“He’s back in the lounge setting up his gear for sale,” Michael said. “I hope you guys brought your wallets. His stuff ain’t cheap.” He grinned, his gaze turning now to Dylan and Zoë. “Good evening, Dylan. A pleasure to see you again, Zoë.” His eyes moved appreciatively over Zoë’s corseted form. “I hope we get to see more of you tonight—perhaps at a scene station, hmm?”
Zoë looked down at the table, her cheeks flushing slightly, and then glanced at Dylan. He smiled, placing his hand on her arm and giving it a gentle squeeze as he addressed Michael. “That’s the plan. My sub girl is ready and eager to make her scene debut at The Vault, aren’t you, Zoë?”
Zoë swallowed, drew in a breath and lifted her chin in that charming way she had when mustering her courage. “Yes, Sir,” she said, her voice low but clear.
~*~
A large space had been cleared on one side of the main dungeon and folding chairs were set in rows in front of a portable stage erected against the wall. Shortly after the meal was over, Jill had left the dining room to meet Master Cameron and discuss the scene. Apparently this guy was a big deal, as every seat was already occupied, with more people standing in groups behind and around the limited seating area. They sat in the front row, Zoë between Louis and Dylan.
Hank was on the stage with Matt. They were setting up a steel frame X cross toward the center back of the stage. There was a long folding table nearby with several ominous looking black leather whips laid out one alongside the other.
The preparations apparently completed, Matt stepped down the small set of stairs to the right of the stage while Hank moved forward toward a microphone stand. He tapped the live mic and the room immediately quieted. “Good evening, fellow perverts,” he said, his words greeted with laughter and a smattering of applause. “Tonight we have a real treat in store for you. Master Cameron of whip making fame has flown across the world to personally demonstrate a new line of bullwhips and dragon tails he’s created for serious players in the scene. Master Louis has graciously offered the services of his slave girl, Jill, to serve as the subject, or rather, the object, of Master Cameron’s considerable skills.”
Hank glanced to the side of the stage and Zoë, following his gaze, saw Jill standing there, alongside a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, his chiseled features movie-star handsome. The BDSM uniform she’d come to expect at the club—black leather pants and vest with no shirt beneath—molded perfectly to his muscular form. He radiated power and authority, as if he were Master not only of the woman beside him, but of everyone in the room, Zoë included.
“Without further ado, I introduce Master Cameron.” Hank held out his hand in a welcoming gesture.
Master Cameron took the steps in one leap and was on the stage, Jill trailing behind him. He faced the audience, flashing a brilliant white smile that set off his extremely blue eyes. “G’day mates,” he said, “it’s a privilege and an honor to be here tonight.” There was applause, and he inclined his head slightly, the gesture almost royal. Finally he turned to Jill, who was standing beside him, smiling broadly.
“Hank and Michael have asked me to do a little demonstration to get things started. This lovely sub girl has graciously volunteered her considerable”—he raked her body brazenly with his eyes—”talents to assist me.” Speaking directly to her, he added in a peremptory tone, “Strip and present yourself at the cross, back to the audience.”
Jill at once peeled out of her clinging dress, though she left on her black stiletto heels. Her pubic hair had been shaved and shaped into a small heart just above her cleft, and two hoops of gold glittered on her labia as she moved. Her breasts were small and high, the dark pink nipples elongated like eraser tips at the end of new pencils. She curtsied prettily toward Master Cameron and then sashayed gracefully to the X cross.
Master Cameron followed her. His body obscured hers as he cuffed her wrists and ankles into place on the cross. Leaving her there, he went to the display table and picked up a black leather whip with a long, rolled tail and thick braided handle. Returning to center stage, he held up the whip. “This is a dragon tail,” he announced. He gripped the tail and ran its length through his fingers. “As you can see, it’s thicker and softer than a traditional bullwhip. But it can still pack quite a wallop.” He snapped it suddenly, and Zoë flinched as it cracked in the air.
