Whip Me Up Tie Me Down

by Lavender Daye

  “My grandfather is still in touch but I haven’t seen him in a few years.”

  “Weren’t there some cousins, too?”

  Jake let his eyes close for a minute and tried to remember what he’d told Mark about his relatives. He’d expected the conversation to come up eventually, but his answer was vague at best, anyway. “Yes. Two that I know of, but there are several I’ve only heard about from my grandfather.”

  He met the other man’s gaze just long enough to be convincing and then intercepted a waitress by raising his hand. Telling lies to perfect strangers was much easier than doing the same with friends. With Mark, he’d need strong fortification to carry it off. “Scotch, rocks, please.”

  “When did you switch to scotch?”

  He ignored the curious look and shrugged. “A year or so. Can’t drink beer all my life. Tell me you stock the good stuff instead of rotgut.”

  “Of course, but we water it down.” Mark’s smile was fast and lethal. “We don’t allow overindulgence.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” A tray appeared, a cute brunette offering him the squat glass while she kept her eyes averted. When he took it from her, she backed away and he said a quick thanks before she disappeared. A raised brow in Mark’s direction didn’t yield an answer and he let it go, thinking again of the book somewhere in his apartment.

  “I might need a refresher on the rules around this place.”

  Derek chuckled. “I can help you out. Want to take a walk?”

  “Please.” Sitting on his ass and watching Mark work over his girl wasn’t floating his boat, even though he didn’t particularly want a woman of his own.

  Derek stood and he followed, glass in hand, as Mark suggested he find a nice girl in the playroom upstairs.

  A sense of isolation surrounded Jake even as he and Derek moved through the scattered crowd in the main lounge. “Is it always this busy?” he asked.

  Derek shook his head. “This is a quiet night. You should definitely come play with someone on the weekend. It can get a little wild.”

  Jake tracked the patrons, checking for bulges in pockets large enough to hide a weapon, while Derek talked about the antics of a group at the club a few weeks back. “What kind of security do you have in place?” he asked and Derek’s feet stopped moving.

  “You thinking of robbing us?”

  Jake turned to answer and realized his mistake. He’d been casing the building for holes in the system, working on autopilot when he should be relaxing. “No. Sorry. Sometimes work takes over when I’m not thinking about it.”

  They stopped in front of an elevator and waited for a couple to exit before stepping inside. He turned to face the closing door and tried to relax. No good reason to worry anyone here. The college gig would keep him busy and out of the place for most of the semester. He’d make sure of it.

  “Why would a college professor be concerned about security in a club?”

  Damn. “I guess I’ve lived in New England too long. Thousands of people crammed into small areas and crazy people carrying guns into malls. I guess everyone in Texas carries a gun?”

  Derek’s face didn’t change, still reflecting curiosity. “Not everyone. It’s not the wild west. Permits are required. Haven’t had an issue in a long time.”

  The door opened with a chime and they stepped into the upper hallway.

  “Good. Good, glad to hear it.” He sounded like an idiot, rambling about gunfights. Derek probably thought he was drunk from a few sips of scotch, or just plain crazy. A change of subject was in order and he knew what to ask.

  “How can I tell the submissives from the Dommes? The girls, I mean.” The idiot persona was sticking more than he cared for. “Never mind. I should head back to my apartment.”

  Derek stopped on a dime, his expression stoic and intense, bored into Jake like a feral hog rushing in for the kill. A keycard slipped into the slot of a room and Jake stumbled into the empty storage space.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Derek’s back hit the closed door, his eyes fierce, and Jake flipped through several possible explanations he could use that might work. Not likely, though. Derek Lyons was too smart for his own good.

  “Still dealing with jetlag, I guess.”

  Weak, but probable.

  Okay. Not so much, judging from the look on the big man’s face.

  “I’m not used to seeing Mark so wrapped up in a woman. He’s always been more of a player.”

