“This isn’t like that.”
“Honey, everything’s like that. You always think it’s different, but it hardly ever is. And I love that about you, your enthusiasm and how broad your interests are. But I don’t want to be the next unicycle. I can’t take that. I can’t go to the hardware store with you for eyebolts and chains and whatever, then wait and wait until I finally realize you’re never going to install them. This is new to me but I can tell it’s something I need, something I’ve maybe always needed. It’s a deal-breaker now. I can’t go back.”
“I never said you had to go back. And you would never be the next unicycle.” His throat was tight, his head throbbed. He felt dumb, helpless. Because she was right, if not about this particular thing then about his pattern in general. Her fear was well-founded, and he had no idea how to overcome it. “What can I do to prove it to you?”
Her face was a mask, cool and pale. If he hadn’t known her so well he would have assumed that expression meant she didn’t care. But he did know her, and he knew it meant she cared too much. It was the expression she got right before she burst into tears.
“I’ll do anything you want me to do,” he promised.
For a second she wavered, and Ben let himself hope. It was only a second. Then the mask settled into place again.
“I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything that would convince me.”
* * *
They did not end up having sex, special or otherwise. Instead they had a movie moment, not one of the good kind—”Do you want me to leave?” “I think that would probably be best”—and Lindsey kept her calm face on the entire time. She was being reasonable, she told herself, and bringing emotion into it would only confuse things.
That resolve lasted thirty seconds or so after the door shut behind Ben. Then the still, cool air in the hotel room started to smother her like a killing fog, and before she realized she was only crying she thought she might be suffocating. She couldn’t take a breath. And when she finally did, it was only to sob as if she would never stop.
She might have thought “sob harder than she could ever remember,” but she did remember exactly when she’d last cried that hard. It was the breakup all over again, all those hurts that hadn’t healed but only scabbed over. It felt just as fresh and raw as it had months ago, and that made her doubt every decision she’d made since that time. She’d been fooling herself to think she was okay, and must have been crazy to imagine she could hop into bed with Ben again and not suffer the same consequences. Or possibly crazy to throw away another chance with him. He was a great guy and she still loved him, trusted him, could picture a future with him. Most of a future.
It was just that in that same few months, her picture of the future had grown both broader and sharper. The BDSM stuff wasn’t just about sex—it was philosophy. Learning about it had been a revelation that spoke to her soul. She didn’t need proof from Ben that he would always be kinky; she needed proof that he understood why it was important to her for him to follow through. The whips and cuffs were nice but they were only accessories, afterthoughts. Props.
At least this time she was the one shutting it all down, the dumper instead of the dumpee. She wished that were any comfort at all, but it really wasn’t.
Chapter Ten
Mitch or Rick or whatever his name was stood behind the spanking bench, casting an appraising gaze over Other Sub Red’s ass.
It was a nice enough ass, Ben had to admit, but not as nice as Lindsey’s. The livid marks didn’t flatter the current Red the same way, and the strappy black costume looked...off, somehow. He could see why the artist and his friends had jumped at the chance to conscript Lindsey into their show. This Amy girl was good, but Lindsey had walked straight out of the comic book. She had glowed, seemed larger than life, for all her daintiness. Star quality.
He had always found her beautiful, of course. She just was, even if she wasn’t the beautiful type. It often showed in pictures or videos of her, though, that shining extra something. “Who is that girl?” people would ask, and take another look. “She looks like somebody famous, but I can’t quite place her.”
This week—on this spanking horse in front of him—was the first time he’d seen that something take her over. The first time he’d seen her become that amazing person he’d only glimpsed before. It hit him like a ton of bricks then, that it might be the first time she’d really been completely, truly herself. She’d blossomed into what she was always meant to be. This wasn’t just an act, trying this stuff on for size. This was Lindsey. And he wanted her more than ever, because with this Lindsey he’d become more than he’d ever imagined. Superman.
“You done this yet, kid?”
Mitch flicked the flogger at Other Red’s butt, gauging his distance perfectly to crack only the wicked tips against her tortured pink skin. She jerked and moaned, but Ben suspected it was mostly for show. He got the impression it took a lot more than a light flogging to get Amy moaning.
“No, no whips yet. Waiting until I can afford the real thing.”
“You have friends in the lifestyle, though, yeah? Get them to show you the ropes. If there’s a club nearby you could probably get some training, try out some different things before you invest.” He landed another blow, and Ben had to admire the flow and tension of the movement, the way the other man’s body curved into the motion as if the whip was an extension of his arm.
“You’ve been doing this a long time, haven’t you?”
Mitch snorted. “Yeah, I have. This isn’t my weapon of choice though. Just like Rick, I’m usually a single-tail man. It’s just too dangerous to use one in a space this tight and crowded, so at the cons we stick with the flogger and paddle.”
Samantha sauntered by, fanning herself with a dwindling stack of promotional postcards. “Boys.”
“Darling,” Mitch replied. “You’re up next.”
“So soon? My, how time flies.”
Ben expected Amy to get off the horse, but to his surprise Samantha traded places with Mitch instead. Her first strike with the flogger was hard, sharp, and seemed to get Amy’s attention. The sub peered back over her shoulder, mumbling a curse.