“This particular dragon tail is one of my personal whips, and it’s much used, and hence quite soft and pliable. When you first buy a dragon tail, the leather is stiffer, though my tails, which are made from genuine kangaroo leather, are vastly superior to anything else you can find on the market.”
He flicked the whip again. “Nevertheless, it’s always a good idea to break in any new whip with some practice throws before you use it on your sub.” He turned toward Jill. “I assume most of the Doms in this room are already relatively expert in handling single tail whips and floggers, though I’d venture a guess that bullwhips and dragon tails are less popular, primarily because they can do significant damage if not handled properly. But, as with any potentially dangerous tool, if you know what you’re doing, the rewards far outweigh the risks.”
He faced the audience head on, his gaze falling on Zoë, as he added, “There is nothing more exquisite than the impassioned cry of erotic suffering, and the sublime control of another’s sensual reactions.” His intensely blue eyes bored into hers, and though she wanted to, Zoë found she couldn’t look away. Heat rose in her face as he held her captive with his gaze. Dylan’s arm came around her shoulders and he pulled her closer.
Mercifully, Master Cameron shifted his gaze and snapped the whip once more. He turned his attention back to Jill as Zoë let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “We’ve secured this slave girl on the cross, but if you don’t have one of these handy items at home, you can simply have your sub place their hands against the wall and hold their position.” Again his gaze fell on Zoë. “It adds a nice bit of psychological bondage—if they move, they get punished.”
He began the demonstration, discussing the proper stance, posture, distance, elbow, thumb and wrist action, what parts of the subject’s body to target and what to avoid. His Australian accent was charming, despite his inflated ego.
“Take your time,” he said, gripping and releasing the whip so the tip snapped across Jill’s bottom, making her flinch. “You’ll want a slow buildup to get the proper energy flowing.” He struck Jill again, still using just the tip of the tail. “Make the throw concise”—the whip struck between Jill’s shoulder blades—“determined”—it landed across the backs of her thighs—“and fluid.”
He whipped her steadily, the leather snapping and flicking across her bare body. At first Jill was relatively still, but, as her skin reddened, a few welts rising on her ass and thighs, she began to dance on her feet, and arch inward, as if by doing so she could avoid the relentless lash.
“Yes,” Master Cameron intoned. “Now you move closer. This creates an S snap, which is much more painful, and hence, more satisfying.” The leather throw arced across Jill’s upper back several times in rapid succession and, for the first time, her cry was audible and filled with anguish.
Zoë glanced anxiously at Louis, whose expression remained calm, though his hands were clenched in his lap. She glanced at Dylan, whose eyes were fixed on the scene. “When you turn your wrists like this”—Master Cameron danced back and flicked his wrist, the throw catching just beneath Jill’s ass—“the horizontal flow allows an undercut.” He snapped again along the tender flesh just below Jill’s ass and she howled.
“Is she okay?” Zoë couldn’t help but whisper urgently to Jill’s husband.
“She’s fine,” he murmured back. “She’s right on the edge. He’s really good.”
Not convinced, but forcing herself to suspend her own concerns, Zoë turned back to watch. Master Cameron was flicking Jill’s ass steadily, the crack of leather snapping against skin the only sound
in the room, besides Jill’s rasping breath.
Then, all at once, her head fell back so her face was lifted to the ceiling, her blond hair streaming down her back. All the tension seemed to drain away, as if her muscles and bones had melted inside her. She sagged in her cuffs, a long, peaceful sigh audible over the continued flicking strokes of the dragon tail.
Dylan’s hand closed over Zoë’s, his mouth brushing her ear as he whispered, “She’s flying.” Zoë watched in awe, a little jealous of Jill’s ease and grace, wondering if she herself would ever be able to let go enough to get to that kind of a place with a whole audience of people watching.
Master Cameron continued a slow, steady pace, easing his throw until finally the leather was only kissing Jill’s reddened, welted flesh. Hank appeared by the stairs and nodded toward Louis, who was instantly on his feet. The two of them moved quickly onto the stage and released Jill from her cuffs. Master Cameron stood on the edge of the platform, again inclining his head like a king accepting his due, as the crowd erupted in applause and hoots of approval.
