by Joey W. Hill
She retreated, but not to her booth. Somehow she found her way to the bathroom, locked herself in a stall and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. Trying to breathe as well. She'd thought it had to be whips and restraints, things she wasn't sure she could trust any man to do except in her fantasies. But this Master had merely brought her into the fringes of that world, let her have a taste, and suddenly she'd felt braver, ready for more. And flooded with so many cravings and desires, she thought she might be drowning. It scared her. Breathe. Breathe.
Looking down at her hands where he'd kissed her knuckles, she saw Vanessa's grip had left red bands on her wrists. The bite of her nails had made crescent impressions on her hands and forearms. Would Vanessa look at the impression of the tie on her own wrists, the redness of her skin when the wax was removed? Of course she would.
When she left the bathroom and paused at the bar, Madison saw the Master in the public sitting room. He was on a couch, cradling Vanessa in his lap, giving her water, stroking her hair, tucking a blanket around her as she came down from the euphoria the session had brought her. Madison wondered if he'd removed all the wax from her skin as tenderly as he was treating her now.
"I hear he's a really good Dom, if you're looking to try one out."
She jumped, turning to see Alice at her shoulder. Nothing in Alice's face suggested she'd witnessed anything that had happened though, which was a relief. Her next words confirmed it.
"Sorry, I got hung up in the lounge area with some guys who make custom floggers." Her sister put a hand on her shoulder. "Seriously, why don't you give him a try? No strings attached. If you can believe it, he's gay. His partner's not into the scene, but is okay with him doing his thing with women. Apparently he's awesome at it. I hear newbies are his specialty."
Madison blinked. Yes, she already knew enough about this world to know that many BDSM sessions were compartmentalized, only-in-the-club type things, but he and Vanessa . . . she'd been sure they were together. How could they get so intensely intimate with one another and . . . it mean nothing? Not really. It wasn't what she'd hoped, imagined . . . or wanted.
"So it's not real."
Alice gave her an odd look. "I wouldn't say that. Within the session, it's real enough to give everyone something. It might be a safe way for you to explore it. I know you're worried about losing control, and I don't blame you. This type of thing, it's such a high, you could think you're in love with the first Dom who trips your trigger the right way. You know?"
*
Madison dragged herself back to the here and now. Her panties were damp, her breath shallow, and there was a hard ache behind her heart. She had an overwhelming urge to lock herself in the store's bathroom again, only this time she wanted to bring herself to climax. The only thing that held her back was she knew how empty she'd be left afterward. Sometimes it was like being a paraplegic with virtual goggles that made her think she was walking. When she took them off, she'd still be trapped in the chair and her heart would explode.
She heard her sister needling her as clearly as if Alice were standing at her side. You've tallied up a handful of assholes who betrayed your trust, walked out on you when you needed them, battered your self-esteem in a hundred different ways. Isn't it time to follow a different set of instincts?
What had Logan said? We all have an instinct for Dominance and submission . . .
Usually Alice knew when to back off, but that night with the Master and Vanessa, Madison had felt too fragile and Alice pushed too hard, until Madison was in tears. Her sister had apologized, hugging Madison and telling her she was trying to help. It hadn't made Madison's growing resentment with her sister's confidence about what was best for her any less poisonous. They'd had their two year falling out soon thereafter.
You need to let me pick your next guy, MadGirl. You're bad at it.
Had her sister decided to force her hand through a death wish? She wasn't surprised Alice would do such a galling thing to her, but why would an intriguing, self-possessed male like Logan agree to it?
She'd lied to him about the knowledge stuff to get him to back off. Unfortunately, by claiming ignorance, she'd probably just encouraged Logan to help "educate her." God save her. He and Troy obviously had that compartmentalized, structured-session kind of D/s relationship. Between relationships, she'd thought about sticking her toe in those waters, but the idea of approaching it like a gym workout depressed her. On the flip side, anything she'd tried involving emotional commitment had gone disastrously.
