At Home In Corbin's Bend

by Maggie Ryan

  His gut clenched as the grim realization that she had lied to him sunk in.

  “Oh, you didn’t know,” Kenzie said with the realization the she had just sold out her friend written all over her face.

  “She told me straight to my face that she was twenty-one. She lied,” he gritted out. Worry for her well being, and anger at being lied to, rivaled.

  After that, they each quietly cleaned up the house until everything was set right. Spotting one last empty cup on her desk, Jason grabbed it, then stopped in his tracks as he spotted a name on a piece of paper. The name was one he would never want to see paired with Melissa’s. Troy Tyrell, the area’s most hardcore dom. Next to it was a printed out flyer for an event taking place tonight, at Club Dread. Realization dawned on him as he put two and two together. Melissa was obviously meeting Troy for this event. What was she thinking? She was practically green. Only the most seasoned subs went to Troy Tyrell. He was known for being hardcore to the point of cruel. He catered to very specific tastes. Jason needed to get to that club now.

  Chapter 9

  The cab dropped Melissa off in front of an unassuming brick building with the words Club Dread etched in the glass door. She had dressed carefully for her first night at the famous bdsm club. Wearing a deep purple satin corset with elaborate stitching, matched with a black mini skirt that accentuated her ass perfectly, she stepped inside. Her three inch, fuck me heels clicked along the linoleum as she followed the signs down a long hallway. She arrived at a set of elevators with down as the only choice. Nerves wracked her as she clutched her small bag against her chest and waited for the elevator to arrive on her floor. Stepping into the small elevator, she snapped open her cosmetic mirror to make sure her siren red lipstick was intact. The doors glided open to another long hallway that dead ended into a doorway. Palms slick, she checked her outfit one more time before walking through.

  The moment she did she knew she was out of her element. Elegance of satin, velvet, and leather blended perfectly around her. An air of sophistication that embodied the club was distinctly at odds with the vision she had in her head of cages, chains, and whips. Men and women in three piece suits and cocktail dresses mingled along side those who were dressed similarly to her in various degrees of fetish wear.

  A man cleared his throat. “Miss, I said, can I please see your ID?”

  She had been so swept into the room around her she hadn’t heard him. “Oh, sorry, yes of course.” She fumbled for her recently procured fake ID. “Here it is,” she said, handing it to him. There was always a moment of worry wondering if they would be able to tell that her ID was fake, but as usual, he handed it back without a word about it.

  “Are you here for the Claiming?” he asked, gathering some materials.

  “Yes, I am.” She said it with all the confidence she could muster. She had agreed to meet the Dom she had met online, here tonight. The agreement was to meet here, where he would “claim” her for the night. Here, they would have access to the full dungeon that the club boasted. She had lied, telling him that she was a moderately experienced sub who wanted to take it to the next level. Melissa had carefully chosen Troy after watching video after video of the experienced Dom taking his subs exactly where he wanted them. She didn’t even mind the few that showed him masterfully drawing blood. After all, the women in the video had consented much like she was doing tonight. At this point, Melissa would do anything to escape the feelings that consumed her. She was willing to go as far as she had to, in order to escape them.

  The doorman explained what she could expect tonight. Only half listening, her attention was drawn to a large stage along one wall. A gorgeous woman was being cuffed over a bench while a man stood to the side, gripping what looked to be a huge leather paddle. She barely heard him as he went over something about numbers, a bracelet, and a full night of being claimed. She was mesmerized by the woman being paddled.

  “Miss, you need to register if you are going in tonight.” Forcing herself to look away from the stage, she nodded, still only half hearing what the man was trying to say to her. As she filled out her part of the form, she handed it back, paying only partial attention while answering the questions he asked. “Experience level?” he asked, looking up at her.

  “Um,” she said, debating on whether to tell the truth or not. Screw it. She wanted to be taken in hand, and there was only one way to guarantee that. “Very experienced,” she answered. She was lying so often lately, she was starting to believe the lies herself.

