HostileTakeover

by Joey W. Hill

  She’d left her tunic top in the Surreal locker room, so all she wore waist up was a shelf bra that pushed her up and almost out. The bra was the same bronze shimmering color as the leggings. The lace edges that barely covered her nipples were black, matching her five-inch stilettos.

  Okay, she was tense, but it had nothing to do with the environment. The very first time she’d gone to a club, she’d expected to be nervous. Instead, watching the many different ways that Masters and subs fulfilled their mutual needs, soaking in the atmosphere through all senses, she’d felt like she’d come home. She’d known this world innately, even before she stepped across a club threshold.

  She’d had a chance to let her guard down, immerse herself even more, when she’d visited clubs in New York City with Lucas’ friend Marcus. She recalled how Thomas, Marcus’ spouse and devoted submissive, had stood at her side. He’d slid an arm around her, letting her lean against his attractively half-naked form, since he wore only a pair of snug jeans and his wedding band, permanent proof of his bond with his Master. Looking down at her, he’d given her his slow, sweet smile that told her he understood exactly how she felt. Marcus had kept her close to the both of them on that initial trip, because she’d nearly floated off into a trance from voyeurism alone.

  No, her tension was because of what lines she might cross tonight, and whether she could face herself in the mirror tomorrow. Everything about last night continued to haunt her, making her shiver at inappropriate moments.

  She shoved that sentimental trash out of her head. This was her choice. If Ben refused what she offered, then she was going to see how she handled what else was out there. The copper-and-black eye mask bolstered her courage and hid the risk of tears. Okay, Marcie. Go out and get what you want. Or, if you can’t have that, let’s prove he isn’t going to change who you are just because he can’t pull his head out of his ass.

  Taking one more deep breath, she stepped into the public play area. She was ready to be adventurous, to have a great orgasm and get her ass spanked. To hell with Ben O’Callahan.

  Then she saw him at the bar.

  He was cozying up to a blonde with tits so big they were practically in his drink. His hand was on her hip, giving her an idle stroke that ran his fingertips over the curve of her ass.

  It hurt so badly, for a moment she hated him. From the beginning, she’d had to fight all the despicable voices of logic that said she was mistaken, that what she felt from him was imagined. That he truly wasn’t interested in her, that she’d been throwing herself at him. But he hadn’t been humoring her last night. She’d seen his eyes. Which made seeing this even worse.

  She swayed on the five-inch heels. She couldn’t do this. She really couldn’t. She didn’t want what she was about to do here. Ben had always been caring, compassionate, funny. He was being something he wasn’t, she knew that, but his dysfunction didn’t give him the right to be such an asshole. She loved him, truly loved him, and seeing him touch another woman like that, making it obvious he’d probably fuck her tonight, after all he’d done to her last night…

  She was strong, but this required superhero strength. She didn’t have it in her.

  “You’re trying to make someone notice you.”

  She stiffened at the warm comment. Glancing up and back, she found herself flanked by a man with red hair to his shoulders and direct blue eyes. The calm confidence, even more than the black bracelet, said he was an experienced Dom. He looked in his late twenties.

  “Are you looking to play tonight?”

  She turned her back on Ben. “Yes. Yes I am.”

  He took in the jut of her chin, the flash of her eyes. “I see. Have you played before?”

  “Yes…but not like this. I was sort of…with a Dom, but now I’m not.”

  “Would you like to hang with me a little bit, see what might pique your interest?”

  When she took a deep breath this time, there was a little shudder to it that translated into a twitch through her limbs, a quick jerk. Damn it. “I’m sorry.”

  “No apologies necessary.” Giving her a reassuring smile, he took her fingers in a warm hand and rubbed them. “Relax. It’s a playground, and we’re all children here, looking to have fun. Is it all right if I touch you a little bit, help you relax? You can tell me to stop at any time, or if I’m doing too much.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. He slid his hand to her hip, his thumb coursing over the top of her buttock, a move remarkably like what Ben had just done to the blonde. His eyes darkened as her lips parted, moistened. “You wear the silver bracelet, but I’m thinking you’re still fairly new to it. You just didn’t want to be treated too gently. You’re on that beginning edge, wanting even more.”

