by Joey W. Hill
She would in time, he knew. She was a hardass, yeah, but she also had a good heart. She was as protective as a mother bear, which gave him some mixed feelings, knowing it was on his behalf she still held a grudge.
She sniffed. "I told him if he'd let Mistress Helen do electric play on his testicles, he would earn my forgiveness. He's still deciding if my forgiveness is worth that. That's neither here nor there. Alex made a stupid, terrible judgment call, but he was misled as to Siren's intent. She told him she wanted you in the cell to make you listen, and that they were simply going to talk about the way you'd treated them. Like an intervention. Still inexcusable, since he didn't clear it with me and I was supposedly the arbiter of the whole thing, but intent was the key difference."
She took a breath. "Siren lied to Alex and forced you into something against your will. That made her infractions worse than Alex's, but it wasn't that which prompted her expulsion. Tyler said he banned her for essentially the same reason he banned you. She needs help to work through what happened and get her head straight about it. Yes, you broke something inside her, but something in her let it escalate to where she took it. It's up to her to address that in the right way, with counseling, like you're doing."
He frowned. Even if he'd found a weak spot in her behavior as a Mistress, he'd exploited it, stuck a knife into it and twisted, making the wound bigger.
"If I apologized to her, really apologized, do you think that would help her get back to a better place?" Maybe he could find out where she lived and go mow her lawn for about five years. Take out her trash, do things to make her life easier. A spurt of frustration told him that wouldn't work. Rumor had it she was extremely wealthy, so she'd have landscapers and other people to do those things for her.
Regina tilted her head. "Turn on your back and start stroking your cock," she said with gentle firmness. "What's the rule?"
As she adjusted her feet to the edge of the lounge's long seat cushion, he complied, his hand gripping his shaft. His cock was already starting to come to life. All it took was his Mistress's command. "I don't come until you say. If you take me all the way to the edge, but pull me back, over and over, I still don't come. Because it's your cock, your ass, your body, to do with whatever you want."
Her lips curved. "Yes. Good. And every time I order you to say that, you get harder, even if you're not touching yourself."
"Yes, Mistress." He looked at her as he stroked, because she hadn't said he couldn't. He stifled a groan as she slid the loose neck of her bathrobe to the side, exposing one full breast. She began to play with the nipple and the full curve.
He was trying not to be a selfish bastard, but when she answered his question, he had to remind his lust-fogged brain what the question had been.
"Yes. If done right, a sincere apology would help." She leaned forward and met his gaze. "Stop. I want you to hear this."
His hand stilled. He wanted to fire off more ideas, ways to convince Siren of his intentions, yet with the one word and her direct look, his Mistress stopped the words from leaving his lips. "Sometimes penance is as much about having to carry guilt and regret, as it is about fixing what created the guilt," she said. "Those feelings can serve more than one purpose. They help drive the type of person you truly want to be."
She sat back, tapping her long fingers on the table. "Later down the road, once she's at a different place in her head, you might have the opportunity to do more for her. For now, you'll prepare an apology and I'll deliver it to Tyler to pass on to her. That will be the end of it, for the time being. Do you understand?"
She didn't usually pull the Mistress card on something like that, but her tone of voice said she meant it. And forced him to face the truth.
She was right. His desire to fix it was as much because the gnawing ache in his gut about it woke him in the middle of the night, or hit him when he thought he was doing better, knocking him down again with self-incrimination. Learning to live with that, manage it, was part of getting better. While that seemed counterintuitive to his male need to fix, he was also learning to trust her when he couldn't make sense of things on his own.
Trust was the key. His heart and soul struggled with it, but when he met her gaze once more, and connected to all the emotions he saw there--her care for him, her understanding of what was inside him in ways even better than he sometimes comprehended them himself--he capitulated.
"Yes, Mistress."
She nodded. "So the question is what can you do in the interim? What other things can you do to make things better, right now? Start stroking your cock again."