Louis took Jill tenderly in his arms and helped her from the stage. She appeared dazed but beatifically happy. Michael took center stage and announced details of the whip sale to take place in the lounge later that evening. Dylan leaned in again to Zoë, his arm going around her shoulder, his hand cupping her partially exposed breast. “What do you think, sub girl? Should we buy a dragon tail? I’d love to take you to that place.”
~*~
As they moved along the tables set up with Master Cameron’s wares, Dylan surreptitiously watched Zoë’s reactions. He had seen that look before—the shining eyes, the parted lips, the quick intake of breath as she touched a particular whip, her mind no doubt veering toward the erotic possibilities, as her skin tingled with anticipation. Zoë was clearly a born sub. It was a wonder to Dylan, who had been in touch with his own dominant impulses and desires since he’d been sexually aware, that she could have spent her entire adult life in strictly vanilla relationships. Maybe, it suddenly occurred to him, that was why she’d never settled down with a guy—even if not consciously aware, she was waiting for a Dom.
Was he that Dom?
Dylan picked up one of Master Cameron’s ridiculously overpriced but admittedly very fine quality dragon tails. The throw, while a little stiff, was soft enough for immediate use, and the handle was perfectly weighted in his hand. A few sessions, and it would be ready for some serious action.
Zoë was standing in front of a grouping of rattan canes, staring at them as if they were live and venomous snakes. Master Cameron stood on the other side of the display table, watching her with hooded eyes. Dylan came up behind her and wrapped the long, deceptively soft strip of leather around her torso from behind, pulling her back against him.
“Oh!” she cried, clearly startled at his touch. She twisted around in his leather embrace and then stepped back. He let the whip fall away and held it up for her inspection.
“I like this one. Do you?”
Zoë nodded, her eyes fixed wide on the dragon tail. “It’s beautiful, Sir,” she breathed.
“Good choice,” Master Cameron said with a smile. “Though I think your lady favors the canes.”
“No,” Zoë blurted, pressing closer to Dylan. “No, I don’t.”
Master Cameron offered a shrug and then turned away, distracted by a guy asking questions about bullwhips.
It would be a while before Zoë was ready for the delightful intensity of a cane, but Dylan was confident she would get there. For now, he said, “We’ll go with the dragon tail. We could test it out tonight. Would you like that?”
He watched the play of emotions on her face—the fear, the desire, the resolution, the determination. Up went her pretty little chin. “Yes, Sir.”
“That’s my girl.” Dylan put his arm around her, pulling her close.
He purchased the whip and they moved together from the lounge to the main dungeon. There was a large crowd clustered around the spider web in the corner—a restraining device comprised of thick elastic bands woven onto an aluminum frame, excellent for securing a sub in various positions for erotic play.
As they approached, Dylan saw a guy he didn’t recognize standing at the center beside a young sub named Lisa. She was naked and bound in the web, her arms and legs spread eagle, her body crisscrossed with welts from two single tails the Dom was wielding, one in each hand. The display was showy, like a Hibachi chef at a touristy Japanese restaurant, but the crowd was eating it up.
Jill and Louis were standing at the edge of the crowd, and Dylan tapped their shoulders. “We’re going to the smaller dungeon for a simple scene. We’d love you to be our witnesses,” he said quietly.
The two nodded and smiled at Zoë, who smiled back nervously. The four of them moved to the smaller dungeon. There was a scene involving two guys taking place at a far station, their action partially obscured by a folding screen.
New dragon tail in hand, Dylan led his friends to a metal St. Andrew’s cross not unlike the one that had been erected on the stage. Dylan considered whether to have Zoë strip or not, and decided this first time out to allow her to keep the corset in place. It was cut such that he had good access to both her upper back and ass. Her thong panties wouldn’t interfere.
