Whip Me Up Tie Me Down

by Lavender Daye

  Whatever it was had been locked away for years. Lost or maybe forgotten. Hidden from sight.

  The Gran she knew and loved never met a stranger. Had friends all over the county. It could be anything.

  The shelf was high and the box had been shoved up against the back wall like a dirty little secret. Not Gran’s way of dealing with issues at all. Nowhere close to what Liz would expect from the woman who’d raised her. She tried standing on a kitchen chair to no avail. Whatever it was, Gran hadn’t used it in years. With no visible clue as to what it might be, Lizette’s curiosity won out and she went to the garage for a ladder.

  Tenacity was a trait she’d inherited from Gran and Liz had no doubt that the woman who raised her would understand her need to investigate the contents of the mysterious box. Hell, it might be a box of old family photos or greeting cards from long-dead relatives. One way or another, she had to know.

  “Okay, Gran. What in the world did you stick in that box?” she asked the empty room while she positioned the ladder. “This better be worth all the trouble.”

  The box was a good six or eight inches deep, a wide square hunk of cardboard taped shut and unlabeled. She managed to pull it to the edge of the shelf and lifted it. Damn thing was heavy. Since she had no idea what was inside, she backed down the ladder with it in her arms, waiting for a misstep to start her rapid descent into a busted rear end.

  Didn’t happen, though. Gran was watching over her.

  The box had been sealed with heavy tape that refused to give way to her fingernails. The more she tried and failed, the more she had to know what the box contained. A sturdy pair of scissors helped, and at last, she pulled the lid off the box.

  What the hell?

  Pristine black leather boots with two inch heels lay in the box, the shaft long enough to reach her knee or higher. She pulled one of the boots from the box and looked for a tag. Sure enough, they were her size. The same size her grandmother wore. Definitely something to keep, maybe even wear. She pulled the second boot out and something in the box moved.

  She was on her feet in a flash and moving across the room. Yeah, yeah, she was a hardass cop who could take down a perp without a problem, but she didn’t do mice.

  At a dozen feet away, she couldn’t make out anything in the box or around it except the boots on the floor. When nothing moved for a ten count, she approached with caution and leaned forward at the hip to see inside the box.

  Son of a bitch.

  The box was empty except for a long black bullwhip

  .

  Chapter 3

  Lizette pushed the front door of Private Delights open and slid inside, the tote carrying Gran’s bullwhip close to her side. The black boots, of course, were on her feet and made her feel ten feet tall. Bless the woman who’d raised her, but Lizette wished Gran had shared this part of her personality. Talk about an interesting conversation.

  Or maybe not. Listening to her grandmother talk about bondage and submission might’ve been just a little disturbing.

  Lizette hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with her own lifestyle choices, either. The revelation of just how similar the two of them were was a balm, a connection she’d never forget. Last night had been interrupted over and over with thoughts of conversations she might’ve had with Gran. The longing to talk to her one more time lingered. Part of wearing the boots and carrying the whip was honoring Gran, remembering all she’d done to make Lizette the strong woman she’d become.

  From the moment she put her hand on the leather-wrapped handle, the whip invaded her mind when least expected. She pushed back the idea of obsession, but the need to wield it harped at her enough to make her thankful for another day off before her next shift. Her most pressing concern at the moment was what to do with the whip. The only thing she knew about it was that she wasn’t qualified to use it.

  Yet.

  She stopped at the front desk to scan her membership card and ask for Mark’s location.

  “I believe he’s in the main hall, Mistress,” the sub at the reception desk told her.

  With a quick nod, Lizette strode around the corner, the feel of the boots clinging to her thighs a distraction. One she’d be glad to get used to, considering the looks she got from a few of the men in the room.

  Mark was standing amidst a group of Doms, a glass of wine in hand while they visited. It was early enough in the evening that most of the men’s submissives were absent, but Mark’s was in a chair next to him, his empty hand stroking her hair while he followed the conversation.

