Reformat_of_Art_of_Submission_5-16-14-3

by Michelle

  A warm hand on her back pulled her away from the moment and Mark led her toward another group. Everywhere she looked, men and women were talking, touching, and socializing with friends. It was the epitome of a relaxed country club with the exception of occasional nudity. After the third topless woman they encountered, Kellie stopped noticing.

  A dark voice flowed just above her head. “Not what you expected is it? This isn’t a strip bar or a bordello. The members aren’t dangerous or wild. They just prefer their sex a little differently than the mainstream.”

  “Why are so many people just sitting around?” she whispered.

  “There’s a certain sense of anticipation that makes the sexual act more intense. The more a Dom builds that anticipation, the better the release for both Dom and submissive.”

  He led her to an alcove filled with two overstuffed chairs upholstered in dark green and canted together with the arm rests meeting at the end. A slim triangular table had been set into the gap between them, a bowl of wrapped mints placed at the opposite end. A second glance changed her mind.

  Condoms, not mints.

  Within minutes of sitting down, a waiter arrived with a plate of cheeses and two glasses.

  Kellie picked hers up and sniffed.

  “Iced tea,” Mark told her. “We discourage alcohol in this part of the building. It degrades the senses and makes some people reckless. And, yes, we do have a bar next door, and if our members want to partake, they can. However, our wait staff is highly trained and they keep track of consumption. Intoxication is rare, but all members are aware of the consequences of overindulgence.”

  Kellie sipped her tea and tried to relax. She wouldn’t get any information out of him if she appeared antagonistic, and Dena had warned her about Mark Harrison when she’d suggested this visit. He had a reputation as a shrewd businessman. The grandson of a wealthy oil and gas man, he’d worked in the fields to learn the business from the ground up and still owned half the company his grandfather founded.

  Dena failed to mention his looks. Dark brown, almost black hair with a hint of curl even though it was cut fairly short gave him a rakish look. He could be a model for GQ if he needed the money, which he obviously didn’t.

  From what she’d found on the Internet, the oil company was one of many holdings he had but Private Delights was his primary focus and he took great pride in the business and its reputation. He had the money and connections to take down anyone who got in his way.

  He wouldn’t think twice about a squashing a student determined to debunk the BDSM world and show everyone how degrading it was for women. Kellie knew she had to tread lightly until she got the information she needed.

  “What consequences?” she asked.

  “Drunkenness usually leads to a steep fine and probationary membership for the first offense. A second incident results in loss of membership with no refund. For most members, that’s a substantial price to pay for a few too many drinks.”

  Interesting. She hadn’t seen any information about the price of membership, only that it was the consummate exclusive club. She stabbed a cube of cheese with a miniature fork and put it in her mouth while she took another look around the room, sure he watched her like a hawk protecting its nest.

  “Sorry, I’m a little out of my element,” she said. “Thank you for the tea and the visit. Dena told me you don’t usually allow tourists.”

  He smiled for the first time and Kellie lost her train of thought. The stern countenance she’d been watching from the corner of her eye transformed into a movie star on the make. Dark eyes sparkled with humor and his wide grin caused dimples to pop on both sides of his face. Abandoning the rules, she faced him and returned the smile.

  “I don’t think of you as a tourist, but I can hear Dena referring to visitors with that word. She’s an interesting young lady, but I’m sure you already know that.”

  “Yes, she is,” Kellie replied, relaxing a little more in his presence. “Sometimes she surprises me.”

  “Did you know about her membership here before you started this project?” he asked as he offered her another piece of cheese.

  “No. I don’t think she’d have ever mentioned it if I hadn’t told her about my thesis.” Dena still didn’t know about the details of her paper or the book she planned to write, but some secrets couldn’t be shared.

  “I’m still waiting for you to tell me what you hope to learn here.”

  Kellie flushed, heat flooding her face and chest. She didn’t want to answer but didn’t have a choice. “I want to know why men choose this kind of relationship.”

  His smile gone, those dark eyes burned into hers while he considered her question. “Women choose this lifestyle, too. Consider Dena. Her relationship with Steve is one she committed to on her own.”

  “I can’t help but wonder if she was coerced.”

  “No.”

  His cold tone told her to change the subject and she didn’t want to push. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “It’s a common misconception. Let’s walk.”

  Mark stood and took the glass from her hand, setting it on the table. She’d seen enough of the common room and while she’d been observing the members and their activities, he’d been monitoring her responses. Every time he’d sensed her arousal, she’d backed away from the scene. She was too hesitant to engage in the sensuality of the club, too separate from her emotions. It could be the academic side of her life, or there could be some underlying issue that stopped her from experiencing the ambiance of the room.

  Kellie got to her feet and he placed his palm on the slight indention between her shoulder blades, a good bit higher than the last time he led her around the room. As they walked toward the stairs, he eased his hand higher until his fingers were on the bare skin above her collar.

