MistressMine

by Samantha Cayto

  “Dude, you’ve got a card for what, a hotline?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a number, is all. You telling me you didn’t do this?”

  “I swear I know nothing about a card. Sounds like someone from the club last night slipped it to you, maybe when we squeezed by people to get out.”

  “Maybe.” Trey couldn’t keep the skepticism out of his voice. It didn’t make any sense. Who else besides Mike had any idea of Trey’s submissive inclination? It didn’t matter. “Okay, I guess I have to trust the guy who covered my ass in Kandahar.”

  “Damn straight.” Mike paused. “So, what are you going to do with the card?”

  Suspicion pricked again. “I’m throwing it away. Why, what do you think I should do, call the damn number?” The pressure of facing his sexual orientation took its toll. He couldn’t keep the anger and frustration out of his voice.

  “No, no,” his friend soothed. “I didn’t say that. Who knows what kind of weirdo might answer. I don’t want to have to dumpster dive for your body parts.”

  Trey squeezed the bridge of his nose, pulled himself together. “Yeah, right, sorry, dude. I need to chill. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Same back at you.”

  Trey ended the call and stood still, staring at nothing for long moments. He did need to pull himself together. It’s not as if he’d realized he was a cannibal or anything. He didn’t need to hook up with a woman right away, either. There were limitless fantasies to be lived through the images on the internet. The night before had proved that. But he couldn’t let sex get in the way of duty. Ignoring the lure of his computer, he tossed the card in a trashcan and went back to cleaning. A couple of hours later, he decided the place was clean enough and sat down at his desk.

  As soon as he reached for the mouse, his hand touched the business card. Eyebrows raised, he picked up what he was sure he had thrown away. “What the fuck,” he muttered. Maybe Mike was right, he was having some kind of mental breakdown. Could he have subconsciously picked this thing out of the trash? Was it possible he never threw it away in the first place, only thought he had? Well, those were the only two options. Either way, the possibility of the woman of his dreams only a phone call away intrigued him. He spent a few more seconds wrestling with his saner half before picking up the phone and dialing the number.

  A male voice answered on the first ring. “Thank you for calling 1-800-DOM-help. This is the Operator. How may I be of assistance?”

  Okay, not what he was expecting. It was like calling Judy at Time-Life for a magazine subscription. A bit stunned, Trey didn’t know what to say.

  “How may I be of assistance?” The man persisted in a calm, yet firm, tone.

  “I’m not sure.” Having found his voice, Trey still didn’t know how to respond.

  “Are you a Dom or a sub, sir?”

  “I-I am a sub, a submissive looking for a Domme.” Wow, as hard as it was to admit it, saying what he was and what he looked for out loud lifted a weight that had been crushing him slowly to death. “I’m not sure how to go about finding the right woman,” he added, emboldened, now.

  “I understand. I see that you are calling from Boston. Please write down the following address. You will find a club called Unfettered at that location. You will find what you need at the club.”

  Trey stared at the address. If accurate, it put the club inside what was known as the Leather District. Nice touch, he supposed, although the name of that area of Boston was tied to old factories, not fetishes. It surprised him to learn that Boston had a BDSM club at all. Massachusetts laws frowned on even consensual sadism. This had to be a very private club, and if it wasn’t, the last thing he needed as a law enforcer was to be picked up in a raid.

  “Um, can I go there without an invitation?”

  “You just received one.”

  “I see. When is it open?”

  “Whenever you want it to be.”

  Trey was skeptical. “Tonight?”

  “Do you want it to be open tonight?”

  “Yes.” Maybe.

  “Then it will be open tonight,” came the mild retort.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The line went dead before Trey could ask anything more. He stared at what he had written down the same way he had stared at the card earlier. It all seemed so unreal. Yet, the idea of going to the club made his heart beat faster, part fear, part arousal, a testament to his ambivalence. His cock had no such qualms. It was hard and pulsing with need. Shit, he had to go. He had to at least try this lifestyle. So what if he didn’t know what to expect? So what if the club might prove weird or even dangerous? He was a combat soldier and an FBI field agent. He walked into the unknown and the dangerous all the time. Like all those other times, this was a matter of doing what was right, a matter of life and if not death, at least a matter of happiness. His happiness for the rest of his life. If he didn’t at least explore this side of him, he would die regretting it.

