by BJ Wane
Connor snorted and nodded to Master Dan seated at the end with his play partner for the night. “Coming up,” he called down when Dan signaled for his second drink. Drawing the beer, he answered Grayson with slow-drawled sarcasm. “Not hardly.”
“You know what they say when you fall off the saddle; it’s best to get right back on.” Grayson felt for Connor when he split with his long-time girlfriend, Annie last fall, but no woman was worth pining over for months.
“I can still ride just fine, thank you. Besides, I don’t see you hooking up with anyone for more than a scene or two,” he pointed out, sliding Dan’s beer down to him.
“Okay, you’ve got me there.” No use denying the truth, Grayson mused. He might limit his submissive picks to only a night or two of his dominance, but he made sure he gave them everything they desired, and often what they didn’t know they wanted. Which made the edgy dissatisfaction marring his recent enjoyment unexplainable. Hoping for a better outcome tonight, he asked, “Speaking of which, who’s still unspoken for?” He shifted his eyes to the dance floor where several couples pressed close together for the slow country western ballad pealing through high-tech speakers.
“Cassie was asking for you right before you came in.” Connor smirked with a glint in his blue eyes.
Grayson scowled at him. Connor was well aware he’d been avoiding the persistent blonde ever since she’d turned demanding and clingy after two scenes with her. “I’ll pass, thanks.” He spotted another sub, Nan, whom he knew enjoyed pain play and rougher scenes, just what he was in the mood for. “I see a leggy brunette who needs me.”
Connor looked across the room and saw the submissive everyone knew was not interested in settling down with one Dom. “Yeah, your bachelorhood is safe with her.” With a two-fingered tip of his hat, he added, “Have fun.”
Grayson slid off the stool and offered some parting advice before strolling over to claim his playmate for the evening. “Maybe you can try to do the same.”
As sheriff of Willow Springs and the surrounding area, Grayson was well known with the town folk. As a partner with the Dunbar brothers in their BDSM club, he enjoyed socializing with members and friends from as far away as Billings, who didn’t mind the one-hour drive for a night of indulging in their favorite sexual proclivities among others of like persuasions. Taking the time to wind his way through the tables and seating areas spread around the cavernous, first floor space, he spoke or nodded to acquaintances as he questioned his lack of enthusiasm in approaching Nan. He’d enjoyed her before, as had almost every Dom in the place, and never ended a scene with her without walking away satisfied. In fact, she was the only woman he’d broken his rule of not being with more than twice. Since she was of like mind in not desiring a full-time, committed relationship, he deemed her a safe bet to return to on occasion.
So why wasn’t he anticipating putting her through her paces as she greeted him with a warm, interested smile, her pretty breasts propped up and put on display in the tight corset? Large dark nipples puckered as he eyed her bountiful mounds and unbidden, the memory of a soft, hesitant voice describing pale, pink-tipped breasts intruded on the enticing view. Fucking A. He couldn’t understand why that misdialed phone call still popped into his head at random times, even now, over two weeks afterward.
“Master Grayson.” Nan’s deep, husky voice blocked out the faint echo of the mystery woman’s soft hesitancy and stirred his interest.
“Nan.” Removing the toothpick, Grayson slipped it into his shirt pocket and held out his hand in silent invitation while fingering the thin cane attached to his waist. He hoped he hadn’t misread the invitation in her brown eyes or the fact she still sat alone.
Her gaze brightened as it drifted from eying the cane up to his face. “Glad to,” she purred, rising and giving him a clearer look at the red, lacy lingerie that cupped her full breasts, cinched her waist and showcased the miniscule red thong barely covering her naked labia.
“You never disappoint, sugar,” Grayson complimented her as he led her to a padded bench in the far corner by the wide glass doors that opened onto a back deck and spa.
“Neither do you, sir.”
Maybe not in the flesh, but he couldn’t help wondering if he shouldn’t have done more to help the woman whose dire straits had left her no choice but to get work as a phone sex operator, a profession clearly out of her depth. Her hesitant and then frantic floundering over the line had hinted at someone in a desperate situation and worry over what might have happened to her still gnawed at his conscience.
