In the Zone

by Sierra Cartwright

  IN THE ZONE

  Sierra Cartwright

  www.loose-id.com

  In the Zone

  Copyright © May 2012 by Sierra Cartwright

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN 978-1-61118-856-1

  Editor: Jana J. Hanson

  Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  PO Box 809

  San Francisco CA 94104-0809

  www.loose-id.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * *

  DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  Dedication

  Hey, BAB, couldn't do it without you!

  Chapter One

  “All right, you naughty wench. Tell me what you deserve.”

  Alani Dane, professional submissive, rolled her eyes. She deserved a night off from the playacting of this weak-wristed wannabe dom.

  “Sub,” the man prompted when she didn’t immediately answer. His voice was laced thick with a fake British accent.

  She’d seen him on television, providing legal analysis for a high-profile murder case. She’d bet her last dollar he wasn’t from England. In the outside world, he was a smart man, a snappy dresser, but here, he affected airs. He even wore a cravat, and his jacket had tails. One night he’d checked a top hat and cane at the front desk.

  She was grateful he’d tied her to the St. Andrew’s cross facing away from him. Even though it was still early on a Friday evening and they were in one of the club’s public areas, there were a few couples scening. A female sub was being fastened to a spanking bench, and a male sub was hanging from a ceiling hook. The man wore a wicked-looking contraption around his cock, complete with metal spikes. He appeared ridiculously happy.

  Absently she wondered how long it had been since she’d felt that way. Weeks? Months? Ever?

  The techno music thrummed out an urgent beat, but since it was still early, the volume was relatively low.

  Sometimes during scenes, she went deep inside her head, creating a fantasy within a fantasy. She often pretended she’d been naughty and needed punishing. Recently, going away mentally had been the only way she could get into what she was doing.

  Tonight, though, even that wasn’t working. Unfortunately she’d played with Master Richard several times before. She knew what to expect. The next half hour, maybe less, was going to be boring.

  “Tell me what you deserve,” he repeated.

  “Oh, Sir, I’ve been bad,” she said, forcing a tremor into her voice.

  He touched the small of her back. She let out a small cry and pulled against the restraints. “So bad.” She’d learned to manipulate her dominants into giving her at least of little of what she wanted.

  Knowing Master Richard was an ass man, she wriggled her hips suggestively. “Please, Sir, I want to be good for you. Perhaps you’d better teach me to behave.”

  “That’s more than you deserve, sub.”

  “I know, Sir. But I’m hoping you’ll take pity on me.”

  “What will it be this evening, you naughty, naughty girl?”

  She knew the answer he wanted. But she knew what she wanted. She wanted to be punished hard by a powerful man. She wanted to be with a man who would demand her very best. Her fantasy dom would tug a belt from around his waist and use it harshly on her bare butt. Or maybe he’d catch her repeatedly with the brutal strike of an open-handed slap.

  “Well? Answer me!” He pinched a bit of skin near her waist.

  That was unexpectedly delicious. If he would keep that up… “Whatever you want, Sir,” she said, her answer so well-rehearsed she could recite it in her sleep.

  “The flogger it is,” he said.

  In the right hands, she supposed the flogger could be memorable. When swung by this unskilled dom, it was barely more than a lover’s touch.

  “I’m going to pull up your skirt.”

  “Oh, Sir! No. Please. Anything but that!”

  “Hush, sub.”

  She imagined his words were supposed to be forceful, but they came out as a request.

  With his small hands, he drew her skirt up.

  “Oh, Sir!”

  He tucked the material into her waistband, then trailed his soft fingertips between her buttocks.

  She’d worn a thong, and he hadn’t requested she remove the material. She knew he wouldn’t delve inside the silk to play with her clit. He wouldn’t do anything to ensure she got into the scene like he did.

  As Master Richard caressed her bare buttocks, his fingers trembling and his breathing ragged, she stared at a mural of Maroon Bells, mountain peaks near Aspen. It was one of the most photographed sites in North America. Maybe this summer, she’d try climbing them.

  She tried to lose herself in the picture, grateful Zones had no clocks in the public areas. Each second with Master Richard was interminable. Staring at a minute hand would only make time drag more.

  She felt something on her rear, and it occurred to her it was the flogger. She jerked her hips, hoping he didn’t realize the reaction came several seconds after the impact.

  “Beg for another.”

  “Oh, please, Sir! I need you to punish me.”

  His second stroke had a little more oomph behind it. She reacted quicker that time and squirmed against her bonds.

  “Thank me.”

  “Sir! Thank you, thank you! Please, will you punish me some more?” She stuck out her ass.

  He continued to flog her, and she remembered she needed half-and-half at home.

