She cocks her head. “Sorry what?”
“Sorry, Mistress?”
A contented sigh leaves her. “You’re forgiven, because you’re so fucking sweet, but do it again and I’ll beat your ass so hard you won’t sit without remembering to be on time.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I whisper, as tears well in my eyes. I fight to hold them back.
“Subs, right?” she says to the security guard.
He laughs derisively and allows us to pass. “Have a good evening, Mistress Violet.”
“Oh, it’s bound to be wonderful now, though nothing about it could be called good.” Mistress Violet glides down the stairs. The neon lights catch the color of her hair as she passes, creating a purple crown on top of her head when she turns back. “Come, my sweet. We have some things to discuss before we play.”
She opens the door on a dimly lit hallway. I swallow hard, and follow her down the stairs and into the club, careful to stay slightly to the right, the way a submissive should. The way my Master taught me to.
Around us, people stand in the hall, chatting, but they move out of the way for Mistress Violet. I know I should keep my eyes cast down at the ground, but I can’t. There’s too much to take in. Scantily-clad bodies are everywhere, some clothed, and some not. In the room to the right of the hall, there appears to be a performance space, and the bench seats lining the walls are filled with men and women watching the scene on the stage. Not everyone watches though. Some are busy fucking, some are kissing, and some are bobbing up and down on their Master’s cock as he ignores them to watch the show.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mistress Violet’s voice echoes in my ear, and it’s only then that I realize I’ve stopped in the middle of the hall instead of following.
“I’m sorry.”
“Never apologize for being curious, my sweet. But come. The Boss must decide if you’re worthy of a seat at our table, since you decided to forgo our heavy vetting process.”
She walks to the end of the long hall and pushes open a door without knocking. A man with grey hair and a sharp suit reclines in a chair by the window. In front of him is a young man on his knees. He has a jeweled butt plug in his ass, a fuzzy headband with puppy ears, and a pink collar around his neck. The man’s fingers are hooked in the studded, bejeweled leather as he urges his sub up and down on his cock. He lets out a gruff sigh, half frustration and half desire. “This better be good, Violet.”
“Pardon the intrusion, but we have an intruder of our own to deal with. I found her out the front, trying to convince Tony to let her enter.”
The sub carries on with his task, and I watch with rapt attention as heat and desire pool between my legs. If I had worn panties tonight, they’d be soaked.
“So? People try to gain access to my club every night. Why should I care about one more?” He thrusts his hips forward, and the younger man grunts.
“Oh, Atticus, put your dick away for five seconds and look at her face.”
“That’s enough, puppy,” he commands, and his puppy obeys with a whine. He gives the young man a soft smile, and whispers, “Aren’t you going to bury your bone?”
The boy hurries to tuck Atticus’ appendage back in his pants, which earns him a pat on the head. “Good boy. Now, Violet, what are you talking about?”
He crosses the room toward us, and studies my face. Realization dawns on his handsome features. I’m aware I’ve become a household name thanks to the media, the poor little ballerina stolen, captured, raped, and trained as a sex slave. I understand why my father wanted me to stay in the Hudson Valley, because at his house, he could protect me from prying eyes, and protect his good name in the process. Atticus doesn’t look at me with pity. He just cups my cheek and searches my gaze. What he finds there, I have no idea. Desperation, perhaps?
“It’s a risk.”
“It is.” Violet’s heels click on the floorboards as she moves closer. “But one I believe is worth it.”
“Why did you come here, little ballerina?”
I meet his eyes and say, “Because I need it, Sir.”
“What do you need?”
“The pain, the pleasure. I need to be fucked, to be beaten. I need a master.”
“And what happened to your old master?”
My breath catches in my throat, and the floodgates open. “He . . . he let me go.”
“So beautiful, and so broken.” He sighs and wipes away the tears from my cheeks. Behind me, Mistress Violet rubs circles on my back.
“We could fix her together.” She rests her head on my shoulder, and Atticus leans down and chuckles, kissing the top of her forehead. “My wife has a way of bending the will of even the strongest of men.”
