. Their placement in the room made them highly visible to the others gathered there. Vincent wanted to be seen.
He took his seat, then gestured for Christian and Charlotte to kneel, one on each side of him. He set the bag he carried on the floor beside Christian.
Christian was fascinated by the visible change in Vincent. This wasn’t the man they’d gone to bed with the night before, but the differences didn’t make him less alluring. God, if anything, Vincent seemed even larger, physically. That fact wasn’t lost on Charlotte either, who looked at their lover with wide, hungry eyes.
She’d remained uncharacteristically quiet since they’d gotten dressed. Christian knew she wasn’t struck dumb by anxiety or fascination. Knowing her, there were a million and twelve words clamoring to fly out of those pretty pink lips of hers. But she wasn’t a natural at this submission thing. And Vincent had stressed to her on the plane that the safest thing for her to do was to remain quiet and do as Christian did.
She had begrudgingly agreed. Odds were good there would be a very long, very detailed debriefing once they returned to Vincent’s Park Avenue apartment. Christian had gotten a glimpse in the bag Vincent had, and knew that this time, Vincent was prepared to truly treat her like a disobedient sub if she spoke out of turn.
A man at the table next to them nodded to Vincent. “Master Clayton.”
“Master Hammell. Are you alone tonight?”
Master Hammell shook his head. “No. My sub has gone to get me a drink.” The man acknowledged Christian and Charlotte with an appraising eye. “Looks like you’re in for an interesting evening.”
Vincent nodded, but didn’t smile. That was something else that had changed upon their arrival. Christian missed Vincent’s easy grin, but there was no denying his serious demeanor, his almost penetrating gaze, was just as potent. Christian hadn’t felt a second’s qualm about kneeling before him.
Vincent had pointed to the floor and Christian had gone there willingly.
Vincent lost no time broaching the reason they were all here tonight. “I was hoping to catch up with an old friend of mine while here tonight, and perhaps get his take on my new toys.” Vincent motioned to Christian and Charlotte. “Heard a rumor that Master Anderson was in town.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know him.” As he replied, Master Hammell’s sub returned. She placed his drink on the table before kneeling before him in the same fashion as Christian and Charlotte. Unlike them, Master Hammell’s sub’s eyes remained downward, and it occurred to Christian, perhaps the two of them shouldn’t be gawking at everything around them.
Problem was he refused to look down. There was too much to miss.
If it bothered Vincent, he didn’t mention it, didn’t demand they lower their gazes.
“However, I have heard his name before. I believe it’s been some time since he and his submissive, Darling, have visited the club. If he is here, I look forward to making his acquaintance. I’m told his mastery wielding the whip is something worth seeing.”
Vincent nodded, clearly interested in saying more. He didn’t get the chance. The lights in the room dimmed, the spotlight on the stage growing brighter. It had been empty when they arrived, but now, two actors—no, Christian corrected himself—lovers took the stage.
Over the next hour, Christian’s attention was riveted to the action, enthralled by all that was taking place just a few feet away from them. Though no words had been spoken, Christian felt as if he’d read through hundreds of pages of dialogue. The Mistress, a slight woman in her fifties, used long lengths of glossy white rope to bind a younger woman who was a bit plump.
“This is shibari—Japanese rope bondage. It’s an art form. You’re lucky to see this. The Nawashi—the woman doing the tying—uses the other woman’s body as a living sculpture. See how she’s using the rope to both change the woman’s shape and to emphasize it? It’s best done with women who are not too skinny. Rope that tightens and molds flesh is better than rope that lies flat and dead on skin and bones.”
Vincent’s rich, dark voice wove around them, and Christian hunched his upper body, fighting back the arousal, unwilling to lose control to the point that his cock was on display. He would submit to Vincent, he wanted to submit, but there was part of him that longed to trade places, to take control if only so he could order Vincent or Charlotte—or both of them—to wrap their lips around his cock.
It didn’t help that Master Hammell’s sub was now between his spread knees, her mouth on his cock, the slight wet noise of her tongue and lips scraping away at Christian’s control.
The sub on the stage now dangled from that network of pipes. She was on her side, parallel to the floor, one leg raised, toes pointed, the other one tucked up under her. The position left her pussy totally exposed. Her eyes were closed in apparent bliss as the Nawashi laced the rope around her breasts, plumping and squeezing the pale mounds.
