From here forward, you are not allowed to pleasure yourself in any way. Or be pleasured. A single infraction will incur severe punishment. Twenty-five strikes with a switch.
You will not speak to anyone about your preparations or the auction. For eight hours before you are picked up, you will not eat, or drink anything but water. You will not watch television, read or do anything to occupy your time except think of how you will serve your new Master.
Four hours before the auction, you will do the following:
You will use the cleansing products included and flush out your vagina and anus thoroughly, purging away the leavings of other males you endured as part of your training. You come to your Master clean and pure, never again to be touched by anyone except him and whom he designates.
“Whom he designates.” Logan had said he would give her a guided fantasy, that other men wouldn’t really be touching her. He would just make her believe it “might” be happening. He was doing a good job, because she was already wondering if she’d misunderstood, or if she needed to reinforce the message with him.
Take an hour-long bath, soaking in the oils included in this package.
Wash your hair, braid it and put it in a tight topknot on your head. Use the sculpting clay so not a single strand is loose. Put on the collar.
A half hour before the pick-up time, attach the chain and nipple clamps. Put on the thong, making sure the bullet is positioned against your clit and the plug is pushed all the way inside you. The back ring will hold it in place.
A webcam was included in the box, with a separate note attached to it.
As you prepare yourself, you will keep this webcam turned toward you at all times. The footage will be a live feed to the individuals interested in bidding on you. They will view the property they wish to purchase, and verify your obedience. As you learned at the training center where you have spent the last six months, you have no right to privacy of any kind with your Master.
Wow. Had she bit off more than she could chew?
At ten minutes before six, while kneeling by the door, you will put on the blindfold. Remember Alice.
“Remember Alice”? What did that mean? Unsettled, she folded the paper and sifted through all the items. Maybe she needed to talk to Logan about this. But she knew enough about how he planned things to know the note’s wording was carefully chosen, like “you will not speak to anyone about your preparations.” In the fantasy, she wasn’t the Madison who ran this store and he wasn’t the store owner next door. But she still wanted to see him. Needed to see him. Remember Alice?
Brownstone’s sultry “If You Love Me” started up as three black women came in, lively and in full-blown shopping mode. She closed the box and slid it under the counter, hoping her cheeks weren’t scarlet, as if she’d been caught doing something illicit. In this store, that would probably just be considered one of the perks of the job. Taking a deep breath, she moved out from behind her counter to engage.
Fortunately, the women were too involved in their own banter to pay close attention to her, at least initially, and by the time they did, she had herself under better control.
Sally, Nell and Diana were all in their thirties, divorced and deep in the dating pool, so they plunged right into a delightful evaluation of her different vibrator options and how they compared to their current boyfriends, a purely female discussion that had them all howling with laughter in no time, including Madison.
It was when the ladies were narrowing down their purchase options that she noticed Logan had come out of her back room. He was leaning against the curtained opening, watching them all with an amused twist to his handsome lips, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Nell noticed him then as well, and her brows lifted. In the uninhibited mood that now reigned, Madison wasn’t at all surprised to see her give Logan a thorough, blatant appraisal, pursing her glossed lips.
“Well, you’re a cool drink of water, followed by a hot bubble bath.” She nudged her friends to draw their attention. Holding up one of the more sizeable dildos in a nice chocolate color—it came with a chocolate syrup dipping sauce as well—she waggled it at Logan. “How do you think you’d measure up to this one, honey?”
Madison tucked her tongue in her cheek. A lesser man would cut and run, but Logan offered an easy smile. “Well, ma’am, I’m taken, but otherwise I’d prove to you size doesn’t matter. It’s how good you make her feel.”
That brought a fervent “Amen” from Sally, and a “That’s the damn truth” from Diana. Nell sighed dramatically. “Honey, I wish more men knew that.”
Logan sent a wicked look toward Madison. “As far as the size department, I can hold my own. Just ask her.”
The women hooted, especially when Madison flushed to the roots of her hair. She swore vengeance in her mock glare at him.
“So is he telling tales?” Nell demanded.
“Actually . . .” Madison gave him her own appraising look, just as bald as her customers’. His brows lifted, eyes dancing with amusement. “He’s understating it.”
“Oh, don’t tell us that. Nell has a weak heart. She might just pass right out.”
“I can handle three men to your one any day, you silly bitch.”
More of the same banter followed, but fortunately they were ready to check out. It only took about five minutes to ring them up and give them a friendly wave, an invitation to come back soon. But with Logan leaning in the doorway behind her, engaging the women in casual conversation as she handled their purchases, the thrum of sexual tension between her and him built in a way that made those five minutes feel much longer.
Soon as they left the store, she turned, not surprised to find him less than a foot away. She could actually feel his heat envelop her before she turned. She would have lunged at him, then and there, but his gaze adjusted downward, deliberately focusing on that box beneath the counter.
Not allowed to pleasure yourself in any way. Surely that didn’t mean even a single kiss, a stolen touch . . .