  The brows went down into a dark frown and the man’s eyes were slits of intelligent surveillance. “Two strikes. I’d like a little truth this time. Don’t bullshit me.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind, Derek. Too much to share right now.”

  The hard stare returned, waiting for him to break, and Jake could easily see Derek as a damn good prosecutor or an intelligence agent. He had all the right qualifiers, the innate ability to sniff out a secret, the intimidation aspect, and the sheer size of him would put most people on guard.

  “Can we move on with the tour?”

  Derek waited for a couple of minutes, steadily watching for the telltale drop of sweat Jake wouldn’t let drip. Instead, Jake shifted some boxes around and propped his hip against a shelf. “Chill. It’s not what you’re thinking, but I do need you to keep this to yourself.”

  “Anything about the business or my partners and I have to give it up. No secrets there.”

  “I appreciate your loyalty,” Jake said, “but this is about me and I don’t want Mark to get caught up in the situation.”

  A slow nod from Derek, an acknowledgement of sorts, put him more at ease. “I’m here to look around. Not at the club, but in the community around the college. Something’s going on, and I’m not allowed to say what, so don’t ask. When I get the information I need, I’ll be gone.”

  “Nice.” Derek’s stare didn’t let up. “Nice words. You’re very good at the double speak. Too many sound bites with nothing actually said.”

  “Derek—”

  “What part of the government do you work for?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Can you tell me why you’re here? And straight talk this time. Are you in trouble? Are you a spy or something?”

  Son of a bitch. He might just have a new recruit when he flew back to DC. Mark and Derek went way back and Mark had nothing but praise for the man, so Jake didn’t have any sustainable fear of exposure here, but open talk in the club would inevitably cause problems for Mark and his partners.

  It was Jake’s turn at a stare down. He was good at it, well trained by the best the State Department had. Still, Derek resisted longer than expected.

  “You heard Mark ask about my family? My grandfather is Saudi. I speak some languages that aren’t used much around here. When I hear them, I listen and report. I won’t be effective if they know I’m listening.”

  “You’re a spy.” It didn’t sound like a question, more of an accusation.

  “Not hardly. Just a listener. And while I’m here, I’ll be teaching classes and hanging out.”

  “Dangerous?”

  Not much of a conversationalist, but the big man had a way of making his point. “Only if you tell anyone.”

  Derek crossed his arms, his back never leaving the door he leaned against, and made Jake wait for a few long minutes before he opened his mouth again. “You can tell the submissives from the female Dommes by the clothes they wear. Dommes rarely expose themselves in public, but submissives are required to do as their masters direct.”

  The subject switch was all he got from Derek as acknowledgement of their agreement. The man turned and opened the door and Jake followed him back into the hall.

  Chapter 5

  “Here, put this on and tighten the loop.”

  Lizette took the wide brimmed hat and followed Mildred’s directions, adjusting the chin strap until the hat sat snug to her head.

  “Until you’re competent and confident of your abilities, it’s best you wear a durable hat a
nd clothing. A submissive is likely to refuse to play with you if you’re scarred from your own whip.”

  “That’s why I wore the jean skirt, but I didn’t think about a hat.”

  “Good choice. It’s thick and clings to your legs enough to be protective,” Mildred told her. “Let’s begin with an anatomy lesson.” She laid the whip on a long table on the other side of the room’s door and Liz followed.

  The sparkle in Mildred’s eyes, not to mention the slight curve of her mouth, intrigued her, made Lizette wish she’d known the woman in her heyday. She could almost picture Gran and Mildred working over their subs.

  Pointing to the heaviest end of the whip, she said, “This, of course is the handle. Georgia’s is made of oak, but other material is available when you’re shopping for a good fit. Most whips within the community are special orders designed to match the needs and dimensions of the user.” When the woman turned to her, Lizette caught her breath. The feeling of family flowed between them, a warmth she hadn’t expected from the rather reserved woman, but welcomed.