  She nodded. But not with you, as nice as you seem to be.

  “I have another friend.” When he gestured across the play area, she saw an older man watching them. Her mouth went dry as she registered he was leaning against an empty St. Andrew’s Cross. “Would you like to be restrained on that? Let us give your beautiful ass a workout? We can do it over your clothes. Want to try it, see how it feels?”

  She knew how it felt. She was glad the mask hid the stark pain she was feeling. “Sure,” she managed. “Over the clothes will work.” Hell, his touch on her hip had resulted in a reaction. Maybe it was all “touch button A to get reaction B”. Maybe that floating sensation that happened last night was purely chemical, and if they had the expertise to get her to that level she’d get lost in her head, cut adrift. Then it wouldn’t matter that the man she wanted the most wouldn’t have anything to do with her.

  “You can call me Master L. What should I call you?”

  “Whatever you wish, Master L.” She was just a faceless slave, here to be used. The thought tightened her stomach in a not entirely unpleasant coil.

  She watched him kiss her knuckles. Was he the type Ben would put on his call list as the “perfect Dom” mentor? The thought curdled in her stomach like sour milk. But she followed him, comfortable in the span of his arm, one hand resting on her hip and the small of her back, the other holding her fingers as he escorted her. He smelled good, a nice aftershave. He was handsome but not overdone, wearing a simple pair of jeans and an untucked button-down. Cowboy boots with silver tips.

  “Do you have a hat?”

  Following her glance, he smiled, gave her a bit more of a Texas drawl. “Yes ma’am. But I don’t wear it indoors, or in the presence of ladies.” When he reached his companion, introduced as Frank, she found he was in his forties, with silver threaded through his dark hair. His eyes assessed her even more thoroughly, and he was more reserved, giving her only a courteous nod. It made her stomach flip inside that coil, gooseflesh rising on her arms as she recognized him as something closer to what her submissive nature craved. She had to steel herself not to drop her eyes in his presence. That wasn’t required at this level, and he wasn’t her Master.

  Neither was Ben, was he?

  They went over her safe word, what the boundaries would be. She explained the visible bruising on her upper body, saying she worked in a job that sometimes required full contact but that there was no injury. When they were satisfied they knew enough about her to keep her safe—she gave vague but accurate information about anything beneath the clothes—they lifted each of her hands, cuffed them to the cross, positioning her face forward against it.

  The moment they started restraining her, that deep lower belly trembling started. But there was a wrong feeling to it. She put her forehead down on the wood crosspiece. She would do this. She could. She responded to Master L’s questions. No, cuffs not too tight. Nowhere near as tight as what was around her heart.

  “I’m going to start with just my hand, and work up to some other things, all right? Frank will take over as things escalate.”

  Frank stepped up behind her to test the bonds, pressing himself against her body. As he withdrew, he tangled his hands in her hair, gave her a sharp tug that elicited a gasp, a spiral of shameful
pleasure at the rough treatment. When it turned into a desperate whimper, Master L stroked her back.

  “It’s all right. We can stop at any time. You obviously want this. Don’t fight yourself. We’ll get you where you want to be.” He leaned in, touching her chin, and she stared into his knowing eyes. “We can take you to a place where you won’t even know he’s in the room. Is that what you want?”

  “If you can make me believe he’s not even on the planet, that would be better.”

  His lips firmed, and he nodded, glancing over at Frank. “She wants it rough.”

  “Just the way we like it.”

  She wished they’d bind her forehead to that crosspiece so she wasn’t tempted to see what Ben was doing at the bar. It was still in her line of sight if she turned her head far enough.

