by Cynthia Dane
Her cell phone buzzed with a message. Judith.
“You need to get down to the foyer.” Before Monica could expect the worst, such as the police or Jackson, she received another message. “It’s Sylvia.”
***
The taxi idled in the driveway as Sylvia, dressed in a little black dress but devoid of her usual decorations, stepped out with a suitcase in hand. She closed the car door behind her and faced the Château, a smile so far away from her face that she looked like the unhappiest woman in the world.
Because she is.
The driver pulled out more luggage from the trunk. Without a moment of consideration, Monica told two maids to bring them in. “To her old room,” she said, standing in the entrance.
Judith stood off to the side. Chelsea leaned over the balcony overlooking the driveway. Grace tried to hide behind a pillar, but everyone could see her. Yvette roused herself from sunbathing in order to see this spectacle.
That didn’t account for every staff person gawking at the return of one of the Château’s daughters.
Nobody said a word as Sylvia ascended the front steps, her hand clutching her suitcase handle so hard that her skin turned red. Her lip trembled, but she kept her pride and did not cry. There was no engagement ring on her hand.
“Welcome home,” Monica said, as soon as Sylvia was close enough to hear her.
She looked away. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Who said you had to go anywhere else?”
People respectfully cleared out of their way as Monica led Sylvia back to her old room, which was still furnished in her style.
Sylvia sat on the edge of the bed, suitcase dropping to the floor. Behind her, Monica heard enough whispers to fill her ears for years. “Cheating bastard.” “Had a mistress in every major city.” “Promised to marry like three other women.” “Does he think we’re actual concubines or some shit?”
Tears fell down Sylvia’s face now. She was so young, so naïve.
So in love, like they all had been at some point.
“He called me a whore,” she mumbled through her tears. “When I confronted him about the other women, he called me a whore.”
Monica did not move to touch her. That’s not what Sylvia needed right now. “I’m sorry. You can stay here as long as you need to.”
When she exited the room, she saw a maid eavesdropping around the corner of the hall. “Tell the doorman and all security personnel that Mr. Carlisle is no longer welcomed on these premises.” The day Monica feared had come. That was the nature of the business.
Chapter 11
The Wolf Queen Returns
“Are you nervous?”
Monica turned from the window overlooking The Dark Hour’s open room. The stage was empty, yet half the tables in the main gallery and up in the more private balconies were filling with people. Men in their finest suits. Women in risqué dresses that twinkled and showed off their bodies in enticing ways. Men in leather, gags in their mouths. Women with tight collars around their throats, some crawling on all fours while they waited for treats from their Masters.
On a normal night, Monica would find the spectacle absolutely delightful.
Tonight is not a normal night.
She wore her lavender silk robe, naked beneath. Her hair was freshly washed and styled by a competent professional. Body glitter covered her skin in case people couldn’t find her in the darkness. Her leather collar pressed against her throat. The only thing easing her nerves was Henry’s hand on her shoulder.
“I am nervous. Not for the reasons you think.”
“No. I don’t think you’re nervous about getting on that stage and entertaining the masses.” Henry smiled at her. “Not you.”
A shiver rippled through her body. Oh, she was nervous. She looked at the darkened faces of billionaires, millionaires, their guests and lovers, coming from all over the world for this one prestigious event that Monica was finally invited to participate in. Yet half the seats were still empty, and the show started in a half hour.
“What if there aren’t enough people?”
Henry shook his head. “You know how this works. People who came from far away want to make sure they get good seats, so they come early. The locals straggle in. Then there are the people in-between coming here right after business dinners or after waiting five hours for their dates to get ready. If an inexperienced talent could pack the place last year, what do you think someone like you will do?”
That was the rub. The Dark Hour hadn’t explicitly named Monica as the main attraction that night. They usually didn’t name the sub out of respect and to build intrigue. Instead the fliers and emails said, “The Experienced Madam, Coming To Us From Her Château On The Hill.” It sounded like a grand re-debut. As if Monica had gone into retirement, never to be heard from again until this night.
Still, that wasn’t what made her the most nervous.
“Don’t think about that man.” Henry stroked her cheek. “It won’t do you any good.”
“We’re doing this because of that man.”
“No, we’re not.”
She looked at him, her Henry, the man she let into her heart. “We’re not?”
“We’re doing this for us.” Henry cupped both hands around her cheeks, “To make our future easier, and to test the last of our limits.” His hands went from her face to her shoulders. “If you go out there thinking this is about that man, then you’ll falter. Don’t think about any man but me. That’s what the people want to see anyway.”