“Face the cross,” he instructed Zoë.
Her eyes flickered from his face to Louis’ and then to Jill’s.
“May I?” Jill asked Dylan, who nodded.
Jill moved to Zoë. “Courage,” she said softly but audibly. “You’re in good hands, honey. Master Dylan is the best of the best. This is the beginning of something truly wonderful, I promise.” She held out her arms, and Zoë moved into them, her body visibly relaxing. They held each other a moment, and then Jill stepped back, giving Dylan a brief nod.
Zoë faced Dylan, new resolve in her face. “I’m ready, Sir.” She faced the cross and lifted her arms, slipping her wrists into the open cuffs toward the top of the cross.
Dylan secured her wrists. “I’m going to leave your feet free,” he told her. He stroked her back. He could sense the tension but also the determination. “Remind me,” he said, “of your safeword.”
“Buyout.”
“I’m going to give you twenty strokes,” Dylan said. “You will count for us, and thank me when we are done.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He started easy, as much to acquaint himself with the new whip as to give her a chance to adjust. By the time they reached the count of ten, Zoë was breathing hard and dancing a little on her toes. When he reached fifteen, he let the whip crack with more force. They all watched as a long, white welt rose across both Zoë’s ass cheeks and then turned rapidly to an angry red. Zoë cried out, the first real cry of pain, but she managed to push out the word, “Fifteen,” a second later.
Dylan gave her a moment to compose herself, and then struck again, just as hard, this time catching her just beneath the ass with a sharp undercut.
Again she cried out, but again she managed to say the number, though somewhat breathily: “Sixteen!”
Each of the next four strokes was deliberately aimed to leave a parallel welt on her ass. When he was done, Zoë was whimpering steadily, her skin shiny with perspiration, her limbs trembling. He waited, determined to count to three in his head before reminding her of her task, but at the count of two she managed, “Thank you, Sir.”
Dylan nodded to Louis, and they stepped forward, each releasing a wrist cuff. As Zoë fell back, Dylan caught her in his arms and spun her toward him, holding her close against his chest. She lifted her face and their lips met, the world around them dissolving away.
Chapter 10
Zoë stroked the soft velvet of her new gown as they zipped along the highway toward The Vault. When Dylan had first selected it from the rack at the BDSM boutique, Zoë had been surprised at his choice of a full-length gown, since he seemed to favor more revealing items like the corset they’d bought the week before. Then she’d tried it o
n, and the slits up either side were cut nearly to her hips, the bodice, with its built-in bra, barely high enough to cover her nipples.
Though she wasn’t used to wearing such revealing clothing, when they were at the club, she found she didn’t mind. Though not all the members of The Vault were model-perfect by any means, people seemed comfortable in their own skin. She was surprisingly at ease with the group of people she’d met there, not just because many of them wore even less than she did, but because of the general attitude of non-judgmental acceptance.
Zoë loved both the day-to-day vanilla development of their new relationship, and the sexy, dark and delicious D/s bond that was tested each night in Dylan’s private dungeon.
She’d been shy at first at the thought of a public scene, until Dylan had helped her see that The Vault was merely an extension of her training, with the added spark of others witnessing her journey. Tonight Dylan had promised to introduce Zoë to the delights of the hot wax scene station. “You’ll especially like when we flog off the cooled wax afterward,” he’d joked, and then she’d realized he wasn’t joking. The realization both thrilled and frightened her, the thrill outweighing the fear, and sending a jolt of electricity straight to her sex.
The sound of a cell phone ringing through the car’s blue tooth system interrupted the smoky jazz playing on the radio. Dylan glanced at the screen and touched something on his steering wheel to connect the call.
“Hey, there, Ed. What’s going on? Did you miss the plane?” Dylan’s business partner was making the trip down to DC that evening to close an important deal the two of them had been working on for some time.
“I’m not at the airport. It’s my dad. He fell down. I’m on my way to the hospital.”
“Shit,” Dylan swore softly. “Is he okay?”
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