  Master L’s hand landed on her buttock, a first slap, a test, an attention getter. It awoke the blows of last night, but not in an unpleasant way. It was a reminder of Ben’s marks on her, which got her wet, no matter how much she despised him at the moment. Master L rubbed firm circles over her ass, took a healthy squeeze, tugged on the lacings of the leggings. His fingertips slipped into the spaces between the eye holes to do a brief caress of the seam of her buttocks before they moved on. Then another smack.

  He was accomplished, alternating hard with soft, with those kneading caresses, so that she was shifting on the cross, that fluttery feeling in her belly settling into something pleasant. Frank ramped it up, doing a series of hard blows that made her arch into the sting. Then Master L returned. The unpredictability, the frequency and multiple sensations, were enough to get her aroused, get her body reacting without thought. So it was that, after one particularly stimulating series of blows, she turned her cheek to the crosspiece, seeking movement as an outlet for what was building inside her.

  She was staring right at the bar. Realizing it, she started to turn her face away, no desire to torture herself, but Ben’s glance slid her way. Passed over, then came back like a laser pointer.

  She wasn’t surprised he recognized her. That was part of what broke her heart about him, wasn’t it? He knew her anywhere, the same way she knew him. But he was with that blonde, she’d come to this club for her own reasons, and she’d kicked the ass of a guy nearly twice her size today. Lifting her chin, she gave him a cool look, and then turned her face into Frank’s hand as it cupped her face. She even let her lips drag across his palm. He smelled good too. Like powdery sawdust. He must like to do woodwork. It was nice, reassuring.

  “She’s warmed up. She’s getting looser.”

  “Hmm.” Master L had donned a vampire glove, and she flinched and shuddered, wriggling as he let the sharp edges scratch down her back, her upper arms. Frank lifted her hair and held it in a tight tail as Master L took the glove straight down her spine, over the bra strap and to the waist. They knew what they were doing, because the instinctive masochist was rising to the top, wanting more, even if it wasn’t coming from the source she wanted.

  You want me to prove I can be a shameless slut for anyone, Ben? You got it, baby.

  A breath slid past her gritted teeth as Frank slapped her other buttock, making it wobble so hard she felt it in her pussy. She met Ben’s gaze deliberately this time. His green eyes were ice, his jaw satisfyingly rigid. Good. Let him be mad. Wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop her. He’d relinquished any claim he might have, had tossed any leash she offered back at her feet.

  “Oh.” It surprised her, the sudden ripple in her pussy as Master L reached around her, raked the glove across her belly, his breath on the back of her shoulder. She didn’t know if it was a reaction to her defiance of Ben while two Masters had their way with her, or Master L’s skill, but she was amping up her response. That was all that mattered. Another series of spankings from Master L, hitting her with consummate skill, a lighter stroke, harder, then one powerful clap that sent everything wobbling. Frank stepped back in with a cane. It slapped against the latex, awakening the blows of last night. The sting went right up through her core and to her nipples.

  She was just a thing, a mindless slave who liked this, who liked the pleasure of serving Doms. So what if Ben didn’t want her? She could do and be this, right? To hell with him, and with her hollow heart. It was like eating candy and knowing it was going to make you sick, knowing it didn’t taste as good as you’d hoped. It was still eating candy, and who passed up the chance to do that? Tomorrow could be the Titanic, right?

  She pressed her face against her upper arm, but Frank caught her hair, pulled her head back. “Eyes forward,” he ordered. “Keep your head up, body still.”

  Holding poses increased the potency of psychological restraint. As her fingers curled in the cuffs, she was vaguely aware they were attracting an audience. A single drop of perspiration went from her throat down her sternum, and she thought of Ben’s fingers trailing along that path the previous night.

  “More,” she whispered.

  “What?” Master L’s hand was on her shoulder. She turned her face into his knuckles, held her face there, hard.

  “Please, more.”

  “You want it harder?”

  She nodded. “And please…you can take off the clothes if you want. If it pleases you. Just leave the mask.”