God bless the Internet, the anonymity of chat rooms, video sites, forums. She limited herself on them, so she didn't turn into the BDSM version of a crack addict, but it didn't mean she didn't soak it up like a sponge during her short forays, using it with a vibrator to assuage simple sexual frustration and keep it all under control. When it came to her desire to submit, she didn't know how to do anything in moderation. She'd learned her lesson. At least she thought she had.
Brownstone's "If You Love Me" started playing, making her bite back an oath. She hadn't locked the door after her trip to the hardware store. She'd tell whoever it was that she was closed. She hadn't even set up the register to take a sale.
But as she emerged from the stockroom and saw the one lone customer, she decided to test her sales skills instead, see how it went.
The tall girl with long brown hair and a delicate face like Liv Tyler was idly browsing through the selections along the wall, so Madison cleared her throat. "Good afternoon. Can I help you find anything?"
"Uh . . . well, no. Yes." Looking over her shoulder, the young woman gave a half laugh. "Guess you get that a lot in here, right?"
"I'm still fairly new to running a lingerie store, but that's how I'd be about it if I was a customer. Kind of out of place, like I needed to keep the exit door close."
It was meant as a joke, but even Madison could hear the acid in her tone, fueled by an unexpected surge of bitterness. Suddenly she was back in the Boston lingerie store she'd visited while still trapped in a relationship with Leroy. She'd felt like a fraud, trying to plug a hole in the Titanic with crotchless panties.
Her brittle smile made it worse. The woman shot her an odd look, cleared her throat. "Thanks . . . er . . . I'll let you know if I need any help."
Madison tried to salvage the attempt. "Is it for a special occasion?"
"No. Not really. Not in that way." The woman gave her a nod, headed for the door. "Thanks."
"Come back and see us."
She gave that absent, probably not kind of nod, and then she was gone. The song changed to Boyz II Men's "I'll Make Love to You." Madison gave serious thought to ripping the speaker wires out of the wall.
Yes, it was only her first attempt, but if she couldn't keep her personal baggage out of it, she might as well quit before she started. Who was she kidding? Her mind wasn't in the right place to do this. Maybe she should hire someone to do it, even though she knew that wouldn't be honoring Alice's request the way she'd intended.
Well, damn you. Her fists closed on the counter. That kind of pushy meddling was why I didn't visit you for two years and you fucking know it.
Shit. She passed a hand over her face, felt the faint tremor in her fingers. I'm sorry, Alice. It didn't matter if it was true. She'd do anything to have her back. Anything. She thought about what Logan had said about the UPS man. Maybe honoring a loved one's last request was the same thing as keeping up a habit. Holding on to them as long as you could.
A trio of women had slipped in as the other woman left, so she had no choice but to try again. And fail again. Unfortunately, for the next hour, she had a slow trickle of impulse shoppers, no chance to tactfully lock the door and turn off the light. She tried asking questions but, as before, it was always the wrong question, the wrong attitude projected. She fell back on the tactics she'd used to sell cars and discovered there was a big difference between asking people if they were looking for a family vehicle or a four-inch-diameter dildo. Ouch, by the way. Hadn
't Alice worried about liability issues if people actually used that thing?
Long and short, struggling to find the right approach with customers while fighting her own emotional debris about the main reason to be in a store like this--to enhance a relationship--meant the only thing she accomplished was embarrassment, for both herself and the customers. A couple of them exited the store as if a fire alarm had been set off.
Eventually she resigned herself to staying behind the counter, no better than a passive, hired employee, available if the customer initiated contact. She sold a bra and a three-set of filmy panties, and Naughty Bits made no more of an impression than any generic clothing store.
As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she lunged to lock the door, though her relief only frustrated her more. She punished herself by going through Alice's hard-copy files in her little side office, organizing things for taxes that wouldn't be filed for months.
Why was she doing this to herself? Because Alice had asked her to do it. But surely she could put it off another month or two, right? She'd said she'd left her enough money to live on, and Madison had her own savings as well.
"Putting it off's not going to make it any better," she told herself. Gritting her teeth, she designed the grand reopening ads on the laptop, uploaded them to the local online and paper circulars. There. She'd officially set into motion what felt like a forced march into hell.