  “Since you’re close to a mirror image of Georgia, her whip should be a perfect fit. If not, I know a few good craftsmen and we’ll order a new one.”

  Lizette shook her head. “I want to use this one.”

  “It’s been well preserved, no damage at all. Even the fall is in good shape.”

  “The fall? What’s that?”

  Mildred slid the whip through her hands until she held the smallest end in her palm. The little leather oval curved slightly and another slim piece wiggled in its belly.

  “This flat piece of leather at the end of the thong is the fall, and the string is the popper.”

  Lizette repeated the names with a nod, committing them to memory.

  “When you throw the whip correctly, energy flows through the tail, or body of the whip, building up until the energy is released within the fall. The crack you hear is the release of that energy.”

  “Very scientific.”

  “This is not a toy. Take it seriously. Always take precautions. Striking a person with the whip will do serious damage. Promise me you’ll practice until you have full control before attempting to throw it at your sub.”

  “Of course. I promise.”

  With a nod, the woman settled her own hat and walked the length of the room, a long whip coiled in her hand. When Lizette began to follow, the older woman waved her off.

  “Stay still for a bit. I’m going to demonstrate first, then we’ll work on your skills.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her mentor turned, a smile of sorts on her face, an expression rarely seen from Mildred, and Liz was afraid she’d offended the woman.

  “Lizette Kently. You are a Domme, a strong woman, and you honor me with your courtesy. But don’t do it again. We are equals here. Domme to Domme. I’m proud to teach you what I know, just as I taught your grandmother.”

  “Yes, Ma—” Half the phrase slipped out, a reflex from her childhood. “Sorry.”

  “Georgia’s influence, I’m sure. Work on it.” Mildred let the whip she carried drop to the floor and walked forward to let the long weave form a snake following her across the bare floor. “Before you do anything with your whip, you must inspect the area around you. Even if you are considerably proficient with the weapon, anything and everything in the area around you could become a projectile, and deadly.”

  Liz nodded, a decision to keep quiet and listen to Mildred for as long as the woman was willing to teach her a priority.

  “The effective use of a bullwhip entails more brain power than brawn, more self-control than physical strength.”

  She flinched as the whip in the older woman’s hand flicked across the space in front of her and a loud crack bounced around the mostly empty room. Mildred’s posture never changed, her movements a bare minimum of activity, yet the small sonic boom produced by the whip was a siren’s call echoing its way into Lizette’s soul.

  Gran’s whip was the element of change she needed. A change of perspective. A change of luck. Maybe a change in destiny.

  Her focus slipped, detached from the multiple layers of worry and priority and responsibility, and allowed her to give her all to the movements her mentor exhibited. A dance. A ballet with leather and sound.

  Then it was her turn.

  Mildred left her beautiful whip lying along the wall and came back with a shorter version, one with very little thong, and a red and brown stuffed animal. She set it aside with no comment and Liz didn’t ask. She knew better. Knew her teacher had a plan. Knew she would implement it in her own sweet time.

  A softly wrinkled hand extended from her mentor’s frame, the open palm directed Lizette to the center of the room.

  Mildred walked her through the first few exercise, her posture and bearing reminiscent of the Drill Sergeant Lizette encountered in her first week of basic training. The euphoria of the first few minutes dimmed. Mildred was nothing if not thorough, correcting her posture and the position of the handle until it became a natural extension of her arm.

  Mastery of every move was her only goal.

  In short order, the ache of her arms and shoulders took on a life of its own.

  It began when Mildred placed the handle of Gran’s whip in her palm and stepped away.

  “Slow and steady for the first few times, Lizette. Remember, control is more important than brute strength.”

  A knot in her chest reminded her to breathe, the feel of the weapon pushing her natural composure around like she was standing in a sandstorm. The handle in her hand warmed to the temperature of her body as if it were a part of her and she let her arm relax into the weight of the whip. The long thong spread across the floor in a tumble of leather and waited for action.

