Bondage Ranch 4: His Little Tart

by Sindra van Yssel

  Friday night found her standing in her new undies, eyeing her selection of dresses doubtfully. She wasn’t sure that she had anything entirely suitable. A wicked grin formed on her face. If she didn’t, then Alex would have to follow through on her threat.

  And that might be kind of fun. She turned away from the dresses and grabbed a loose pair of jeans. She smirked. She’d wear that with a T-shirt and a sweatshirt over that.

  Hopefully they’d stop when they got to the underwear.

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  She was getting turned on at the thought that they might not.

  The phone rang. She glanced at the number. Ben. That calmed her ardor quickly enough. “Yes?” she asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. Ben would so not approve of what she was doing.

  “Hi, Constance, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  Her mouth felt dry. Not that he often had good news, but how much worse could it be? She had sometimes entertained hopes that he’d made a mistake, that he would call and tell her she was owed a few thousand dollars back or something, although she knew that was silly. Ben was precise. He didn’t make that kind of mistake. “What kind of news?”

  “I just did your quarterly computation. You owe thirteen hundred, twenty-six dollars, and forty-nine cents to the IRS. By Wednesday. I can run over now with the form, and we can get it mailed off first thing in the morning, but you’ll need to write a check from yourself to your business to cover it.”

  All the blood rushed out of her head, and for a moment she felt as if she might faint. That was it, then. She couldn’t write a check for that kind of money. And no bank would loan it to her. She’d owe late fees, at best. She’d have to start selling some of her equipment to pay it off. And then she wouldn’t be able to make all the things she loved to make and that customers loved to buy. She was finished.

  If only I hadn’t bought the underwear.

  But that was silly. The sixty bucks or so she’d spent at Target were not going to make a difference with that sort of bill.

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry?” asked Ben.

  “No. I’ll deal with it in the morning. Not tonight.”

  “But Constance…”

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  “No.” She was going to have one last night of fun. She was going to throw caution to the wind. Then she’d pack up the business and find something else to do. She could get a job in someone else’s bakery. In DC or Baltimore, maybe.

  “What else would you be doing on a Friday night?” asked Ben.

  Ouch. Then she smiled slightly. If only he knew. “I’m sorry; I expect to be tied up for most of the evening.” She barely resisted a giggle. She had a feeling if she started, she’d be laughing hysterically. She wanted to cope better than that. There was no guarantee anyone would tie her up, anyway. But there was a chance. She’d let things happen, whatever happened, this night.

  Especially if Aidan was there.

  “Can I be there at ten in the morning?” asked Ben. He sounded like he was whining.

  “Noon.”

  His sigh was audible. “Fine.”

  “See you then,” she said and hung up before the conversation could continue.

  Either I’ll be well fucked, or I’ll have a god-awful hangover. But something is going to happen tonight.

  She put on her jeans, T-shirt, and sweatshirt and headed out. She was going to turn up the radio loud, open the windows wide, and try very hard not to think about her future. Or lack thereof.

  It wouldn’t be the end of the world to work for someone else, would it? Lots of people did. Most people did. She’d be okay. One thing was for sure, she wasn’t going to marry Ben. If she’d never met Aidan, maybe she’d have considered it, but she had a better idea of what she wanted in a man now. He didn’t have to be big and handsome—although it helped. But she definitely was not interested in going for mousy.

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  She knocked on the Allisons’ door a few minutes before five, carefully balancing a tin of cupcakes she’d made the night before and a long flat pan with some tarts that were ready to pop in the oven.

  Alex answered the door, wearing nothing but a bikini bottom that looked like it was made out of chain mail, although it was golden rather than silver. She had clamps on her nipples and a golden chain that ran from one to the other. Constance almost dropped the cupcakes and tarts, and Alex reached out to try to help and ended up taking them from her.