Wife?
“You’re married?” I whisper, and then grimace as I expect a blow from either one or both. Ares never allowed me to ask questions.
Atticus frowns. “We won’t beat you for asking questions.”
“Not unless you ask us to.” Violet’s hot breath on my ear sends a frisson of excitement through me.
Atticus takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through his nose. “So, my wife wants to keep you.”
“Finders keepers,” she whispers, and sinks her teeth into my earlobe. I gasp. My head tilts of its own volition, affording her better access. Her hot mouth trails wet kisses along my neck, and she darts out her tongue and licks all the way up to my cheek. “She’s delicious.”
Atticus gives his wife a fond smile. “And you haven’t even tasted her cunt yet.”
“I bet it’s just as sweet.”
“Darling, you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Atticus warns.
His wife makes a harrumphing sound and she straightens beside me, her lipstick still perfect even after the assault on my neck.
“What’s your name, little ballerina?”
Pet.
I open my mouth to say as much, but he can’t call me that. Only my Master gets to call me by that name. “Camille.”
“Camille, that’s right. You’d think I would remember, given how hard the media are flogging your story.” He takes a deep breath and turns to the young man on the floor, eagerly waiting right where his Master made him. “Puppy, fetch Camille a drink.”
“Yes, Daddy,” the boy says. He couldn’t be more than eighteen, and he hangs off every word that comes from Atticus’ mouth.
Puppy rises and walks with his head bent low to a drink trolley against the far wall of the room. He takes a clean glass and pours a rich amber liquid from a decanter. Then he hands it to me and scampers back to his bed on all fours.
“Thanks.” I gulp the whiskey. I’m desperate for the liquid courage, and I finish it because I’m afraid if I don’t, they’ll take it from me too soon. Ares never let me drink.
“Go on upstairs, Puppy. It’s late, and all good boys should be in bed.” Puppy crawls to Atticus’ feet and whines. “Now.”
If Puppy actually had a tail, it would be between his legs. He crawls to the door, reaches up, and exits on two feet and not four.
“Have a seat, Camille.” Atticus sips his own whiskey from a glass on the desk in front of him. “There’s a lot to discuss.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Violet and Atticus exchange a look, and I stare at their feet because I’m too nervous to meet their eager gazes.
Atticus leans against his desk. His arms folded and one ankle crossed over the other. He’s the picture of calm, but I’ve always found looks to be deceiving. Especially when a Dom is involved. “What can you tell us about your abduction?”
My hackles go up. “Nothing.”
“You understand we’re not asking because we want the sordid details. Violet and I merely want to discuss what you’re willing to do, what you’re not, and what your hard limits are.”
“Oh.” I shoot him a sheepish smile. I’m so used to everyone asking questions, and I’m just as accustomed to shutting them down. “My Sir, he . . . he forbade me to talk about it.”
“I re
spect you following your Sir’s wishes, however, if you choose to be a part of our lives, our club, our sub, we will still need to understand what you’re comfortable with.
I frown. “Choose?”
They share another look, this one uneasy.
“That’s right,” Violet says. “Camille, there’s nothing I’d like more than to see you on your knees, but it will be a choice. Whether you kneel or not is up to you. Everything Atticus and I do with you will be safe, sane, and consensual.”
Consensual. Ares never asked. He just took, took, took, until there was nothing left to take. Until he sent me away.
I nod, and this time I don’t hold back my tears.
“Please, Sir, can we keep her?” Violet whines. I snap my head up to look at her. Violet is no sub. I would not have had that reaction to her outside if she were. They seem oblivious to my confusion. “She’s so sweet, it breaks my heart.”
“You called him Sir. Why?”
“Because he is my Sir. He is my husband, and my Dominant.”
“But the security guard outside called you Mistress Violet.”
“I’m a switch, sweetheart.” Her words are confident, not cocky, or condescending. Her tone is laced with contentment. “I can be sub or Dom, and I love both in equal measure.”
“And you? Are you a switch?” I ask Atticus.