"I hurt her the worst, but I think..." His breath caught in his throat as she opened the robe fully. Sliding her touch down to her cunt, she played with her clit, her lips parting in aroused reaction. Her gaze was on the movement of his hand, the flex of his body as he pushed up into his grip. Fuck, she knew he didn't multitask well. It was why she did it, though. Dommes were sadists, after all...
"I want to say I'm sorry to all of them in some way. And I'd like...your help. You're a Mistress, so you'll know the best thing. Will you help me figure out how to do that?"
She rose from the chair, leaving the robe behind for Magenta, who immediately transferred from the cushion on the adjacent chair to curl up on body-warmed terry cloth. Regina moved to straddle him, one leg folded up against his side, the other braced on the floor. With no more than a look, she had him move his hands out of her way. "Hold onto the top of the lounge," she instructed.
When he did, she pushed herself down on his cock, a nice slow, Sunday morning slick glide. "Fuck, you feel good," he growled.
"Same goes, sweet boy." She began to ride, up, down, squeeze, rotate, as his hands flexed on metal and his body thrust up into the heated wet grip of hers. His gaze stayed glued to the quiver of her breasts, the sinuous motion of thighs and stomach, the glint of the silver spiral charm at her navel.
"Yes," she said breathlessly, right as the orgasm took her. "Yes, I'll help you. Always."
Making amends. It was a lot harder than it sounded, because it wasn't some stupid-ass politician standing up and saying, "I'm sorry if I offended someone," arrogant words that didn't express regret at all.
But Regina helped him figure it out, just as she'd said she would. He did the written apology to Siren. After about a hundred painful drafts, he passed it on through Tyler. It felt inadequate, but it was something.
As far as the other Dommes, with some suggestions from Regina, he worked out an idea, then consulted with her and Marguerite to set up the whole thing. The first step was renting Marguerite's place for a tea party with all the trimmings.
Since the organizers of that last fight had made plenty of money on him in the initial free-for-all, they hadn't thrown too much of a shitfit about him ducking the scheduled fight. He and Tal had settled with them with some left over, and Marius used those leftovers to pay for the event.
Tal didn't act too mad that he'd decided to retire. He seemed pretty pleased for Marius and told him that he and his wife would have them over for barbecue sometime soon.
Regina had at last made him tell her what he did with the money he won from his fights. For years he'd dropped big chunks of it anonymously at one of the local animal rescues. Some of the rest went via money order to the shadow's sister to help with...his mother's care. It had taken time for him to finally call her that, but the counselor had helped.
After that pivotal night where he'd learned his father's pro-bono lawyers anticipated losing their fight to keep him from lethal injection, Marius had started giving almost all of it away to both those causes. He hadn't really cared about where he lived, what he ate. That gray pall had stayed on everything.
Until Regina had helped him start seeing, feeling and tasting in vibrant color again. Calling the shadow what she was--his mother--and telling Regina about the gray curtain and what he did with his money? Those types of breakthroughs made him feel better than he expected.
He also discovered a pleasura
ble kind of nervousness with her, a desire to please, to not fail her. Even as he also enjoyed yanking her chain sometimes. She knew how to get rough with him. She liked setting a bad dog back on his heels...and he liked it, too.
A different kind of nervousness started manifesting when Marguerite issued the invitations to the tea party, and almost all the Dommes RSVP'ed that they'd be there.
The day of the event, his Mistress chose his clothes. A white dress shirt, black slacks and jacket, shiny shoes. Dark brief shorts and a cock harness under the slacks. Though he wasn't sure the latter was needed, since he felt like his privates wanted to turtle right up into his body, Regina proved otherwise when they arrived at Marguerite's and his Mistress took him into the back room to give him another once-over.
Once there, Regina removed the light wrap that had denied him a full view of what she'd chosen to wear. All he knew before they left her place was it was red satin and short, and she was wearing elbow-length black gloves. His saliva had dried up, looking at how the fabric molded her long, feminine fingers and forearms like a second skin.
