Dare to Love Again

by Maddie Taylor

  Hands shot up in the air, too many to count.

  The lucky man selected entered the room as the rest of the spectators pressed closer. They looked on in eager anticipation—or in her case gaped in horrified fascination—as the man donned a pair of long gloves that went well past his wrists.

  Considering the man’s large hands and the sub’s smallish frame, Esme hoped she was wrong about what she suspected was coming next, but knew down deep, after cage sex, needle play, a fire scene, and everything else, she wasn’t.

  Under the direction of the man in white, he coated his hand liberally with lube and stepped between the stirrups. Then, he slowly fingered the woman, building her arousal and penetrating her one digit at a time until she had taken four fingers inside her. Her cries rolled through the room and out the window to the onlookers, becoming gasps of pleasure-pain when the volunteer folded in his thumb and sank in up to his wrist.

  The sub whimpered and moaned continuously now, tossing her head from side to side, but she wasn’t asking to stop, or crying in discomfort, and, much to Esme’s amazement, no safeword had passed her lips.

  “She’s nearly there,” the doctor Dom murmured. “Add clitoral stimulation with your other hand, and when you press the knuckle of your thumb against the anterior wall, stimulating her G-spot, she’ll erupt like Old Faithful.”

  As predicted, in minutes, the woman let out a sustained wail and shuddered. Next, her body convulsed, and she bucked wildly against the restraints. Then she came with such intensity it forced the man’s fist from her pussy along with a spray of liquid.

  The crowd cheered while the man in the lab coat urged his volunteer to resume.

  “Fisting gets her excited. Keep going; she’s good for at least three squirts per session, sometimes more.”

  Esme didn’t think it possible, but to the voluble approval of the crowd, he fist-fucked four screaming orgasmic eruptions from the bound woman. Amidst the clapping and murmurs at the conclusion of the scene, she heard one man comment that Dr. G-spot—how she’d refer to him from this point forward—was a real-life gynecologist.

  Overwhelmed and in a daze from the barrage of extreme activities she’d seen, some she didn’t even have names for, she wandered back downstairs.

  Standing on the main floor looking around her, she decided what she needed before leaving was a nice, normal, flogging scene. She headed to where she knew one of the several spanking benches was located. When she got there and found a Domme painting her sub’s testicles with drop after drop of melted red wax, she resigned herself to the fact nice and normal weren’t on the agenda tonight.

  She whispered to the woman standing beside her, “Things seem a little intense tonight, don’t you think?”

  The stupefied look she got was almost comical like she’d sprouted antennae on top of her head, or a third eye or something.

  “You’re serious?”

  Esme nodded.

  “Are you new?”

  “Um, not really. I’ve been a member for several months.”

  “Don’t you read the newsletter?”

  She was too embarrassed to admit she didn’t. Pax had always kept up with the special events and planned accordingly. Since he’d been off somewhere in parts unknown, she was rather out of the loop. He’d warned her, however. “I must have missed this month’s edition. What’s going on?”

  “Tonight, is Edge Night, advanced players only.” Her eyes dipped to her throat and grew big. “You don’t have a ribbon.”

  “Yes, I do,” she exclaimed while fishing it out of her corset where she’d tucked it when the stiff edge—likely off the end of the roll—kept scratching her skin.

  All uncollared subs got one at the door when they signed in. Either red, pink, or white, it identified their experience level to the other members. White stood for someone inexperienced, interested in learning what it was all about, though if not handled with extreme care, could bolt, and never return. Since it was Edge Night, she doubted there were any subs in white ribbons running around.

  On the other end of the spectrum, red indicated a sub with tons of experience, who felt comfortable negotiating whatever they wanted on their own. Esme had selected a pink ribbon when she’d signed in meaning she was somewhere in between white and red, had some experience, was open to playing, but within limits, and a scene with her would need to be carefully negotiated with those in mind.

  None of the ribbons told the submissive’s interest in sex. The willingness to take a scene to that level was never a given for anyone in the club and consent in advance had to be clearly established.