  Resolved to try the club that very night because, hey, the guy said it would be open tonight if he wanted it to be, there remained one question left, one that he had never pondered before in his life. “What the hell do I wear?”

  Chapter Two

  Juliette Coyne stood inside Unfettered’s reception area and took a furtive, deep breath to steady herself. It was a Sunday night, for God’s sake, a quiet time with few people lounging about. It was in fact the perfect time for her to test getting back in the lifestyle with a new sub. Any man hanging out at this time of the week looking for a Domme would be eager and perhaps not too experienced. The guys already active in the life were probably home recovering from taxing Friday and Saturday night scenes with their Dommes. She reminded herself that she had no expectations. She was merely there to check out the new club a friend had recommended. She wasn’t even sure who had slipped her the hotline card. All she knew was that it ended up in her purse and the man who answered her skeptical call had led her to this place.

  It certainly had promise. The reception room was spacious and comfortable looking with its large, chairs and low lighting. Several halls branched off the main area to what could only be the play chambers. Her clit tingled at the idea of what she could do in a new dungeon with a new sub, although she hadn’t come to play necessarily that night. She had dressed in street clothes, in fact, wearing black slacks and a casual jacket of the same color. Her blouse was red satin, yet modestly cut to expose only a hint of her breasts. Even her shoes were fairly sensible sling-back pumps with two-inch heels. The only outward sign of her sexual orientation was the black and red suede flogger dangling from her left wrist. It was a beautiful tool, hand-made with alternating colored lacing up the handle. It was her favorite, notwithstanding the rather delicate nature of suede.

  Holding it, allowing it to swish gently against her leg, centered her and reminder her that she was a Domme. It was long past time for her to shake off the effects of her last sub, Tom. He had been a pretty, young and clever boy who had topped her from the bottom with subtle brilliance simply because he could. The secret power play had given him greater satisfaction than a true Domme/sub relationship would have, and she had trusted him enough to miss what was happening before he messed with her head and her confidence. She closed her eyes to block out the sudden memory of the worst of it, the night she had begun to doubt her ability to dominate and to do so safely.

  “Red!”

  The safe word tore out of Tom’s mouth, piercing Juliette’s cloud of pleasure. She froze, the dildo strapped around her hips seated fully inside her sub’s ass. “What, what’s wrong?” she demanded, her heart racing with fear. This was the third time in a month that Tom had used his safe word. What had she done wrong? She had been so careful before introducing pegging to their play.

  “Take it out,” he begged. “It hurts too much. Please, Mistress.”

  As carefully as she could, she eased out of him. Her fingers cares
sed his ass cheeks in a motion meant to soothe, while her eyes looked for blood or any other sign that she had damaged him unintentionally. God, there was no worse offense for a Domme than to be careless with her sub. If she had truly hurt him this time, there was no forgiveness, at least she would not forgive herself. She sighed with relief when she saw nothing wrong and released him from of his restraints.

  Tom collapsed in her arms and hugged her tight. “I’m so sorry, Mistress. I try to submit to you always, but I’m not strong enough to take everything.”

  His words of contrition clawed at her heart and her conscience. It wasn’t his job to endure more than he could handle. It was her duty to give him only what he could. She had screwed up, again. What was wrong with her?

  Gently brushing aside a trickle of tears from the corner of his eyes, she said, “No, I’m the one who is sorry, so sorry. I’ll take better care of you, I promise, if you’ll let me.”

  “Of course, Mistress. I want you, I trust you.”