  It was all about pushing boundaries, but she didn’t understand that yet. By the time they reached the landing, his forefinger and thumb were on opposite sides of her spine, his thumb lazily grazing the side of her throat. Such a delectable young woman, her small-boned hands and fair skin added to the allure of curves in all the right spots. She’d bruise easily, and he’d hate to see her hurt. He’d need a gentle hand to keep from marking her, if she became his.

  She didn’t protest his hand on her but the rise and fall of her chest told him she knew exactly where their skin met.

  The idea of her under him took hold in a bad way. She was too young, too innocent. At thirty, he should be looking at twenty-eight year olds and she was at least three or four years younger than that. He made a mental note to ask Steve how old Dena was and to check Kellie’s personal records after she left.

  They turned right at the top of the stairs and he increased the pressure against the back of her neck, his palm pressing against her satin skin. She didn’t complain, didn’t ask anything of him, but he wanted her to say something.

  He wanted her to complain about his touch.

  He wanted her to press her soft skin into his palm.

  He wanted her.

  Fuck.

  He hadn’t wanted a woman in a while. Sex, yes, but not a particular woman. He hardly knew her. Not an issue in the club, but he didn’t think she’d want casual semi-anonymous sex.

  They passed two closed doors before he stopped and touched a panel with a flickering green light. He pressed the button and watched Kellie’s face while she realized they were eavesdropping.

  “Yes, some of our members like the idea of being heard while they have sex. And before you ask, yes, voyeurism is also available.”

  He slid open another panel revealing a window and the skin beneath his palm flexed as she tried to move away. He clamped down enough to keep her in place and gentled her with his voice. “This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it? Two people in the throes of passion, unconcerned with their environment and focused solely on pleasure?”

  He was pushing her boundaries a little too fast and a little too hard, but he needed to know if she could ha
ndle it. The decision to make her his was made in a heartbeat and he couldn’t stop the need building within him. Desire was more persistent than sexual tension, more esthetic than physical.

  “They know we’re watching and listening, but they can’t see or hear us. It heightens their pleasure.” His mouth at her ear, his head pressed to the side of hers, he absorbed the soft shiver of her body as arousal nudged her libido. “Did you ever make out in a parked car and wonder if someone might catch you in mid clutch?”

  “No.” A whisper, nothing more than warm air passing her lips.

  “Have you ever lost control or given up control to someone you trusted, someone who would take care of your needs without being told?”

  Again, a whispered denial.

  Chapter 2

  He crowded her, closing what little space had been between them and the tension in her body escalated. The slight tremble in her thighs helped him gauge her desire as it built.

  They were pressed together, pressed against the door while listening to the sound of flesh meeting flesh, listening to the moans and sighs of the woman within.

  Brushing her hair back, he exhaled across the bared skin below her ear and elicited a faint whimper.

  “Have you ever been stripped down to your beautiful bare body and caressed until you couldn’t breathe? Your skin glowing with the attention given to each and every spot available to your lover, licked and sucked until all you felt was the pleasure of his ministrations?”

  Mark slid his hand around her slim throat until his fingers encountered the smooth skin below her chin. Soft and delicate under his touch, he measured the flutter of her pulse before tipping her face with just enough pressure to stretch her onto her toes. Eyes at half-mast and temptingly glazed, he rested his cheek against hers.

  His free hand settled on her waist and worked its way across her belly. A gentle glide up and under the edge of her blouse gifted him with a miniscule moan, a tiny whisper of need.

  She panted.

  Her eyes widened when his fingers encountered the bottom edge of her bra and her respirations increased with his every touch.

  “Can you imagine what it would feel like to surrender to his touch, his caress, while his cock slid into you, stretched and filled you until nothing mattered but the moment?”

  Her heart pounded beneath his hand. She was at the edge, ready to fall. “Let go, Kellie. Let it happen. Come for me.”

  A sob echoed in the quiet hall, the carpet muffling most of the sound, and Mark wrapped his arms around her before her knees gave out.

  The urge to kiss her and claim her had him fighting his own demons. Not yet. She’d be pissed about what he’d just done, anyway. No need to add fuel to the fire. Instead, he carried her down the hall to an unoccupied room, set her in a chair, and left her there.

  ***

  Dena lifted her eyes until they met her man’s gaze, not appropriate at the moment, but necessary. When Steve’s brow quirked, she blinked and nodded, their signal that she had concerns.

  Steve was a hardcore Dom, but he had a soft spot for Dena. Instead of berating her for raising her eyes, he leaned forward, grasped her under her arms, and then hauled her into his lap.

  “What’s bothering you, baby?” he whispered in her ear. To the observer, he was nibbling on her neck instead of making small talk.

  “I’m worried about Kellie.”

  “She wanted to be here, and you talked Mark into letting her visit. Too late to back out.”

  “She looked scared when they came through.”

  “And she didn’t expect to see you half naked and on your knees. That’s your real issue.” He palmed a breast and massaged until the nipple poked at his hand. “I’ll work on your exhibition issues tonight.” He tweaked the other nipple and directed her back to the floor. Without missing a beat, his conversation with Derek Lyons, his long-time business partner, continued while his hand burrowed in her hair.