  Constance followed Alex into the kitchen, surprised that the other woman had said nothing about what she was wearing. She’d half expected to be stripped the moment she walked in the door, but Alex, although nearly naked herself, didn’t seem to even notice. A glance showed her some familiar faces from the weekend before.

  Mistress Sue was lounging on a comfy chair in a red leather dress, her legs crossed and her feet, in high-heeled red spiked boots, resting on the muscled shoulders of a large naked man who knelt in front of her. Bruce was on the couch, running his hands through the honey-colored hair of Laera, who knelt in front of him wearing nothing but a harness made of ropes. Dylan was resplendent in riding pants and boots, an emerald-green velvet frock coat and an ivory silk shirt with a matching cravat. He leaned back in the other comfy chair, and at his feet was a green velvet pillow. Alex’s place, presumably. Only Samantha, of the submissives there, was not kneeling; in a way, her position was more extreme. She stood at the far end of the room, facing everyone, her hands laced behind her neck. She wore a thong and heels, but nothing else, and in her nipples were silver rings with a crystal—or perhaps a diamond—glittering from each.

  Arthur stood next to her, wearing leather jeans and a black ribbed T-shirt that had to stretch to accommodate his muscles. No Aidan. No one, in fact, who wasn’t part of a couple. Constance tried to hide her disappointment.

  In spite of Samantha on display, everyone, except for Sue’s sub, turned to her.

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  “Hey, Constance, hi, hello, good to see you again.” Her mind wasn’t clear enough to make out who was saying what, but it all amounted to the same thing. She tried to smile back, but Samantha’s pose made her nervous, and she was conscious of how very clothed she was. Even Sue was showing a lot more skin. But no one made a move to take her clothes off her. They set her apart, made her not part of the group, and even though she prided herself on her independence, she wanted to be one of the kneeling women. Or even like the displayed one. She wasn’t so sure about the piercings. Were they Sam’s idea or Arthur’s, she wondered? Was that the sort of thing one could be ordered to do? Maybe Arthur had even wielded the needle. The idea scared the bejeezus out of her, but it was hot too.

  Alex slipped by, touching her shoulder lightly as she passed, and knelt gracefully in front of her master.

  “The tarts need to go in the oven,” Constance said. “But y’all will have cupcakes shortly.”

  “Seems like a good time for drinks too,” Arthur said. “Samantha, at ease, and go help Constance with the food.”

  “You too, Laera,” directed Bruce.

  “May I rise?” asked Laera. What, did she expect to be crawling?

  Bruce smiled. “You may.

  Perhaps, Constance decided, it was a ritual they enjoyed. Laera looked so at peace.

  “Thank you, Master.”

  Constance thought she had tasted some of that peace that weekend with Aidan, but it wasn’t the same. It was all intense, and she had felt awkward in a way, because she wasn’t sure she was very good at anything he asked of her. But what passed between Bruce and Laera looked calm and graceful. It was part of their relationship clearly, something they had practiced. She hadn’t thought something like that could last. And yet apparently it had. And Sam and Arthur were married, and Dylan and Alex apparently too.

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  “You help too, Cliff,” Sue said.

  “Mistress?” asked the big man.

  “What, you think serving food is women’s work?” Sue had a dangerous look in her eyes, and Constance was very glad the domme wasn’t looking at her.

  “No, Ma’am.” Cliff got to his feet.

  “You didn’t ask if you could rise,” Sue said with a smirk. “I like the way Laera did that.”

  “But…”

  She reached forward and did something to his genitals. Constance was curious, but on the whole, she was glad she had only a back view. She could hear Cliff’s sharp intake of breath and knew that whatever Sue had done, it wasn’t pleasant.

  “Run along. Constance, since you’re a free woman, feel free to tease the boy. The harder he gets, the more it hurts.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “But he likes it,” Sue explained with a smile. “Don’t you, Cliff?”

  He swallowed visibly. “Yes, Mistress.”

