by BJ Wane
“Tell me some more about Masters Greg and Devin’s new sub,” she prodded, taking a seat on the couch while she and Nan waited for Sydney, Avery and Tamara to emerge from the bedroom. She was still struggling to wrap her head around Nan’s engagement, trying to picture the independent, confirmed bachelorette giving up her cozy apartment above her quaint tea shop to move out to Dan’s small ranch, and now she’d learned the hot Doms who loved ménage scenes recently joined the ranks of committed members. So far, Leslie had managed to stifle the pang of regret she had experienced when each of the others had pledged fidelity to one person, but that might not last when she saw the two Masters with their new submissive.
Nan arranged the deep red satin folds of her saloon girl costume around her legs as she sat in the armchair facing the couch. “She’s really nice. It’s fun to watch them together. Kelsey is only an inch or two over five foot, small boned with big blue eyes and almost white hair. Her fey appearance doesn’t keep her from giving as good as she gets when either Greg or Devin pushes her buttons.”
“You must be talking about Kelsey.” Sydney padded into the room wearing a peasant dress, the see-through, lacy white bodice revealing her unfettered breasts and dusky nipples. “She’s my kind of girl.”
“That’s because she’s so much like you,” Avery chimed in from behind her, her abundant curves spilling out of the tight, skimpy, bright green bra that matched the sheer, billowing, hip-hugging pants of her harem outfit.
Sydney smirked. “I knew there was a reason I liked her so much.”
“Oh my God,” Nan breathed, coming to her feet as Tamara joined them decked out in a body-molding, bright fuchsia, latex cat suit. With the front zipper lowered to her waist, the plump fullness of her breasts drew the eye as much as the noticeable peeks of bare flesh under the mesh. “I have to know where you got that.”
Flushing, Tamara tossed her long black hair with a wide smile. “Think Connor will know it’s me?” She held her mask up to her eyes by the long handle.
“Yes. In that outfit, there’s no hiding your baby bump,” Sydney drawled, resting a hand on her own stomach.
Baby? Leslie’s gaze swung from admiring Tamara’s three-inch heels to her waist and then over to Sydney’s less obvious little bulge behind her loose skirt. Living with a target on her back prevented her from even thinking about having children some day and there was no stopping or ignoring the painful twist of exclusion cramping her abdomen. Forcing a smile of congratulations, she hurried over to give each of them a hug.
“I’m so happy for you both. This is what I get for staying away for so long. It’ll take me all night to get caught up with everyone.”
“Just be sure to save time to play.” Nan opened the door and waved everyone out. “No offense, Leslie, but you look like you could use a long session with an attentive Dom.”
“You know, I think that’s exactly what I need.” They traipsed downstairs and Leslie waved as she opened her car door. “See you there.” Settling behind the wheel, she waited until they pulled out before following them.
The charm of Willow Springs’ business square had struck Leslie when she’d driven past the century-old buildings that still housed the city offices and library on her way in. Quaint gift shops, a local diner and a center fountain squared off by towering pines made her wish she’d taken the time to visit sooner. With her new resolution to move forward and put herself out more, she made a silent promise to return soon, take Nan up on her offer of tea in her shop and check out the arts and crafts in the display windows along the covered sidewalks.
Turning off the highway onto the narrow lane leading to the club, Leslie sucked in a deep breath, vowing to get back into the groove of enjoying herself in the only way she’d found that eased the stress of keeping her true identity a secret. Just in case she wanted to bail early though, she opted for a parking space at the rear of the already crowded gravel lot. Checking her wig in the mirror, she slipped on her mask, a flutter of excitement winging through her with the thought of submitting in disguise to a new Dom. Given her previous response to a stranger, she was all for a repeat with another man she didn’t know any better than he knew her.
Leslie’s friends were already inside by the time she entered the foyer and stowed her shoes in a cubby. The two-stepping beat of a country western tune seeped through the door leading into the social hall. She’d watched members skilled in line dancing move in sync on the dance floor numerous times but never got up the nerve to join in. Her blood warmed as she entered the cavernous space and took in the activity already taking place, the two hours spent with the girls having helped put away her misplaced envy over their good fortune.
