* * *
Upon entering the dungeon at five minutes after nine, she paused, absorbing the carnal sights and sounds. Although a member for almost a year, it still took her by surprise every time she passed through the medieval doors that led to the enormous playroom. It wasn’t only the intimidating gothic atmosphere, or the circle of stations with all manner of BDSM equipment and scary torture devices, but the members themselves dressed in widely varied styles of fetish wear from the tastefully sensual, to blatantly vulgar, and completely bare. She spotted a woman in a PVC body suit covered from head to toe except for cut outs for her breasts, waxed pussy and ass cheeks. More shocking was a man, obviously a submissive, being led by his domme on a leash, dressed in nothing but a collar and some sort of torturous metal cage around his private parts. Mari couldn’t be sure what all it entailed as she deliberately avoided looking at him further, particularly below the waist.
Most of the men wore black jeans or leather pants—the dominants and masters, clearly—fewer in dress trousers, rarer still, a three-piece suit. Many were bare chested or wore vests with nothing on underneath, others in black tee shirts or black dress shirts. The color black uniformly embraced by one and all. A few dommes were in scarlet and an occasional submissive was dressed in pastel pink or yellow. Everywhere she looked there was visible skin, bare bottoms and blatantly displayed breasts, although the latter were usually adorned with jewelry or clamps.
She looked down at her own attire, overdressed by club standards, but daring by Mari’s conservative, suburban, mother of two yard stick. She’d come a long way from the black sheath dress she’d worn on her first venture here. Having left her killer shoes in a locker in compliance with house rules, she stepped barefoot down the short flight of stairs to the main floor. On the last one, she stumbled; her head coming up as she searched for the sound that had distracted her.
A distinctive whoosh and a loud, ominous crack drew her attention. The formidable and familiar noise rose easily above all others in the cavernous, yet crowded room. Mari knew immediately what it was. Not a flogger, or a strap, and it certainly wasn’t a paddle that made the distinctive whoosh and crack. As it sounded again, chills of both fear and longing coursed through her body.
Glancing around, she tried to pinpoint its direction. Never having seen one used in the crowded dungeon before, her eyes scanned the back wall where the larger stations were located. There simply wasn’t enough room to employ one safely anywhere else. Thinking she must be mistaken, she moved toward where she thought the sound came from. As another sharp crack sent waves of excitement racing to her nipples and clit, she stopped in the middle of the aisle, savoring the subsequent sound of the crowd, who as one, drew in an excited breath, clearly in awe as the snap and pop resonated loudly yet again. Actively seeking it out, she pushed through the crowd until she located the large roped off station that had been set up in the farthest corner of the room.
Mari’s eyes locked onto the culprit, a six-foot-long black braided whip. Mesmerized, she watched as it snaked out, seeming to cut through the air as it moved quickly toward its vulnerable target. When it landed, the fall snapped briskly against the submissive’s trembling flesh and the next moment was gone, quickly drawn away, leaving only a pink mark, no wheals or skin breaks. Mari knew, in the aftermath, it left something more tangible—the stinging kiss of delicious pain from the supple leather.
She followed the captivating black leather lash up to the handle and the strong, broad hand that held it in a confident grip, an extension of a long, corded, muscular arm. She could practically feel the power employed by the master himself, and the tight fisted control he exerted with every stroke. Bare from the waist up, his sinewy forearms and biceps flexed each time his arm drew back, his shoulders rippling and bunching as he let the whip fly with what she recognized as a masterful throw.
Her eyes caressed his broad back, the skin shiny and sleek from perspiration as he worked. He moved with a fluidity and grace uncommon in a big man, but also with an immense power one would expect of such obvious strength. On the next stroke, a cry of ecstasy rent the air as the submissive, who Mari hadn’t really taken notice of before now, let out a scream of pure ecstasy, shuddering and convulsing within her bindings as she came almost violently.