“The flogger does happen to be Sam’s weapon of choice,” Mitch remarked.
She was clearly a master at it, and Ben despaired for a few moments. There was so much to learn—all the terminology, all the safety precautions, all those knots. Would he ever get there? Would it ever be enough to win his Lindsey back?
“There’s training?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Well, depends on where you are. But I’ll bet Ivan can tell you where to go and who to call. So where’s Lindsey, anyway?”
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. Not with me, at least.”
“What’s up, man?” To Ben’s relief, the big man took off his leather mask, making him appear red and sweaty but human again.
“She broke up with me.”
Ten minutes later they were stationed at the hotel bar, tap beer in front of them and a few hard truths behind them.
“I have to admit, you don’t exactly scream Dominant to me, kid,” Mitch pointed out. “That might not be definitive, though. One thing this stuff teaches you, you can’t always judge by outward appearances. Scariest pro Dominatrix I ever met looked like a debutante turned society belle. Soft southern voice, that sweet Charleston accent. Demure little smile. That woman would rip the skin right off your back if you let her, and she’d wear that smile the whole time. And her owned slave was a six-foot-five former professional linebacker who was into puppy play.”
Ben opened his mouth to ask, then shut it again. He didn’t need to know everything at once. He tried to focus on the first thing Mitch had said. “But Ivan screams Dominant, right? Samantha saw it right away. So what’s he doing that I’m not?”
Mitch shrugged. “Sam has great Dom-dar, for one thing. But also, from what I can see, Ivan seems decisive. He seems like he has a plan, he will carry it out, see it through to the end. And he’s c
onfident he’ll be successful. Maybe even a little arrogant about that.”
“So just be confident and have a plan? Pfft, I do that.”
“You’ll notice I said seems.”
“So the goal is to fake it?”
“Not really. The goal is, it’s a mind fuck. That’s the most important element. Your ability to remember at all times that the whole thing is a kind of elaborate hypnosis experiment. She trusts you to put her under, keep her there awhile, and then bring her back intact. If you seem like you don’t know what you’re doing, or you aren’t sure you want to be there, that’ll register and she won’t be able to let go like she needs to. I suspect that’s what she’s scared of. That you won’t follow through, and you’ll leave her hanging.”
Ben considered his last few encounters with Lindsey, the rush of power when he’d put the mask on her and she couldn’t see his idiotic blunders. He’d never felt that way about the unicycle, that was for damn sure. What’s more, now that he’d experienced it, he wanted more. Even without Lindsey, he planned to talk to Ivan about the club he went to. “I do want to be there. Not just because of Lindsey, either. I’m hooked on this now—she’s got me hooked.”
“I know the feeling. It’s heady stuff.”
“So to speak.”
They shared a juvenile snicker.
“It’s tough, though. There’s a reason I play both sides of that particular fence.”
“No interest in the other side,” Ben assured him, then sighed. “The weird thing is, she’s worried about this right when I’m starting to pull so much other stuff together. I mean like planning to quit my job, and—”
Mitch sputtered, nearly spraying beer. “That’s your idea of getting stuff together?”
Laughing, Ben offered him a napkin. “No, no. Because I’m finally going back for my PhD. I was admitted to the program I wanted last year, but decided to go make money instead. I had to put on my best potential-professor suit and practically get on my knees to beg the dean for my spot back, but I did it. Got the thumbs-up last week.”
“Gotcha. Congratulations. PhD in what?”
“History. Used to be focused on medieval England but now I’m more interested in—”
“I’ll take your word for it. No offense, history class always made me fall asleep.”
“None taken. It’s not for everyone. But I’m excited. I left it for the money, you know, but it just wasn’t worth it. It was a huge mistake, probably the second biggest mistake of my life. It’s turning out to be a lot easier to fix than the biggest one, at least.”
“And the biggest mistake was?”
“Leaving Lindsey,” Ben confessed. “Not just that, but the way I did it. I let her think it was about her, but it was all about me. It was getting serious and I was a chickenshit.”
“Well, you know that about yourself, though. That’s good. You’re capable of learning.”
“You are paying for this beer, right?”
“You’re not a starving doctoral candidate yet, kid.”
“I’m not exactly a kid, either. But it’s true, realizing you’re a chickenshit is the first step to recovery.”
“Okay then,” Mitch continued, “so what’s your plan? For tonight, I mean, not the rest of your life. She says she doesn’t want proof, but if you’re doing this anyway you must have a plan. If you do, I suggest you go ahead with it. If you don’t, then make one and go ahead with that.”
Ben thought about the shopping bags up in his room, hidden in his suitcase away from potentially prying roommate eyes. Thought about the interview suit, and the tie he’d never unpacked after that day when he’d used the case to smuggle the clothes into work. He’d taken an early lunch, gone to the interview, and used the downstairs bathroom to change back into jeans and a gimme T-shirt afterwards, with nobody at his office the wiser. He hadn’t told Lindsey about his reacceptance yet because he was embarrassed to admit she’d been right all along. But then, up until a few days ago, he also hadn’t been in a position to talk to her about his life plans. Somehow, now it didn’t seem like an embarrassment.