  A flick of her wrist sent it skittering across the tile until it stretched behind her in a long line, a snake ready for the scent of prey.

  Softening her grip, she brought the handle up and over her shoulder. Mildred nodded once. Liz focused on the teddy bear a few short yards away and brought the handle forward.

  The sing of the whip as it passed her ear started a flush of adrenaline swirling through her veins and the short crack when the thong met its end had air pushing past her lips.

  “Good.” Mildred nodded once, a raised brow the only true sign of approval. “Again.”

  When Mistress Mildred finally called a halt, Liz was of two distinct minds. A definite love-hate relationship had grown from the lesson, not with Mildred, who proved to be a spectacular instructor, but with the whip. Both arms, shoulders, and her back ached like a sonuvabitch.

  “Thank you, Mildred.” She put her hands to the small of her back and stretched the muscles as far as she could before she asked about when they could meet again.

  “Your schedule is more complicated than mine. When are you available?”

  Lizette grinned, buzzed by the anticipation of more. “I’m on day shift for the next five, so I can be here in the evening if you have time.”

  “Call me when you have a firm two hours in mind. In the meantime, take this home and practice.”

  Liz took the short practice whip and stuck it in her bag. “I will. Thank you.”

  Mildred checked her watch and left the room with a conservative dip of her chin, but Lizette lingered, picking up the stuffed bear and running one finger up and down the open wounds she’d inflicted. She wouldn’t use her whip in public until she could flick a tiny pinch of fuzz from the little guy without leaving a mark.

  Tucking the toy on a shelf, she stowed her jean jacket in her tote and left the room. The thought of a cool drink and maybe a little conversation downstairs appealed as a way to decompress, but by the time the elevator doors opened, she’d changed her mind. As much as she loved the camaraderie of the club, home and a hot bath were calling like nothing else could.

  ***

  Late afternoon, bearing down on five o’clock happy hour, and Jake was at Private Delights.

  Again.

&
nbsp; The drunk-in-a-bar aspect he’d always tried to avoid in his line of work didn’t fit the situation too clearly, since alcohol wasn’t a big issue in Mark’s little happy place, but still.

  It’s a club, a place to hang out and goof off and screw. Just what his mom wanted for him when she spoke her last words.

  Fuck.

  But he had nowhere else to go.

  The college wasn’t in session for another week and the only three people he knew in Texas were in this club. Since Mark and Steve were each tied to a woman and Derek refused to discuss the not-dating issue, the only thing left to do was bullshit.

  Mark was damn good at it, but only because he’d had so much practice. The conversation turned to toys, those specifically geared to the club, and Jake pointed his feet in a new direction.

  Just far enough from them to avoid the discussion of various nipple clamps, he wandered around the big open room and wondered where Derek was. And whether or not he’d spilled their secret yet. Might be worthwhile to mention the man to his supervisor in DC. Never hurt to have a backup plan.

  Or he could find a woman and take the edge off. How complicated could it be to hook up with a woman in a sex club?

  Not many women in residence at the moment, but the night was young and Mark could be counted on to help. The man knew everyone. It was his place. Plan getting firmer by the minute, Jake meandered in Mark’s direction, keeping a likely eye out for a nice girl to chat up.

  The elevator doors opened and there she was.

  He stopped next to the couch where Mark was still talking. “I need a little help, buddy. You game?”

  Mark and Steve continued their assessment of various sex toys, their conversation well out of his sphere of knowledge on the subject, but Jake didn’t want to understand. He needed a little intervention and it couldn’t wait. “Hey.” He popped Mark in the shoulder. “Shut up and listen for a sec. Who is that lovely lady heading in this direction?”

  Mark checked out the woman and turned back to Jake with a smile. “The brunette in the jean jacket?”

  Jake reached out to thump him in the back of the head but held off. “The only woman walking this way, asshole. Who is she?”