Her master stopped and walked forward, approaching the woman he’d reduced to a quivering, sobbing, blissfully replete mass of goo within her chains. As Mari’s body decelerated from the heart pounding voyeuristic excitement of the scene, she realized that throughout it all, he hadn’t turned and revealed his face, so focused was he on his charge.
In that moment, she recognized the potential danger of the man and staggered back, thinking if she didn’t know his face, she could stay away. Deeply shaken by the scene, she spun and made her way toward the front of the play space, taking a seat on one of the couches on the elevated platform along the wall. Nicknamed ‘sub space’ by the members, it was a spot where available submissives could see the entire floor while also being easily seen, and appraised, by dominants seeking a play partner for the evening.
Trembling, she focused her breathing, telling herself a low intensity dom was what she wanted. She knew it was a lie, but it was the way it had to be, for her own self-preservation. Tucking her quivering hands under her thighs, she tried to appear calm and serene for anyone who might be watching and possibly interested in approaching. Always hopeful that someone would propose a scene quickly, get down to the business of flogging and fucking her without too many delays so that she could be on her way, she decided that tonight, she wouldn’t be disappointed if given several moments to collect herself first.
* * *
As another stroke of the lightweight flogger landed in the center of her back, her body easily absorbed the blow. The subtle shift of her weight forward and back, sent a ripple of movement up her body and through the chains overhead. The soft clang as the links collided rang out like bells, the sound pleasant, which unfortunately was one of the few positives she could find in the protracted scene. While the multi-tailed lash continued to fall in steady strokes, moving over her butt and thighs, she acknowledged that the sensation was nice, like a massage, although not nearly as stimulating as the deep tissue bodywork she got from Mason, the masseuse at the day spa she frequented when she felt stressed. It in no way inspired the sexual response she should be experiencing right about now.
She cracked an eyelid and located her dom for the evening, anxious to see a sign that the scene might be drawing to an end soon.
Tell him how “nice” it is, an inner voice suggested. That should end things in about ten seconds flat.
Did she dare? Informing a dom who was set on rocking your world that the scene wasn’t doing it for you, would do one of two things. He would see it as a challenge, like waving a red flag before a bull, inciting him to step up the game, or it would be like dousing a single candle with a one-hundred-gallon drum of ice water. As good as calling a safeword, things would come to an immediate halt.
When he moved to her other side, switching the bright blue flogger to his left hand, she caught a glimpse of his flushed face and the light sheen of sweat covering his bare chest. He apparently was getting a good workout, which was more than she was receiving from this long, unfulfilling exercise in futility.
Biting back a bored sigh, she closed her eyes again. Maybe if she endured long enough, the cumulative thuds of the lash would save her the need to visit Mason tomorrow, not to mention the $200 per hour fee she shelled out for one of his sessions.
As the circling lashes began to work on her front, the tails encountered a fresh canvas of untouched flesh. When one stroke landed low on the delta of her mound in an upswing, Mari felt a little twinge of response. It increased with the next enthusiastic throw that connected a hairsbreadth from her lower lips. Regretfully, he didn’t linger there, moving up her belly instead until the focus became the underside of her breasts.
She wanted to scream in frustration and opened
her mouth to do exactly that, but she’d never dared be that bold before. Not with any of the other eight doms she’d scened with in as many months, and especially not with Derek. So how could she start with…
Something occurred to her in that moment, which effectively doused what little spark had been created. She didn’t recall his name.
Appalled, Mari racked her brain for the answer. Colton, perhaps? Or maybe, Kelton. Did she politely call him “sir” and pretend that she wasn’t completely horrified by her memory lapse? The truth was she didn’t know him at all and to be honest, preferred it that way.
Dear heavens! She blinked, focusing on the handsome jaw set in determination. What kind of slut had she become to allow a random stranger to strip her bare in the middle of a sex club, cuff her with arms and legs spread wide, immobilizing her with unbreakable chains or straps, and then take a lash to her?