Okay, even Alice would say that was a little overly dramatic. Maybe she needed to close her eyes, indulge in a safe little pleasure trip where she imagined herself under Logan's tutelage like Troy . . .
She stopped in her mental tracks. Oh God. Of course. Maybe her wayward emotions had fucked up her grasp of that situation as well. Yes, Alice wanted Madison to embrace her submissive side, but she also would have wanted to help Madison successfully run the store. Alice knew she'd need to learn how to connect to her customers, understand how to make their fantasies come to life. Nothing was farther on the deep end of the sexual fantasy world than BDSM. So by "giving her to Logan," Alice was offering Madison the chance to get in the right mindset. Logan could help her learn how to do it. He'd said he was a training Master.
The strategy made a weird kind of sense, more practical and reassuring than the idea of her sister giving her to Logan like a mail-order bride. And Logan had said she could help with Troy's training. That was far different from being tied up or flogged herself. Maybe . . .
Sighing, Madison shook her head, deciding to give it a rest. It was time to call it a day.
A glance at the clock told her "calling it a night" would be more accurate. It was a little past seven. She cocked her head, only mildly alarmed when she heard movement in the back. The hardware store closed at five, but the same pickup truck from this morning was in the back next to her car, suggesting Logan or Troy was still around. Then she heard a mild curse and recognized the voice, though she wasn't sure if that didn't make her more alarmed, albeit in a different way.
Logan was shifting boxes in her storeroom. Looking beyond him, she saw the connecting door he'd mentioned, open now to show the full shelves in his own storage area. He straightened. "Good evening."
"Can I help you pilfer something? Perhaps a teddy and pair of stilettos in your size?" Her gaze coursed over his work shoes. "We might have a thirteen. I think the teddy's more flexible, due to the thong style."
He chuckled at that, but his brow creased as he gazed at the three tiers of shelves. "Alice let me keep things in here when I had overflow, because her inventory fits in a smaller space than mine. I was looking for a case of screws. I always tell Troy to put our stuff in this corner over here, but maybe Alice rearranged it. Or Troy forgot and I'll have to make him drink motor oil to help him remember in the future."
Her side of that connecting door had been locked, which meant he had a key to it. She wondered if she needed to set polite but firm new boundaries, but she'd wait until she was sure she wasn't being pissy because of her first non-event of customers.
"I haven't had a chance to go through all the dusty back corners yet, but I covered most of the rest of the stock." She came to stand at his side, bending to look deeper into the lower shelf. "Wait, see behind the pink box? Is that it?"
He bent with her, laying a hand on her back as he did so, a casual gesture that nevertheless spread heat from the point of contact. When he smiled, that heat increased. "Yep, that's it." He pushed her gently aside to stretch his longer frame over the wide board, treating her to a view of denim straining over an excellent ass. His broad shoulders shifted as he pulled the box forward and ducked his head to come back out, the thick tail of his hair falling over his shoulder. "Good eye. So, are you done for the day? If you want, you can have that tour of the woodworking area now. I'll even throw in a quick tour of the hardware store. Alice had a free pass to grab anything she needed whenever. You're welcome to do the same."
"Is this your version of a pick-up line? Come check out my wood shop?"
His easy smile kept that liquid heat curling around her vitals, but she noticed his brown eyes became more serious. Something dark and pleasurable lay behind that considering expression when he looked at her. She didn't know what it was, but like earlier, her subconscious responded to it like metal to a magnet. Fish, hook, metal, magnet. Oh yeah. Being around him was going to be a metaphor grab bag.
"Would it work?" he asked.
"I've fallen for worse lines."
The smile disappeared then. He curled his other hand around her elbow, bringing her with him as they moved out of her room and into his. "I'll never use a line on you, Madison. I don't believe in them."
He put the box down in an empty space in his storeroom, and then took her hand in his, again simple and easy. "Troy will put those out when he gets here tomorrow morning."
She noticed his shelves were piled much higher than hers, underscoring his need for overflow room. "Did you pay Alice a fee for use of her storage space?"