She met his gaze. Shit, it did. Her only consolation was seeing regret in his eyes, a banked frustration that probably mirrored her own, but she knew he’d hold firm. How bad could twenty-five switches be? Pretty bad. She’d been switched by her mother a couple times as a child. A switch in Logan’s hand would be Ouchy to the nth degree of Band-Aids.
“Taken, hmm?” she said, with a casualness she didn’t feel.
“In my mind, yes. Still working on the lady’s feelings on the matter.”
“Does something bring you here?” Other than the desire to torment me?
“I’m out of fives and wondered if you could save me a trip to the bank by loaning me a few. I have more cash customers than most.” He held up three twenty-dollar bills.
“I thought Logan Scott was always prepared for every contingency.”
“I am,” he said comfortably. “I knew you’d have some.”
She sniffed at that, but counted him out a dozen fives and exchanged. As they did, his hand closed over hers and stayed there. “You’re trembling,” he observed.
“A little.” She didn’t have to talk about why, thereby breaking the rule in the note. He knew why she was trembling, since he was behind all of it. He drew her to him, and she decided she wasn’t going to interpret comfort as pleasure, even though it was definitely a favorite memory of the day, to be held against that broad chest, his strong arms wrapped around her. Plus, he’d initiated it, right? She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes as he stroked her hair.
“We chose your safe word, but we really didn’t talk about what it means, did we? Not directly.”
Of course. The note hadn’t been telling her to remember her sister. He was reminding her of her safe word. Alice. One mystery solved.
“It’s more than a functional word, telling a Master to stop,” he continued against her hair. “Havin
g that word is a diamond in your pocket, a constant reminder that your care is more important to your Master than anything else.”
“You’ve told me that before.”
“You look like you needed the reminder.”
She thought of Veronica, the abused woman who had come into her shop a few weeks ago with a cruel asshole pretending to know what a Master truly was. Logan had convinced Veronica to go to a battered women’s shelter and the woman had chosen to stay. Since then she’d been taking steps toward reclaiming her life.
Madison also thought about the barely controlled fury Logan had demonstrated toward the way Veronica’s “Master” had treated her. Still, he’d switched gears in a blink and handled Veronica with gentle firmness, the way a Master—and a man—should handle such a situation.
That, and everything else Madison knew about him, told her that Logan wouldn’t let any harm come to her. But with his fancy invitations and his sets of rules, he’d made her as nervous as if she was going to be auctioned off in truth. Even after this hug, she bet when she reread that invitation, she’d feel it again. That was his skill and the point, wasn’t it? He’d said the intent of a guided fantasy was to help a sub suspend disbelief, get completely lost in it so that she accepted the fantasy as real. Like a day at Disneyland, where everyone but the most cynical bought in to that magic. It was all about the props, right? The cherry on top of the sundae would be Logan himself, becoming the center of her fantasy.
She had no doubt he could pull it off. His reality was already close enough to it. Her fantasy was about a masterful soldier; Logan was an Army veteran as well as a Dom with a damn super capital D. In the sessions he’d done with her, at their pinnacle, she had to admit she’d felt literally owned by him. She’d wanted nothing less. At least in the session, at that moment.
All she had to do was trust him. It would be impossible to immerse herself in such a complex, volatile fantasy, unless she did . . . at all levels. And such trust would start to make her trust his other ideas. Pain for pleasure, him in her life, in her home . . . in her, forever.
“Bastard,” she muttered.
He smiled against her hair, though he couldn’t know why she was calling him names. She guessed it didn’t really matter, since she was clinging to him like he was her last hope in the world.
“Troy and I were going to grab some pizza down the street after closing tonight,” he said, lifting his head and tugging her hair so she’d look up at him. “Want to meet us? Shale’s coming after work and we can make it a foursome.”
“Sure. What does she do for a living? Cop? MP? MMA instructor?”
“Close. She’s a geriatric floor nurse over at the hospital. Has no problem at all keeping her patients in line.” He gave her a wink.
“I’ll bet.”
* * *
Dinner was . . . normal. A little Italian bistro with good wine, tiramisu and no talk of Dom/sub things. Troy and Shale teased and flirted like any other young couple, and planned to go out dancing afterward. Madison and Logan were invited. After a glance at him to see his thoughts on it, she agreed. She hadn’t been dancing since the last time she’d done it with Alice.
The club they visited had a good DJ, ample floor space and dollar beer. She wasn’t surprised to see Troy was an excellent dancer. He and Shale made a striking couple, as much because of their obvious close rapport as the fact they were also good dance partners.
“How do they turn it on and off? Or is that part of why it works? The defined limits? And is that why some BDSM people have a relationship like that with more than one person?”
She and Logan were taking a breather in a booth. It felt entirely right to be leaning against his chest, her leg guided over his thigh so she was half on his lap as he kept an arm around her waist, the two of them watching Troy, Shale and the other dancers. His chest rose and fell against her shoulder. The position allowed them both to be heard over the loud music, because when she lifted her face, her lips brushed his jaw. As she spoke now, she stayed there, nuzzling beneath his ear, against his throat. Keeping it soft, easy. Not taking pleasure. Sort of. Maybe skirting around the lines. His arm tightened around her, a warning, and she eased back.