  Stamping her hand with a sequenced number, he waved her in. She drifted toward the stage as soon as he did. By this time the spanking was fully under way. The hard man striped the woman’s backside from the bottom of her thighs to the top of her bottom holding his arm high before each stroke came cracking down. The woman thanked him with each stripe.

  “Mesmerizing, isn’t it?” An older gentleman dressed to the nines murmured from behind her.

  “I don’t know how she can be so stoic about it.” Melissa winced.

  “Oh, I can assure you, Esmerelda is highly experienced. She’s built up quite the high pain tolerance.” He smiled kindly, taking a sip of his champagne. “Would you like some?” he asked, indicating his glass.

  She smiled, gratefully. “I would love some, thank you,” Melissa answered as the gentleman waved over a waiter carrying a tray full of similar glasses. He handed her a glass of amber bubbly. Melissa inquired, “Do you come here often? I assume so since you know her name.”

  “You could say that.” He winked. “My name is Russell Chambers,” he said, bowing and sweeping her hand into a polite kiss. “This is my club,” he said, gesturing around them, “and if I were a guessing man, I would say that this is your first visit.”

  “How’d you guess?” she asked, taking a big gulp of champagne.

  “Let’s call it an innocent air about you.” He took the empty glass from her hand. “What made you choose tonight for your first visit? Unexpected choice,” he murmured, taking her hand. Melissa saw a look of confusion crease his eyebrows as he took in her hand stamp. She looked down, feeling self conscious, as he took a closer look.

  “What is it?” Her own confusion mirroring his.

  “Your stamp indicates a much higher experience level than you indicated. We need to get this chan…”

  A clatter arose as a tray of glasses slipped from a waiter’s hands and went crashing to the floor, champagne drenching the guest standing closest. “I must go…please stay here until I get back.” Then he was off to manage the chaos.

  It was definitely time for another drink. Picking up a glass, she downed it in one gulp, while grabbing another. She was not going to let her recently resurfaced anxiety ruin her night. The familiar warmth radiated from her stomach out into the rest of her body. Not seeing Troy anywhere, Melissa noticed a cute guy standing off to the side of the bar, alone nursing his glass of champagne. Feeling brave, she decided it was time to get the lowdown on this club and that guy was going to be the one to give it to her. So far, it had not been what she expected at all. Where were the cages and contraptions, the whips, and the paddles? She stopped and grabbed another champagne, taking a sip before moving on toward her target. The room picked that moment to start spinning, so she swam topsy turvy through the room until a firm hand gripped her elbow, throwing her out of her daze.

  “Whoa, careful there,” the raven-haired man said as he steadied her.

  Blinking, his face slowly came into focus. She looked at him confused, as he had yet to remove his hand from her elbow. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “Troy, there you are. I was just looking for you.”

  “You found me just in time to keep you from tumbling head first over that bench there.” His smile was all arrogance as he gestured toward the aforementioned bench. “You must be Melissa.” Blushing fiercely, she stumbled straight into his chest. Crimany, those drinks were catching up to her faster than she had intended. She smiled trying to save face, nodding.

/>   “I’ll have to be sure to thank you properly.” She flirted, her hand drifting up to play with a lock of his hair.

  “First, let’s sit for awhile and get to know each other. I want to make sure that you are a little more steady footed before we go play. I have no idea why they thought it was a good idea to serve champagne at an event like this,” he said, looking around.

  After a few minutes of talking, she was convinced that if they didn’t go now, she would lose her nerve. It was now or never. Giving her brightest smile, she assured him that she was ready for business. It took a little convincing, but he soon uttered the words she was wanting to hear.

  “Come with me.” He wrapped a firm arm around her waist escorting her at a faster pace to the stage than she could gracefully keep up with on her still wobbly legs. She gained her footing just in time to climb the stairs without tripping. They approached a table with a scattering of gold bracelets that each bore an engraved single word, CLAIMED. An elegant woman approached with one of the slender bracelets. “Have you chosen your claimed, Mr. Tyrell?” Her eyes glittered as she took in Melissa from head to toe.

