“You are,” Matt replied with a lift of his eyebrows, apparently impressed at Taggart’s recall.
“Do you remember every whip you’ve ever sold?” Bonnie inquired.
“Pretty much,” Taggart admitted.
“Pick something for us,” Bonnie said. “Something that leaves a nice mark.” She hugged herself as she said this, and Taggart could see the longing in her eyes.
Matt laughed. “Pretty clever, huh? She says she’s going to get me a whip for my birthday, but we all know who it’s really for.”
“Guilty as charged,” Bonnie said happily.
Taggart reached for a twelve-plaited whip woven from alternating strands of red and black leather that covered the long handle and tapered down to a thin tail in a long, smooth line. He lifted the whip from its hook and held it out for Matt to take. “How about this?”
“Ooh,” Bonnie said, holding onto the syllable. “It’s beautiful, Tag.”
“It is,” Matt agreed, taking the whip into his hands. “I’ve used bullwhips from time to time, but I never owned one before.” He looked from Taggart to Bonnie. “What do you think, babe? Would this be a good addition to our whip collection?”
“Yes, Sir,” Bonnie replied so emphatically it made Taggart smile.
“You want to try it out first?” He waved his hand around the large, well-equipped dungeon. “The dungeon is available.”
Taggart recalled Bonnie as she had been the last time they’d scened together—artfully bound in Shibari rope, only her breasts and sex exposed for the hot wax Matt had dripped there and the vicious single tail with which Taggart had whipped it away.
It had been a while since the three of them had shared a scene. They’d invited him a time or two since the last session to join them at the private BDSM club they belonged to, but Taggart had either been traveling or otherwise unavailable.
Though, if he were brutally honest, he probably could have made the last gig, so why had he declined?
Because the two of them were so fucking happy together, that was why. While they’d been generous in every way—Matt allowing Taggart to whip and bind Bonnie, and Bonnie submitting with sweet grace to his every command—it had hurt to see the love light that enveloped the two of them when their eyes met, while he stood aside, alone in the metaphorical dark.
Matt looked at Bonnie, the two of them communicating without speaking. Bonnie’s nipples, Taggart couldn’t help noticing, were erect beneath her sweater.
“It’s been a while since I handled a bullwhip,” Matt said. “Do you have time for an impromptu lesson in technique?”
Taggart nodded. “Sure. That’s always a good idea when you use a whip you’re not familiar with.”
“How about you get naked?” Matt said to Bonnie. “That’ll put you in the right frame of mind while I get my lesson.”
Without hesitation, Matt’s well-trained sub girl pulled her sweater over her head and set it on the bench just inside the door of the dungeon. She wore nothing beneath her top. Sitting, she untied and slipped out of her sneakers and removed her socks. Standing, she unzipped her jeans and rolled them, along with her underwear, down her shapely legs.
Her breasts were large and full, beautifully proportioned with no hint of sagging. Gold hoops glinted at her cherry-round nipples, a matching hoop with a tiny diamond at her belly button.
Taggart ignored his hard-on, hoping it wasn’t too obvious in his jeans. “Pretty jewelry,” he remarked, forcing himself to focus on the gold, not the girl. “That’s new, right?” he said to Matt.
“Yeah,” Matt replied. “That was my birthday gift to Bonnie two months ago.”
“Did you do the piercing?” Taggart imagined the sharp point of the needle piercing Bonnie’s flesh and a single, bright droplet of red blood beading at the entrance point. His cock hardened at the thought.
“No. I didn’t do the actual piercing. Mistress Marilyn did it for us. Bonnie was very brave. As always, she made me proud.”
Matt pulled his adoring gaze away from his wife and stared down at the whip in his hands. “It’s kind of great, actually—our gifts to each other have a way of really being for both of us.” He flashed another smile at Bonnie, who smiled back, perfectly comfortable in her nudity.
Taggart turned away, ignoring the jab of selfish pain their happiness caused him. “Let’s do a little practice.” He led Matt over to the counter. Opening a supply cabinet, he pulled out a piece of paper and a large clip he kept on hand for whip practice. He secured the paper to the edge of the counter so it hung free with plenty of clearance below it.
Turning to Matt, he said, “Pretend that’s Bonnie’s ass. Show me what you can do.”
Matt took a step back and slightly to the side of the hanging piece of paper. His first stroke went a little wide, but his second caught the paper squarely, ripping it easily in two and sending the bottom half floating to the floor.
Taggart nodded. “Good. That’s good. You’ll get better with it as you and the whip get to know each other. Every whip has its own personality,” he explained. “Because they’re handmade, each one is a little different. The heft and balance can vary, and it’s a matter of personal style and feel. Some whips pop slightly inside of your aim point or outside, depending on the tension of the weave.”