The dress she revealed was a short wrap-around style that hugged her curves. The black bra she wore beneath pushed her breasts up on tempting display, the lace edges providing a trim to the deep vee neckline of the dress. Her necklace was a delicate gold chain, the pendant a tiny gold and black kitten playing with a ceramic red rose. She wore strappy red heels with black soles.
That cock harness was going to get one hell of a work out.
He was still nervous as hell, but the surge of lust and alpha mine vibes surged up over that like a wave, making him restless enough to want to push through limits and take her against the wall, here and now.
She saw it, moistening her crimson-painted lips, her brown eyes measuring him as she tested his self-control and came closer. "Turn around," she commanded.
He pivoted, slow, not wanting to take his eyes off her any sooner than necessary.
As she stepped behind him, he smelled her perfume, a haunting scent he wanted to taste on her skin. She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his back and under the jacket tail to mold her hands over his ass, his hips, and press her body against his. He drew in a breath, and it sounded like a growl. She chuckled, a low, husky note.
"So you like the dress, sweet boy?"
"Fuck, yeah," he muttered.
She tsked and gave his buttock a light slap. "Clean up your language. This is a formal tea party. Best behavior. You're going to have to work very, very hard to earn the right to take me in this dress. Are you ready to work very hard?"
"I'll do anything you want, Mistress."
She pressed her mouth to the back of his neck. "I remember the night I gave you the flogging for putting your feet on the wall. You said things like that. But you didn't mean them. When you say that now, I get all wet and slippery for you." She rubbed her mound against his ass, her teeth nipping him. Fuck, she was going to kill him.
He'd gotten a haircut and the skin was so clean and smooth on his neck it made the touch of her lips all the more potent. His hands closed into half fists.
"We've talked about your hands, haven't we?"
He loosened them with an effort. Though he'd been struggling for control of his lust, the fist clenching sent mixed signals to his mind. In a nerve-wracking scenario like he was facing in the next few minutes, that trigger could open the gateway to the side of himself he was learning to manage...and she was helping him to heal.
"Good." Regina slid her arms all the way around him, and began plucking open the buttons to the white shirt. "I'm taking this off. I want you in the slacks and shoes only, and so do our guests. No. Leave your hands as they are. I want to do it."
She did it thoroughly, caressing his chest, nipples and abdomen, stroking his arms as she slid shirt and jacket off of them. When she commanded him to turn and face her, he knew his eyes reflected the desire to have her. As she palmed his cock, he bit back a groan. Her eyes sparked.
"You arranged this, Marius. You want to make amends, to say you're sorry. But what do you need to remember above everything else? The most important thing?"
Would she ever understand how grateful he was to say it and mean it? It still felt like a miracle to him, that he had reached the point he could do it.
"You're my Mistress. I serve your will."
She leaned in, brushing her sinful lips against his temple, his cheek. "Actually, what I intended you to say was 'I'm yours.' Possessive man."
He grinned, things loosening in his lower belly. "Sometimes a sub has to remind a Mistress she's his, too."
She pinched his side with sharp nails. "Bad boy. You'll pay for that in a lot of different ways today." She sobered, laying her hand on his jaw. "That's why I want you to remember you belong to me. You're making amends, doing what a man should do. This is the right thing to do, and because it's the right thing to do, you don't stand alone. Understand?"
He wasn't sure he did, but her words settled things in him. Her penetrating look said she knew he was uncertain about it, and she didn't push him to answer. "I'm going to go sit down. In five minutes, you come out and get things started."
He nodded, but when she started to step away, he was holding onto her waist. She raised a brow.
"May I kiss you, Mistress?"
"You may."
He focused on her beautiful lips, her warm skin, the vibrant quality that infused her dark eyes like sunlight. While he wanted his mouth on every part of her, he knew what part of her he needed to kiss right now. Dropping to one knee, he bent and kissed the top of her foot, pressing his lips there hard, his forehead brushing her shin. He heard the little catch of her breath and knew he'd pleased her, which was the best feeling there was.
It would carry him through anything less than that in the next couple hours.