A low chuckle resonates through the room. “No, dear one. I don’t kneel for anyone.”
“It’s true. He doesn’t. He would look rather nice on his knees though, wouldn’t he?”
I smile despite my tears.
“You don’t need to make a decision right this minute. Go home, think about it. Or you can stay for the evening’s festivities. It’s your choice.”
I don’t want it to be my choice. There is no freedom in choice—not for me.
“Camille, your comfort in my club will be our main priority. If you choose to return and take my lovely wife up on her offer, then we will need a list of ground rules and expectations. I want to know what you like, what you loathe, what you expect from us, and exactly what you need. For tonight, I’d like to know how you feel about spanking?”
I close my eyes, draw in a sharp breath, and remember all the ways Ares spanked me. At times I hated it, like when he put me over his knee in those first few days, spanked me raw, and made me come afterwards. The smarting flesh, the utter despair and humiliation I felt at the abuse, and then shame for coming. I’d hated him for it, for all of it. Then I think of the flogging and the copper-infused rope he’d tied me with in Texas’s dungeon when I’d told him I loved him. How my whole body had been electric with his touch and the use of a body-contact probe, and how each blow from the leather had set my soul all aflame.
“I love it,” I blurt.
Violet claps excitedly.
“Darling,” Atticus warns.
“I’ll go slowly.” She rolls her eyes.
“I’m going to put you over my knee for that later.”
I suck in a sharp breath, and they both turn to look at me. “May I . . . may I watch?”
They share a look, and I lose all my courage.
“Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“Would that make you feel at ease? If I spanked my wife in front of you?”
I glance at Violet. This is not a decision I can make lightly. If I say yes, I’m ensuring she gets a beating. Then again, Ares never would have let me get away with such a blatant display of disrespect.
Violet’s smile is mischievous and daring. She wants this. She wants to be spanked by her husband in front of me. I look at Atticus and nod.
“Very well.” Atticus pulls the chair into the center of the room, right in front of me. He points to his knee. A pang of jealously and remorse twists my stomach. I just met this man, but already I wish it were me in her place. “Violet, remove your dress and get your ass up on my knee.”
“Yes, Sir.” Her velvet gown falls to the floor and she steps out of it. Underneath her dress, she wears a corset made solely of black mesh and boning, what look like crotch-less panties, and stockings with suspenders. She lays herself across her husband’s lap. Her deep violet hair falls down over her face like silk ribbons. “Spread your thighs so Camille can see how wet you are.”
“Yes, Sir.” She widens her legs as far as his lap will allow.
“Good girl.”
He strokes his fingers lovingly up the backs of her thighs, over her ass. She shivers and squirms. Atticus brings his hand down on her ass, so loud the slap rings out through the room. My heart races. My pulse threatens to beat its way through my neck. I’m so turned on, and yet just being in this room with another Dom—or two—has guilt and shame worming its way through my belly. Would Ares be disappointed in me? Would he beat me, punish me for seeking out the life he tried to push me away from?
Slap after slap lands on Violet’s flesh, turning it from a pristine milky white to bright red in a matter of seconds. I seek out her face through the curtain of curls. It too is red, her eyes are closed, and her face a twisted blend of anguish and elation, as if she’s lost to the euphoria.
I rise off my chair, and sink to my knees in front of them. Atticus pauses in his punishment, and both of them turn to me.
“Camille.” Violet’s tone is soft, yet commanding as she scrambles off her husband’s lap. I expect Atticus to chastise her, but he doesn’t. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I sob. “I’m really not okay.”
She sits beside me and rubs my back. Atticus tilts my chin up to meet his gaze. “So, so broken. What did he do to you, little ballerina?”
“He set me free.” I cry harder. “He was supposed to sell me, and he sent me away instead.”
“Oh, baby girl.” Atticus pats his lap and I crawl into it. I don’t even give it a second thought. And I don’t think about how it might feel for Violet, but she just strokes my knee as her husband rocks me in his arms. “I need to know before I touch you, before I raise a hand to you, what your hard limits are.”
