Zoë stretched like a cat and sighed happily. “Better than okay, Sir.” Sir. She had to admit, she quite liked the way the word tripped off her tongue.
“What?” Dylan said, watching her in that intense way he had. “Tell me what’s going on in your head right now.”
“I was thinking about trust,” she said, amazed how easy it was to talk to him. All the shyness, hesitation and posturing was just—gone. “I was thinking I didn’t really get this whole D/s thing before. I mean, I’ve read about it a little.”
“A little…?” Dylan prompted with the lift of an eyebrow.
Zoë laughed. “Okay, okay. I’ll admit it. A lot. It always seemed, I don’t know, weird. This whole concept of erotic pain and sensual submission. I just didn’t really get it. Or no, that’s not right”—she paused, trying to figure out what she wanted to say—“I did understand it on an intellectual level, but I couldn’t figure out how an independent, strong woman like me could possibly want to submit, sexually or otherwise, to a man. Even though the concept attracted me on some level, I didn’t think it was something I could do, or should want to do, if you follow me.”
Dylan nodded. “I do follow you. I experienced a similar confusion in my early twenties when I was first coming to grips with my own dominant impulses. I love and respect women, so why did it get me so hard to tie a woman down and whip her? To cane her ass, to see her tears, to watch her writhe in erotic pain? What the fuck was wrong with me?”
Zoë lifted herself on an elbow, too. “Wow, yeah, right? So, what’s the answer, Mr. Hart? Are we just two sick puppies?”
Dylan laughed, shaking his head. “No. We’re just hardwired a little differently than your average vanilla bear.”
Zoë laughed at this, but sensed he had more to say. Dylan continued. “Here’s what I figured out, with some help from trusted mentors I met along the way. In the end, it’s about liberation. Women’s liberation, men’s liberation—just plain old human liberation. It’s about being truly free to express who and what we are, not based on society’s dictates of what we are supposed to be, but rather what really moves us—what reaches our hearts and minds, what allows us to connect with another person. It’s a consensual exchange of power that elevates both of us—the Dom and the sub—to a higher plane of experience.” He gave a small laugh, looking suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry, I tend to get on my soapbox about this. You just need to tell me to shut up.”
“No, not at all,” Zoë assured him. “The whole thing is fascinating. I mean, I thought when you made this bet it was just some elaborate way to get into my pants,” she admitted with a grin.
Dylan laughed. “Well, there was that.” Then he sobered, the smile falling away from his face. “Seriously, though, Zoë. There’s something I have to tell you.”
Zoë’s stomach did an unpleasant twist. Was this where he admitted he had a girlfriend, or worse, a wife, stashed away somewhere? She held her breath, waiting.
“The money—it’s already being transferred into your account.”
It took Zoë a second to process this sudden change in topic from what she’d anticipated. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I want you to know that now. What’s happening between us, it’s not about some bargain of my investing in your venture in exchange for this weekend. I’m already sold on the business deal. It’s done.” When Zoë didn’t respond, he continued, “What I’m saying is, you don’t have to finish out the weekend—not on those terms.” A shadow moved over his rugged face. “You’re free to go. I don’t want to keep you here as part of a some deal.”
Zoë stared at Dylan, trying to understand, a sudden coldness moving through her and making her shiver. Was he sending her away? “Do you want me to go?” she said in a small voice, tears pricking her eyes.
Dylan smiled tenderly and reached for her. “No. I want you to stay. What I’m trying to say is, I want you to stay, but not because you have to. I want you to stay because you want to.”
His smile, his words, his touch, all combined in a burst of sunshine to warm her from the inside out. She realized with a sudden shock that the business deal she’d been working so hard to put together, and with which she’d been consumed for several months, hadn’t even entered her mind since Dylan’s proposal the night before.
“I want to,” she said with conviction. “Please, Sir. I want to stay.”
Chapter 7
Zoë wasn’t used to sleeping during the day. She woke slowly, taking a moment to get her bearings. They had eaten lunch on Dylan’s back veranda, which overlooked a beautifully tended lawn that sloped toward a small lake. Afterward, he’d suggested a nap, but instead of taking her back to her dungeon bed, he’d led her to his bedroom on the second floor.