She paused a moment to get her bearings and reacclimate to seeing everyone again. Delightful ripples of excitement tingled under her skin as faint echoes of slapping flesh and soft cries emanating from the loft reached her ears while she caught sight of the arousal-stirring play going on around the tables. Spotting Sue Ellen already draped over her husband’s lap, his hand resting on her bare butt, sent a wave of heat straight down between Leslie’s legs. Clenching her own buttocks in response to the remembered pain of a hard spanking that always led to a more intense orgasm, she now questioned how she’d gone so long without getting those needs met. Padding across the wood floor trying to figure out who was who behind the disguises and enjoying the probing, scrutinizing looks from Doms who couldn’t pinpoint her identity, one thing became abundantly clear – wallowing in self-pity for close to two months had been a colossal waste of time.
Stopping at the bar, she held her breath as Caden, Sydney’s husband came strolling over, waiting to see if he recognized her. Nudging his Stetson back, he subjected her to a detailed scrutiny while holding a hand out for her drink card.
“Nice getup and you look familiar, so I know you’re a regular. What can I get you?”
“A beer, please.” Handing him the card, Leslie relaxed until his blue eyes lit with recognition.
Snapping his fingers, Caden smiled, saying, “Leslie, how the hell are you, darlin’?”
She returned his smile, warmed by his welcome. “I’m good, Sir. Was it my voice, or something else?”
Popping off the bottle cap, he squeezed the brew into a koozie, handed it over and then flicked the end of her wig. “Your voice and those baby blues. If you hadn’t stayed away from us for so long I might have recognized you sooner. It’s good to see you here again.”
“It’s good to be back, Sir,” she returned, surprised at how quickly that true statement had come about. “Thanks for the drink.”
“You’re welcome. We have a good turnout. Have fun tonight, and don’t be a stranger.” Winking, he left to serve someone else.
That was the plan, Leslie thought, sliding off the stool. Before joining the unattached subs in the sitting area waiting to catch the eye of a Master, she veered toward the dance floor to watch for a few minutes. Standing off to the side with the other onlookers, she wasn’t the only one who found it amusing to see women dressed in costumes doing the two-step alongside men wearing the usual attire for country-western dancing of tight jeans and boots, a few still wearing their Stetsons. Her gaze swept from the back row to the front and she recognized all the Doms until her eyes landed on the taut, denim-covered buttocks and broad shoulders of the man with his back to her in the front row. Even if she couldn’t see his face, she would’ve remembered any Dom who could gyrate and swivel his hips with such eye-catching, pussy-dampening talent. God, could he move, and she wondered if he was one of the new members.
Leslie damn near drooled as he two-stepped into giving her a side view of his sexy hip action that drew her nipples into stiff peaks. Dragging her eyes away from his pelvis, she caught her first glimpse of his face and stiffened at the familiarity of his dark, rugged profile. And then he executed another shuffle of his feet with knees bent, his pelvis circling in a way that pulled her gaze back down. The rhythmic rolls of his crotch conjured up an image of down and d
irty fucking that prompted her to tighten her thighs to contain her response before she dared to look up again. When she did, she went cold with a shockwave of instant, face-to-face recognition. There was no mistaking the sexy Dom standing just yards in front of her, even with his black Stetson shielding his eyes, was the same Kurt as her one-night stand all those weeks ago.
What were the odds? she bemoaned as she gathered her frayed nerves and spun around before he recognized her. Leslie was halfway to the door before she slowed her hasty retreat and dared to peek around a small group of people and back at the dance floor. Her taut muscles slowly relaxed as she saw he hadn’t skipped a beat in dancing and wasn’t coming after her. He didn’t recognize me as Cleopatra. With the relief came a sudden, titillating idea. Could she work him out of her system and put an end to the plaguing dreams of their one time together by indulging in another night of anonymous sex? From the uncomfortable dampness coating her thong, she couldn’t deny watching him had stirred her up. She already knew she would respond to him, how good a Dom he was. If she concentrated on getting her needs met, of submitting to his dominance and relieving the ache that had been building since she’d seen Kurt last, she believed she could keep from revealing her identity.