  “I do believe I have,” he affirmed, taking the bracelet.

  “Well, I do believe you have made the right choice,” she said with approval, appraising Melissa intimately once again. “Her stamp indicates that she can handle whatever you wish to give her.”

  “I intend to do just that,” he replied, snapping the bracelet’s locking mechanism into place, just as Melissa’s anxiety started to make its presence known once again.

  Alarm coursed through him when he set eyes on Melissa being dragged onto the stage by the man from the ad. He couldn’t help the feeling of betrayal that rivaled with the alarm. The only thing that kept it in check was that he knew she was hurting and acting uncharacteristically, in response. Knowing that she was in the arms of one of most hardcore Doms that he knew of, sent his protective instincts into overdrive.

  “Sir, you can’t come in here dressed like that.” The doorman looked at him with a disgusted look on his face. Glancing down at his ripped jeans and drywall dust caked t-shirt, he shrugged, just as he caught a glimpse of Melissa being manhandled across the stage. Ignoring the doorman, he bolted toward her, catching the panicked look in her eye. The fact that she was in over her head was clear.

  Jason weaved in and out of the crowd, trying to reach Melissa just to be stopped in his tracks by a tight group of people congregated in one area. He climbed over a seating area to get around them. Just as he got to the stage, Jason saw Melissa slipping through the doors. Running over, he tried to open the door, but it was locked tight. “Sir, you can’t go in there,” the bouncer who stood outside the door said.

  “Of course I can. That woman who just went through those doors does not belong here. I guarantee she does not know what she is getting into.”

  “The bracelet she’s wearing says that she does. I’m sorry, sir, that woman is currently a guest of Mr. Tyrell and has been claimed for the evening.”

  “Like hell she has,” he said, the vein in his head throbbing angrily. “Now you can either open this door for me, or I will break it down,” he said through gritted teeth.

  The guard stood, crossing his arms. “I can’t let you do that.” Seeing the key card attached to the guard’s belt loop Jason ripped it from its clip and lunged for the key sensor. The room, which was interspersed with benches, had caged, saint andrew’s crosses, and more scattered throughout. The sound of paddles and floggers filled the room. There were screams coming from the other side of the room. Knowing that Melissa was somewhere in this room, made his blood boil. Then he saw her. Not ten feet away, next to a looming cross, Melissa was struggling and pleading with a man who held a cat o nine tails whip. Her tiny voice drifted to his ears telling the man that there had been a mistake. Tears streaked her face. The man beside her looked confused by the sudden change of events.

  When Melissa caught sight of Jason, her eyes flooded with relief. Breaking free, she hid behind him, grasping Jason’s hand. Shell shock emanated from her. Tucking her under his arm, they got as far as the door before a team of bodyguards surrounded them, blocking their exit. Meaty hands descended upon Jason, separating him from Melissa, as they dragged him bodily toward the door. Just as he was gearing up for a fight, an older man intervened, breaking through the hoard of bodyguards.

  “Stand back,” the older gentleman broke in, “everything is fine here. Let them pass.”

  “Sir, with all due respect,” the bodyguard from whom Jason stole the key card argued, “This man broke into the back room, and absconded our guest.”

  “Yes, yes, I understand.” He waved them off. “I’m afraid there has been a mix up with the young lady’s stamp. She should never have been with Mr. Tyrell to begin with. While I don’t agree with her rescuer’s means, I do agree with the sentiment.” Turning toward Melissa, he gave her a penetrating look. “I thought I told you, miss, to stay put until I returned.” Melissa squirmed under the scrutiny, turning a bright shade of pink.

  The guards returned to their normal duties as soon as it became clear that they were no longer needed. The gentleman lectured Melissa about how seriously over her head she had been and how dangerous her actions had been. As much as Jason agreed, he finally just scooped Melissa up in his arms. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I would like to get the young lady in question home now.” He strode out of the club with Melissa in his arms.