From the moment he’d told her their financial bargain was no longer in play, something had shifted between them. What Zoë had started out regarding as a weekend kinky sex game had become something infinitely more real.
Refreshed from the afternoon nap, Zoë gently disengaged from Dylan’s warm embrace, stretched and yawned. Dylan opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at her. He took her hand and guided it to his cock, which lay long and thick along his flat stomach.
“Now that you’re rested,” he said, “we’ll continue with the next exercise.” His smile was lazily sensual, his shaft twitching against her fingers.
Zoë’s cunt spasmed, her nipples perking to instant attention. Certain she knew what he wanted, and eager to give it to him, she started to scoot down to take his erection into her mouth. He stopped her by gripping a handful of her hair and using it as a rein to jerk her back. “Not so fast. You’re making assumptions. I would prefer it if you wait until I give you a specific task, understood?”
Both embarrassed and chagrined, Zoë nodded.
“What’s that?” Dylan prompted.
“Yes, Sir,” she managed, secretly thrilled at his dominance, which resonated somewhere deep inside her, filling a place she’d never realized was empty.
Dylan slid from the bed and stood beside it, completely relaxed in his nudity as he placed his hands on his hips, his cock jutting provocatively toward her. He pointed to the ground. “Get on your knees.”
He waited while she obeyed. His shaft bobbed inches from her face. She swallowed and pressed her lips together, only barely controlling her impulse to lean forward and suck that gorgeous cock into her mouth. “Hands behind your back,” he instructed. “Grip your opposite wrists with your hands.” Once she was in position, he continued, “You will worship my cock with your mouth. You won’t stop until I climax.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “I think we’ll make this more interesting with a little rope. Oh, and do you know what nipple clamps are?”
No point in denying it. “I’ve—I’ve read about them in my novels, Sir,” Zoë admitted.
“Ah yes, your erotic romance novels.” Dylan lifted an eyebrow, his smile sardonic. “You’re going to have to show me some of those later, sub girl. But right now, it’s time to experience what you’ve only read about.” He reached back and opened his nightstand drawer. He pulled out a chain with an alligator clip attached on each end. He held it out so Zoë could see. He pressed open one of the clips and indicated the small screw at its base. “You understand the principle, I assume?”
Zoë’s stared at the open clip, fixating on the double row of tiny, sharp teeth glittering like a shark’s open maw. It looked positively diabolical. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. “I—I think so.”
“Allow me to demonstrate.” Dylan bent down and reached for Zoë’s right nipple, pulling it taut between his fingers.
“Oh!” Zoë gasped, instinctively drawing back in alarm. “Will it hurt?”
Dylan’s smile was at once sensual and cruel. “Of course it will hurt. That’s the point, dear heart.” He rolled her marble-hard nipple between thumb and forefinger. “But it’s a good pain. It’s purifying. And it’s part of this exercise—you will please me while at the same time suffering for me, which
in turn pleases me all the more.”
As Zoë pondered this dichotomy, Dylan opened one of the clips and guided it toward her distended nipple. “Don’t move. I’m going to attach the clips one at a time, and then we’ll adjust the tension, okay?”
“I’m afraid,” Zoë blurted, her body tensing, her heart pounding.
“That’s okay,” Dylan replied. “Part of the process is working through your fear. You’re safe, Zoë. I promise. Remember, you’re the one in ultimate control here. If you feel you have to stop the action, just use your safeword. Remind me what your safeword is.”
“Buyout,” Zoë whispered.
“Buyout,” Dylan repeated with a nod. He still held her nipple in a tight grip. “Now, take a deep breath and release it slowly while I count. At three, I’ll put the clip on your nipple. It hurts the most at first, and then it kind of numbs. It’s nothing you can’t handle, I promise. These are the gentlest kind of clamps because we can adjust the tension.”
