by Abigail Grey
Marcy knew the fault shouldn’t have been laid entirely at his feet. She hadn’t done her due diligence, either, by checking that he was prepared for disastrous complications. She hadn’t asked around about his style or track record. She’d only thought of those things afterward, when she’d felt the ropes tightening, too tightly, around her arms and had heard the words from his lips, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay in a minute.”
She discarded the bra and slid into the dress. The pattern on the arms masked her scar perfectly. She tugged at the skin-tight lace until it laid perfectly over her thighs and hips. She lifted the high collar, buttoning the delicate fastenings at the back of her neck. She understood now why Jen had wanted to see Lila in it. Turning and peering over her shoulder at the reflection, she saw how the dress was open from where the sleeves hugged her shoulders over the entire expanse of her back, stopping just above the low slung satin straps of her thong panties. From the front it molded like a second skin in a sensual mockery of modesty, but from the back, she felt like pure sin.
Emerging from the large closet, she saw the shocked stares of Jen and Lila. “Oh, awa, you will break their hearts tonight,” Lila breathed.
Marcy smiled, ducking her head shyly at the compliment. She met Jen’s eyes and faltered slightly at the concern evident there. “What is it?” she worried.
“I think I’m giving you David tonight, hon. You’re going to have to beat them off with a stick otherwise.” Jen’s grin appeared, wide and honest. “You look fantastic.”
Snapping her camera up from the counter, Jen clicked a couple of shots from a variety of angles. Marcy blushed as she did, trying to turn her face away from the camera while worrying the inside of her lip with her teeth. She lifted a shoulder, her cheek pressed against it to hide her nervousness.
Jen chuckled quietly. “Yeah. You’re definitely getting David.”
Chapter Seven
Aaron leaned against the wall in the hallway, just at the outer edges of the crowd in the living room, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his pants. Once again he found himself bucking the style set by the crowd—his pants a creamy khaki color and his Oxford shirt snowy white—when the majority of the guests adhered to the classic, sexual nature of black. He tried to stand toward the back, knowing that his height would give him an advantage over the majority of the attendees.
He heard the slap of flesh to flesh. He felt his lips lift in a smirk, watching Jen’s hand descend again. He wasn’t able to see the ass in question but could hazard a guess when he heard Lila’s breathless murmurings in her native tongue. Having seen the exchanges between the two women before, Aaron pushed off the wall to find further amusements.
In the kitchen, he struck up conversation with another Dom he recognized from a workshop they had both attended. At the time, Garrison had been just out of a long distance partnership, and Aaron had been attending as an indulgence to Sara. Still finding common ground in several topics, even after so much time had passed, he lounged against the counter with Garrison, idly watching the comings and goings of other members of their eccentric circle of kinksters. He greeted familiar faces often and noted the new faces out of habit.
“So she just left, huh?” Garrison asked, the neck of his beer bottle braced between his fingers.
“Come on, man. You can’t say it like that. It was hard, okay?” Aaron sighed.
“Oh, I know. It always is.” With a laugh, Garrison continued, “At least you can find company here.” A tip of the bottle directed Aaron’s gaze to the side.
He smirked in appreciation as two girls, one blonde and one red-haired, stumbled by, entirely nude. He could see the glow of good wine in their cheeks as they giggled together about watching a suspension performance.
It had been a few months since Warren and Trevor had asked him to assist with the execution of their regular house parties. Sara’s departure had been difficult for more than just Aaron to adjust to. It had been her connections that had brought him into the fold of the little inner circle and he was thankful to see that her absence didn’t mean his dismissal. There was something oddly comforting about sitting in a playroom furnished in the Mission style, the bare wood and leather adding a classier touch than the vinyl and chrome that seemed to be the tastes of some of the local clubs. The air of companionship and understood secrecy made the house feel safe, even for some of the darkest of appetites.