“You’re not worried about your reputation?”
Henry laughed at that. “My reputation? You’re kidding, right? If anything, this will bring me more business than ever. People who have never heard of me will know who I am. People who have heard of me will see how strong I am. And people who know me will respect me more. It’s different for men, Monica.”
“I know. Trust me, I do.” Men who tossed their cocks and women about always got more respect than the woman baring herself to the world. Well, unless they were Monica Graham, experienced submissive extraordinaire.
“If our plan works, that man will be out of your life forever.”
“Don’t put conditions on it, Henry. My mind is already running in all the different ways this can go wrong.”
“And don’t think like that.” He pulled her into his embrace, which instantly settled the nerves fraying within Monica. Can I stay here forever? His scent, his heat, his love… could a woman ask for more? Safety. Usually, Henry’s arms were safe. Tonight, she wasn’t so sure…
“I’ll be fine once we start…”
“Do you remember everything we went over?”
“Of course.” Monica stepped out of his hold and looked out the window again. People were settling into their seats. Bets were placed over this and that. Servers made the rounds with drinks and buttons that would let them make donations throughout the night. Monica’s goal was to make them press it as many times as possible.
No pressure.
“You’ll do great, Princess.”
She shed the robe. A few feet away were the clothes she and Henry decided were best for that night. “Tonight I’m nobody’s princess.” Silk and lace filled her fingers as she looked at her naked body in the mirror, defiant. “Not even yours, Henry. I’m the Queen of the Wolves, and you’ll do well to remember that.”
Grinning, he stepped toward the door. “As you wish, Madam.”
Indeed, the Experienced Madam was about to make her grand re-debut.
***
The chatter in the room was deafening. Businessmen who hadn’t seen each other in years were suddenly old pals again. Women commiserated over spoiled kids, rich husbands, and the latest trend of candle wax going around the area. Workers struggled to hear the guests’ requests over the rabble. The orderly rabble, of course.
Almost every chair was filled. The raised seats and tables around the center stage held not only
the richest people in the region, but in the world – they could afford those premium seats. Monica wasn’t embarrassed to see Ethan and Jasmine sitting toward the front, the latter’s crimson and ruby collar glistening every time she slightly turned her head. If anything, it comforted Monica knowing her friends were there. It gave her someone to focus on.
James and Gwen were there, slipping money to other people as they placed bets. About what? If it were really Monica? If she would come too soon? If Jackson will show up?
She didn’t see that man. She had looked.
Yet there were other familiar faces. The Château was closed for the night, since this would be prime advertisement. Thus, every girl, including Sylvia with her toned down style, sat together off to the side. Mr. Carlisle was a respectable distance from any scene he might cause with the pissed off girls on Sylvia’s side.
Mr. and Mrs. Andrews tittered at a private table up in the balconies. Sam Witherspoon and a group of buddies took over another table, downing drink after drink in preparation for the show. Monica saw the illustrious Kathryn Alison, perhaps the richest woman in her own right, sitting with Eva at a table that was clearly reserved for women only. Eva will leave. Her job was to drum up interest, but there was no way she would stick around to see her big brother do what he was about to do. Thank God.
Bankers. Politicians. Dictators. If there were a rich man or woman with any interest in BDSM, they were here that night. Monica’s worries that there wouldn’t be enough interest were put to rest once she saw staff running around worriedly, forcing more space for people to sit and still see the stage. VIP rooms were stuffed. Bartenders worked overtime to keep the drinks flowing on schedule. The coat check overflowed.
They were all here to see Monica. They knew who she was, after all.
If she were the type to have stage fright, that would have done her in. But she never had stage fright in her life. Not even when she was giving controversial speech topics in front of her entire high school did she falter. Besides, this may be her biggest audience yet, but it wasn’t her first time performing in front of a crowd. Let alone a discerning one.
In fact, one could say that Monica was a bit of an exhibitionist anyway. If there were no pressures to make a ton of money… if she could simply enjoy the moment… well, she would be very much looking forward to this.
The rabble died when a speaker came on. Monica couldn’t hear him. She was too busy feeling the heavy silver collar wrap around her neck, feeling her wrists bind behind her, and feeling the leash pull against her body. The room opened up. People parted to get out of her way.
She was in front. Walking slowly, but leading her Dom through the crowd, head held high and shoulders back. She may be the submissive one, but the spotlight was on her tonight.
Some subs would still want to be led out by their Doms. That was fine, but Monica was a wolf queen. Nobody led her anywhere.