“Do you do that?” she asked. “Go to your club and have sessions with subs, and then come to me?”
It was the first time she’d asked it right out. Maybe in his world it was considered acceptable. Dating was full of so many gray areas, the boundaries unclear, whereas in D/s, maybe the deal was: When you’re with me, in this room, it’s only about us, and this time belongs exclusively to you. The trade-off was what happened when they were out of it. It made sense some people might prefer that to the stress of wondering what their significant other was doing when not with them.
Logan still hadn’t spoken, probably because she couldn’t seem to stop, now that she was on the topic. “Gerald told me that he had sex with other women to serve a different need, something that had nothing to do with me. He was loser number five.”
Logan brushed his lips against her temple. “Progress. You’re calling them losers now. Not yourself.”
“I’m an equal-opportunity judgmental bitch,” she said. “Able to criticize others as scathingly as myself.”
“Stop it.” He gave her a harder squeeze.
“You haven’t answered the question. You don’t have to, I mean . . .”
“Yes, I do.” He put his mouth to her ear, his breath teasing her neck. She hoped they kept playing loud music all night long, because it gave them an excuse to be this close, stay in their own intimate world.
“Yeah, there are people with vanilla spouses who aren’t interested in playing Dom or sub. So they come to the club, rather than taking it home. They see it as therapy. They want to be married to the person they have; their spouse just can’t satisfy that urge. Some of them know about it, some don’t.”
“I wouldn’t want that. I couldn’t do it.” That might be the final answer about their future together, mightn’t it? He’d said he could just be Logan with her sometimes, but how could she, a person exploring submissive feelings, be enough for a man who was obviously pure Dom?
Her body had telegraphed her sudden tension. His tongue took a teasing lick along the outer shell of her ear, sending pleasurable tingles down her spine. “Your biggest problem is you always anticipate the worst,” he said. “You sabotage the relationship before you can see how it unfolds. People aren’t tab A and slot B, you know.”
He directed her attention back to Shale and Troy. They were now doing a slow dance, even though the DJ was still playing a fast number. Moving to a beat all their own, they seemed to have wrapped a cocoon around themselves, oblivious to anything but each other. “Watch. See her soften as he draws her closer, almost yielding, as it were . . .”
Troy dipped his head to kiss her, and yes, it looked like he was taking the lead in their dance, holding Shale securely in his strong arms, her body melted into his, swaying in rhythm.
“But now watch . . . see her hand . . .”
Her fingers, gripping his biceps, tightened, her nails biting into his skin, a clear order. Troy’s head lifted, his lips wet, his eyes fastened on hers. Madison had seen that switch happen in his gaze before, like the day she’d played the role of stern librarian at Naughty Bits and teased him about being late with his books. She’d also seen it when Logan spoke to him a certain way. Troy was in control of this moment, but would hand Shale that control the way he’d hand her a whip to strike his flesh. With anticipation and the pleasure of serving both their needs.
“There are well-defined D/s relationships, Madison,” Logan said. “With clear boundaries. They serve the needs of those involved in them. There might be affection there, trust, a form of caring and partnership that’s highly valued. But then there’s the wild card. Love. It can change the rules, destroy them, rebuild them, in accordance with the people involved, not fit
ting any set of rules or etiquette, or bullshit terminology. That’s why being in love is the scariest relationship. It risks the soul, but it’s the one thing in the whole universe worth that risk. That’s why Alice said you were the braver of the two of you. You’ve risked yours over and over.”
“But what if I’m not like Troy? What if—”
“You’re not like Troy.” He tipped up her chin, held it, his hand a light collar on her throat that riveted all her attention on him. “You’re Madison. All you need to be is who you are.”
It was then she realized the trust he kept talking about in D/s was something far more harrowing than restraints and spankings. It was believing what he was telling her and acting accordingly. She had a monument to self-doubt built up inside of her, augmented by every failed relationship. He was telling her she could destroy it, sweep the pieces out of her subconscious entirely.
“You still didn’t answer the question,” she said at last, swallowing. “About yourself.”
“I think the answer will scare you.”
“Everything about you scares me.”
His eyes darkened with regret, compassion, and something else, something that really made her wish they’d done this before she’d received that package. His body was so firm beneath her, his scent in her nose. All she wanted to do was immerse herself in him. As if he picked up on the thought, he traced her lips with a finger, and she bit him, an act of pure sexual and emotional frustration. He gave her an exasperated look, but then he answered her.
“I haven’t had a session with anyone at the club or outside of it, other than Troy or an instructional demo, since you arrived in town.”
That would have been during Alice’s last few days, which meant weeks before she and Logan had actually met. Her gaze snapped up to him, searching his face for the truth. He was right. Seeing the truth there scared her.
“Why?”
He held her gaze. “My promise to Alice. She gave you to me, and I knew you needed a man who was faithful to you in all ways.”
Naughty Bits Part IV: The Highest Bid Page 2