  The woman blew out a relieved breath. “Good. I was afraid you were a white ribbon who’d gotten in by mistake. Better put that back on. Without a collar that ribbon might be the only thing that saves you tonight.”

  “Come on, Becky,” a man, appearing suddenly at her side, ordered with urgency. “Our bench is open. I can’t wait to try out the new labia clamps and plug.”

  She grinned, then waved over her shoulder as her Dom pulled her away.

  Edge night—no wonder!

  What she’d experienced in five years as a submissive didn’t compare to what she’d seen in the last two hours.

  “I should have asked for white when I checked in,” she muttered.

  Swearing to read the darn newsletter before coming back, she thought it wise to make a hasty exit. She hadn’t taken more than two steps when hard fingers encircled her wrist. Her head snapped up in alarm, and she met the blue-eyed gaze of an incredibly handsome, black-haired, bronze-skinned man.

  “Come with me,” he barked. She didn’t process much other than a light Spanish accent before he announced. “I have a station reserved for us.”

  With no preliminaries and zero negotiation, he pulled her through the crowd, moving against the flow of traffic that seemed to circle the stations continually.

  “I, um… perhaps you have me mistaken for someone else?”

  “No mistake. Your red hair is appealing, and your fair skin will display my marks beautifully, I think.”

  She did not think so.

  “I’m here... with, uh, friends... sir,” she lied, stammering as she tried to keep up, afraid if she didn’t he’d drag her as the image of a caveman came to mind. All he lacked was the animal skin, off-the-shoulder tunic, and a club. “They’re leaving soon. Some other time, perhaps.” She only added that to be polite, having no intention of ever agreeing to a scene with this pushy Dom.

  “They can wait until I’m done with you,” he replied.

  “Sir, please,” she appealed again while trying to twist her wrist free. “I can’t miss my ride home, or I’ll be stranded.”

  Apparently, he didn’t care, and continued right on walking while ignoring her protests and struggles. When she saw the station with the reserved sign up ahead, the ropes much farther back than usual for a station, she realized it was one of the large areas toward the back set up to allow indoor whip play.

  His fingers tightened. “Stop struggling. I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “Neither am I,” she bit out, her voice rising, all pretense of politeness evaporated. “I have asked nicely, but you won’t listen. I have said no repeatedly, but you must be deaf.” She yanked hard on her hand, which hurt, pinching her skin. “For the last time, I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

  He stopped, oblivious to the surrounding people, in particular, the two women who skidded to a halt behind him and came close to slamming into his back. With a hard tug on her arm, he knocked her off balance, and she fell against him. His fingers dug into her arms, and he pulled her up on her toes at the same time he snarled down at her, “I’ll enjoy whipping your back raw in repayment for your defiance, slut. Now, move your ass, and while you do, keep your mouth shut until I’m ready to shove my cock in it.”

  “Red,” she called loud enough that despite the ambient noise he couldn’t miss hearing. The man blinked in surprise, acting as if he’d never heard the wo
rd before, which considering his swinish behavior Esme found hard to believe.

  Suddenly, comprehension dawned. Still holding her in an unbreakable grip, she watched as his handsome features transformed into a scowl and fury flashed in his cold, blue eyes. When his fingers tightened painfully, she repeated the club safeword, crying “Red!” in a shout, this time at the top of her lungs.

  The Dom’s lips flattened into a hard, thin line and his nostrils flared. Everyone and everything around them came to a halt. With witnesses watching, he dropped his hands at the same instant a Dungeon Monitor arrived.

  “What’s the problem here?” he asked her, not even looking at the enraged Dom.

  “I’m not interested,” Esme explained as she rubbed her wrist, the tender flesh he’d abused likely bruised, “but he wasn’t listening.”

  “There is no problem, Finnegan,” the nasty Dom replied, ignoring her comment, and addressing the DM instead, though his angry gaze remained fixed on her. “It would seem I mistook her signals and the appallingly negligent lack of a ribbon.”