And neither did the costume he intended to wear to the contest. He did have a plan, he just hadn’t considered going through with it without Lindsey. But Mitch was right. If he was going to do this, he needed to do this. The only person he had to prove anything to was himself.
* * *
Lindsey smoothed the black straps into place, wincing as she brushed across the bruised flesh of her hips and butt. It didn’t take her long to prepare for the contest, just a little extra eye makeup and she was ready to go. Alone. A sub with no Master.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she acknowledged the brilliance of the costume but also the lack of spark in her own eyes. The dull ache in her heart showed all over her face, in the set of her shoulders. She was straightening herself up, practicing standing tall, when the knock on the door interrupted her.
If she hadn’t known Ivan and Cami, she might not have recognized them. Cami in particular was transformed by her costume, the kitty ears and fluffy tail not nearly as big a change as the unexpectedly good figure displayed in the white corset and matching tiny boy shorts. Her hair fell over her shoulders in a tumble of golden curls, and her eyes looked luminous with smoky, cat-tilted liner to bring them out. Luscious, pouty red lips completed the look.
“You look amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in makeup before,” Lindsey admitted, stepping aside to let them into the room. “And I know I’ve never seen you in makeup before, Sir Mansome. Holy crap.”
Ivan was wearing almost as much eyeliner as Lindsey herself, and she allowed herself a moment of sharp jealousy because he was absolutely beautiful. Sir Mansome was the pretty-boy Dom of the Balls ‘n’ Chain crew, and Ivan’s chiseled features and surprisingly ripped abs made him the perfect live version. The leather pants he wore seemed molded into place, and he could have easily looked like a leatherman’s plaything, but somehow he didn’t. His beauty was cold, unattainable, almost angelic, and slightly chilling. Exactly like the character he was portraying, right down to the dainty leash on which he led his Kittycat slave, and the clearly top-of-the-line flogger hanging from a loop on his belt.
“He’s prettier than I am.” Cami sighed. “But we all have to make sacrifices.”
Lindsey laughed, but privately she disagreed with Cami. They were both so pretty, so perfect, the ideal couple. Their getups looked like the real thing, not costumes. She suddenly felt much shorter and sadder and more alone than ever before.
“Are you sure you want a third wheel?”
“Pfft.” Cami tugged at her corset, ensuring she was covering everything she needed to. “You’ll be the making of us. It’s just too bad we don’t have an extra leash, or Ivan could lead us both.”
“About that...” Lindsey started, then cleared her throat, feeling a flush rise over her face.
“About the leash?”
“No, no. Leading. Sort of. I was wondering if, when we got back to town, y’all could maybe...um, show me the ropes? Not literally. I mean—well, maybe literally, but I meant—”
“Take you to some munches and to the club, and introduce you to some people?” Cami offered, her grin putting Lindsey at ease.
“Exactly. Be my mentors. Especially at the club, I’m jumpy about trying that alone.”
Lindsey hadn’t heard the connecting door open, and Ben’s voice made her jump.
“Not without me, you’re not going to any bondage club. I thought I already made that clear, slave. If anybody is going to wreak havoc on your person, it’s going to be me. And only me.”
His growl hit her low in the belly, and somehow she knew what she would see before she even turned around. She was right, and there he stood in black jeans, wicked black cowboy boots and a half-unbuttoned white dress shirt with unfastened French cuffs, a tie hanging loose around his collar. The riding crop that swung from his hip was hardly the quality of Ivan’s flogger, but it wasn’t bad either.
> It was the expression on his face, though, that sold her. He was owning the character.
Then he dropped the mask for a second, taking one end of his tie and bopping her nose with it. “You needed a Master, right? For the costume contest?”
She saw the collar in his hand a second before he stepped over and buckled it around her neck. The leash was already attached. His hands left trails of tingling warmth where he touched her, but she still had a moment of sick dismay, thinking she’d been wrong again, that his act was only that—an act. For the contest, for the convention, a favor he thought he was doing her.
Ben’s whisper in her ear was too quiet for Cami and Ivan to hear. “If we were in a different setting I wouldn’t need the collar. I’d attach the leash to that clit ring. And you’d be wearing a whole lot less.”
“It’s a barbell, not a ring,” she pointed out, voice shaking.
“I know where to get a leash with a very small clip designed for just that purpose.” His response was at normal volume, and Lindsey automatically glanced at the others. Ivan was frowning at them, looking puzzled, while Cami pretended great interest in her corset ruffle until the lull in conversation became too much to bear.
“So, are y’all ready to head for the contest?” she asked brightly, with a final adjusting yank to her costume.
Lindsey wasn’t sure she was ready to do anything, but she nodded and returned Cami’s smile. “Let’s do it!”
Humor and excitement crackled in the halls and on the street between the hotel and convention center, as costumed participants converged for the parade that would precede the contest. It was the social capstone of the convention, and most of the revelers seemed to have started their celebration early. Too focused on her own concerns, Lindsey almost failed to notice that Ivan and Cami had dropped behind in the convention center hallway, until Ben slowed beside her.
The Seduction Hypothesis Page 11