  Laera put her arm around Constance and steered her into the kitchen, for which Constance was grateful. She wished it was just the girls helping, but she didn’t have any control over that.

  “You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to, Constance,” whispered Laera.

  “It’s not your job to torture him. It’s Mistress Sue’s. She’s just sharing if you want.”

  “I don’t.” Physically, Cliff was gorgeous. She could tell that from the back, and she supposed she’d see the front soon enough. A part of her had thought that what attracted her to Aidan so much was his beautiful body; she’d never thought she’d be with a man like that. But obviously, it wasn’t about that. She wouldn’t take Cliff under any conditions. Did she think less of him because he was a submissive?

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  It didn’t make sense, unless she was going to think less of Laera and Samantha too. And she didn’t. But the small, short dom she had seen three months ago appealed to her more than Cliff. Heck, she’d probably take Sue over Cliff, if it came to it, although she didn’t feel particularly sexually attracted to the woman or any other woman.

  Aidan’s physique was a very nice plus, but it was his personality that reeled her in. The way he assumed control, most of all.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” asked Laera. Then she giggled. “Not that I’m concealing a penny anywhere.”

  “What makes me want a dom?” She set the oven temperature and turned it on.

  Samantha got plates from the cabinet to the side, and Laera got a platter and reached for glasses.

  “Why not?” asked Laera. “Maybe it’s who you are.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t like bosses. Never have. I’m running my own business.”

  Into the ground, apparently. Constance tried to push that thought from her mind.

  “I manage a library. Sam’s a hotshot auto mechanic. Doesn’t matter where you’re from.”

  “I think maybe it does, Miss Constance,” said Cliff. Constance turned to look at him. He wasn’t meeting anyone’s eyes; his gaze was directed at the floor, which made it hard to focus on his face. The fact that his cock was in a devilish-looking cage with little spikes on it didn’t help either. Constance stared briefly, even though she didn’t really want to. But yeah, Cliff was definitely a nice specimen physically, in every way.

  “Can you like, look at me if you’re talking?” she asked with irritation, even though she knew it was unfair. He’d probably been told not to or something. She regretted saying it, and she worked on sorting out the cupcakes onto the plates Sam was laying out before her.

  “Um.” Cliff kept looking down.

  Sam laughed. “I’m sure Sue would expect you to obey, Cliff,” she said.

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  Cliff sighed and looked up. “Probably. Sorry, Ma’am,” he said to Constance.

  “I’m not a Ma’am,” Constance retorted. She resented him forcing her into a position of authority she didn’t ask for.

  Cliff shrugged and sighed again. “Yes.” She could tell he was biting back the word, and she clearly had annoyed him, but she still didn’t think it was his right to make her into a domme.

  “What did you mean, Cliff?” asked Laera. “I’m curious.”

  “Well, I think that sometimes the more you’re in control, the less you want to be. I do negotiations, all day long. Look everyone in the face. Make a point of meeting every eye. I have to be tough and try to get the best possible result for my clients. And from what I can tell, most of Sue’s subs are in the same situation. They’re managers, lawyers, negotiators. In-charge people, all day long. And Sue takes that all away. After a session with her, I’m ready to go at it again. But I don’t want to be that person here.”

  Constance frowned. He still didn’t have the right to turn her into a domme. But maybe she didn’t have the right to make him look up or control what he called her—as long as it wasn’t offensive. She didn’t know where the balance lay, but what he said rang true to her. That was it, exactly. That was why she came tonight. She was hoping that Aidan, or someone, if it wasn’t him, would take her away from it all. Take her away from the stress of being on top of things all day long, and of course of her looming tax debt.

  “You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”

  “Thank you.” He looked back down. “Also, if I look up, I see the beautiful topless women, and it hurts.”

  “I thought you liked that,” said Constance. Maybe he had insight on that too.

  “I do, and I don’t.”

  Well, that was helpful.

  “Pain’s a weird thing,” said Sam. “Especially when you mix it with sex.”

