Enamored

by Shoshanna Evers

  “No.” He looked away. “I’m going to get a drink. Wish they served fucking alcohol here.”

  “Yeah, you need more of that,” Marc joked. With Roman gone, he turned his attention back to Lauren. “I just hope he doesn’t use his toast to declare his hurt feelings and love for Elisabeth again.”

  “I will literally grab the microphone away from him if he does,” she promised.

  “So . . . do you have a date?”

  “Why, are you asking me to go with you?” Damn, she could be blunt.

  Marc grinned. “You know these things are always more fun when we go together.”

  “I didn’t hear an invitation there.”

  “Mistress Lauren, would you do me the honor of being my date for the wedding tomorrow, pretty please with a spanking on top?”

  He held his hand across the booth to her, and she touched it lightly, cocking her head as if thinking about it.

  “Yes, I’ll be your date, since you asked so nicely, even it was a touch last-minute. Ooh, does this mean I get to spank you?”

  They both laughed, since that question had been parried between the two of them since they first met five years ago at this very club, and the answer was always the same, for both of them.

  No. Hell no. They were each too dominant to be over someone else’s knee, even if that knee belonged to the other one.

  LeatherButt tapped her leg impatiently. “You can spank me, Mistress, if it pleases you.”

  She sighed.

  Marc looked down at the sub with amusement, ready to tell him to fuck off, but . . . this could be Marc’s chance to get Lauren to lose a bet.

  “We could double-team him,” he suggested casually.

  Lauren gave him a mischievous smile. “Well, that might make it more fun.”

  “I have an idea that will make it even more fun, but I doubt you’d be up for it,” Marc said, hoping reverse psychology would work for once.

  “Try me.” She leaned forward on the booth.

  “Let’s make a wager. See who can get LeatherButt here to scream first.”

  She laughed. “I’d win. What’s the wager? What do I get when I win?”

  Marc cleared his throat. If she turned him down, at least when Roman came back to the table Marc would have an extra ten grand to play with. “Well, whoever wins gets the other as his . . . or her . . . personal submissive for a whole week. Full-time sub, one week.”

  Lauren gasped and covered her mouth as if she’d never heard such a crazy idea in her life. “You’d actually be willing to be my sub for a week? Let me tie you up and torture you a bit?”

  Marc stood and took Lauren’s hand to help her out of the booth. “I don’t intend to lose. So the real question is, would you be willing to be my submissive for a week?”

  She paused, looking up at him with an intensity he’d never seen before. “What would that involve?”

  “Everything. You’d serve me, you’d live at my place.” Marc wasn’t sure if he could say what he knew he should say, but wagers such as this required full disclosure. “I’d fuck you.”

  For the first time in their friendship, Marc could see a deep blush blossoming up from Lauren’s usually pale breasts, pushed up as they were in her tight vinyl corset. Lauren? Blushing?

  “You’d fuck me,” she repeated slowly, as if to see if he’d back down.

  “Hard.” He couldn’t take it back now, the words were out, the wager on the table. So he may as well play it through.

  “Fine,” she said. “But when I win, you can expect for me to sit on your face for about, oh, two hours. You won’t even be able to say ‘Yes, Ma’am’ by the time I’m done with you.”

  Ah, fuck. He was getting hard again. This was the furthest they’d ever taken their light flirtations. This was getting real.

  “Let’s do it. First one to make LeatherButt the Unbreakable scream.”

  Lauren put her hand out, and they shook hands. Hers were cool as ice and so small they seemed to disappear in his big paw.

  LeatherButt jumped up, setting the soda on the table. “Oh my God. This is amazing. Thank you for letting me be a part of this!”

  Lauren grabbed him by his black leather harness, which left most of his torso bare along with his ass and legs. “Let’s go, sweetheart. And don’t you dare scream for that BAD Boy. You only scream for me.”

  “Yes, Mistress. I would never disappoint you.”