  Liz stopped next to Kellie but didn’t speak to or touch her. As a Domme, she wouldn’t infringe on Mark’s submissive in any way without permission. Rules of the club. He glanced at her and acknowledged her presence, and when the other men finished talking, he turned in her direction.

  “Lizette, good to see you. Kellie, you remember Lizette.”

  She smiled when the woman lifted her head. “How are you, Kellie?”

  “I’m good, Mistress. Thanks for asking. It’s been a busy week and I’m looking forward to Friday.”

  “Aren’t we all?” The young lady was holding up well after the events of the last few months, but from what she’d heard, Mark was taking good care of his little sub. “If you ever need anything, you have my number.”

  “Poaching, Mistress?”

  “Never, Mark, and you know damn well I’m het. Just offering friendship.” Kellie was maybe a year younger than she and the idea of having a friend in the lifestyle appealed to Lizette. Not that they’d talk sex, but someone to go shopping or out for coffee with would be nice.

  He laughed and tipped his head. “Friendship is up to Kellie and I won’t deny her, as long as you don’t try to turn her into a Domme.”

  Kellie smiled, shook her head at the notion, and suggested that Lizette call her.

  “I will.” Remembering why she sought him out, Liz turned to her fellow Dom. “If you have a minute, I need some advice.”

  “Whatever you need,” was Mark’s easy response. They’d been friends for several years and she trusted him like a brother.

  “I found something in my grandmother’s closet.” She held the tote open for him. “I’d like to learn how to use it, but I don’t have a clue as to where to find an instructor. Any suggestions?”

  He took the leather bag from her and lifted the handle to get a closer look. “Your grandmother’s? Why am I not surprised?” Another rough laugh left him and Lizette was a little surprised by his easy contentment. Kellie was good for him.

  He put the bag back in her hand with a grin. “Mildred is still in her office. Check with her. She can fix you up.”

  “Thanks. Have a good night, Kellie,” she said, then nodded to Mark and headed for the stairs.

  Mildred’s office was adjacent to Mark’s. Rumor had it that she could handle any crisis with alacrity as well as one hand behind her back. Most of the club’s members kept their distance from her, Dom and sub alike, as if the woman slayed dragons for lunch, but the one or two times Lizette had interacted with the lady, she’d been nothing but nice.

  With a little luck, Mark’s assistant would recommend a good tutor with an open schedule. Lizette had seen them used a few times, but the desire to have one of her own was a fleeting whim. At the time, she’d thought of the hours needed for lessons that would eat into her schedule, time she didn’t have available. But this was Gran’s whip. A legacy. A tangible reminder. Now that she had the whip in her hand, she wanted to be able to use it.

  She knocked once and pushed the door open. “Mildred, Mark suggested I talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

  “Of course. How can I help you?”

  Lizette set the tote on the floor and pulled the whip out onto the desk.

  The older woman slid her hands under the woven leather and lifted it to take a sniff. “Georgia’s whip. I wondered what had become of it.”

  “You knew my grandmother?” Liz stepped back and tried to put her jaw back where it belonged
. A rare shine lit the older woman’s eyes and the corners of her mouth lifted in an almost smile. Again, Lizette wished her grandmother had shared at least part of her secrets before she died. Mildred was Mark’s aunt by marriage and managed the club’s office like it was Fort Knox. She had no children of her own, and many thought she’d managed Mark as a child, helping when his parents passed. From the way they interacted, Lizette felt sure at least part of the story was true. And as she watched the spry older lady inspect the whip, she couldn’t help wondering what kind of conversations she and Gran might’ve had if she’d lived a few extra years. Would Gran have introduced her to Mildred?

  There was no doubt in Lizette’s mind that the two women had been friends. It was evident in the way she uncoiled the whip across the flat surface of the credenza in Mark’s office and slid her fingertips over every inch of the leather that she had some connection to it. Her expression, usually closed to everyone except the three owners of Private Delights, was open and almost glowing as she worked at cataloguing each section of the leather.