An involuntary shudder moved through Zoë’s frame, despite his reassurances. “Deep breath,” Dylan reminded her, and Zoë took in a big lungful of air, letting it out slowly as Dylan counted. “One…two…three.”
She gasped and instinctively jerked back as the clip bit down on either side of her engorged nipple. A sudden explosion of pain ripped through her nerve endings, and tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. But, as Dylan had promised, after a few seconds, the tension was tolerable, dulling into something manageable. Then came the second clip, and a second explosion. Zoë blinked back a fresh rush of tears.
Dylan tugged gently at the chain between the two clips. “I think that’s just about right,” he said. “We won’t go tighter for now.”
Thank god for small favors. She watched in silence as he took a small hank of white rope from the nightstand drawer. He knelt behind her, his erection pressing briefly against her ass as he wrapped the rope snugly but gently around her wrists. The knowledge that he was as aroused as she was pleased her. Being bound made her feel both more vulnerable and more excited. Her cunt was throbbing, her mouth watering with desire to taste his beautiful cock. Her nipples pulsed in the tight grip of the clamps and she prayed she’d be able to make him come without the use of her hands, and with the distraction of the clamps and rope.
Finally satisfied with her bonds, Dylan returned to stand in front of her, his cock once more inches from her face. She leaned forward, her lips parting of their own accord. He took a step back. “Don’t move,” he said. “I will control this, not you.” He placed his hand on her head, moving it over the top and back, his fingers curling to grip a handful of her hair.
He pushed her head slowly forward until the tip of his cock brushed her lips. “Take my offering,” he said, his voice deep and commanding. He slid his shaft into her mouth until the head touched the back of her throat.
Zoë gagged a little, struggling to accommodate his sizable girth, determined to show him she was accomplished at least in this. He kept his cock in that position for several long seconds while she willed herself to relax and accept it. Finally he withdrew it slowly, letting its silky weight glide sensually in her mouth. She closed her lips and suckled along the length to create friction as he moved. He groaned softly in what sounded to her like deep satisfaction.
Pleased and emboldened by his reaction, she teased along the underside of his cock with her tongue as he eased himself back into her mouth. He brought his second hand to her head, letting go of her hair with the other, and using both to guide her onto and off his shaft in a pumping rhythm that became faster and faster as he neared climax. It wasn’t long before he gave a deep, guttural cry and stiffened. She could feel the hot, sudden spurts of his jism sliding down the back of her throat, but could do nothing except try to swallow so she wouldn’t choke.
Finally he let go of her head and moved back until his cock slid from her mouth. He dropped to his knees and drew her into his arms, his hands sliding beneath her bottom. Standing, he lifted her and set her gently on the mattress on her side.
The mattress gave as he sat beside her, and then the ropes were plucked from her wrists. He rolled her gently onto her back. He was still breathing heavily from his orgasm and his eyes were bright.
He placed his fingers on either clip over her compressed, now nearly numb nipples. A look of genuine regret moved over his features. “There’s something I didn’t mention before. Taking off the clamps is the worst part. The bad news is, it will hurt like a motherfucker. The good news is, it’ll be over in a flash.”
He was right, on both counts.
They washed together in Dylan’s huge walk-in shower. Dylan had Zoë dry his hard, masculine body, and then he dried hers, his touch incredibly sensual. As he worked, he said, “I was thinking we should go out to dinner tonight. I know the perfect place.” There was something teasing in his tone, and his eyes were dancing.
Zoë kept her tone light as she teased back. “Oh, yes? And where would that be? A BDSM dungeon?”
Dylan's mouth quirked into a half smile, his eyes sparking with a fire that sent a jolt of electricity through Zoë’s core. “Precisely,” he agreed. “How did you guess?”
Zoë’s gut clenched. “Wait, what? I was just kidding.”
“Well, you hit it on the head nevertheless. The club I belong to has a very fine private restaurant, along with two fully equipped dungeons and even accommodations for out of town guests. Saturdays are always hopping, and it’s the best night to show you the ropes.” He grinned, adding, “No pun intended.” Zoë’s return smile was faint, her mind still trying to process what he was saying.