“Lie on your stomach first,” he instructed Nan, nodding to the bench. “I want you to feel the ache of your stripes when you turn over.” He knew her, and her pleasures well. The flush of arousal spreading over her chest and up her neck matched the damp glistening on her denuded folds as she slid off the thong.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, facing the bench and bending at the waist, leaving the corset, garters and stockings on. Her three-inch heels put her at about five ten, still five inches shorter than him, and arched her ass higher in this position.
Unclipping the cane, he reached out with his other hand and caressed her smooth, round buttocks, enjoying the soft, malleable flesh, her small quivers hinting of both excitement and unease. “Relax. I know your limits. Reach above you and grip the top of the bench. Do not let go until I say. Is your safeword still panda?” She once mentioned she collected stuffed pandas which was why that word was easy for her to remember.
“Yes, sir.” Turning her face up to his, she quipped, “Why change now?”
Exactly. Maybe he was just going through a late-thirties funk, he considered as he traced a finger down her crack and tickled the damp seam of her pussy. She groaned, shuffled her feet and shifted her hips and he snapped the rod across one thigh. The sharp reprimand elicited a soft cry, but she stilled. He liked seeing those immediate responses to his heavy hand as much as he had relished his naive mystery woman’s obedience. Fucking A. He needed to keep his head in this game and quit returning to one that should have no further meaning or bearing on his life.
Grayson tuned out the music, low-voiced conversations and high-pitched cries of pain-induced climaxes as he worked the cane over Nan’s upturned ass, concentrating on the fleshiest part of her buttocks. Crimson stripes blossomed across her cheeks, but she kept herself quiet and immobile by tightening her hands above her and locking her knees against the urge to dance away from his swinging arm. Her breath came in rapid puffs among tiny mewls as he shifted to the sweet under curve of those plump mounds, but his pleasure in her response dimmed as another voice filtered into his head.
Disgusted with himself, he brought an end to the first part of their scene. “Excellent, sugar,” he praised her after adorning her thighs with a few final strokes. Reaching for her hand, he helped her up, held her close when she wobbled and felt the rapid beat of her heart against his chest, the pointed drill of her turgid nipples through his black tee shirt. “You good?”
“Oh, yeah,” she moaned on a sigh. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Grayson warned, nudging her to sit on the end of the bench. He smiled as she winced with the pressure on her abused buttocks and assisted in laying her back. “This should help you maintain your admirable acceptance.” After wrapping the cuffs attached to the sides of the bench around her wrists he did the same with her ankles to the outside bottom corners, leaving her legs in an enticing spread. “Nice,” he commented, running his hands up the insides of her thighs.
“Sir, please.”
“You beg nicely, Nan, but your pleasure will come when I’m ready, and not before.” Her eyes flashed with frustration and darkened with need, both of which he ignored as he flicked the cane in a light snap across the underside of her breast. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, arching her chest upward in a silent plea for more.
Grayson found himself warming to the scene and her responses, his cock growing from a semi-erection to a full-blown har
d-on as he striped her breasts until slick cream seeped from her gaping pussy. Setting aside the cane, he padded to the end of the bench and took up residence between her splayed legs. Leaning over her glistening body, he cupped her shoulders and stroked his open palms over her breasts. Pausing, he rotated atop her puckered nipples before gliding down her soft waist to palm the insides of her thighs. “So needy and ready for me, aren’t you, sugar?” A sudden desire to move this along once again intruded on his concentration and pleasure, frustrating him anew.
“Yes, always Master Grayson. You know how to get me going,” she complimented him as her muscles clenched under his hands.
“What a nice thing to say.” Releasing his straining cock, he made short work of sheathing himself before using his thumbs to spread her folds even wider. With his eyes on the swollen, pink tissues all but begging him to take her, he slid slowly inside her convulsing vagina. The immediate, tight clamp of slick muscles around his girth drew a hissing breath. “Fuck, but you’re hot and tight. Fast and hard. Ready?”