  The monitor’s eyes dropped to her bare throat. Esme flushed.

  Stupid, stupid.

  Her hands flew to her corset, but she remembered she’d taken it out. Looking down, she spotted it on the floor where she must have dropped it when the jerk grabbed her.

  Before she could squat to retrieve it, her rescuer bent and did it for her.

  After seeing the other submissive’s response, she intended to put it back on, but she’d gotten distracted. Her lack of a ribbon should not have opened her up to a non-consensual whipping by this asshole, however.

  “Pink, I should have guessed,” the asshole muttered under his breath. “After this unpleasantness,” his nostrils flared, and he grimaced as though she smelled bad, “I find I am no longer interested. In better light, I see I made an error in judgment. There are many more beautiful submissives here tonight who will eagerly fall to their knees and beg to be under my lash.”

  Esme couldn’t image who would be so incredibly foolish but didn’t utter a word in response to his insult. Her only reaction was to move closer to the man with the bright orange DM badge on his sleeve. Her rescuer was big and looked strong enough to snap in half a man twice the size of this insensitive, boorish Dom, who was far from little.

  “Then I suggest you go find one, Carlos,” the big man stated smoothly, though there was underlying steel in his tone. “And, I’ll remind you to keep your rude comments to yourself. Because a submissive doesn’t choose to scene with you is no reason to be nasty. Verbal abuse unless negotiated in a scene is against house rules, something you’ve been warned about on more than one occasion.”

  Having his prior infractions aired before her and the other members still gathered to watch the drama, so incensed the Dom his face turned blood red. Esme was afraid his ears might pop off the side of his head. Unfortunately, they didn’t, and he gave the DM no reason to snap him like a twig—also to her disappointment. Instead, he cast her a scathing look before stalking away.

  With him gone, a wave of relief swept through her, but the incident left her shaking. She swayed, feeling weak at the knees, and jumped when her rescuer put a supportive hand on her back.

  “Easy, lass. It’s over.”

  Responding to his deep, soothing voice and authoritative presence, she inched closer, leaning into him to steady herself.

  “Thank you.”

  “Carlos is an ass,” he stated succinctly. “I’ll keep an eye on him the rest of the night. He’ll find someone else, but they won’t be who he wanted, and the scene won’t go well. We’ll have more trouble out of him tonight, of that I’m certain.”

  “I can’t stop shaking.”

  “’Tis a delayed stress reaction. Breathe deep.” The DM’s hand shifted to her chin, lifting her face for his inspection. “Do you need to sit down, little sub?”

  For the first time, she truly looked at him. At five foot eight, she hadn’t ever considered herself little, but compared to him, she supposed she was. Aside from being several inches over six feet, he was broad-shouldered, muscular, but not bulging, like he was familiar with the gym though not obsessed with it. His thick, dark hair gleamed with strands of auburn and had a slight wave to it. It touched his collar in back as if he’d been busy and was several weeks past due for a trim. She was tempted to brush it back off his forehead or finger comb where it curled around his ears.

  He was strikingly handsome, but what struck her most was his startling green eyes, just a shade darker than her own, not quite a jade, and different than emerald. Unique, but oddly familiar though she would have remembered this man had she ever met him before. Her body heated as a tingle of awareness raced through her, something that hadn’t happened in a very long time.

  Feeling suddenly vulnerable, she averted her eyes, and in a self-conscious gesture, nervously tucked her hair behind her ear.

  He arrested her movement by taking her hand in his, then with his head bent near, he examined her wrist already discoloring from harsh, unyielding fingers. “I’d like to wring the bastard’s neck,” he growled fiercely.

  For the first time, she noticed an accent, the bending tones becoming more pronounced with his anger. She couldn’t quite place it, but Carlos had called him Finnegan. Irish, was her guess.

  “I’ll be all right but am glad you came when you did. He was persistent and when he didn’t get his way became furious.”

  “Carlos has an over-inflated opinion of his charm. Your refusal hurt his pride.”

  Esme sniffed. “Surely he’s heard it before.”