Aaron nodded to his people-watching cohort, and moved easily through the couples and groups that mingled. He remembered well how to watch his step, never knowing when a kneeling submissive’s fingers might be under foot. He passed the dining room, the table set formally with the gourmet buffet he was sure Trevor had prepared. Watching a graceful arm encased in black lace emerge from the crowd beside the table and lift tongs for shrimp scampi, he scowled slightly, remembering the arguments Trevor and Sara would have about butter versus oil, light cream and heavy, the attributes of certain utensils they favored. He turned away from the foods that he knew would make him think of the past.
The next room, one of his favorites, gave forth his hosts. As Aaron approached the billiards table, Warren smiled. Looking down at his side, he nudged the younger man, who sat in a meditative repose. “Trevor, darling, look who has finally decided to rejoin the world.” The older man’s British accent was diminished by the years he had lived among those he affectionately deemed ‘his rebels’, yet it hadn’t vanished entirely.
Clasping Warren’s hand in greeting, Aaron smiled. “What’s this I hear about you doing hetero porn, old man? Finally crossing over to the dark side?”
Warren guffawed loudly, joined by the chuckles and giggles of those who had overheard. “Well, my dear boy, I just got tired of waiting for you to come to us, so I thought I’d come to you.” The well-natured ribbing fell back into the old patterns as though no time had passed. “Have you come for a game or just to tease an old queen?”
Aaron looked around, seeing few familiar faces in Warren’s current entourage. “If I’m not stepping into someone else’s game, I’d be happy to.”
“I’ll finish beating the shirt off Riley here and be right with you.” Warren turned to his current opponent, a slim and shy pretty face. “Now, Riley, I believe it was your shot.”
Aaron watched the cue line up. He could tell the boy was younger than him, which made him decades younger than Warren. The gleam in the silver fox’s grin, though, indicated that it made no matter in his eyes.
Claiming a seat on the sofa nearest to Trevor, he tipped his chin down in greeting when one of the vivid green eyes opened to peer at him.
“How is she?” Trevor’s question came in his trademark tone of Zen serenity. The white linen pants and tunic he wore made him seem ethereal and untouchable.
With a twist of his lips, Aaron replied, “She hasn’t answered my last email. Last I heard, she was seeing a Dominant in Boston. That was two months ago. I’m hoping it means she’s moved on.”
“A good thing to hope for. She seemed content when I spoke with her a few weeks ago.” Trevor turned his head to evaluate Aaron as he reclined on the heavy Victorian sofa. “And you, Sir? How do the days find you?”
Aaron sighed, finding repeated exasperation in Trevor’s insistence on titling every Dominant he met as ‘Sir’. He knew, from their long acquaintance, that there would be no purpose in arguing the point. “I’m fine, Trevor.”
“I’m sorry to say we were a little shocked to hear from David that you would be joining us this evening. The Master was pleased, though, when the surprise faded. Did you arrive with anyone?” Trevor now turned his body, revealing his innate joy at discovering the newest bits of information about the happenings in their community. Despite Warren’s insistence that they keep themselves above gossip and rumor, Trevor still seemed to retain a small joy at being the center of knowledge.
“Sorry, no. I’m not really on the market right now.” Aaron shifted, lifting one foot to rest it on his knee. At his elbow, a bottled beer appeare
d. He looked up the arm of the woman offering it.
She was dressed in a translucent mesh bodysuit, strategically placed strips of opaque leather designed to retain the level of legal coverage. The neckline dipped low, allowing her generous breasts to threaten freedom with every breath. Her legs were long and she balanced well on the stiletto heels. The blonde hair and blue eyes were pretty enough, but the predatory smile belied the submissive gesture. Taking a glance about the room, Aaron realized she had taken the style of dress to its breaking point. Surrounded by men and women dressed to impress in the subtle nature that many of them preferred, she seemed horribly out of place.
“Marguerite, you are not in service to this house.” Trevor’s Zen-like calm seemed to waver as he addressed the woman without looking at her.