  Marc frowned as he led them to an adjacent room with various torture devices but no door, so the Dungeon Master could peer in if necessary to make sure everything was kosher.

  “That’s cheating,” Marc said. “You can’t rig the game.”

  “Fine.” Lauren pushed LeatherButt hard against the wall, her long red hair shimmering down her back, the ends brushing just above her tantalizing ass. “Listen carefully, slave. Don’t scream at all, until you can’t help it. Don’t fake it for me. I’ll know if you’re faking it and it will ruin the fun of when I truly win.”

  “Yes, Mistress. I won’t make a sound unless I have to. But you’re a goddess, I know it will be you who wins the bet.”

  Lauren smirked at Marc. “I’ll give you one last chance to back out. Unless that hard-on you’ve got going on is because you’re actually looking forward to being my personal sub for a week.”

  He shrugged. “I’m aroused because I like watching you work, I like inflicting pain, which is what I’m about to do . . . and I’m thinking of how I’m going to make you call me Sir as you swallow my come when I win.”

  This time, Lauren didn’t blush. She picked a thin cane from the wall of implements, a vicious punishment indeed. “I’m going to use this on Leather over here first, and later tonight, I’m going to get to use it on you, Marc.”

  “One punishment each,” Marc said, “back and forth, until he screams.”

  “Deal,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Marc with a wink.

  Oh, this better work.

  “Bend over, bitch,” she said to LeatherButt. He draped himself across a black-leather-covered spanking bench and faced the stone wall. “Tell Marc your safeword.”

  “Algebra, sir. It’s what I teach.”

  Marc nodded. “I don’t want you to safeword, I just want you to scream for me, Leather. That’s all. Now take Mistress Lauren’s lick so I can get my hands on you.”

  The cane whistled through the air with a sound that some submissives said was worse than the pain of the cane strike itself, but the ones that said that had never been caned by Mistress Lauren. The strike landed neatly across the sweet spot of his ass and thighs.

  Barely a whimper. Wow, no wonder they called him LeatherButt. That had to hurt.

  “My turn. Maybe this cane just needs some muscle behind it.” Marc turned to Lauren and flexed his tattooed bicep in his usual teasing way, but she didn’t laugh like she normally did at his mugging. This was serious business now, with a lot at stake.

  “Ready to scream?” Marc asked, and waited for the man to nod his consent before he whipped his bare ass with the cane as hard as he could without drawing blood, pulling the stroke back with a flick of his wrist at the last moment.

  Another whimper, but no scream.

  “How are we doing, hon?” Lauren asked the sub. “Green for go or do you need a break?”

  “Green, Mistress. I’d happily stay here all night with you two. This is a dream come true for me.”

  “Let’s try to make it a nightmare.” Lauren set the cane aside and picked up a heavy flogger, the kind with many long strands of suede. Played lightly over a sub’s skin, it felt like heaven. Whipped forcefully, each strand of that flogger would light up his back like a Christmas tree.

  “I’ve got the big flogger, LeatherButt,” she said softly. “I’m going to hurt you now. I’m going to give you so much pain you won’t be able to help bu
t to scream.”

  “Objection,” Marc joked, as if they were in court. “Leading the witness.”

  “Don’t cramp my style,” she laughed, finally. Ah, there was the Lauren he knew. They always laughed together. But this . . . tonight . . . was different.

  Tonight meant everything.

  “Now where was I?” she asked, running the flogger strands through her fingers, letting the intimidating-looking implement hang in front of LeatherButt’s face. “Kiss it for good luck.”

  Marc couldn’t help but notice that the man’s cock was so hard it was barely contained in his miniscule thong, the black material shiny and wet with pre-come as he kissed the whip with relish.

  Lauren stood back, rolled her shoulders, and grinned at Marc before she let the flogger fly, landing across his back with a thud.

  A strangled moan escaped his lips, but no scream.