  The carpet under her knees was plush, designed to soften the effect of hours of submission and she welcomed the rich texture against her skin. Dena focused on maintaining the submissive posture Steve required of her, back straight, shoulders down and relaxed, and chin tucked down. After a year of study with him, she finally felt complete freedom when they were together.

  Relinquishing control of their relationship to him hadn’t been easy, but he’d been right to insist. With a sigh, she evened her breathing and let her mind go. Work issues floated into the ether, family issues with her overbearing brothers disappeared, and worry about Kellie slipped a little lower on her radar. Mark would take care of her friend, even to the point of initiating training if that’s what Kellie wanted. If not, he’d talk her ear off and send her home.

  He wasn’t the ogre most of the subs thought of when his name came up. He had a sweet side, a gentle heart, when he wanted to show those facets of his personality. A tiny shiver slid down her spine at the memory of her first interaction with Master Mark.

  The dim room appeared in her mind, the St. Andrew’s cross standing before her as Steve explained what he expected of her. And who would help him take what he wanted.

  A hitch in her breath must have alerted Steve. His hand stilled in her hair, then squeezed her skull until she turned her face to him. A dark expression greeted her, his brows down and lips thin. She’d missed an important part of his conversation while lingering in her own head and now she’d pay for the inattention.

  “Up, Dena. Time for some public reflections.”

  Steve rose and as soon as she was standing, he turned her away from him and pulled her wrists behind her back, quickly binding them with the thin leather cuffs he always carried. Dena shook at the rough touch, anticipation singing under her skin. Her master called and she would follow.

  Steve’s hand settled on her back, his fingers splayed over the ridge of her shoulder while his thumb stroked a leisurely path up and down her nape. She focused on the patterns in the carpet while he led her to the wide central staircase.

  The rise and fall of his chest as he moved beside her during the endless walk focused her senses on him, and when Steve’s foot rose for the first step up, she moved easily with him. They’d done this before, moving in sync through the steps of his dominance and her submission. At the top of the stairs, they turned left and moved toward the public room.

  Her heartbeat increased with each step but Steve’s pace never faltered. When he turned to the right just before the main entrance, she knew he expected her complete compliance. This door led to a locker room of sorts, the walls lined with shelves and cubbies, each with a basket to hold clothing and sometimes shoes. Stopped with a squeeze of his fingers, she waited while he removed her restraints. Without a word, Dena took down a basket and set it at his feet.

  Her blouse, already open down the front, slid from her shoulders. Knowing Steve monitored her every move, she carefully folded it and placed it in the basket. Head down, she waited.

  “Keep the shoes, but everything else goes.”

  Unsteady hands reached for the zipper of her skirt, nestled as it was at the curve of her spine and lower. When the skirt joined the blouse, she carried the basket back to the shelf. Head down, she returned to Steve and went to her knees before him, heels together, knees apart, back straight, hands palm up and resting on her thighs.

  His hum of pleasure filled her, washed over her anxiety, and left her ready for his instructions. A caress of his hand on her crown, then down to her shoulder awakened her need to please him and shut out all the clutter in her head.

  She was safe.

  She was submissive.

  She was his, and only his, to command.

  Steve’s open palm appeared in the window of her vision and she slid hers into it, rising as he tugged her to her feet. In just her heels, she stood before him in submission while he studied her.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Dena, and you’re mine. Remember that tonight.”

  The luscious praise encased in a rough tone fed h
er desire.

  “You will give me everything tonight, beginning with your wrists. Extend your arms in front of your body.”

  Soft leather cuffs wrapped around her wrists in a two inch band and Steve adjusted the distance between her hands, adding an inch of space before taking possession of her mouth. He invaded, conquered, and left her quivering for more.

  He stepped back with a growl. “Please me tonight and I’ll give you more. Fail, and you’ll sleep alone.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Steve gripped the cuffs where they met between her wrists, led her back to the hall, and then into the public playroom.

  She felt the chill before they crossed the threshold. This was her least favorite place in the building. Just the thought of having sex in the middle of a crowded room gave her the willies, but Steve liked to show her off to the other Doms. After a few minutes inside, she’d relax into the scene and the setting would disappear. But until that moment of first bliss, she trembled.

  The sounds of the room bombarded her, the creak of leather on skin or of leather on leather permeated the large space used long ago as a ballroom. From past experience, Dena knew two cut glass chandeliers illuminated the carnal acts taking place here.

  Other things hung from the ceiling, too, and he led her to that area of the room. A framework of hooks in various sizes covered the wall, each holding a whip, a flogger, or a paddle of some sort. They were grouped by size or length, or sometimes by how much pain each could inflict. Steve stopped her about three yards from the wall while he retrieved the equipment he preferred.

  “Eyes on me, sub.” Cool, collected, and in control, he wanted her to watch while he chose the tools for her pleasure. The spreader bar came first, and he circled her with it in his hand before he squatted at her back and wrapped the soft belt around her left ankle. He tapped her right calf and she widened the space between her feet until the bar fit between the ankles. The other belt was buckled shut and her legs were wide open.