With her heart pounding from the risk but still unable to walk away from this second chance, Leslie pivoted and had only taken four steps back toward the dance floor when she spotted Master Kurt walking toward her. Now holding his hat, the midnight eyes she remembered so well showed interest but not a hint of surprised recognition, bolstering her courage.
Seeing a sexy Cleopatra look-alike eying him with a wide gaze, bare toes curled against the wood floor and taut nipples had drawn Kurt’s interest in a sub for the first time that night. The white toga-style dress draped over her curves emphasized the fullness of her breasts, every bump of her rigid nubs outlined against the soft material. When she’d executed an abrupt turnaround and walked away, he’d made the snap decision to snatch her up before another Dom beat him to her.
Now, standing close enough to see her eyes were as blue as the Montana sky in summer and the shape of her face tugging at his memory banks, he wondered if she was someone he’d played with here before.
“You’re staring, Sir.”
The hint of accusation in her pert tone amused him. Kurt didn’t mind when his habit of silently sizing up a potential partner for the evening rubbed a sub the wrong way. He didn’t want someone who would let him walk all over her; just who would not only bow to his dominance, but relish whatever he tormented her with.
“Yes, I am. I’m Master Kurt. You make a lovely Cleopatra.”
“Thank you.” A small smile curved her soft lips. “I enjoyed watching you dance.”
Even her voice rang bells and prompted him to look closer at her features below the mask. Wanting to know more about her, he replied, “And I would enjoy getting to know you better. Are you free to join me upstairs?” A cock-stirring spark lit her eyes and his quick, uncharacteristic infatuation grew. Holding out his hand, he said, “Let’s sit while you finish your beer. I could be wrong, but you look familiar. Have we paired up before tonight?”
She tugged on his hand, halting him before he took a step toward the nearest empty table. “I’d rather go straight up, if it’s all the same with you.”
The flash of need that wiped away the spark and was, he suspected, the cause of her rash decision struck another chord of familiarity in him. “Do we know each other, sweetheart?”
Her palm turned clammy under his, and her entire arm went rigid at his simple inquiry. She shifted her gaze off to the side, a telltale sign of evasiveness that triggered more suspicions.
“No, Sir.” She looked back at him with a crooked smile. “I haven’t been here in a few weeks, but to be honest, a few of the other girls mentioned you in a very good way.”
“I’m flattered, but it would help if you’d tell me your name.” Kurt cupped her elbow and led her toward the stairs, adding, “Your real name.”
“But that will ruin the fun of remaining anonymous. Isn’t that part of the lure that prompted the Masters to plan this masquerade night?”
She had a point, he conceded, but he was ninety-nine percent sure he knew her from somewhere and was starting to suspect she didn’t want him to know that. Why, he couldn’t fathom. As they reached the loft with its dimmer lighting, reverberating soft cries and straining moans accompanying snaps against bare flesh, several ideas ran through his head on how to pull the truth from her.
Facing her, he asked, “Any hard limits or an apparatus you want me to stay away from?”
“Light pain only, I’m good with any bondage and the standard color codes for safewords,” she rambled off, as if she wanted to hurry this along. He had news for her; he wasn’t the hurry sort.
Yanking her up against him, the rigid tips of her breasts pressed against his chest, her startled gasp changing to a sigh as he covered her mouth with his. Kurt meant to go slow, to savor those soft lips and her quivering body aligned with his. But she parted her mouth without urging, accepted the thrust and exploration of his tongue with welcoming enthusiasm and shivered with a low, vibrating moan when he nipped her plump, lower lip. Crushing his mouth on hers, he filled his hands with her malleable buttocks and brought her pelvis tight against his, her soft pubis a nice cushion for his hard cock. By the time he pulled back, he was more than ready to move this along.