  Kukae. Shit. She was being paid to give this man a fantasy. And if he was pleased, he was a good tipper. Alani closed her eyes so she could focus her attention.

  Several times, early in her career, she’d gotten lost in a scene. But now, it took all the skills she’d learned at a college acting class to stay in character. It wasn’t the doms who were lacking; it was her.

  “How many was that, sub?”

  How many? She’d barely registered any. “It hurts so bad I lost count, Sir. Please,” she wailed. “Take pity on me. I promise to be good.”

  “Four more,” he said.

  He landed another. She jerked dramatically.

  As he paused, probably drooling over the sight of her too-rounded derriere, she yawned.

  She instantly snapped her mouth shut when she saw Master Nathaniel push away from a side wall. He was one of the club’s three owners, and he was out of the country a lot. She didn’t know much about him, but th
e rumor mill said he was some sort of secret black ops agent who trained resistance forces throughout the world. She knew the work he did was dirty and dangerous, and the small scar bisecting his chin proved it.

  Damn. Why hadn’t she noticed him standing there?

  His chilly gaze was on her as he moved toward the cross where she hung.

  Had he seen her disrespectful yawn?

  Alani instinctively clenched her muscles.

  She’d rarely seen him engage with the club’s subs or patrons. He showed up for occasional meetings, and once he’d signed paychecks when Master Marcus was out of town.

  She told herself not to be nervous. But the internal pep talk was a losing one.

  Master Nathaniel was dressed professionally. His long-sleeved shirt was turned up at the cuff, and the top button was unfastened at his throat. He wore loose-fitting slacks and polished wing tips. She imagined his attire was intended to make him appear civilized. It didn’t work. Raw masculine power radiated from him. Nothing could temper his air of danger.

  He smelled of a cold winter night, and his green eyes were just as chilly.

  Secretly, he terrified her.

  “How’s it going here, Master Richard?”

  “Oh, very well, Master Nathaniel.”

  She didn’t dare crack a smile at the fake British voice.

  “I’m just going to give this saucy wench a bit of a workout,” he continued. “Only three more strokes to go.”

  “Mind if I watch?”

  “Delighted to have you,” Master Richard said.

  “Let’s help keep you in the scene, shall we?” Master Nathaniel asked her quietly.

  He’d caught her yawning, no doubt.

  “Alani, is it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger, leaving her powerless to escape physically or emotionally.

  “Look at me,” he snapped.

  There was force in his voice, if not volume. All her senses sharpened.

  “Keep your eyes open. For this moment, I am your entire world. Don’t forget it.”

  He tightened his grip.

  Her heart thundered, this time with real fear.

  “Do you understand, Alani?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Proceed, Master Richard,” he said.

  Master Richard hit her hard, as if goaded by Master Nathaniel’s presence.

  She gasped from the unexpected sting.

  “Better,” Master Nathaniel said softly. “She is a saucy one,” he said, looking over her head. “Make the last ones really count.”

  “Unclench your cheeks, love,” Master Richard said. “I do so enjoy seeing your arse jiggle when I give you a good one.”

  She swallowed deeply. Somehow, this was more compelling, even a touch humiliating. She wasn’t sure why. Being something of an exhibitionist, she generally liked people watching her. But Master Nathaniel with his brutally penetrating gaze was different.

  He barely blinked. As much as he wanted her to focus on him, he focused on her. She’d never experienced anything like this.

  “I said unclench your bum.” Master Richard poked her with the hilt of the flogger. “Do it now, you cheeky girl!”

  “Yes, Sir.” She drew in deep breaths, willing this to be over with. All of a sudden, she didn’t have to pretend to be nervous or focused. She was hyperaware of everything going on.

  Master Richard was taking his time. Master Nathaniel’s grip was unyielding. And she wanted to be released from her bondage and go home for the night. Master Nathaniel unsettled her.

  Finally, he let the flogger fall.

  She yelped. Where had that strength been previously?

  She felt the dom’s fingers tracing her garters.

  Wiggling and moving seemed obscene with the way Master Nathaniel was looking at her.

  “Ready for your last one?” Master Richard asked.

  “Yes,” she said. More than ready.

  He hit her a final time. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sting. When she opened her eyes again, Master Nathaniel was still looking at her, his jaw set, nothing revealed in the enigmatic depths of his eyes.

  “Thank Master Richard for flogging you,” Master Nathaniel told her.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she managed.

  Master Nathaniel released her as suddenly as he’d grabbed her. Without a word, he strode away.

  She watched him out of the corner of her eye until she lost sight of him.

  “You were a good girl,” Master Richard said as he released her right ankle.

  “I’m sure I’ll have trouble sitting for the next few days, Sir,” she fibbed. She had to admit, for Master Richard, it had been a robust flogging.

