by Donya Lynne
"The dungeon." Sam let the two syllables fall off her tongue, contemplating all that the simple word implied.
She imagined medieval wickedness, maces, iron maidens, and odd contraptions where prisoners and criminals were tied down and punished.
"That's more like it," Micah said quietly as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "But not quite as primitive." He gave her a crooked grin.
"Micah." A blonde in black leather and very red lipstick smiled and broke from a group of other leather-clad individuals and walked over.
Sam bristled, and Micah secured her more firmly to his side, his strong hand nestled against her hip.
"Mistress Diamond." Micah bowed his head in greeting. "Meet my…" he glanced at Sam, "girlfriend. Sam, this is Mistress Diamond. She's the one who invited us."
Mistress Diamond? How apropos. Her teeth were so white they sparkled like diamonds. Bleach much? At least Miss D was human, which meant that with her new immortal strength, Sam could take Miss Diamond if she made a move on her man — male, whatever.
Micah cleared his throat and tightened his grip. The message was clear. Behave!
Sam smiled sweetly, fighting her urge to stake her claim in Micah, and held out her hand. "Hi. Nice to meet you."
"My pleasure." Mistress Diamond flashed a genuine, congenial smile, non-threatened and non-threatening, but Sam still didn't like her.
Perhaps Micah had a point with that whole taking-his-last-name thing. If she started calling herself Mrs. Black, the message would be clear to potential usurpers that she and Micah were a unified pair. Of course, when Micah saw that thought roll through her mind, he looked at her with a self-satisfied grin plastered on his puss. I told you so was written all over his face. Sam issued him a mock glower to let him know not to even think about rubbing her nose in this one later.
"Thank you for the last-minute invitation," Micah said, smugly turning his attention back toward Miss D.
"It was no problem." Mistress Queen of the Night looked between her and Micah. "Will you two be playing out a scene tonight?"
"No," Micah said. "Sam and I are only here to watch."
Mistress D nodded and looked at Sam. "Micah's introducing you to the lifestyle then?"
"Something like that, yes." Sam tried not to stare at those unbelievably white teeth.
"Well, you've got the best here," she said, glancing back at Micah. "He'll take excellent care of you." Mistress White Teeth turned toward Micah. "I was so pleased to hear you were coming out of retirement, by the way."
Micah patted Sam's hip gently. "Not exactly out of retirement, but close enough."
The mistress's bright eyes lit up and those perfectly reddened lips curved into a secretive smile. "Would you like to join me during a scene? I have the most incredible submissive here with me. The guy can take more than I can give him, to be honest. I think he'd like you a lot, Micah."
Micah looked over at Sam and shrugged. "I don't know, Diamond. He's your sub, and that's your equipment. I wouldn't want to impose."
Sam got the impression Micah was trying to ask for her permission.
"No imposition, Micah. It would be an honor to do a scene with you."
Micah kept his gaze on Sam's.
Well, she had come here in hopes of seeing Micah in action, hadn't she? This was her chance.
Finally, she nodded. "You should, Micah. I want to see. I want to watch."
Micah turned back to she-who-hath-the-white-teeth. "Okay. Sure."
Mistress D grinned victoriously. "Excellent. I was just about to get started." She motioned for them to follow her as she headed off into the depths of the dungeon. "I'm set up back here."
She walked toward an ornate, heavy, black curtain embellished with gold embroidery and tassels as if it had come out of some Elizabethan palace. Miss D held it aside.
Sam's eyes opened wide as she ducked under into a darkened walkway and passed a large room in which a topless woman danced to exotic music while a rather brusque male lounged on a mound of large pillows of various colors and watched.
Micah leaned down and whispered, "Gorean scene."
She frowned up at him, not knowing a Gorean scene from the Dance of the Sugar Plum fairies. He shook his head and rolled his eyes as if to say he'd explain later.
Mistress Diamond quietly directed them past the room and on further into a more open area.
"There are four rooms set up down here," the mistress said. "Two on the other side, and two this way."