  She had missed that night the look of triumph that she knew he must have sported. Instead, she had scaled down their play, questioning her own moves, asking him at every turn if he was okay with what she did. Bit by bit, losing her confidence, losing her own joy in dominating. It had taken her months to catch the cocky, furtive grin he wore whenever he got his way, to realize how she was being played. Confronting Tom and breaking with him had been easy, fueled as it was by her rage. Many months more were needed, however, for her to recover her confidence. She was a good Domme. She knew how to take care of a boy properly. Tom had been an anomaly. She told herself that and she believed it, mostly. There was a part of her still that was unsure. Finding a new boy to play with, an older one, though, more mature, perhaps to introduce to the lifestyle would banish the last of her lingering doubt forever. She wasn’t looking for a guy to commit to. This was all about having fun.

  “Good evening.” A woman who could have been Juliette’s sister given her slender build, long black hair and blue eyes, stepped in front of her and greeted her with a smile. “Welcome to Unfettered. I’m Dru, the manager.”

  Juliette looked down at the other woman because even with short heels, she towered over the petite manager. “Thank you,” she smiled back. “I’m Mistress Juliette.”

  Dru inclined her head. “I can assume, then, you are looking for a boy to play with this evening.”

  “Perhaps. I’m in the market for someone untrained.” Someone who hopefully wouldn’t have had a chance to develop bad habits and manipulative ways. “I don’t suppose this club sees many of those.”

  “As a matter of fact, there’s someone here tonight who would fit the bill.” Turning slightly, Dru nodded her head toward a man sitting at the far end of the bar.

  Juliette had missed him in her first glance of the room. His age from that distance was hard to determine, although he appeared to be in his early thirties. Damn, younger than she by a good seven years or so, although not as young as Tom had been. Thirties was okay, she reasoned, a mature decade for men. His hair was short and dark. He was dressed in jeans and a dark colored t-shirt and what appeared to be sneakers. As slouched over the bar as he was, his legs still looked long, implying height. His body certainly appeared lean and hard. His gaze was focused on the glass in front of him, his expression neutral, conveying a sense of “I don’t give a fuck”. To most people, the man screamed alpha male, and therefore, Dom. She knew better. Her body went on high alert at the sight. Her nipples hardened against her shirt and wetness seeped into her nether lips.

  She grasped her flogger, her fingers itching for action. “Are you sure he isn’t waiting for someone?” Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears. She glanced at Dru and the other woman smiled.

  “I didn’t say that. He’s definitely waiting for a woman to help him be the man he is.” With that cryptic response, the manager turned and walked away.

  Juliette stared after her, waging an internal battle. When she had left her condo, she had told herself she was only going to check out the place and the people. Wade in a little to test the waters. She was not prepared to start something with a new boy. Still, the man intrigued her. Strong, overtly masculine, the kind of man who liked to be in charge, except that when she commanded, he would obey. She suppressed a moan at the thought. Nothing aroused her passion as much as a powerful man submitting to her will. She couldn’t pass by this opportunity. If she let him go, some other Domme would snatch him up in a flash. It didn’t have to be forever. Hell, it didn’t have to be more than this one night. She had to take this first step before her fear made it impossible to take any step at all.

  Determined to move on with her life, Juliette sauntered toward the bar.

  Trey sensed the pair of eyes boring into his back before he became aware of soft footsteps coming toward him. His gut tightened along with his cock, although he couldn’t tell why. Somehow he knew he was about to get what he had been looking for since entering the club. Not knowing how a submissive went about hooking up, he opted for the obvious choice of sitting down and waiting for a Domme to come to him. It seemed like the right thing to do, except now that someone approached him, he felt a little like a cornered animal. Slowly, he turned on his stool and looked behind him.

  Surprise hit him first. There was a woman coming his way, her gaze locked on his. But this wasn’t the kind of woman he had expected in a fetish club. Her clothes were casual business attire, her long hair pulled back in a braid of some sort. Other than a hint of shiny red beneath her jacket, there was nothing overtly sexual about her. Somehow the simple attire made her more commanding, more interesting. And then there was the matter of the flogger she held. Mesmerized, he stared at it swinging in time with her gait. Blood pooled farther into his groin, his cock swelled to an even harder length. He fought to steady his breath as he watched her come closer and closer.