  “Let that be a lesson to you.”

  “It was. I’ll try to be better.” Although with him, she never even knew what her supposed infraction was. Other doms dreamed up elaborate stories and had her deliberately misbehave so they had something to punish.

  He took way too long unfastening her left ankle. He probably just enjoyed being crouched between her legs.

  Moments later, her wrists were free.

  He gently helped turn her around to face him. He held her for several seconds, making sure she was able to stand. On the three-inch stilettos, after being tied to a cross, that was sometimes more difficult than it seemed.

  “Steady, lass?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She smiled gratefully and then knelt and directed her gaze toward the floor. “I enjoyed the scene, Sir.” She hoped he was savvy enough to heed her wordless signal that the scene was over, whether or not he had time remaining.

  “You were most excellent, Alani. Behave yourself until I see you again.”

  “I will try, Sir.” She glanced up to see him hook the flogger onto a belt loop.

  Without another word, he headed toward the bar.

  She exhaled.

  As she stood and smoothed her skirt back into place, she glanced around, looking for Master Nathaniel.

  When she didn’t see him, she exhaled gratefully. She snatched up her discarded blouse and started toward the reception desk, planning to tell Willow she wasn’t feeling well and that she was going home for the rest of the evening.

  Before she got there, a firm hand landed on her shoulder, stopping her in place. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned and looked up at Master Marcus, one of the club’s other owners and her direct boss.

  “Alani. My office. Five minutes.”

  Master Marcus had addressed her quietly. No one around them would have heard him, but she did. She’d caught the sharpness in his normally modulated tone. The worst was the firm set of his jaw.

  Damn Master Nathaniel. Rat. Fink. Bastard.

  It didn’t matter to anyone that she’d tried to get into the scene with Master Richard. The owners would only see her failings.

  “Did you understand my order?” he asked when she didn’t immediately respond.

  “Yes, Sir. I’ll be in your office in five minutes.”

  He nodded, then turned and headed toward the front of the club where his office was located. He probably needed time to pull her personnel file and write her up.

  “Crap.” Forgetting decorum, she hurried into the ladies’ dressing room.

  Her hands were suddenly clammy, and nerves had dried her mouth.

  Alani had joined the staff at Zones two years ago. She’d started as a receptionist and then had gone through the training to become a submissive. The first year as a sub, never knowing what to expect, had made nerves and fear collide, leaving her on a near-constant adrenaline high.

  It had been a struggle to figure out the exact nuance each dom wanted. Did they want her to be stoic? To struggle? Maybe to thrash? To remain silent behind a gag? Maybe count out the strokes they laid against her well-rounded ass?

  For most of her adult life, she’d craved beatings. She lusted after the belt, dreamed of the crop, imagined the paddle. She sought out any man who wo
uld give her an over-the-knee open-hand spanking.

  But since the horrible incident years ago, she’d avoided anyone wickedly wielding a cane.

  Even though she was now part of the management team, she was bored. There were few challenges. Each night had become routine rather than something to anticipate.

  Over the last month, she’d toyed with the idea of requesting a leave of absence.

  But before she could make a decision, she’d been caught yawning.

  It was one thing to think about a temporary absence; it was another to be forced into it.

  She splashed water on her heated face and tucked a few wayward strands of hair behind her ear.

  She filled a cup with water from the watercooler and tried to pretend her hand wasn’t shaking.

  A woman, apparently a sub if her collar was anything to go by, came in and stood in front of the long vanity. She gripped the edge of the sink and stared sightlessly in the mirror.

  “Are you all right?” Alani asked. She didn’t have time for hand-holding, but the woman hadn’t even blinked.

  When the woman didn’t respond, Alani touched her bare shoulder. “Are you all right?” she repeated. “Can I do anything for you? Do you need a ride home?”

  “No. I…” The woman met Alani’s gaze in the mirror. “I had no idea how much it would fucking hurt.”

  “What happened?” The club had a number of professional monitors who watched every scene and looked out for new guests. If anything had been truly out of bounds, the sub would have been followed in here.

  “I’ve wanted to play for a long time,” she said, blinking back tears. “I’ve been begging my boyfriend to spank me. And since it’s my birthday, he agreed to come here.” She gulped in a huge drink of air. “He…he beat me. He sat on a chair and pulled me over his lap. He lifted my skirt, made me call him Master, and then he… Oh my God, he said he liked it.”

  Alani crossed to the water dispenser and got the woman a drink. “Here,” she said, pressing the cup into the woman’s hands.

  The woman was nearly thirty, a couple of years older than Alani. She was tall and thin with blonde hair drenched with highlights. She wore a PVC jacket that was barely zipped, a micromini skirt, and spiky heels. Only in her dreams was Alani that thin and tall.