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  “Endorphins,” volunteered Laera. “That’s what Master Bruce told me once, and I think he’s right. I’ve done some research. Um, dead time at the desk. It happens with spicy food too. Your body reacts to the pain and produces all sorts of natural opiates, and those make you feel good.”

  “Maybe,” said Sam doubtfully. “But I think that takes time, and sometimes pain can turn me on immediately. And then there’s the whole subject of taking it for someone else. When I was single and lonely”—she turned toward Cliff with a devilish look in her eye, and her voice got husky and slow—“and I’d play with myself, I wouldn’t give myself a lot of pain. Sometimes a little nipple squeeze. But when Arthur gives it to me, it’s something else entirely. I can do stuff when he’s in control. Just like Cliff needs Sue to make that cage thing nice and tight, I’m betting. Am I right?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” said Cliff.

  “Good boy.” Sam looked over at Laera. “Now that I’m married and all, think Arthur will let me have a boy toy?”

  “Not a chance,” said Laera. And she laughed. “Finding your inner domme, are you?”

  Sam shook her head. “I’m not serious. I mean, I understand it more than I used to.

  But it’s not me, and I don’t want to be anyone else. ’Cause I’m the one Arthur is married to, and, well, what other girl has three wedding rings?” She shook her chest, and Laera giggled. “Laugh if you like, but if Arthur keeps flaunting me like this, you could see a rash of piercings. Guys look. Not your guy, Laera. Well, not in anything but that clinical, detached way of his.”

  Was the piercing part of the ceremony? People had seemed so, well, normal at the reception. Nah, couldn’t be. Wouldn’t the bride have been wincing, anyway? That had to hurt. But clearly, Sam was pleased with the results.

  Come to think of it, I saw Sam with her top off at the gathering three months ago, and she didn’t have the rings in then. So even if those are diamonds, they aren’t exactly wedding rings.

  “I’m not worried about Bruce getting ideas. Much. How’s it feel?” asked Laera.

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  “Intense. They’re more sensitive, and I’m reminded of the rings
all the time, especially when I’m leaning over. I imagine it might be worse if I had more up top; I dunno. But I don’t mind being reminded of whose I am. And they don’t hurt—now that I’m used to them.”

  Constance wasn’t sure whether to be sympathetic or jealous. She understood though why Alex hadn’t followed through on her threat. The guys were all attached.

  She certainly didn’t want Cliff taking her clothes off. In fact, she thought she would use a safe word first. Maybe Alex, as a fellow sub, got that. It was still odd being the only woman in casual clothes.

  Sam poured some beer into a mug. “I poured water for Bruce—at least he’s consistent, and I know my Master wants Guinness. But I’d only be guessing on the others. We can run back and grab drinks after we give them their cupcakes. Did you want to help serve, Constance, or just hang out?”

  “Serve, I guess. If it’s all right.”

  “Of course it is,” said Laera. She handed a plate with a cupcake to Cliff. “Go serve your Mistress, and ask her what she wants to drink.”

  “You’re a bit overdressed,” said Sam. Laera frowned at her meaningfully, but Sam didn’t seem to notice. “Seriously. Where else can you hang about in your underwear or naked?”

  “I guess.” She did sort of want to. She certainly didn’t feel comfortable in what she had on.

  “You’re fine,” said Laera cheerfully and shot another glance at Sam.

  “But—I mean, of course you can do what you like, Constance, there’s no one here to give you orders, but—”

  It felt like not having a swimsuit at the beach. Her only reluctance was Alex’s threat and the feeling that she’d been cheated somehow. It wasn’t that the gathering wasn’t interesting. But she had a feeling that any moment now, the fact that she was the only non-paired person was going to be overwhelming. And if that started tears

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  flowing, there’d be no stopping them, and her whole situation would come crashing down on her. She shouldn’t have come.

  “Keep your clothes on,” said Laera firmly.