Less than an hour ago, he’d approached her, promising a “sensual flogging that would have her rattling the windows with her screams of pleasure.”
She’d eyed the young dom with skepticism. If he succeeded, he’d be the first to deliver on his pledge. Lured by his confident enthusiasm, Mari blamed her poor judgment on sexual deprivation. A starving woman would scale high cliffs for sustenance. She should have known better.
He was too young, too inexperienced, too willing to abide by every limit on her list. Still, she’d accepted his proposal of a scene, wishing now that she hadn’t.
She’d been to this point with the other doms and it was about now, when she admitted they didn’t have what she needed that it turned awkward, and at times, ugly. No dominant wanted to admit his skill wasn’t up to par, but to be proved lacking in front of an audience, well, that was a blow to a dominant’s already over inflated ego. Some didn’t take it well and blamed her. One had called her frigid.
Mari hadn’t denied it. After all, she hadn’t come once during a scene in the entire eight months she’d been a member. And tonight was shaping up to be no different. In time, Kelton—or was it Colton?—might develop the skill for the command and control that she needed, but he didn’t have it tonight, and she would leave unfulfilled yet again.
Abruptly, the rhythmic strokes stopped and he approached. His hand was gentle as he stroked down her warm body, cupping her breasts, tweaking each nipple lightly, before slowly gliding down her belly and exploring between her spread thighs.
She bit the inside of her cheek. Sadly, his grunt of displeasure told her he’d found what she expected he would, a pussy as dry as the surrounding Texas hill country in a midsummer drought.
“This isn’t doing it for you at all, is it, honey? Let me try something else. Something with more of a bite.”
Yes! It’s about damn time! Bring on the whip!
That’s what her body demanded, yearning to feel the searing fire that a single tail could bring, that she desperately needed in order to feel alive again. However, unless he took complete control, ignored her wishes and threw her wretched limit list away, he was never going to make the windows rattle, let alone make her scream with pleasure.
Guilt consumed her next, as it had with all the other scenes that had gone badly. She should have been up front with him and admitted what she was, that she needed a sadist, not the sensual dom that he obviously was. Unintentionally, she’d duped yet another unsuspecting player, in the hopes she could be normal for once and tap into a different side of herself, one that could enjoy a slow seduction, or a fun spanking, or possibly find satisfaction through sex without pain. But she’d fooled herself as much as she’d fooled him and all of the others when she wasn’t forthright and didn’t disclose her struggle to find where she fit in these days.
And, she didn’t say that now. Instead, she tried to make him feel better and shoulder the blame for the blown scene.
“It’s not you, sir, it’s me. I have enjoyed your attention, truly, but I can’t seem to keep my focus tonight.” Dropping her gaze demurely, she tried to look and sound as contrite as she genuinely felt. “A personal matter is bothering me and I shouldn’t have come. I’m so very sorry. Please, sir, forgive me.”
He studied her a moment and Mari anxiously waited to see which response he would take, anger over the rejection, or rising to meet a challenge.
“Let me try the crop. The sting will make you forget about your troubles for a bit and help you relax.”
Even after the extended time Colton-Kelton had spent on her, his determination was untiring. This was rather endearing and made her think he had more dominant qualities than she’d given him credit for. She was done, however, exhausted emotionally and physically. Perhaps, she was done with the club altogether. No sense wasting anyone else’s time and energy.
“Thank you, sir, but I think I should call it a night. I’m not good for either of us, obviously, and I have a long drive home. Surely it’s close to midnight.”
“It’s not yet ten o’clock, sub.” He shot her an irritated glare.
She’d only been there an hour? My how time drags when you’re not really having fun. But she didn’t say that to him, she wouldn’t ever be so rude. She did explain that she was from out of town and had a long commute.
“Stop trying to let me down easy, Mari. Clearly, you need something that I can’t give you. As you suggested, we’ll end it here.”