  “Our pleasure.” He unhooked the bra and the straps, his fingers sliding along that now bare track, and Frank removed the cups, caressing the soft underside of her breasts. Since her throat was aching, she closed her eyes. When they loosened the lacings enough, they pushed the leggings off her ass and down to her stilettos. Though they left the garment gathered at her ankles, she was now pretty much naked. Once again, just a thing. A slave.

  She must have said it, for Master L spoke. “Yeah, you are. A beautiful slave. One any Master would want.”

  “With the proper discipline.” That came from Frank, sending a thrill through her vitals. She was losing herself here, and that was okay. She could do that. It didn’t matter that it all felt out of control, that she was afraid, that she had no idea where to go from here.

  “She was worked over pretty good recently.” That from Master L. His fingers trailed the bruises along her thighs, the welts underneath what they were doing. Ben’s marks.

  “Not good enough,” she said. “More.”

  “Quiet,” Frank said. The cane struck her bare buttocks and she cried out, bucking against the cross. More, more, more.

  But then there was a pause. No one touched her as they had between all the other blows. She didn’t know why until she heard his voice.

  “Frank, Master L, a word?”

  Ben. Before she could turn her head, another male was gripping her hair, pushing her forehead against the crosspiece, telling her not to move. She knew that hand, knew firsthand how tight he could hold her. Even as something feral inside her wanted to struggle against it, bite and take a few of his fingers off, her arousal intensified threefold. Her pussy contracted, a short expulsion of cream. Damn traitorous body.

  “Master L, this is my slave. She disobeyed me by seeking another Master tonight. My apologies for depriving you of the pleasure, but she needs discipline at my hand.”

  “Problem, gentlemen? Ben?”

  Another voice, one she was sure belonged to the assigned dungeon master. Despite his obvious familiarity with Ben, an interruption to a session in progress was bound to catch his attention. In a moment, he’d ask her what she wanted, who she wanted. Whatever her decision, the DM would make a judgment as to what was best. If anything seemed hinky, he’d end the scene, period.

  Ben explained the situation to him as he explained it to Master L and Frank, no more, no less, which of course left a lot unexplained. If he claimed she was bratting to get his attention, she swore she’d take his cock off with the nearest sharp object she could find. She hadn’t come here looking for him, no matter that her body cried out for him the moment he’d released her hair, stepped back.

  Even without his grip, she was all too aware she kept st
aring forward, just as he’d commanded with that physical cue. Now the DM was at her side. “Ma’am,” he said quietly, “you’re safe here. What do you want to do?”

  She could tell Master L that Ben was lying. The DM would make Ben back off. Frank and Master L would continue to work their magic and she could get lost in the physical pleasure of the orgasm they’d undoubtedly give her. That would be that.

  Her scalp was tingling from his touch, and the ache that they’d started from mere physical touch was now an agony of emotional need. She stared at the polished crosspiece. “Master L…Frank, sir, thank you both. But my Master is correct. I apologize for taking him away from Miss Big Tits at the bar to address my insubordination.”

  The DM had to work to disguise the half-snort, half-chuckle, but it puffed along her cheek. His tone remained serious, however. “All right, ma’am.” He turned his attention to Ben. “Involving two other Doms without informing them that they’re walking into an ongoing session with your sub is bad etiquette, and can be dangerous. I trust it won’t happen again.”

  “No, it won’t. My apologies to you gentlemen as well,” Ben said, nothing given away in his voice. Marcie curled her fingers in the cuffs. He was taking the blame, the quickest way to get rid of them. What the hell did he want from her? She was torn between confusion and anger.

  As the DM returned to his post, she heard Master L and Frank gathering their tools. “A good slave,” Master L said dryly, probably from her double-edged apology. “Thanks for the pleasure of her, Ben. You’re fortunate, despite her willfulness. If you need assistance with her punishment, I’d be happy to help.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. But for now…”

  “Back off.” There was a grin in Frank’s tone. “No problem.”