Micah nodded as if this all made perfect sense to him, so Sam nodded, too. Sure, she could pretend to know what she was doing.
They stepped past another heavy curtain into a room where a small gathering had begun to form around an open area. Large, heavy hooks hung from the ceiling, similar to the ones she had seen in Micah's basement. A dark-skinned male knelt on his knees in the corner, with a black, fabric bag over his head. He was naked and his hands rested on his thighs.
Mistress D fell into character as she grabbed a whip off a nearby shelf and cracked it against the concrete floor. The man in the corner twitched at the sound of the whip and lifted his covered head, obviously aware that his Mistress had returned. She marched toward him in her knee-high, shiny black boots.
Micah leaned in and whispered, "That's her submissive."
She whispered back, "And she wants you to…work him over or whatever?"
He nodded.
Micah's eyes narrowed on the submissive, and he tilted his head studiously. Then he looked up at the ceiling and over at the toys and other items Mistress D had laid out.
"Quit calling her Mistress D," he said softly.
"Get out of my head, and you won't hear me call her Mistress D."
Micah huffed with exasperation but turned admiring eyes on her. "You're sexy when you're feisty."
Sam grinned sweetly. "Why, thank you, honey."
He smirked at her obvious sarcasm.
Mistress Diamond knelt beside her submissive and whispered something in his ear and then the sub nodded. Sam heard him say something, but couldn't hear what. The mistress looked up at Micah and nodded, motioning him to join her.
"Well, here goes." He gave her a quick kiss and smiled.
His smile was all for her. Micah's chest puffed up and he held his head high and his back straight as if he wanted to honor her with his pending performance. He obviously wanted to impress her. And wasn't that the sweetest thing ever?
As he walked away from her and inspected several coils of rope on the shelf, every female eye in the room focused on him like hawks to a field mouse. Oh yes, they wanted her man — male, whatever. He was pure hotness. Sensuality and sexuality personified. And he was all hers.
His eyes flicked sideways to her as one brow arched in reply to her thoughts.
I love you.
He smiled darkly and placed his palm surreptitiously over his heart in reply.
When he turned around, he came to an abrupt stop and his face blanked.
Sam frowned. What was wrong?
She turned in the direction he was looking and gasped before snapping her mouth shut.
The submissive.
It was Trace.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Traceon knew it was Micah before he turned around. He could tell by that luscious hair falling like black silk over his shoulders. Seeing Sam among the onlookers confirmed it.
Cat. Out of the bag. Oops.
Now they knew. They had just joined an elite group of people that included only the three of them. Trace, Micah, and Sam. They now knew more about him than anyone else.
And it shamed him. Which was really quite perfect since that was why he was here: to be shamed and humiliated in front of a group of people. His cock instantly swelled as his immense power laughed at him and shrunk into the shadows.
When Micah finally did turn around, he froze in place. Apparently, Micah was just as surprised as he was to see that his sub-to-be was Trace.
Once again, wasn't this ju
st perfect? Trace had sought Micah out for his reputation as a true master of the art, and now he was going to get a taste of Micah's abilities first-hand.
As long as Micah didn't back down.
His mistress whipped him with a horse hair flogger, the coarseness stinging his skin, making it feel as though a hundred tiny lacerations had ripped his flesh. He knew from experience that they hadn't, but the pain still smarted. Again, and again, she struck him. Then once more for good measure.
"We have a guest today, slave," Mistress Diamond crooned, prowling around him, digging her long nails into his chest and torso as she scratched him and continued around behind him. When her nails reached the place on his back she had struck a moment earlier, Trace winced. His skin was already raw.
"Yes, Mistress." Trace eyed Micah, who only glared back at him.
"What do you think of him, slave? Do you think he can hurt you more than I can?"
Trace knew Micah could and would, but he also knew he could never admit that to his mistress.
"No one can hurt me more than you can, my mistress."
"Good answer, slave." She whipped his bare ass as his reward for pleasing her.