He sent her an amused look. "No, but I have a feeling her sister the accountant is going to change that."
"Well, Alice tended to let people take advantage of her."
He came to a full stop at that, dropping her hand. "Excuse me?"
Jesus, that was uncalled-for. Cursing her tongue and her temperament, she blew out a breath. "I'm really sorry. That was unbelievably rude."
"Yeah, it was." He paused a moment, then spoke in a mild tone some part of her recognized as anything but. It stabbed her conscience, making her want to squirm. "I get that you have trust issues with men, Madison. But until I specifically deserve it, I'd prefer you not lash out at me because of what someone else has done."
A resentful part of her wanted to answer that with another snap. But he wasn't saying anything more than the truth, right? She'd behaved badly, and he deserved the return volley. Even if it hit a little too close to home. She wasn't used to a man grabbing the bull by the horns so directly. He demanded respect up front and gave her the same. She was all too aware that clarity of communication was very much a Dom trait.
"I said I'm sorry." She managed it with cool dignity, then sighed. "Hell, it was a rough day. I'm out of sorts and taking it out on you. Listen, I'll just go back to my store and we'll start fresh tomorrow, all right?"
That expression eased, which made things better, but he recaptured her hand, keeping her in place. "Or, you can hang out with me and get in a better mood. In my experience, nursing a bad mood by yourself just moves you into melancholy."
"Yeah, but you keep more friends nursing it alone." Not that she had a lot of those. She hadn't left much in Boston, all in all. Three more failed relationships and a job she'd aced but that had been safe, not fulfilling.
He squeezed her hand, as if sensing the additional punch she'd swung at her mood. "Just as an fyi, I've found a good spanking cures most pissy moods."
"I'll find my paddle if you get pissy," she said dryly.
She was pretty sure her yeah right tone didn't cover how her hand twi
tched in his at the provocative suggestion. The moment he said it, she saw him putting her over his knee and giving her a sound spanking for mouthing off in such a rude manner. She could even cast him in that photograph on her store wall, the severe Victorian gentleman, so proper and powerful. He'd walk with his wife in a landscaped park every evening, using his silver-handled walking cane with easy grace to clear any debris from her path, so she didn't snag her skirt or soil her slippers. Yet when they got home, he'd yank down her perfectly arranged hair, spread and bind her to their bed. As she gasped under the demands of his hands, mouth, he'd drive away any inhibitions, all vestiges of propriety out the window as she begged him to take her, as he stroked her between her spread, bound thighs with the smooth head of that cane . . .
Her free hand curled, finding dampness in the creases of her palm.
"I'd give one of Troy's testicles to know what's going through your mind right now."
She snapped back out of it. Her other hand was tight on his. He was waiting on her, studying her face. It was as though she was stepping in and out of two different dimensions in his presence. He didn't act as if there was anything strange about her pauses, her distraction, making it seem like he was right next to her on that journey.
She rallied. "One of Troy's testicles? Not your own?"
"I have use for both of mine."
Before she could figure out how to reply to what couldn't be anything less than a delicious threat, especially when he coupled it with a frank look at her flushed face and parted lips, he tugged her across his storeroom, taking her to a door on the far side with a key pad. As he punched in the code, she thought about the way their buildings looked from the street outside. "So the empty building on the other side of your store is yours?" she asked.
"Not empty. Just not open to the public."
She recalled that building's windows were papered with advertising for his store's wares and others in the district, as well as flyers for community events. The mural of advertising would allow him to screen the potential eyesore of a woodworking shop, but when she stepped into the space, she saw there was a far more vital reason he preferred privacy for it.
She thought she'd be safe looking at his creations. Sawdust, power tools, nice furniture. What she was looking at was a workshop for custom-made BDSM equipment. Her sister had probably brought him business, arranged orders for her own customers. The closest piece looked like a picnic table, only it was about half the traditional length and the space between the benches and table was too narrow to slide one's legs between them. The benches were padded, as was the table itself, with beautifully tooled red upholstery secured with antique gold tacks. The wood was a dark cherry, polished and finished. The quality was excellent, the type that fetishists paid four figures to own.