The woman, Marguerite, ignored the comment, possibly unaware of the weight it carried. “Sir? Would you care for a drink? I was instructed to retrieve it for you, as you are without a companion tonight.” She attempted a wide-eyed innocence, gesturing to an arrogant-looking stranger across the room. With a jut of his chin, the man assumed too much. His cross-armed posture and costume—for what else could you call a riverboat gambler’s garb, complete with garters on his sleeves, made in all black—showed him to be the type Aaron avoided for the drama that was sure to ensue.
Covering Marguerite’s hand around the bottle with his own, he pressed it back to her. “Tell your Dominant I am appreciative, but am not drinking at present. Thank you.” Noting that Warren gestured him forth, a shirtless Riley smiling shyly behind him, Aaron excused himself. As he passed the pillow Trevor had adopted for his meditation, he surreptitiously took the congratulatory fist bump from the younger man.
Selecting a cue without the practice of rolling it over the table to ensure its condition, which would have been insulting to Warren’s care of his billiard room, he chalked the tip. “Well, shall we?”
Warren ran fingers through his silver hair, hardly disturbing the style that wouldn’t have dared disobey. “Shall we make it interesting, friend?”
Pleasantly surprised at the label Warren afforded him after his absence, Aaron smiled. “Sure. But remember, you old pervert,” he continued, rounding the table to break, “no matter how badly I beat you, I don’t want to see you naked.”
* * * *
Marcy licked her fingers, savoring the flavors of the scampi. It was so seldom that she indulged in gourmet foods, but she had now tasted Beluga caviar, es durian, and namasu, thanks to David’s urging. As he took her plate, ever the gentleman with her, she allowed her eyes to wander the room.
The richness in the crimson walls made her think dually of calming and of passion. The décor was clearly gathered in the course of Trevor’s culinary education, anecdotes of which David had been regaling her. She had found herself laughing at his stories of the normally cool and collected sub losing his temper in the act of fishing the canals of Burano, Italy.
The stories had their desired effect, giving her temporary respite, but Marcy felt unable to relax into the charged atmosphere. She felt eyes on her from every angle, sure they noted that she attended with a member of their inner sanctum who was openly unavailable to all but his two girls. There seemed to be a breath waiting to be exhaled over her once someone established a claim on this new creature in their midst.
Marcy now understood the complaints of other women in the community. They had implied their status as ‘fresh meat’ or ‘blood in the water’ made them desirable commodities, but tonight, to Marcy, it just seemed predatory and threatening.
David returned, pointing out the woman he had greeted on the way back to Marcy’s side. “See her? She wants people to call her Lady Leather, but I’ll always know her as Evelyn. She does make the highest quality leather products in the area, so I don’t blame her for branding and promoting herself that way. She’s done wonders with floggers and clothing. Oh, she even makes collars. I’ve seen one. Dainty little piece of work.” He gestured with a jerk of his thumb. “Come on. I’ll introduce you, if you like.”
Marcy appreciated the uniform stitches she could see on the bustier worn by the Rubenesque woman. In a day and age that svelte was deemed sexy, Marcy couldn’t understand why this woman wouldn’t be celebrated with that title. She strode with confidence. The pieces she wore were obviously made to show off her more than generous assets. As she circled the table, she tugged a leather lead that was latched to the D-ring of a collar.
“Oh, my God, David,” Marcy whispered in a panic. “We have to go. Somewhere else. Now, please?” Marcy turned her face away from the sight of Nathan, her blind date from the week before, in the collar, harness and leather shorts. She felt her cheeks heating, praying he wouldn’t see her. She had dodged the man’s calls, hedging his invitations with excuses. Her mother was in town, her book club was meeting, she had a previous engagement… He had invited her to an event tonight, as a matter of fact, and Marcy now realized exactly what type of invitation he had been issuing.
“Marce? Are you okay?” David’s hand brushed her arm over her unfeeling scar.