“I don’t . . .” I trail off because I realize I do have one hard limit. “Pet. Don’t call me Pet. Only he calls me that.”
“Done. Anything else?”
I shake my head.
“Your safe word is swan.”
“Safe word?”
Atticus’ gaze searches mine. “You never had a safe word?”
“I never had a choice. I took everything he gave.”
“Oh,” Violet says on a long exhale. Atticus’ gaze turns livid, his body beneath me vibrates with rage.
“That isn’t how it should be, little ballerina.”
“I loved him. I loved him, and he set me free.” I curl into Atticus’ strong chest. The grey hair peeking out of his collar tickles my cheek. “He let me go, and he broke my heart.”
They let me cry for what feels like an eternity. I weep against his chest and ruin his shirt as his beautiful wife strokes my thighs and hips with sure, delicate hands. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”
“You’re incredible.” Violet coos. “You’re so brave, and beautiful. Such a sweet, sweet baby girl.”
She leans forward and takes hold of my face, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. I open for her, and she darts her tongue inside.
Her kisses are nothing like Ares’. They’re gentle, her mouth hot and so foreign on mine. She squeezes my breast, kneading my aching nipples through my clothing. Atticus’ strong hand grips the nape of my neck, holding me in place, as if I had any intention of trying to escape.
Violet pulls my shirt over my head and discards it on the floor. My bra soon follows. Atticus shifts me on his lap so I’m facing his wife, my feet resting on the floor.
“Open your legs for me, baby girl,” Violet says.
I grab the hem of my skirt, pushing it until it bunches around my hips, and I open my legs, hooking them over Atticus’ thighs.
“Such a pretty pussy,” Violet murmurs, stroking her fingers over my slick flesh. It’s been so long since my Sir touched me.
Sex with Max doesn’t compare. He was forced into it. He doesn’t know my body, or how I need to be touched, but Mistress Violet knows. She slaps my clit in quick succession, drawing a moan from me. I shift on Atticus’ lap, resting my feet on his knees to allow Violet better access. Atticus laces his fingers with mine and locks both hands with his across my chest. He uses our joined hands to pinch my nipples. I gasp, loving the heady mix of pain and pleasure their touches bring. Atticus holds me in his arms as if he’s presenting a sacrificial offering to some corrupt and terrible goddess.
I thrust my hips forward, and Mistress Violet gives a little chuckle. “A hungry, pretty pussy, it seems.”
“You’ll forgive my wife,” Atticus whispers against the shell of my ear. “She likes to play with her food.”
Violet grins at us, and then leans forward, covering me. I gasp. Her mouth is hot and expertly works my flesh, sucking, biting, and licking. I grind my hips against her face, wanting more, needing more. More pleasure, more pain, more hands on my body, fingers inside me. “You should taste her pussy, Sir. She’s fucking delicious.”
She slides her finger from my clit to my opening, teasing me as she delves deeper, but not nearly deep enough or long enough to satisfy me. Then she lifts her fingers to her husband’s mouth and plunges inside. He sucks them clean. “You’re right. She is delicious.”
Atticus spears my earlobe with his teeth, causing me to cry out. “Please?”
“Please what, baby girl?” Violet smiles at me. “Don’t be afraid. Ask for what you need.”
“I need to come, Mistress.” I pause, thinking of Ares’ face. “Sir, please?”
“Hold her up, Sir.”
He laughs. “Always so fucking bossy.”
“Pretty please? With our little ballerina on your cock?” She bats her lashes as she gets to her feet and walks over to the desk.
“Well, when you put it that way . . .” Atticus rolls his hips, and I feel the hard length of him at my back.
Violet rummages in several drawers before coming back with her loot of lube, condoms, and a Hitachi magic wand. I try to close my legs instantly, because I know how powerful—how agonizing—they can be. She laughs. “You’re not afraid of a little vibration, are you?”
In the Land of Gods and Monsters, Part Two (Gods & Monsters Book 2) Page 5