Nan nodded, her eyes glued to Grayson’s pummeling cock, her breathing ragged as he plowed her moist depths with rigorous strokes, just as he had warned. She met each ramming thrust with a lift of her hips, each jarring plunge with a soft gasp and every withdrawal with a low moan of denial. He remembered what a delight she was to fuck and enjoyed the hell out of using her willing body, so why, when he drove Nan into a cock-gripping orgasm was he thinking about another voice crying out in climax, this one filled with both surprise and despair? Shaking off the haunting memory, he gave the woman with him what she deserved, his undivided attention, straining to bring her to another release before letting go and embracing his own pleasure.
Fifteen minutes later, Grayson stepped out back, into the cold snap of a Montana January night to clear his head. He needed to get his head straightened out and back in the game before he returned to play in the club again. He was a strict but generous Dom, and the subs willing to trust him with their needs deserved more than having half his attention during a scene that resulted in a half-assed, rushed conclusion. The frigid air seeped into his bones, leaving goosebumps along his bare arms, but the self-inflicted discomfort was well deserved for his poor performance with Nan. Despite her needy complaints, she was a woman who craved the sting and pleasure of having to wait. He knew that and let her down by moving on too quickly. Maybe he could make up for it in a few weeks. She was a good sport, walking away from their scene with a grateful smile and kiss of gratitude, but that just made him feel guiltier for not doing better by her. There was always more to a sub’s needs than simply getting off, and he should have prolonged Nan’s torture a little longer, taken her deeper into that place some women strived to go before climaxing. His sudden desperation to get to his own pleasure and end their time together was unforgivable.
Retrieving a toothpick from his shirt pocket, he slipped it into the corner of his mouth as the sliders swished open behind him. It didn’t surprise him when Caden joined him in leaning his arms on the railing, his gaze following Grayson’s to the dark woods. “Nan looked content so why aren’t you?” the rancher asked with his usual bluntness.
“She should’ve still been lost in subspace and unable to walk away from me so easily,” Grayson snapped, irritated with himself and his friend.
Caden’s low chuckle didn’t improve Grayson’s mood. “You’re not God. None of us are.”
“Fucking A, Dunbar, go pester your girl. She likes you.”
“So do you, when you’re not cranky. How about if I take your mind off your poor showing as a Dom and give you something to work on as the sheriff? I’m missing several more head.” Disgust laced Caden’s voice and his hands tightened into fists. All ranchers dreaded and hated poaching.
“Shit. Jason from the Barton spread was in my office early this morning. He got hit last night as well. We’re on it, but I don’t have the staff to stake out every ranch. Did you put anyone on watch duty?” he asked, not knowing what else they could do until they had a lead to go on. Poaching was hard to prevent and even harder to catch the perpetrators.
“Yeah, the hands all stepped up and volunteered to rotate, but these guys know what they’re doing. They snuck in between shift changes and moved fast. We’ll catch ‘em,” he vowed in a cold voice, “but likely not before they’ve already disposed of our cattle.”
Grayson shook his head and straightened. “I’ve got a call into state patrol for extra help in keeping an eye out. Let’s hope they don’t get many more before we take them down. I’m freezing my balls off and done pouting. Come on.”
Caden’s dry response of, “You’re welcome,” followed him inside and earned his friend the childish gesture of the middle finger.
Chapter 3
Montana’s vast wide-open spaces backed by white-capped mountains and towering pines contrasted dramatically with the crowded metropolis of jam-packed industrial high rises of Chicago, as well as the other cities Avery had recently passed through. Driving through Big Sky Country, she noticed two things the state boasted in abundance: pickup trucks and cows. Pulling into Willow Springs, she took note of their smallest commodity: people. Growing up in one of the country’s largest cities, she didn’t understand the draw of small towns and worried this might be an even bigger mistake than she’d been fretting over the last two days. It was much easier to blend in among the masses filling the bigger cities she’d been hiding in than it would be in this town of less than seven thousand, and that population was large compared to most of the places she’d driven through to get here. Even the capital, Billings was a fraction of the size of Chicago.