She felt awful, feeling the heat of his frown as he moved to release her. It didn’t help that he recalled her name when she didn’t have the same courtesy. As a one-night stand submissive, she just plain sucked.
He moved behind her to remove the spreader bar and wrist cuffs attached to the eye bolts in the floor. While he worked quickly, her eyes rose to the few stragglers at the velvet ropes that cordoned off their station. The crowd they had started with had quickly departed, undoubtedly recognizing the lack of chemistry and the less than satisfying and quite tepid scene that was playing out. As her gaze passed over a lone man and a couple standing at the perimeter, the latter probably waiting to use the station next, she halted, doing a double take as she scanned back. It was then that she connected with the most beautiful green eyes she’d ever seen. She took in his strikingly handsome features, long dark lashes, full masculine lips, and the light scruff of a dark beard covering his strong jaw and chin.
Despite never having seen his face, there was instant recognition. It wasn’t the color of his hair or the broad set of his muscular shoulders that told her who he was. Nor was it the black button up shirt that molded to a defined chest, its open collar, revealing a touch of smooth olive skin, or the non-traditional black dress pants that molded like a second skin to every bulge and contour of his thighs. It was none of that, although her heart raced and her hard nipples ached at what she saw.
More so, it was the confidence he exuded in his cross armed, wide legged stance as he stared back at her. He was the whip master; she’d bet money on it. And as magnificent as he was, the way he aroused her from a distance, even without a whip in his hand, was stupefying.
How long had he been watching? Had he arrived at the bitter end, or had he seen the entirety of the crash and burn scene? As his eyes slowly tracked down her body, she decided his bearing witness to her lackluster performance was a good thing, because wherever his gaze touched, her skin came alive as if he stroked her with his fingers. Desire burst to life in her anew, rivaling the fire that ignited her senses when she’d watched him wield his whip earlier. Her nipples hardened and her pussy became damp as her body instinctively prepared to receive him, although her mind said, “No way in hell.” Unlike Kelton-Colton, this was an experienced master, skilled and dominant to the extreme. He’d bend her to his will, assuredly crushing her heart in the process.
His gaze, a deep forest green in the low lights of the playroom, finished its perusal and returned to her face. A slight smile curved his lips as he tipped his head in acknowledgement. Then, his mouth tilted up in a devilish grin as his eyes dipped meaningfully to her swollen, hard tipped breasts. He quirked a knowin
g brow and heat flooded her face. Without a doubt, he was aware that her dom hadn’t been able to produce in an hour-long session of focused caressing, restraints and flogging, what his brief perusal had achieved in seconds.
Lowering her lashes, she looked away, impatiently waiting for her dom for the moment to set her free. Once he had, she apologized once again and abruptly excused herself without gaining his permission. Looking neither left, nor right, she bent and scooped up her pile of discarded fetwear and in a whirl, rushed naked to the locker room. Not once did she turn back, determined to leave the whip-wielding dom to the bolder, braver subs that would be better able to handle his brand of domination and leave with their hearts intact.
Chapter Two
“We’ve got it covered,” the calm collected voice in her ear reassured her. “I already have a full team, all paired off for efficiency. While I don’t mean to offend, sugar, you would be odd man out, literally. It will go more quickly without another set of hands in the mix.”
Adriana Dunbar was her store manager as well as her best friend for the past five years. Anyone else would have ceded to the boss’s wishes, but she had always been up front with Mari and told her when she was getting in the way, which was now.
“Seriously, Mari. You don’t need to worry about a thing. Why don’t you stay home and get some rest? Better yet, take the day and head to the beach. You could use a little color, sweetie. You looked pale the last time I saw you.”
Although wrapped up in kind words and dripping with concern, Adri’s tone came across as unusually patronizing. Mari bristled like an angry porcupine. It was her shop, dammit. If she wanted to come in and work for a spell, then she would.
“Adri, I—” she began, but was immediately interrupted.
French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2) Page 2