  “He’s new here, and that is a novelty all its own. He’s a successful businessman, has some wealth, and a few connections in town, all of which he likes to flaunt by name-dropping whenever possible. His self-proclaimed importance tricks people into tolerating more than they should, but word will get around pretty quick.”

  “He didn’t intimidate you.”

  He looked up, a glint of amusement brightening his beautiful eyes, and while a grin played around his very kissable looking lips, his thumb continued to stroke her abraded skin. “His money doesn’t impress me, and true power comes from within, not how much your money will buy. Besides, I wouldn’t be doing my job as protector of fair-skinned submissives who bruise under harsh treatment if I let him get to me.” He brought her wrist to his lips and brushed the ring of marks forming in the shape of Carlos’ fingers with a gentle kiss. “He’ll remember you, pretty subbie, so you’ll need to keep your distance.”

  Her face heated at his touch and the compliment although she felt the latter was a bit overdone. The Dom hadn’t lied with his cruel remark; there were supermodel-beautiful subs swarming the place. “I appreciate your kind words.”

  His green eyes flashed again, darkening with an emotion she couldn’t read, impatience, annoyance, anger perhaps, but his voice had the same smooth, deep quality when he replied. “It wasn’t kind, lass, but truthful. What Carlos said was bullshit.”

  “My thanks for your truthful words, then, sir. And I’ll heed your warning and avoid him in the future. As for tonight, I’ve had enough and think I’ll head home.”

  “Don’t let that horse’s ass run you off. There are plenty of other Doms eager to play tonight.” He held up her pink ribbon. “We use these for a reason, however.” Slipping the ribbon beneath her hair, he tied it around her throat where it belonged, his fingers brushing her skin lightly and standing close as he was, sent a ripple of excitement coursing through her. “Keep this on,” he ordered, when he was done. “Carlos usually sticks to masochists and subs with a taste for humiliation, who invariably wear red. Pink may have made him think twice before he approached.”

  She would accept some responsibility for what happened, but not all. Carlos would have assumed she knew the rule for the games played in the dungeon, including the ribbon system. He hadn’t bothered to ask why she didn’t have one, or he could have simply asked her color. He didn’t care, nor had he bother
ed to negotiate a thing, including a safeword. Esme had run into dominants like him before. They believed rules existed for everyone else except them.

  “You don’t play much, do you?”

  She glanced up. How had he guessed?

  “I haven’t found someone to suit me yet, sir. To be honest, and I’m not only just basing this on tonight, but your club may be a little too much for me.”

  “If you find the right dominant to guide you, it won’t be. I could introduce you to someone.” Aiming his gaze over her head, he searched the crowd. “Jerry is here, somewhere.”

  She felt a pang in her chest that he thought nothing of passing her off to someone else as though the possibility of him being her guide hadn’t entered his mind.

  “No, please,” she rushed to say while placing her hand on his forearm. “That isn’t necessary. My sponsor is out of town but intends to make introductions when he returns.” She gazed up into his kind concerned face. Like Andrew and Pax, this Dom was one of the good ones.

  “Who might that be?”

  “Ryan Paxton.”

  He nodded. “I heard he might be away for a while which leaves you on your own. Something I don’t recommend on nights like tonight.” Gently, he traced the satin strip at her throat. Another surge of excitement rushed through her at his touch. “Why do I get the feeling you’re a little lost and lean more to white than pink?”

  “Probably because it’s been a while since I’ve had a Dom, and I’ve never been to any place like this,” she admitted, having no idea why she was telling him, a complete stranger, things she ordinarily wouldn’t tell a close friend. They’d just met, but she could feel the pull of his dominance, which was the opposite of the repellant vibe she got immediately from Carlos.

  “Decadence is a lot to take in at first, but when the hardcore extremists come to play, it can be scary especially for little innocents alone.” He paused, his perusal of her face sharp and assessing. “Did Paxton explain when you’re unattached your ribbon is like a collar, there to clearly state your status to everyone?”