He watched as the Mistress lit candles and dripped white wax onto the woman’s nipples, then onto her lips, sealing her mouth closed. Finally, she spread the sub’s pussy lips with two fingers and tipped the candle, letting a stream of warm wax that had pooled at the top fall directly on her clit. The sub screamed, the wax on her face cracking.
Charlotte jerked, as if she would say or do something. Vincent put a heavy hand on her shoulder and said, “Listen.”
Christian, too, listened, and heard in the woman’s screams an unrivaled pleasure. In high-keening words, she begged for more and professed her love. The
Mistress waited for the wax to harden, then peeled it from her pussy and laid her lips where the wax had been. The woman came again, screaming in what could easily be mistaken for agony.
But then, sometimes the best pleasure was its own kind of agony.
When the sub’s breathing dimmed to hiccups and moans, the Nawashi adjusted the ropes, creating a cradle that kept the sub curled up, held tight and secure. Then the Mistress gave it a gentle push, and the sub rocked gently side to side, her eyes closed in a kind of bliss Christian could just barely understand.
Christian had lost sense of time and place, still marveling when the spotlight faded and the lights in the room grew brighter.
Charlotte’s eyes were hazy. She’d fallen under the spell of the show as well. “That was amazing,” she whispered.
Vincent’s hands were resting on their heads, gently stroking their hair. Charlotte looked up at him with a desire that rivaled Christian’s. His cock was thick, hard, pulsing. He needed to fuck or be fucked. Now.
Right now.
Vincent read the painful need on their faces. “I think we should retire to somewhere private. I have a room…”
Mercifully, he led them away from the stage and down a long corridor.
“Master Clayton, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time.”
Vincent looked up at the man who had approached them, Charlotte and Christian pausing behind him. The man who stopped them stood in an alcove off the side of the hall.
Vincent shifted his weight, putting himself firmly between the master and his subs. Christian had never felt such powerful possession.
“I understand you were asking about Master Anderson.”
“I was.”
“I won’t talk here. I have a room reserved for the night.”
The man emerged into the light of the hall. He wore a black half mask and a white dress shirt left open to show off an impressive chest. Charlotte made a little noise of appreciation that wasn’t lost on Vincent, who turned to give her a hard glare. It appeared their lover wasn’t just possessive. He was jealous.
Christian wouldn’t have thought either attributes sexy, but on Vincent, they only added to the mystique of the man.
The masked man led them back the way they’d come, but then turned right, taking them down a hallway to a set of what Christian assumed were private play rooms.
“Shit,” Vincent murmured quietly.
Christian didn’t understand the curse until the masked man opened the door and beckoned for them to enter.
Vincent preceded them into the room, holding the door open. He watched Charlotte and Christian carefully. It was obvious he’d seen this room before, perhaps he’d even played in this room, so he didn’t bother to look around.
Meanwhile, Christian struggled to take it all in. He had thought himself unshakable until that moment. The playroom was made to look like the inside of an expensive barn, with dark, glossy wood paneling on the walls. Stocks, ties, and stalls divided the room into distinct play areas, and on one wall was an elegantly lit display of crops and whips.
Charlotte made a sound best described as “eep” and hid behind him.
A ghost of a smile touched Vincent’s lips before he recovered. He motioned to a mat on the floor—the thick kind used in gyms. “Kneel,” he ordered in a voice as silky and deep as dark chocolate.
Christian dropped down easily, relieved not to have to continue to support his own weight by standing. He looked at Vincent with half-lidded eyes and parted lips, so aroused he was struggling to hold himself together. He hoped whatever this masked man had to say, he said it fast.
When she failed to respond, Christian reached up to pull Charlotte down next to him. She was still staring around the room with eyes as big as saucers.
Unfortunately, being forced to drag Charlotte to her knees before their master was really sexy. Too fucking sexy. Vincent handed Christian the bag with a meaningful glance.
The masked master studied them with a slight tilt to his head, until Vincent stepped in front of them and crossed his arms.
“You could put me in contact with Master Anderson?”
The masked master rubbed his forehead, just under the edge of the mask, in a weary gesture. “I can, but if you’re planning to have him help train your new subs, I won’t. I’m not one to pass judgment. No one here is, but I’ve heard a few things, topped a few subs he’s played with, and pieced together a…troubling story. You say you’re friends?”
Christian watched Vincent sum up the man, wondering how much Master Hammell had told him. This man didn’t appear to like Caden Anderson. If he thought Vincent and Caden were friends, there was a good chance this conversation would end before it began.
“I wouldn’t say friends. More acquaintances. Our paths crossed at a club in Boston.”