Even before he emerged from the back room, the wave of female chatter told him they'd arrived. Seventeen women, including his Mistress. Though he was supposed to do the bulk of the serving, Chloe and Melissa, Marguerite's staff, would be helping.
He glanced down at himself. Upper body bare and dark, close fitting slacks belted at the waist. Shiny shoes. His cock was still semi-hard in the harness, thanks to his Mistress's parting words.
"While you're serving those other Mistresses, I'll be thinking about how every inch of you is mine. When your penance is done today, you'll know it, too. And next time I ask you what the most important thing is to remember, you'll say it the way you should."
He stepped out onto the main floor, and that chatter slowly died down as seventeen pairs of eyes turned and came to rest upon him. Neutral, assessing, the way Mistresses did. These were damn good Dommes, and he was hit anew by how he'd disrespected them, and the gift they could give a sub open to receiving it. He thought of how he'd feel about anyone who disrespected his Mistress and the surge of near-violence unsteadied him.
Multiple five-seat round tables were decorated prettily with flowers, napkins and delicate dishes. He'd helped handle the set up last night, polishing everything and following Marguerite and Chloe's direction for the arrangement of both furniture and place settings, but until he stood at the front of the room and took it all in, he hadn't recognized the final, impressive results. Things looked nice, classy. Feminine.
Marguerite was sitting at the table with his Mistress. Lyda was on Regina's right, and their expressions, even Regina's, were quiet and waiting. Expectant, intimidating and measuring, as Mistresses could be. In the right ways.
Regina had walked him through what he wanted to say. She'd helped him get it clear in his own mind so it would come out sincere and from the heart, even if he stumbled a couple times.
He cleared his throat. "Thanks...thank you for coming today. I...uh, wanted to do this because I know I didn't do right by you when you gave me the honor of your attention in session. I disrespected you."
A scoffing sound, laden with contempt, caught his attention. Mistress Tia was one of Siren's closest friends, and
her expression wasn't neutral. That was okay. Despite the drop in his stomach her brief reaction caused, he pressed onward.
"I was pretty messed up. That's not an excuse; just the reason. I don't think there's any right way to say I'm sorry for how I acted. Maybe it just has to be that way, you always disliking me because I was an asshole. I accept that, and I'm still sorry. I was wrong. What I did was wrong, no matter the reason. But from here forward, you can expect the courtesy and respect from me you all really deserve. I know only time will help you believe that, but this is the starting line for proving that to each of you. If there's anything I can do to earn your forgiveness, I'll do it."
Regina cleared her throat and he glanced her way. "I mean, if my Mistress agrees."
Chuckles rippled through the women. Not for him, but for Regina, showing their Domme appreciation and understanding of what limits a Mistress might impose on how generous her submissive could be in his reparations.
"Yeah, you bitches don't get a blank check," Regina confirmed with good humor. "But this is a two-part apology. After the tea party, we'll be adjourning to The Zone for a private event before the club opens for the night. I believe what you're offered there will meet your approval."
That was also part of the reparation plan they'd discussed. He'd wanted to do something like this, the tea party, but he also wanted to offer something...more physical, to make amends. He hadn't known how to make that work, because he was in a situation now where he only wanted to serve one Mistress. And he definitely didn't want Regina thinking he felt differently about that. Fortunately, when she'd walked him through the quagmire of what he was trying to say, she'd understood. He wanted to offer something like what he should have given them before. Surrender to their demands; provide reparations in a way that matched the crime. She told him she would handle the second part.
"Will you accept what I decide?" she'd asked. "Without knowing what it will be until it's happening? No foreknowledge to prepare or shield yourself. Anticipation and dread should be part of the process."
"Yes, Mistress." Though now, at the glint in her eye, he had the good sense to feel a ripple of trepidation. No matter the purity of his intentions, his need to offer these Mistresses a sexual reparation meant his Mistress would take a pound of flesh in exchange for her permission to allow him to do so. A balance he'd need, so he was glad for it. Even as he dreaded the unknown.