  “Damn,” she muttered. “I bet if I could do that twice in a row I’d get my scream.”

  Marc raised his eyebrows. “That’s not how the game works. But if you want to change the rules, go ahead. You have my permission. Flog him again, and then it’s my turn.”

  At this, Lauren laughed and raised her eyebrow. “I knew it! You really do want to be my slave for a week, don’t you? You love the idea of me winning so you can pretend to your buddies that you had no choice but to finally submit to me.”

  She raised her arm but Marc grabbed it mid-air. “No. Let’s make this very clear. I’m going to win, and I want to win. I also don’t want you thinking I had some sort of unfair advantage since I’m so much bigger and stronger than you.” He stood over her, staring into her amazing blue eyes. “You can whip him again, and then I’m going to win. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” The words “Yes, sir,” sounded like they almost rolled off her tongue, but were bitten short at the last moment.

  Roman had said that every woman had a little bit of a submissive streak in her. But Lauren? If he could only bring it out of her . . .

  Marc let go of her arm, and she shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, to psych herself up. She bounced in her stilettos, her breasts rising and falling in a most mesmerizing way.

  With that, she brought the flogger up and slammed it on Leather’s back in almost exactly the same place she’d lit up before.

  He gasped, but did not scream.

  Marc smiled. “My turn.”

  Lauren handed him the flogger, her face unreadable. But instead of flogging him again, Marc set the implement aside and looked carefully across the shelf of devices before settling on the one he’d been hoping to have a chance to use all along.

  The Violet Wand.

  The violet wand was made of purple plastic and had a long electrical cord that Marc plugged in to the wall outlet near the spanking bench. Lauren’s eyebrows shot up with concern.

  Probably because she knew that this, if nothing else, would do the trick.

  Marc gently attached a glass mushroom-shaped conductor to the wand and turned it on high. A purple neon glow in the dim light radiated from the wand.

  “Turn around, Leather, and kneel on the floor.”

  The sub did as he was ordered, his body already shivering with anticipation.

  “Are you green to go?” Lauren asked him, checking in.

  “Yes, Mistress. Yes, sir. I’m scared.”

  Marc nodded at him. “Pull down your thong so Mistress Lauren can see how hard you are for this.”

  LeatherButt’s hands trembled as he pushed his black thong down his thighs, freeing his naked cock.

  “You don’t have to do this, you can safeword,” she reminded him.

  Marc let her talk, because he wasn’t about to give someone a shock who wasn’t willing. But LeatherButt’s erect cock, dripping with pre-come, said it all.

  “I’m good, sir. You can violet wand me.” His voice was shaky with desire.

  Marc kneeled on one knee in front of the sub and grinned. “Let’s watch the sparks fly, then.”

  He pressed the conductor tip close to, but not quite touching, the man’s cock and a spray of tiny purple sparks flew between the glass conductor and Leather’s cock. The smell of ozone filled the air, that after-lightning scent that reminded Marc of stormy weather.

  And LeatherButt screamed, a high-pitched, unearthly scream, and climaxed, his come shooting straight out and hitting the cement floor with a satisfying splatter.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” he moaned, cupping his cock in his hands. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

  Marc turned off the wand and set it aside.

  Then LeatherButt looked up at Lauren with fear in eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mistress Lauren. I couldn’t help it.”

  “Clean up,” she ordered, and pointed to his come on the floor. “Marc and I have some talking to do.”

  She grabbed Marc’s arm and tried to pull him out of the room, but Marc stood still, not letting her budge him. “There’s nothing to talk about, Lauren. I won. And you’re mine.”

  Chapter Two

  Lauren felt a shiver of desire run through her at his words. You’re mine. Whoa. Was this really happening? She followed Marc as if in a daze to a quiet corner of the club.

  “Marc,” she whispered, “this could change everything. Our friendship is one of the few things I value most. What if we destroy it over one stupid bet?”