This apparently worked, for the announcer quipped that the first donations had already started rolling in. People were eager to spend their money on her. She only needed to earn it.
That was dangerous.
These people would want to see her limits, her boundaries completely violated for their own amusement.
They wanted to hear her choke on her safe word.
They wanted to watch Henry ruin her.
So be it. She knew this already. Henry knew it already. They went over, time and again, what the real limits were, and what would be for show. They weren’t stupid, This wasn’t their bedroom.
This was their freedom.
Monica stood on the stage while the announcer finished up his spiel, reminding the audience of the rules and how to keep spending money. They’ll remember. Monica stood upright, her binds chafing a little, the collar catching everyone’s attention.
All they could see her wearing, aside from her smooth skin and wavy hair, was a tailored black jacket hugging her arms and chest. It was buttoned in front, although the discerning eye could see peeks of white beneath. Whatever they thought of her outfit, nobody remarked.
No, this wasn’t the type of audience to scream their demands at her. That happened at lesser establishments. These refined people wanted her to read their minds.
She had spent years learning to gauge a person’s desires with one look. She enforced those talents at her Château every weekend. Now was the time to truly see how good she was.
The announcer left. They could start anytime.
There was a script in place, but Monica fully expected Henry to go off script here and there. She didn’t expect it right away. Like when he yanked on her collar and nearly brought her to her knees from the force.
She gasped. The room remained silent.
Hundreds of eyes were on her. Henry rubbed her skin as if he could wipe them away, but within seconds he recognized that his precious princess was too tough to give in to his delicate touch.
When she stood, her leash still coiled around Henry’s hand, she saw that half of the audience was intrigued. The other half considered her too defiant.
That changed when Henry snaked his hand down her bodice, slipping beneath her jacket and caressing her breast. Monica couldn’t help but shiver against his touch, her teeth biting her bottom lip as her eyes fluttered shut.
The relationship between a Dom and sub was something most people in that room could understand. Of course, such a relationship differed between people, but at its heart, they all knew what it meant to be a sub who wanted to serve or a Dom who wanted to pleasure. Tonight, Henry and Monica were an extension of every desire manifesting between the men and women in the audience. They represented pain, pleasure, love, desire… they were current relationships, both new and old. They were old relationships of the past, gone but not forgotten. When Henry wrapped his tongue around Monica’s ear, sending waves of need through her chest, the women in the audience swooned. When he pressed his hand against her abdomen, threatening to touch her between the legs in front of so many people, the men smiled and willed him to continue.
Everything they could want or need was there on stage. A table full of toys and other equipment. Rings hanging from the ceiling. Silk, leather, and metal binds and spreaders. Everyone in the audience had a preference. Their job was to appeal to as many of those as possible.
And remain authentic? Bring it on.
As much as Monica tried to remain focused, she was quickly succumbing to what Henry did to her. That was good… and a danger. She had to remain levelheaded if she was going to put on the best performance, but it would mean nothing if she couldn’t lose herself to what her Dom did to her. Right now Henry was appealing to that possessive nature so many Doms had. He reached beneath her jacket and pulled her breasts free from the corset she wore. The jacket opened enough to show every man and woman what Monica Graham kept beneath her clothes.
“See what I have? See what I get to play with? Isn’t my sub a beautiful woman? I bet you’d like to play with her. Do you want to fuck her? You don’t get to. Only I do.”
Monica could feel those words in the first pinch Henry gave her nipple.
The most pitiful moan in the world escaped her lips. People shifted in their seats. Half of them were enthralled already.
Monica could hear their demands now. “Take off her clothes.” “Bend her over.” “Fuck her ‘til she screams.” The most amazing thing? Monica responded to these hypotheticals as if they were nothing more than her personal fantasies. She wanted all of that.
Right here, in front of an audience.
She had to perform, but she also had to serve, to submit to her Dom as she always had. Since she was his servant, Henry could do whatever he wanted to her. Like slowly reveal more and more of her body to everyone staring at them.
They saw not only her breasts, but her thighs, her stomach, the white flesh of her ass, and even the fine hairs growing from her most intimate place. He’s humiliating me. Not directly, since Henry knew this wouldn’t bother
her – they had cleared that up in the week leading up to this. The audience didn’t know that. For all they knew, Monica was trembling inside as her Dom offered her up as some sexual creature to be admired and used by the masses. That was the thrill she now felt as Henry practically stripped her in front of these hungry beasts consuming her vicariously through her Dom.
Then she was untied, then retied again, this time with her arms hanging above her head as she was attached to the nearest ring hanging from the ceiling.