Meanwhile, Micah scoffed. He knew the truth as well as Trace did. No one would bring the pain like Micah could, and even Mistress Diamond had to know that as the truth.
"Give me your arms, slave," she commanded.
Trace did as he was told, watching Micah retrieve the whip his mistress had used earlier. The nine-foot coil unfurled, the leather landing on the floor with a satisfying slap.
Mistress Diamond often used the whip for effect only. She never used it on Trace, because she didn't trust herself with such a precise accoutrement. Why did he get the feeling that Micah knew exactly how to handle a whip — and that he would use it on Trace?
With his wrists bound, his mistress fastened him to a chain hanging from a hook in the ceiling.
Let the pain begin.
Trace's cock was already hard and standing straight out in front of him, tight and solid.
A look passed between Micah and his mistress as she picked up a second horse hair flogger and stepped behind Trace.
"Do you think you can take me, slave?" Micah said, flicking the whip so that it cracked against the floor.
Trace licked his lips, eyeing the whip. It had been a long time since someone had used one on him, and he had missed its delicious lick of pain. Still, his heart was racing. This was Micah, for God's sake. Micah: the vampire with a reputation for bringing submissives to their knees.
"Answer him!" His mistress struck his back in a criss-cross pattern with the floggers.
He shook violently, swinging forward and grunting. His back was already raw from earlier, and now it practically burned with pain.
Through gritted teeth, he said, "Yes. I can take whatever you give me, sir."
Micah grinned, his eyes narrowing with satisfaction. "I'm not so sure, slave." He cracked the whip twice more, obviously getting a feel for it, studying its movement.
Trace licked his lips again, eager to feel what Micah could give him.
The horse hair floggers sliced the air and bit into his hips and ass, and he cried out. Micah seemed to delight in Trace's reaction as he stepped back and cracked the whip toward him. The tip snapped in the air only inches in front of Trace's chest, causing his eyes to bulge as a collective gasp rose up from the crowd. Mostly likely, few of them had seen such expert whip action.
Mistress Diamond and Micah fell into a rhythmic pattern. First she flogged him, having traded in the horse hair floggers for a bamboo rod, which she struck him with against the ass and the back of his legs. Before Trace could recover from her lashing, Micah reared back and unleashed a wicked flick of the whip. Back and forth they traded punishment, and with each crack of the whip, the tip grew closer to striking his skin until finally…
Trace threw his head back and cried out as the tip licked his left pec. A welt rose up almost immediately, and Trace thought he had died and gone to Heaven.
If he hadn't been strung up by his wrists, he would have fallen at Micah's feet and sworn submissive fealty for the rest of his life. The urge to bow before him and beg him to be his master nearly overpowered his thoughts, and tears of gratitude sprung to his eyes.
All from a single lashing of the whip.
But Trace didn't have much time to think about pledging eternal service to Micah before the next round began with a strike of the bamboo rod to his hamstrings, followed by another subtle, yet painful, kiss of the whip across his right pec.
After another minute of blessed pain, his mistress finally halted the action and lowered him to the floor.
"Don't think we're finished with you, slave," she said, scratching his scalp with her nails as he fell to his knees in a breathless, bruised heap, covered in sweat and eager to come.
As if reading his thoughts, Mistress Diamond knelt and wrapped her hand around his cock. He groaned and issued her a pleading glance as she squeezed hard then raked her nails up his shaft as he winced and growled with frustration. He knew she wouldn't let him come, yet.
"Now, do as Master Micah tells you, slave, or I will be very displeased." His mistress stood and sank into the shadows to the side. She clearly didn't know that Trace already knew Micah.
Clearing his throat and gasping through another heavy pant, Trace swung his eager, drunken gaze toward Micah, ready for more. Needing more.
Micah re-coiled the whip and set it back on the shelf, grabbed a bundle of rope, then stepped forward, his eyes narrowing hard on Trace's. Trace dutifully looked down, instinctively knowing not to look Micah in the eye.
