The Lingerie Shop

by Joey W. Hill

  “It’s all right,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t trying to shock you.”

  She knew that. She was well attuned to people trying to manipulate her emotions, and he wasn’t setting off that alarm. Alice might have told Logan about Madison’s cravings, but it didn’t mean he was privy to her sister’s posthumous plottings. Alice was gone and Madison could set him straight about all that, right here, right now.

  She summoned a hard smile. “Sorry. You took me by surprise. This is still new to me. I’m not as knowledgeable about these things as Alice was. I don’t have her instincts.”

  “We all have an instinct for Dominance and submission, Madison.” He nodded toward Troy. “But if you’d like to expand your knowledge, you’re welcome to come help me with Troy’s next training session.”

  Very matter-of-fact, and helpful. It made sense, right? With a BDSM section in the store Alice had left her to run, the obvious assumption would be she had at least a business-level comfort with it. However, going anywhere with Logan that involved restraints and whips screamed bad idea. The last time she’d been to a club, she’d been with her sister, not a charismatic male sexual Dominant.

  “I don’t know.” She glanced back at Troy, considering all the things that “training” might mean. “I’m not into hurting anyone.”

  He looked down at her hand, the one he’d pricked. “Pain and pleasure are often interchangeable. Regardless, every step is consensual. He lets go of as much control as he desires. Under the right conditions, the more control is relinquished, the more freedom is found. You’re welcome to simply watch, Madison. Friday at eight.”

  “We’ll see. I have a lot to do, and if I’m tired that evening . . .”

  Those coffee-colored eyes came back to her face. He wasn’t staring. Staring would have been less unsettling. She felt like a book he was reading, every word a page full of information about her. He let her run down before he spoke again, courteously. “Understood. If you do come that night, use the interior door between our storerooms. It’s always unlocked.”

  “You do the training here?” She tried not to let her voice squeak. Right close by, where she could hear the slap of a flogger on flesh, cries of pain and pleasure . . .

  “I have a couple rooms in the back, one for the training, one for the woodworking.”

  He might have equipment in there. Cuffs, chains . . . like the things in her store inventory, only these would be worn from use, scratches in the wood of the St. Andrew’s Cross, rendered silky smooth by sweat . . .

  “I’ll be adding those hinges tonight if you want to come see the woodworking part of things,” he added. “I know it must be hard, hanging around Alice’s house at night.”

  That was going to be the danger, wasn’t it? He had more than one road past her shields, and his understanding of the loss she was dealing with could be a four-lane highway. Under ordinary circumstances, she’d be restrained by common sense. Going into a backroom after business hours with a guy she didn’t even know wasn’t a good idea. However, thanks to Alice’s note, Madison’s uppermost fear was that he was her own personal Pied Piper of Hamelin, the tune he was offering one she longed to follow.

  “Okay. I’ll think about it.” As if she was considering an offer to come over for tea. Jesus. “Thanks. It was . . . nice to meet you. I’d better get back to the store.”

  She would have fled if it she could have, but she maintained her dignity with a decorous pace. As a result, she had time for a few thousand thoughts before she reached the doorway. She stopped, bit her lip. “Logan . . . when you said, ‘At last we meet,’ it felt significant. What did my sister say about me?”

  “She gave you to me.”

  Her face must have conveyed her startled jolt, because his lips twisted in wry response. He lifted a hand, staying her what the fuck reaction.

  “She said . . .” He paused, his expression serious. “‘I’m giving her to you, Logan, but you might just give yourself to her, too. For the first time in your life.’ What man could resist a challenge like that?”

  “Was she on a lot of meds when you had that conversation?” Madison asked weakly.

  His laugh, deep and rich, literally aroused her. Her body tightened, the flesh between her legs swelling. When her hand curled into a tense ball at her side, the humor disappeared from his expression, his mouth firming. “Go back to your store, Madison,” he said softly. “We’ll talk later.”

  She turned and went.

  * * *

  Not because he told her to do so, but because she had obviously stepped into the deep-ass end of the pool. Her sister had been capable of some odd things, but this? She fricking gave me to a guy? What the hell did that mean? Under other circumstances, Madison would have considered a restraining order. It still wasn’t out of the question.