  Jason’s heart pounded at the memory of his Melissa under the hand of that sadistic whip. Curling her closer to his chest, he shuddered at the thought. He saw the insecurity in her eyes; a vulnerability that she exuded even through the flimsy shell she had constructed for herself. He could see right through that shell to the little girl who was begging to be taken care of. Several long strides had them quickly in the elevator. Safely tucked inside, away from the club scene below, Jason took a moment to take in the fact that Melissa was shaking like a leaf. He brushed a loose curl from her face. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. She bobbed her head twice avoiding his eyes.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” she practically whispered.

  “Rescuing you.” He cupped her face tenderly. “Melissa, what were you doing in this club tonight?”

  “I can’t escape it, Jason. I just needed one night where I didn’t have to feel anything but what I chose to feel.” Her face pleaded with him to understand.

  “Why lie to me? Why tell me you had to leave town to take care of a sick aunt?”

  Her jaw clenched as her back went rigid. “You deserve more than being saddled to someone who can’t even control her own thoughts or emotions, let alone someone who experiences things happening that aren’t real.”

  “Well I’m sorry little girl, but I’m here to stay. There is nothing that you are going through that will cause me to bolt. You deserve better than that and you certainly deserve better than this,” he said, gesturing to the building behind them as he carried her out.

  “How do you know? You have no idea what’s been going on with me, what I’ve been experiencing day in and day out,” she accused.

  “No, but I will if you tell me. What I do know, is that you’re going through hell and I will do anything to help you through it.”

  Her shoulders sagged in dejection. “I wish you could, but I don’t think there’s anything that can help me through this.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to trust me won’t you?”

  A plan was hatching in Jason’s head. There was a lot of research about therapeutic spanking. It could bring catharsis like nothing else and the endorphins produced alone could help. Melissa had been here tonight in a desperate attempt to get that. What if he could give that to her in a safe, controlled, and loving environment? It was worth a shot.

  Chapter 10

  Haphazardly tossing clothes into the gym bag that was open on the bed, Melissa grappled, trying to figure out just what Jason had in mind. He had told her to trust him. She did trust
him, but she knew that he had no idea what he was getting himself into. She had no control over when or how the anxiety came. These days she couldn’t even trust herself when something as simple as a song on the radio could trigger her. At this point, she was willing to try anything for a moment of relief. She wasn’t even herself anymore. It scared her how quickly she went from in control to a complete mess. Hadn’t she already dealt with this with years of therapy?

  They were spending the night at his house this time, and honestly, she was glad. She needed a break from her own four walls. Maybe she could get out of her own head while she was at it. Beyond the doubtful hope she had for their relationship, she was also nervous. Melissa wondered when the reckoning for tonight and all of her lies would come to pass. And come to pass, it would. Jason was not the type of person to let things of this magnitude go. She wouldn’t be with him if he did. A heavy weight of dread came with that knowledge. She wondered at what point he would realize that she was too difficult to handle, and not worth the hassle.

  Tonight, none of that mattered. Willing to give it a shot, Melissa was going. She didn’t even mind if the other shoe dropped with the worst punishment spanking of her life. At least then, there would be a semblance of stability, checks and balances. Sighing, she took one last look around the room before heading back to the truck.

  Once at Jason’s, Melissa changed into flannel pajama pants along with the softest t-shirt she owned. Pausing to scrub the makeup off her face and throw her hair into a loose bun, she went out to where Jason was sitting in the living room. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she took a seat next to him. His living room was comforting with its deep brown leather furniture featuring throws scattered among them. There was a large oil painting of a long horned steer head on one wall. Thank God, there were no real steer heads on his walls. She found her attention being pulled to a series of cowboy silhouettes riding horseback with lasso’s raised in the air. There was definitely a western theme going here. It was comfy and understated. She liked it.