Glancing at the gas gauge, she decided to check in at the only motel she saw once she hit Willow Springs’ city limits and prayed the downtown section where she hoped to pick up work was within walking distance. Public transportation wasn’t cheap, but she’d been taken aback by how much gas cost after using the lion’s share of her savings to buy a used car on her way out of Chicago. She supposed if all else failed, she could always give up on this ridiculous idea of searching out her mystery caller, getting to know him first to determine if he might have been serious about helping her and then, if he seemed trustworthy, taking him up on his offer.
An hour later, Avery set out on foot from her motel room despite the cold, brisk air and walked the half mile to the quaint downtown square the motel manager directed her towards. Standing on the corner, she glanced around the neat, four-sided shopping and business area surrounding a large fountain and wooden benches. She caught a glimpse of towering mountain peaks over the rooftops of some buildings dating back decades, the view making her feel as if she stood in the middle of nowhere.
Hugging her coat around her to ward off the cold that came more from feeling out of her depth than the frigid air, she strolled down the first row of stores and businesses, noting the absence of parking meters along the neat rows of on-street parking. Several quaint gift shops displayed an array of western gear, home décor and souvenirs but no help-wanted signs. She paused outside a bookstore, her mood lightening as she peeked inside and saw the rack of new releases. After hearing Darren’s threat, she’d only taken time to rush back to her furnished apartment and throw as many clothes and toiletries into one suitcase as it would hold before dashing out again to clear out her meager savings and get as far away from him as fast as possible, leaving behind her collection of suspense novels.
With a sigh of regret at not being able to spare the funds to purchase one, she kept going, hoping for a sign of employment since she didn’t dare risk filling out an application online. A glimpse inside the old-fashioned soda and sandwich shop revealed it was doing a good, late afternoon business, but with enough employees to handle it. The two-story police precinct and court house followed by the water company filled the next stretch of old brick buildings and she took a chance on filling out an application at the utility office.
By the time she finished, the lowering sun had disappeared behind the
buildings, leaving only a faint, yellow/orange glow of illumination to add to the lighted street lamps. The Palace, the smallest movie house she’d ever imagined looked closed, so she headed down to the corner and the bright, lit-up sign of Dale’s Diner. To her relief, a large red and white help wanted sign sat in the checkered-curtained window.
Feeling as if she’d stepped back in time, Avery stood in the entrance enjoying the warmth while taking in the old-fashioned booths, each displaying a juke box, as she waited for the older woman bustling behind the long counter to break from barking out orders to the two cooks behind her. She’d no sooner taken a seat on a vacated stool than a hand plopped down a menu in front of her and the woman snapped, “Be right with you.”
Bemused by her brusque manner, Avery glanced through the offerings with no intention of ordering. Even at the reasonable prices, she couldn’t afford to spend more than a few dollars a day on food, which limited her to the cheaper items at fast food places. As luck would have it, her stomach rumbled just as the woman returned, reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day.
“You’re new around here. Monday’s special is chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes and green beans.”
“Oh, thank you, but I just came in to ask about the job,” Avery replied as she tried not to drool over the steaming plate holding the special one cook set on the ledge for delivery.
Tapping a bell, the short, balding man called out, “Order up, Gertie!”
“Stay put,” the plump, gray-haired woman instructed before snatching the plate and setting it in front of the man seated several stools down from Avery. She returned to glare at Avery, hands fisted on wide hips, blue eyes way too shrewd for her comfort. “I’m Gertie. Eat something and we’ll talk.”
With heat spreading over her face, Avery stuttered in response, “I… can wait… so I don’t keep you. You look busy.”
“Nonsense.” Turning her head, she called out, “Get me another special, Clyde.” Avery swallowed, resigning herself to parting with twice the cash she usually spent on a meal as Gertie faced her again and snapped out, “Food’s on me. How much experience you got?”