“I see. In addition to playing here, I’m a silent partner in the business. My day job is such that I choose not to have my interests here known.”
That explained the mask, Christian thought. Obviously, the guy worked in the public sector, probably a politician with aspirations that wouldn’t be helped if his association with a BDSM club were revealed.
“I understand.”
“You’re a respected member here, Master Clayton, so I was hoping you could perhaps verify the validity of some of the rumors surrounding Master Anderson. If there is any truth to them, well, I’m not sure he’s someone we’d want frequenting Iron and Ice.”
“What are these rumors?” Vincent asked, as he propped one hip on a wooden horse, bedecked in brown leather buckles and straps.
The other master went to the wall, pulled down a whip, and began polishing the supple leather with a soft cloth. “It’s quite a story, I must confess.”
“Story?” Charlotte asked, her voice so thick with curiosity she forgot her vow of silence.
Vincent glared at her and the other master looked scandalized.
“Uh, sorry?” Charlotte said.
Christian slapped a hand over her mouth and pulled her against his side.
Vincent narrowed his eyes at them. Jesus. They were in serious danger of losing their lead. Christian nodded once, as if assuring Vincent that he wouldn’t let her speak out of turn again. Vincent shook his head once, as if saying that wasn’t enough. He pointed to the bag.
With mingled trepidation and excitement, Christian pulled out a leather open-mouth style gag. The circular center had a groove on the outer edge and straps emerging from the sides that buckled behind the head. Christian had seen it before, but never used one, let alone put one on someone.
He brushed Charlotte’s hair from her ear and whispered, “Open your mouth. Don’t panic, trust me. Trust Vincent.”
The instant she did as he requested, he pressed the ring between her teeth, wedging her mouth open. She instinctively bit down, her teeth firmly secured in the groove of the O-ring. This actually made it easier for Christian to grab the straps and buckle them securely at the back of her neck. The chain linking his cuffs clinked as he moved. Her hair was trapped under the gag, the auburn curls restrained.
Charlotte looked at him with wide eyes, then shuddered. Christian cursed, thinking she was afraid or in pain. He was ready to say fuck it, grab her and Vincent and get out of here, but then he glanced down at her heaving breasts. Her nipples were hard as diamonds.
Testing, Christian ran his hand over her ass and she moaned in pleasure. He looked up, caught Vincent’s eye.
Vincent’s face was stark with desire, and Christian knew he’d enjoyed, really enjoyed, watching him gag her.
The masked man nodded in approval, then looked down at the whip in his hand.
“I suspect you’re referring to his family history,” Vincent began, drawing on the story shared by the bartender. “About his father training him and his brother to be Doms.”
The man glanced up and nodded. “Yes. That. And the sub, his stepsister.”
“Darling.”
Christian was relieved to hear
that Darling wasn’t actually related to Caden, and impressed Vincent was playing the man like a pro, leading him to believe they knew much more than they did.
“Yes. Although I’m not sure she was stepsister as much as adopted sister. Apparently, she was the daughter of another wealthy family, and for whatever reason, she spent her holidays away from boarding school with Caden’s family. I gather she and Caden and the brother were all very close, best friends who grew up together.”
“That’s correct,” Vincent lied.
“I had a submissive once who related a story to me that Darling had shared with her. It upset her, unnerved her. So much so,” the man paused, “that she left me. Left the lifestyle.”
“Left the lifestyle?” Vincent asked. Christian wondered what could be so bad that someone would deny themselves something that gave them pleasure.
“Before my sub left, I asked her to explain. And that was when she shared Darling’s story.”
Vincent didn’t bother to hide his astonishment. “What did Darling tell her?”
“While Caden’s father was training him to become a master, he was also training her to become a submissive. She was only sixteen when this training began.”
Charlotte sucked in a deep breath, but only Christian heard it. His arm was still draped around her shoulders, so he tugged her closer.
“I guess it started one holiday, when she was home on break. She went to Caden’s house, but neither he nor his brother was there. As the story goes, Caden’s father came to her one night, took her to a spare room, sat her down, and gave her the birds and bees talk.”
“I assume his birds and bees were different from the ones our parents told us about?”
The masked man nodded. “According to Darling, she was told that every relationship needed a Dom, a sub and maybe a few extra people.”
Christian stiffened. Not a few extra people—a third, to make a trinity.
“He told her she needed to be trained as a sub, that her parents had already chosen her husband for her, and he was a Dom.”