“Come on.” Grasping her hand, he led her toward the chain stations along the back wall. Halfway across the spacious loft, he paused at the wooden A-frame and turned to ask if she’d ever tried the newest addition to the bondage equipment. Instead, he caught her gazing at Grayson’s tender expression as he released Avery from the St. Andrew’s cross, the fleeting look of longing crossing her face sending a shock wave of instant recognition through Kurt. There was no mistaking that expression, or where he’d seen it before.
What were the odds of the same Leslie he’d rescued from a mugging and then ended up in her bed being a submissive member of The Barn? Maybe not such a longshot as he recalled her willing compliance to his commands that night and that this was the closest club to Billings. Since he assumed she recognized him, he wondered what game she was playing and refused to let her get away with keeping her true identity from him. After that night, she should know she could trust him, and it didn’t sit well that she didn’t.
With a determined yank on her hand, he strolled over to the nearest dangling chain. “Know why I like this option best?” he asked, flicking the cuffs attached to the end of the metal links.
“No, why?” She bit her lip as he removed the fancy gold belt around her waist, tossing it on a bench against the wall.
“It gives me unfettered access to your whole body.” With his eyes on hers, gauging her every reaction, Kurt tugged the ties at her shoulders and the white garment dropped to her feet. “Very pretty.” He brushed his knuckles over her turgid nipples, enjoying the way they puckered tighter, proving his memory was spot on from their previous night together. Running the tips of his fingers down her abdomen to hook into the skinny straps of her thong, he asked, “On or off?”
She clutched his upper arms, her nails digging into his skin as she said, “I’m good with taking it off.”
That answered one question, Kurt mused as he slid the satin scrap of material down her long smooth legs. Alcohol wasn’t responsible for her boldness and uninhibitedness with him the last time he got her naked. It appeared that enticing trait came naturally to her. Bending to scoop up the dress and thong put his face right in front of her puffy, denuded folds, the dampness coating her slit a hard-to-resist temptation that drew him forward. One slow lick up her seam was enough to remember the taste of her, one lap over her smooth labia enough to reacquaint himself with the shape and softness of her flesh. Her hands clutched on his shoulders, where she kept them as he straightened and flung her clothes on top of the belt. He left the fancy headdress and arm bands on, liking the naked pagan g
oddess look of her as he gripped her wrists and attached the cuffs.
“I like how agreeable you are, how you don’t shy away from what you’re comfortable with. You remind me of someone else I met not long ago.” It was difficult not to smile as her hands jerked in his before he pulled the chain up, enjoying toying with her.
“I’d rather you think of me instead of someone else right now,” she returned tartly. “Sir.”
“Well, I admit it’s not becoming to mention someone else but rest assured, sweetheart, you have my full attention and my thoughts are of no one else but you. I need to get a few things from the prop cabinet.”
Kurt could feel her eyes on him as he retrieved a spreader bar from the items available for everyone to use. He started to shut the cabinet door when he spotted the spiked five-wheel pinwheel and remembering her responses to his butt slaps and nipple pinches, he decided to add something extra to his hands and mouth this time around.
She gave the pinwheel a wary look when he returned. “Uh, I’m not sure…”
“Give me a color,” he snapped, refusing to let her slide on that issue.
Jerking from his hard tone, Leslie stuttered, “Oh, um, yellow.”
Tucking the pinwheel handle into his back pocket, he nudged her feet apart with one booted foot. “What are you unsure about? This?” Kurt held up the bar and she frowned in annoyance. He shouldn’t find that look amusing, but given the circumstances, he did.
“No. I’ve used those before,” she huffed. “But not that spiky thing.”
“Then save yellow for when that comes into play, or anything else you’re not sure of.” Squatting down, he cuffed her ankles to the bar then trailed his palms up the inside of her legs as he rose. Stopping at her upper thighs, he dug his fingers into the muscles and dipped his thumbs between her labia. Warm, slick wetness coated the pads of his thumbs as her hips jutted forward.