  He stared down at her, his warm brown eyes softening. “If you had won, would you have let me back out?”

  The mere thought of Marc, gorgeous, perfect Marc, kneeling before her as he kissed her boot had gotten her so wet with desire when he suggested the bet that she hadn’t thought it through as thoroughly as she should have.

  Instead, she just assumed she’d win.

  “No,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have let you back out.”

  “Well,” Marc said, caressing her cheek. He’d never touched her cheek before, so sweetly, like a lover. They’d always been just friends. What would happen if he made her come live at his penthouse for a week, as his submissive? She didn’t even know if she could be submissive, if it was even possible.

  “Please, Marc,” she whispered, but she wasn’t sure what she pleaded for. For more caresses? A kiss? To be let out of the wager, or to be forced to follow through?

  Marc smiled. “Please, sir. For the next week, if you are my submissive, you call me sir.”

  “If I am your submissive? Does that mean there’s a chance this won’t happen after all?” Lauren gazed up at him, unable to deny her attraction to him, to his muscular, tattooed body, and to his firm voice.

  “Lauren, our friendship means everything to me. But I’m going to make a confession now. I’ve been fantasizing about dominating you ever since we met. I can’t help it . . . when I see a beautiful woman, I want to see how much more beautiful she looks tied up underneath me.”

  Her face felt overheated. Marc thought she was beautiful? He’d never told her that before. Then again, she’d never told him how hot he was either. It just wasn’t how they were together. They teased, they joked, they never . . . confessed.

  “I’ve fantasized about you too,” she said. “But in my fantasies, I was always on top. I’m a Domme, Marc. How will I submit to you?”

  “I’m going to let you out of our wager,” he said, running his hands down her hair, smoothing it, letting his fingers linger for a moment on the top of her ass where her hair ended. “I’d never force you to do something that wasn’t consensual.”

  Lauren gasped in surprise. He was letting her go—just like that? “If you’re letting me out of the bet, then why make it in the first place?”

  “Anything for you,” he teased. “Even soda.”

  “Come on, really.”

  “Part of me thinks you have a submissive side, deep down. Maybe not toward most people, but what if you could let me, g
ood ol’ Marc, dominate you? What if this week together opens up something new for us?”

  She’d never thought of it like that before, that a person could be dominant to some, submissive to others. It made sense, she supposed. Many of the male submissives she played with were high-powered CEOs who dominated their entire lives, and just wanted the stress-relief of having everything taken out of their hands and placed into hers.

  Lauren had never experienced that—she was always in charge. No husband to answer to, no boss to tell her what to do. Her money came from tributes paid to her on a strictly voluntary basis by some of her wealthier playmates. They had her PayPal address and her Amazon wish list, so she had everything she could ever want.

  Even her one-bedroom apartment, small but sufficient—and still wickedly expensive, as were all apartments in Manhattan—was paid for by an Arab sheik who only came to visit once a year on business, at which point he paid her landlord up front for the year. He’d been doing it since he first visited the club and found her years ago, before she’d even met Marc or the BAD Boys.

  Her Arab sheik didn’t even want sex. His only request was to be bound and beaten until he bled; it was cathartic for a man with that much power, she supposed.

  Marc knew of the arrangement, and while he used to tease her about it, he never seemed jealous. He had his subs, she had hers. Being a Domme for a living gave her as much time as she needed to indulge in meeting playmates at WhipperSnapper or hanging out with Marc and the guys.

  Lately she’d been spending a lot of time with Elisabeth, Trevor’s fiancée, as well. Her first female friend. It was nice, having a girlfriend to chat with or play tennis with, especially since Elisabeth really needed to practice her game. Apparently she had never even picked up a racquet before she met Trevor.

  Could she do what Elisabeth did for Trevor? Could she submit to Marc? “I could try,” she finally said. “I could try to submit, to let you take the reins. I’ve never . . . I’ve never not been in control before.”