  Okay, slow down and breathe. Think this through. Madison thought back to another time Alice had dragged her into a club, this time when they were vacationing. Since it was there she’d had the experience which caused the sharp pain under her ribs when Logan said he was a training Master, it was a good reminder that the cons of her going down that road far outweighed the pros.

  Alice had said visiting clubs while they were on vacation was a good way for her to deduct a portion of the trip as a business expense. Madison had feigned reluctant indifference, but she’d gone, her stomach flopping with butterflies, her palms damp. Once again, she found a secluded corner table, nursed a drink while Alice flitted here and there, making contacts, asking questions. Leaving Madison alone with her fantasies.

  Then she’d seen the Master and his female submissive. More importantly, he’d seen her.

  * * *

  “Come closer.”

  He’d helped the woman onto a table and she was lying on her back, naked. Madison didn’t realize he was speaking to her, not the woman, until he turned, met her gaze. He wasn’t handsome, but he was charismatic. His dark hair, peppered with gray, was trimmed neatly and his blue eyes were direct. He had the type of body that looked decent in the surprising choice of a suit, the kind a man would wear for business.

  He didn’t repeat the command. It was implied in his straightforward glance, the way the contact arrowed hard through Madison’s center.

  The music in the club was pounding drums, a New Age tribal beat interspersed with silvery flute, loud enough to mix with the environment and get the blood humming, impair judgment. Madison rose, leaving her soda. Did he need her help? Was he going to lay her down on the table right next to the woman? Shouldn’t he be asking her if she wanted to play? She knew there were rules.

  “You can’t see as well from over there,” he said, pointing her to a stool pulled up near the woman’s head. He leaned over, placing a blindfold on the supine woman. Her lips pressed together, their fullness more noticeable as her eyes disappeared beneath the fabric. The middle-aged, short-haired brunette didn’t have a model’s figure, but in her few club experiences, Madison had noted a general acceptance of any size or age. Dominance and submission weren’t about those things. While this woman had some fleshy padding, it was decently toned and her breasts were a nice size. The Dom tweaked her nipple after he blindfolded her, making her jump. And smile, though it had an anxious, anticipating quality to it. “Play with yourself while I get ready,” he commanded.

  Obediently, the woman moved her hand down her body, finding her clit and labia to tease them with her fingers. Madison shifted, swallowing. The Master glanced up at her. “Feel free to do the same if you like.”

  His grin was playful enough not to scare her, to win a wary smile back, but she noticed the intensity of his gaze didn’t lessen. He was confident, in control of this situation. Did he realize how nervous she was? How uncertain? Thank God Alice was somewhere else. There were a few other people coming in and out of this section, but right now she was his main audience.

  Pulling a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, the Master left it on the table as he removed the coat, hung it up on a wall hook. Ma
dison watched him roll up his sleeves. Why was it so sexy when men did that? He loosened the tie and removed it, carelessly opened a couple of the top buttons of the shirt. She saw he was wearing a silver cross beneath the fabric.

  “You’re going to hold my tie, baby,” he said to the woman on the table, wrapping the silk around her wrists in a figure eight, then doing another wrap around that, securing it so her wrists were loosely bound. Lifting her hands to his mouth, he sucked on the fingers she’d used on herself, then rubbed them dry with the handkerchief. “But if you get it dirty, you know you’ll be in bad trouble. Put your arms over your head. I want your wrists resting on the knees of the woman behind you.”

  Madison stared down at the woman’s lacquered nails. She had a good manicure. Her fingers were making little flexing motions, rubbing her knuckles erratically against Madison’s thighs. Her body was quivering as her erotic tension built. Madison felt like they were sharing that same energy. When she dared a glance at the Master again, she found his eyes upon her.

  “Put your hands on the joining point of the tie, between her wrists,” he said.

  Madison did it. “I’m not . . . I don’t want to do anything wrong.”