“The club’s in Larchmont. It’s actually an old hotel a couple of guys in the scene bought,” Dylan continued. “I spend a lot of my free time there. I’m one of the staff trainers, though just on a part-time basis, since obviously investment banking takes up most of my time. I’d love to take you to dinner, and then we could check out the dungeons. We can watch a few scenes, meet a few folks.”
Zoë thought about this. She imagined the kind of place this BDSM club must be, with whips and chains on the walls, and people dressed in leather and thigh-high boots. “What would I wear? I didn’t bring anything but the clothes I arrived in.”
“Do you have a black cocktail dress and black heels at your apartment?”
Zoë nodded. “Of course.”
“We’ll stop by your place, then, and you can change.”
~*~
“Master Dylan, a pleasure to see you, Sir. Two for dinner?” Sara, one of The Vault’s staff slaves, smiled at Dylan. He glanced at Zoë, who stood beside him looking a little flustered and a lot gorgeous in her slinky black dress, red slave collar and fuck-me high heels. Zoë’s eyes were on Sara, who wore the staff slave uniform of a black leather collar with matching cuffs around her wrists and ankles, her only other clothing a satin thong of the skimpiest variety. She was a pretty girl, save for skin pitted with acne scars. Her hair was long and very blond, her body slender. Silver barbells pierced both nipples, with a matching piercing in her belly button.
“Yes, Sara. Thank you.” Sara led them into the small but pleasantly appointed dining room of the converted hotel. There were three other couples already seated, some eating dinner, some sipping glasses of wine, heads close in conversation. Mistress Sylvia, an imposing Dominatrix dressed in a full-length black gown, sat at a table. Her partner, Gene, knelt on the floor beside her, wearing nothing but a cock cage locked around his privates, his mouth open as his Mistress fed him from a large piece of chocolate cake.
“Oh,” Zoë murmured softly as they passed the couple. Dylan was holding her hand, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. In the short time they’d spent together, Zoë was teaching him to see the beauty and intensity of D/s with fresh eyes. Tonight would be another facet of that experience. Aware the scene could sometimes be a little overwhelming, he made a silent promise to assure her introduction was a positive one.
Sara led them to a table close to the large
archway that opened into the main dungeon. Dylan pulled out the chair that gave Zoë an unobstructed view of the action. He sat across from her and ordered a bottle of wine. Once Sara had gone, he put his hand over Zoë’s. She was staring through the archway, beyond which several scenes were already in play. At his touch, she turned to look at Dylan, and he locked eyes with her, a rush of dominance surging through him like a hit of cocaine.
“I want to continue your training while we’re here. Is that acceptable to you, Zoë?”
Her eyes widened, her hand moving up to touch her slave collar. “Yes, Sir,” she breathed. He hadn’t permitted her to wear a bra, and he could see the alluring curve of her nipples against the silky fabric of her dress.
“Excellent. Stand up and remove your panties. Place them on the table between us.”
Zoë’s eyes darted around the room. “Right here?” she whispered.
“Zoë,” Dylan said, adding a note of sternness to his tone. “Do as you’re told.”
She swallowed visibly, but pushed her chair back from the table and stood. Again glancing nervously around the room, she reached beneath her clinging dress and dragged her panties down her slender, bare legs. She dropped a hand to the table for balance as she stepped out of the underwear. Her face flushing a rosy hue, she set the bit of silk and lace on the table as instructed.
Sara approached at that moment with a bottle of Cabernet and two glasses. If she noticed the panties lying in the center of the table, she gave no indication. She expertly uncorked the wine and poured a small amount in Dylan’s glass. He tasted it, nodded to her and watched as she filled both glasses.
The restaurant had no menu, but offered three specials each night. Sara recited them and Dylan chose the Porterhouse steak with sautéed mushrooms. Zoë, still blushing, rallied enough to order the rosemary chicken with wild rice. When Sara had again retreated, Dylan said, “Tell me what you see beyond the archway. Describe the scenes to me.” He kept his eyes on her face.
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