Marcy bolted from the chair, the discomfort suddenly oppressive and unbearable, and strode purposefully from the room. She walked as quickly as her heeled, ankle-high boots would allow. She remembered the assurance of their hosts that the library was considered safe and quiet for all but didn’t know where to find it.
She was sure she’d gotten turned around when she saw Jen and Lila curled up with each other, wrapped in blankets and totally encompassed in the other’s gaze, in the corner of the large living room. The sharp crack of a cane echoed through the room, bringing a hard grunt from the woman who received it. Marcy turned to see the blonde woman bound with cuffs over the curved top of the pony. The mesh and leather body suit was enough to make Marcy shiver in distaste. She watched the cane being lifted again.
Spinning, Marcy again rushed past the dining room, just glimpsing David trying to escape the crowd that separated him from the door, but slowed at the next doorway to peer into what appeared to be the ‘good old boys club’. She watched a man in sinfully soft-looking trousers bend away from her, over the pool table, to take a shot that inspired groans and laughs from the opposing sides of the room. She whirled away, trying the partially closed door of the room across the hall. Finding it dark and quiet, she entered.
A noise from the corner caught her attention. As her eyes adjusted to the light that had been subdued by darkened shades, she came face to face with a nightmare.
Glued to the spot, Marcy stared into the face of the girl whose limbs seemed shrouded in the coils of the rope. The sound had been a soft moan of pleasure. The Top held a hand on the girl’s shoulder as he ran a finger under the ropes constricting her biceps. She saw the answering smile to the gesture, realizing he had been assuring himself that she would have no nerve damage from the shifting of the rope as he manipulated it. He placed a hand at her sternum, taking much of her weight as he tipped her forward, bringing her bound legs off the floor, clipping the pre-tied clasp to their suspension point. The bottom let out a hushed cry as he let her weight settle in the ropes.
Marcy turned away, her eyes catching on the crates and drawers of rope. She idly appreciated their extensive collection as she heard a man hiss with the constricting cock and ball torture tie he received at the rough-looking hands belonging to a bear of a man. The pop of leather drew her attention to a girl, gagged and bound with raw-looking hemp, bouncing in response to slaps of a crop as she straddled a wooden pony. On her knees beside the pony, another girl was being tied into a sleeve, her Top pulling the knots taut in quick succession. The girl, a serene expression on her face, was jerked side to side with the speed and force with which he deftly tied the columns.
Marcy could take no more and fled the room. She tried the doorway across the hall, no longer caring what room she found. She almost cried in relief as she took in all the books surrounding her. She darted to the farthest place in the room, perching woodenly on a window
seat. After a few calming breaths, she turned to the window and stared out over the courtyard behind the house.
A few guests had chosen to avail themselves of the pool, swimming in various stages of undress. A dress billowed behind one swimmer as a companion sat on the edge of the pool, feet in the water and camera raised to capture the romantic drift of the fabric. Marcy could see the preparations for their hosts’ main event being made on the stone patio below her window perch. Candles bordered the circle, casting shadows of mystery and significance over the surface of the brick. Marcy leaned her forehead against the cool glass, drawing her knees onto the cushioned seat, and stared at the stars over the expansive fields of the rural home.
Chapter Eight
Aaron executed a graceful, almost courtly, bow at his host’s request. “You’ve been practicing, Warren,” he congratulated his opponent.
Shaking the offered hand congenially, Warren leaned closer. “If I had known you hadn’t, I would have asked for something much more enjoyable.” The teasing continued as it had throughout their game. Threatened masculinity paired easily with the jokes about the effectiveness of the other’s ‘cue stick’. Aaron realized he had missed the easy friendship Warren, Trevor, David and others had afforded him. He resolved to become one of the regulars again, to renew the relationships.
Aaron turned as Warren clapped loudly. He saw Trevor leave the room and an echoing clap to command attention the way only Warren’s submissive would have dared.
“We would request your presence poolside. Tonight’s festivities shall commence shortly.” Warren left the room, presumably to inform others around the house.