  The woman stopped in front of him and cocked her head. “Stand up.”

  The order surprised him. No, “hi, my name is” or any other pleasantries to break the ice. No effort to discern his interests. Shit, maybe his submissiveness was obvious to this woman. He was new to all this, though, and he wasn’t sure he liked being ordered about without so much as a by-your-leave. The woman continued to stare at him, an unreadable expression on her face. She clearly expected him to comply, so he did. No point in coming to the club if he wasn’t willing to give it, whatever it was, a try.

  Sliding off the stool, Trey stood in front of the woman, looking down at her. She was tall, maybe five eight, but at six three, he was taller. Having the height advantage put him more at ease. The way the woman looked him up and down, as if assessing his worth, made him want to squirm. He fought to remain still. He had his pride, after all. Let her look. He knew she wouldn’t find him wanting. When her scrutiny slid to his groin and lingered there, he suppressed a grin. He definitely had a package to be proud of.

  Her gaze swept up. He stared back and made his own assessment. Fair was fair, and man, was she ever fair, make that pretty. Light, creamy skin with deep blue eyes set in an oval face. There was a hint of fine lines around her eyes showing maturity. He figured she was about forty. Perfect for him. He wanted experienced and he wanted a woman he could talk to when they were done fucking. Her pale pink lips pursed.

  “Eyes down.”

  What? No way. He wanted to get a good look at her, too, before they started to play. When he continued to look back at her, she tsked. “Sorry, my mistake.” She turned to walk away.

  Shit! “No, wait, please,” he blurted out before he could question the wisdom of it. Reaching out, he touched her arm briefly before snatching it back. Way to look like a predator or a loser. Besides, the big bouncer, Hayden, had stepped into view when Trey called out. The man was not going to allow any trouble. Trey held up his hands in surrender, but the other man didn’t look away again until the woman nodded.

  She pivoted back with raised eyebrows. She slid the strands of her flogger idly through one hand. Sil
ently she stared until he did as she had commanded, he lowered his gaze to the floor. “Good,” she said in a clipped voice. “Now, hands behind your back.”

  This time, he hesitated only a second before complying. At least the stance was familiar. He acted as if he were at parade rest. “I’m sorry,” he said, not sure that speaking was the right thing to do. “I’m new to all of this. I’m going to need a lot of patience I’m afraid.”

  Her shoes came into view. “I’m a very patient woman, but if we’re going to play together, you’re going to have to give me control and you’re going to have to trust me.”

  Trey swallowed audibly. It was hard to breathe, his chest was so tight. But his balls were tight against his body, too, a testament to how aroused he was. “It’s going to be difficult for me. I’m used to being in control.”

  “I know,” she replied in a silky voice that raised the hairs on his arms. “I can tell that about you. It’s what I find appealing.” She ran a single finger down one of his arms. He shivered at the touch. “So much strength. I’m going to enjoy your submitting it to me. You are going to submit to me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His reply came out in a low tone, almost a whisper. The blood was churning within him so hot and fast, he could barely speak.

  “Ma’am is fine, so is Mistress, or even Domina, if you’d like. My name is Juliette, and if you are very good, I may let you call me that. Now tell me your name.”

  “Trey.”

  His voice was as smooth as sipping whiskey with a hint of southern in the tone. The sound of it electrified her body. Her blood raced to swell those parts of her that evidenced her arousal. She wanted to grab him by the belt and shove him into a room to start his training. It was the most excited she had been in months. Yet, caution stilled her movements. On the surface, this was exactly the kind of man she searched for. His response to her in the few seconds they had interacted told a different story. He was reluctant to submit to her. Even standing as she had commanded, he appeared a warrior ready to take command himself. Not surprisingly, he showcased military training, his back ramrod straight. Given the shortness of his hair and the perfection of his hard body, she figured he was either still in the military or newly mustered out. Either way, the notion sent her desire into overdrive. Military men had always been her fantasy.