  A lingering silence filled the elegant, well organized office. Sniper training had taught Liz the art of silent patience but it was easier to maintain when in a work environment.

  This was personal.

  This was her demure grandmother’s hidden lifestyle.

  The unexpected reveal had her skin itching from the inside out and Mildred had yet to divulge her connection to Gran. Liz couldn’t keep her mouth shut any longer. “How well did you know my grandmother?”

  There’d been rumors, quickly squashed or laughed off, that Mildred had a private life along the lines of the club. Mark hadn’t acknowledged the allegations, reminding the questioner of the privacy rules enforced by the club. But now, in the dead silence of the office, Lizette saw the truth in the older woman’s expression. And in the manner she used while examining the long twine of leather.

  Sparkling eyes finally rose to meet hers. “Oh, yes, I knew Georgia. I trained her as a Domme not long after I moved to this country. We were…what’s the phrase? Young and crazy together.”

  Lizette felt the ground under her rumble enough to shake loose her long-held suspicions about her grandmother. “She never said anything about her life before I was born.”

  “She was a private person and after your grandfather died, she left the scene. She told me once that after Carl died, she had no desire to bring another man into her life.”

  Lizette looked around and pulled a chair out to sit, half afraid her knees would give out during this conversation. “I don’t remember much about him.”

  “That’s understandable. You were five or six when he died. They loved each other very much. And they both adored you from the moment you were born.”

  She gave her face a quick swipe, hoping Mildred wouldn’t notice, and laughed a little. “Well, now I know why she never asked me about the leather pants.”

  A silent tip of her head was Mildred’s only acknowledgement, an acceptance of her grief and her status at the club. “I know you are a strong Domme.”

  Lizette blinked, surprised at the woman’s knowledge of the members of Private Delight. Mark must trust his assistant completely. “Thank you. I’d like to learn how to use Gran’s whip and Mark told me you could arrange it.”

  The hint of a smile twitched around the woman’s lips, barely there, as if she had a secret.

  “I’ve watched you here, when I could. As Georgia would’ve. I’ve no doubt she’s proud of all you’ve achieved, here and in your vocation.”

  Unaccustomed to praise, Mildred’s words were a balm to her soul and Lizette was awed by how deeply she needed to hear them. They tugged on heartstrings long boxed and put away. The connection with her Gran, and now with Mildred, soaked into places long dormant.

  “Would you like me to train you as I did Georgia?”

  The softly spoken inquiry, along with the British accent and the intense expression on Mildred’s face, sucked the air from Lizette’s lungs.

  “I would be honored to learn from you, Mistress Mildred.”

  Chapter 4

  Jake stepped out of his rented car and stretched, hearing more than a couple joints crack, and cursed whoever booked his transportation in the home office. Sure, the low-slung sports car looked great and flew down the road, but as much as he liked the look of it, the thing just didn’t fit him. Physically or mentally. And for the job he was in Texas to handle, a flashy Mustang wasn’t a good idea. He needed to fit in, meld into the day-to-day lives of the people around him until he’d collected the needed information and made the pass to his boss.

  But that would come soon enough. Once school started, he could make some connections, and find a few spots for easy listening.

  For now, he’d hang out with old friends and wait, get the lay of the land. He’d promised Mark he’d show up at Private Delights tonight but already regretted the trip.

  He’d played in the clubs during college, letting Mark do his wild thing and on occasion watching or participating. At this point in his life, he’d pretty much lost the desire for public sexual encounters. Hell, he’d come close to being a monk in the last year.

  His sad reality revolved around his job and when he had time off, all he wanted to do was sleep. A woman in his bed every now and then would be fun, but finding and keeping a steady woman entailed time and effort, commodities he didn’t have in his line of work.

  He looked, but couldn’t locate the pothole from yesterday. He’d forgotten to razz Mark about it and now he was out of luck.