  His lips curved and he reached out, caressed her jaw as if it was the most natural thing to touch a stranger that way. And calm her with that touch. “You can’t possibly, sweetheart. I won’t let you. Vanessa, I want you to hold her wrists.”

  Madison’s grip tightened on the tie. When the woman’s fingers curved around hers, holding Madison’s wrists, an unexpected hard quiver shook her, as if she’d been bound with a set of flesh-and-blood manacles. She told herself not to get carried away. This was simple, straightforward. Safe. Even better, Alice would be pleased that Madison had indulged herself, and lay off a little.

  The Master pulled a variety of items out of his bag. Candles, bowls, burners. It might have taken ten minutes for him to set up, but time had no meaning. This was the first time Madison had been this close, this involved, in something that felt exactly like what she’d hoped it could be. A ripple of panic went through her. She was going to lose her mind, beg him to take her home. Make a total ass out of herself.

  She would have bolted, but Vanessa was holding on to her. Though Madison’s fantasy-laden brain had wanted to interpret his command to Vanessa as a way to restrain her, her rational mind knew the real intent was to give Vanessa an anchor. In the woman’s touch she felt the need for that contact. If she drew back, she’d be abandoning her. She couldn’t do that.

  “Let’s keep me entertained while the wax is melting.” He withdrew a clit stimulator from the bag and fitted it on Vanessa, strapping it around her thighs to hold it in place. “There you go.”

  The hum reached Madison’s ears as Vanessa jerked, gasped. Her fingers tightened on Madison’s wrists, while her own grip on the tie constricted, a wordless bond and communication between them. I’m here. We’re together in this, what he’s doing to us.

  As he waited, he propped his hips on the table holding the burners. The typical dim light of the club, intended to promote a mysterious, erotic environment, was enhanced by the flickering light of the candles and burners. The drum-and-flute music was like a male-female counterpoint. From other parts of the club, Madison could occasionally hear a cry, loud enough to be heard over the music. She inhaled the fragrance of the wax burning, the scent of fire itself.

  She’d become part of some sensuous, pagan ritual. The Master was a Druid priest, preparing Vanessa for sexual initiation where she’d belong to a circle of Druids, her sexual energy used over and over for their mystic purposes. Vanessa’s body moved in sinuous response to the vibrator. Her hips lifted, pressed down, her legs shifting restlessly, toes curling. Her toenails were painted a silver-pink, like her fingernails. A tattoo of a vine twined around her left ankle, punctuated by tiny pink flowers.

  Madison swallowed as Vanessa’s grip got brutal. The stimulator must be bringing her close to peak. Her lips parted on a moan. “Master,” she breathed.

  The man appeared absorbed in her erotic response, yet detached from the plea in a way that was indescribably arousing. He was feeding his own pleasure off of her denied need.

  “He’s watching you,” Madison said in a thick voice. “He can’t take his eyes off you.” She would sell her soul to be looked at like that, to feel whatever it was Vanessa was feeling, under his control.

  She’d said it because she couldn’t seem to stop herself, and the panic returned. She thought she might have committed an embarrassing faux pas. Though the Master didn’t lift his gaze from Vanessa, his lips curved, eyes sparking, telling Madison she hadn’t done anything wrong. Vanessa’s response proved it. Her hands convulsed on Madison and her body gave an all-over shudder. She repeated the word, with need and reverence both.

  “Master.”

  He picked up one of the burning candles, and Madison was once again reminded of a Druid ritual, the way his back straightened and his focus increased. Standing over Vanessa, he balanced the candle in his hand so it wouldn’t tip and spill the accumulation of wax burning in the pit below the flame. Not until he was ready.

  Vanessa cried out as the drops landed on her upper abdomen, twitching as he made his way slowly down her center, leaving a trail of pale ivory wax that hit her skin, rolled in different directions and quickly solidified. Madison’s gaze clung to every inch of progress he made toward that juncture between her legs. Her own pussy was throbbing, anticipating, and her thighs pressed together beneath Vanessa’s knuckles.

  “Please . . . tell me . . . when . . .” Vanessa was gasping.