"That's right, slave. You haven't earned the right to look at me." Micah drew near and leaned toward him until his mouth was right beside Trace's ear. "Do not look at me unless I give you permission. Do you understand?" He sounded like a drill sergeant.
Trace nodded. "Yes."
"Yes, what?" Micah's voice commanded respect.
"Yes, sir."
Micah drew back. "Yes, Master. Now stand, slave."
Trace bowed his head and corrected himself as he stood. "Yes, Master."
Micah paced around him, and Trace could feel the other male's eyes slicing through his soul. What did Micah think of him? Was he disgusted? Angry? Did he feel betrayed that Trace had kept his submissive status a secret? Would he refuse to speak to Trace after this?
"Come here." Micah snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor beside him a few feet away.
Trace complied and stepped toward him.
"Put your hands behind your back."
Again, he did as he was told.
Micah stepped around him and began binding his wrists, wrapping and knotting the rope around his body, hips, arms, legs, and finally his ankles until Trace was bound so securely he couldn't move.
Fuck, Micah was good. He'd been bound before, but not so expertly and so swiftly.
Suddenly, Micah gripped the rope around his wrists and yanked him back. Unable to move his feet to catch himself, Trace freefell backward. Shit! He cried out, just knowing he was going to crack his skull on the concrete.
At the last second, Micah caught him and placed him gently on the floor.
Mindfuck much!
"Silence, slave." Micah leaned over him and the barest hint of a smile quirked his lips as if he was enjoying himself a bit too much.
"Did I give you permission to look at me, slave?"
Trace quickly averted his gaze. "No, sir — Master!"
Mistress Diamond stood at the side, smiling proudly. Of him or Micah? That was the question.
Meanwhile, Trace's dick was having all kinds of fun, sticking out like a third leg, only shorter. But the damn thing sure was trying like hell to make him a tripod.
Fuck, this concrete floor was cold.
Micah walked back to the Mistress's toys and poked around for a second then turned back, holding a violet wand.
Fuck me.
Micah tsked. "If yo
u refuse to obey me, slave, I'll have to force you not to look at me."
A few seconds later, Micah was covering his eyes with a soft, black blindfold.
"Try looking at me now, slave."
The violet wand struck his chest, and Trace jerked. And again. Pause. And again. Another pause, then ZAP! as the wand tapped lower on his torso, then his hip. Trace grunted louder with each touch of the wand, his teeth clenched, his arms and legs straining against the rope as he squirmed and slithered on the floor, trying to get away from the electrical current. But Micah was relentless, taking him to the brink. When Trace cried out, Micah finally stopped.
Trace heard him walk away, then he heard him whisper something to Mistress Diamond.
"His safe word?" she said. "Red."
"Red." Micah's voice sounded contemplative. "Okay."
Footsteps came back toward him and he felt Micah's warmth.
"Do you know your safe word, slave?"
"Yes." Trace panted heavily, the pain of the wand an echo for the moment, but his muscles hadn't yet released from the most recent onslaught.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Master."
"What is it?"
"Red, Master."
"Good." Micah paused. "Are you afraid to use it?"
Trace hesitated. He had rarely used his safe word. What the hell was Micah getting at? "No, Master."
"Good."
And then Micah was gone again. But only for a moment. Then he was back.
"I've got a knife in my hand, slave." Micah's voice dropped to a low hiss, a malicious timbre. "Feel it?"
Trace felt cold, flat metal against his chest. Holy fuck! What was Micah doing? Trace had never engaged in knife play. Hard to believe that in all his years as a sub, no master or mistress had used a knife on him.
"Do you feel it, slave?" Micah's voice sounded irritated.
"Yes, Master."
"It's a very sharp blade, slave. From my personal collection. And I can assure you, I keep my knives razor sharp. Do you understand?"
Trace swallowed as the cold metal caressed his chest in his world of darkness. He wished he could see. And he knew Micah wasn't lying. Trace had seen his knives. Trace knew how lethal they were.
"Yes, Master."
Abruptly, the knife was gone, and a second later the edge pressed into his throat.