  Once inside the club, he waited in line to swipe the keycard Mark handed him the other day. The place was bustling, men and women in leather, some with not much to cover the essentials, mingled in the main salon. Not a bad place to unwind of an evening. He might not want to hook up, but the casual atmosphere of sensual fun made for stimulating opportunities to observe.

  The study of the human condition was his specialty.

  Mark had done well.

  Not a surprise, considering the man’s background.

  Jake turned a corner and caught sight of Mark and his girlfriend across the room. Damn. The man had a definite knack for making money and finding the most beautiful women along the way. Mark’s current paramour sat on his lap, her legs curled along Mark’s thigh while she lounged on the pillow he’d positioned at her back. She was clothed, barely, and her eyes were closed while Mark carried on a conversation with the man sitting in an adjacent armchair. Mark’s fingers traced around the swell of the woman’s breasts while he spoke to his friend. Derek. That was his name. One of Mark’s business partners.

  Both men looked up from their conversation when Jake joined them. The girl didn’t move an inch.

  “About time you showed up. Have a seat,” Mark said with a short wave to the vacant cushion beside his girl’s, or was that submissive’s, legs.

  Jake made a mental note to find his big book of BDSM and read up on all the rules. He didn’t want to embarrass himself or Mark while he was in town. Before he sat, the business partner stood and offered his hand.

  “Mark has his hands full but, I’ll give you a proper welcome,” Derek said. “You settled in, yet?”

  “I think so. Getting close to it, at least. I’m still waiting for the books I shipped but other than that, I’m good.”

  “If you need anything, let me know.”

  “Thanks.”

  Derek settled in his seat and Jake glanced back at the sofa before planting his ass, careful not to touch the girl.

  Rules. So many rules. Worse than the military or the State Department.

  “Kellie,” Mark said, “Jake is here. Say hello.”

  Her eyelids fluttered and he might’ve caught a glimpse of blue irises during the blink. Maybe a hint of blue.

  “Hi, Jake. Welcome to Private Delights.”

  Her soft voice welcomed him to the club but she didn’t engage in conversation. Mark’s perfect woman.

  He’d watched his friend look for
the right woman for years, always searching and never finding her. Seeing him so contented made Jake happy for his friend and just a little jealous. Not of the girl or the relationship, but of the contentment finding the right woman gave the man.

  Not what he had in mind on the off chance he found a woman to spend time with. But if Mark was happy, good for him.

  Kellie’s voice was warm and inviting and without pretense despite the half-lidded eyes.

  “Mark’s told me about some of your college parties.” Her smile lit up the room and he made a quick revision in his opinion of the woman.

  “Lies, all lies. Don’t believe a word he says.”

  Her infectious laugh swept all three men into laughter and Mark shook his head and his finger at the lovely young lady.

  “Behave, Kellie. No flirting with Jefferson Alexander Wortham, III without permission.”

  The flash of her wink in his direction had Jake grinning while Mark glowered in pseudo-Dom mode. She might look like a ditzy little nothing, but the lady new her Dom well. A pinch of jealousy caught him unaware and he squashed it in a hurry. Mark deserved all the happiness he could get and Jake wouldn’t begrudge it.

  Hell, if he wanted a hookup, he was in the right place. Beautiful half-dressed women were to his left and right, waiting for the crook of a finger, but interest wasn’t surging in his blood as it ought. At thirty-three, he shouldn’t feel like such an old man, but women had been off his schedule for the last year. He’d rather take chances with his own life and keep the ancillary casualties to a minimum.

  “What are you teaching this time?” Mark asked.

  The question interrupted his train of thought and Jake shifted his gaze to his buddy. “Political science, mainly focusing on Middle East conflicts and how the U.S. can safely interact with the political climate in the area.”

  “Do you still have family over there?” Mark asked, his hands still caressing his sub, and Jake recalled the man’s uncanny ability to multitask.