  The Master’s eyes cut toward Madison. Anything she might have said froze in her throat. That look of pure command was as arousing as anything she’d yet witnessed. Ironically, what added to its potency was how it contrasted to the earlier smile, his gentle touch on her cheek. To know that beneath all that, this side of him could surge to the forefront, his true core, taking control of everything around him, made a woman quiver and want to be on her knees to him.

  She found her voice, though it was a rasp of sound among the drums. “He says no.”

  The Master gave a slight nod, his eyes glittering on her a diamond moment before he turned back to what he was doing. Vanessa sighed, helpless acceptance. Several drops later she let out a piercing, needy cry as the wax splashed on her clit, her smooth mound. He’d saved the bulk of what was melted on the candle for that area. As he drizzled it in a spiraling motion, she writhed, called for him again, arched, and her nails bit into Madison’s hand.

  For her part, Madison was motionless, mesmerized, her throat dry. Inside she was quivering as hard as Vanessa, but on the outside she was still as a mouse in a corner. The Master set the candle back on the table, watched Vanessa twist, her hips rolling, tongue darting out to lick her lips. Madison thought he saw everything happening to his sub, head to toe, even if his eyes weren’t on every part of her anatomy. It was as though he was inside her mind, absorbing her every reaction like a form of magical energy in truth.

  “Be still,” he said. Even the music couldn’t compete with the steel command in his low voice. Vanessa obeyed with tremendous effort and little whimpers. She clutched Madison’s wrists.

  He poured some of the liquid wax from the burner into a bowl, stirred it with a brush. Bending over Vanessa, he ran the brush along the outside of her right breast, then her left one. This type of wax didn’t seem to have that first moment of searing heat the other did, because Vanessa didn’t make the involuntary jerk. Instead, under the brush strokes she seemed to melt like the wax. A murmur caught in her throat as he passed over her nipples.

  “Would you like to see what it’s like?”

  Madison looked up, met the Master’s gaze. Did he mean? She couldn’t . . .

  “Turn your palm up so I can put it on your forearm. Vanessa, let go of her right wrist.”

  Vanessa immediately complied. The Master gave Madison a courteous, encouraging nod. The man had as ma
ny faces as the moon. His pleasant tone now wasn’t like the demanding, pure-sex demeanor he displayed when interacting directly with Vanessa. It was as if he stepped out of one room and into another to speak to Madison now. Whereas she’d felt like she was in that room with them for a few, blissful minutes. She wanted back there, but that was a limited invitation, wasn’t it? She held out her arm.

  Oh . . . wow. It was like a heated, damp tongue, the brush running a few inches up her arm before he pulled it away. “Paraffin,” he told her. “It does wonderful things to the mind.”

  Giving her a wink, he returned his attention to Vanessa. He used several different types and colors of wax, alternating between the candle drippings and the paraffin, decorating Vanessa’s thighs, her navel, her breasts. Though he’d left it in place, he’d dialed down the vibrator during all that. Now he turned it off, put it aside and replaced its stimulation with his own fingers.

  “A nice, wet pussy. All wet for your Master, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Vanessa gasped. “Please . . .”

  “Please, what?”

  “I want to come.”

  “Whose wants are important, Vanessa?” His eyes and voice had gone back to flint sharpness. Madison was on the edge of that cliff with Vanessa. Please let her come. She couldn’t take her eyes away from his long fingers, manipulating the fragile flesh between Vanessa’s legs, his knuckles worrying the clit, stroking the labia. From a flex of his arm and Vanessa’s guttural cry, she knew a couple of those digits had disappeared inside her. Madison’s pussy contracted in sympathetic response and need.

  “Yours, Master,” Vanessa said.

  “So what do you want?”

  “I want . . .” Vanessa swallowed noisily. “I want you to want me to come, Master.”

  His smile went feral. “Lucky for you, that’s exactly what I want. Right now. Come for me.”

  It happened that fast. He’d kept her balanced on that pinnacle like a maestro, only a twitch of his wrist needed to send the orchestra into full crescendo. He kept stroking her labia and clit with thumb and forefinger, thrusting inside her with the other fingers, showing off an expert precision and rhythm that said he knew how this woman’s body worked.