“This one feels great to me,” Matt said. “The grip is just right and the handle is perfectly weighted.”
Taggart nodded. “It does look like a good fit for you.” He held out his hand for the whip, which Matt gave him. Taggart stroked the soft, beautiful braided leather as he explained, “Whips have a natural bend. To find it, just hold the whip out in front of you like this”—he demonstrated—“and rotate the handle slowly. You’ll find the point at which the tail hangs most naturally. Here, you try it.”
He handed the whip back to Matt, and watched as his friend rotated the handle, a look of concentration on his face that segued into a smile as he connected with the whip’s natural balance.
“You got it,” Taggart said. “Now, try it again. Slice the paper vertically.”
Once again Matt assumed his stance. Focusing intently, he flicked his wrist, bringing the whip to life.
“Nice work. You’re a natural,” Taggart said with approval, as they both regarded the neatly bisected pieces of paper. “I’d say that whip is made for you, my friend. Are you ready to try it out on the real thing?”
“Absolutely.” Matt turned to regard the equipment in the dungeon. “How about the whipping post?”
“Perfect,” Taggart agreed.
The three of them walked over to the post. With her back to them, Bonnie reached up to grab hold of the lowest of the three sets of metal handgrips embedded on either side of the post. She looked spectacular standing there with her arms extended overhead, the very embodiment of submissive patience and grace as she waited to feel the bite of the lash.
Taggart wouldn’t have minded being the one to whip the girl, after which he’d press his naked body against hers as he roughly fondled her breasts and then plunged his cock into her heat from behind…
Down, boy, he ordered. This wasn’t his show, or his girl.
Matt moved close to Bonnie. Dipping his head, he murmured something in her ear. Bonnie nodded and Matt stepped back. He cracked the tail in the air just beside Bonnie’s ass. Taggart noted the slight reflexive clench of anticipation in her muscles, but otherwise she stood stock-still.
“Just a few strokes,” Matt said to his wife, “to see how you like it.”
“Yes, Sir,” Bonnie said.
Matt stepped back to allow enough clearance. With a flick of his wrist, he cracked the tip of the bullwhip against Bonnie’s pretty bottom. “Ow!” Bonnie cried as the pain registered in her nerve endings. A dark red mark appeared on her left cheek.
“What’s that?” Matt queried, his tone firm, though his eyes were dancing.
“I mean, thank you, Sir,” Bonnie said, a slight quaver in her voice.
“You’re welc
ome, darling,” Matt replied. He flicked the whip several more times in rapid succession, covering both cheeks in a series of tiny welts as Bonnie yelped her thanks.
“We’ll take it,” Matt said with a grin as he held the whip out for Taggart to wrap up. He moved to stand just behind his wife. As he ran his fingers lightly over her welted ass, he said, “Does my birthday present suit you?”
“Oh, yes, Sir,” Bonnie said breathlessly.
He tapped her shoulder, apparently a signal that she could move out of position, because Bonnie dropped her hands from the grips and turned to face her husband. Her face was flushed, her eyes fever bright, her nipples as round and hard as marbles.
“Can we go home now and try it out properly, Sir?”
Matt laughed. “Of course we can. Get dressed while I settle up with the Leather Master.”
Taggart led Matt from the room, leaving his desire for the other man’s wife behind.
Bonnie reentered the workshop in her sweater and jeans as Taggart handed Matt the whip box.
When Matt pulled out his wallet to pay, Taggart shook his head. “Happy birthday, bro,” he said. “No charge today.”
Predictably, both Matt and Bonnie protested, but Taggart eventually won the fight, refusing to take no for an answer. “It makes me happy to share my work with people who appreciate it. Give your sub girl a few licks from me,” he added with a wink.
“Speaking of sub girls,” Matt said, glancing at Bonnie, “have you met anyone lately at one of your whip demos? Any romance in the picture these days?”
Taggart shook his head. “Between work and the travel, I don’t have time for a relationship.”
“You should come back with us to Paradise Found,” Bonnie said. “It’s been too long since we scened together.”
Matt nodded his agreement. “I have to go out of town next week, but once I’m back, for sure.”
“Thanks,” Taggart said noncommittally. “I’ll have my people call your people.” He grinned. “Meanwhile, Hardcore fits the bill nicely for a little rough play—no strings attached.” He shrugged. “Really, that’s all I need.”
“Yeah? And how’s that working out for you, buddy?” Matt said, his tone suddenly serious. It wasn’t the first time he and Bonnie had questioned Taggart about his love life, or lack thereof.
He shook his head. “I’m doing fine, thanks. Not all of us are cut out for love, my friend. Some of us just want to whip the girl and then go home.”
Ruby slid uninvited into his mind, the last of a series of unsuccessful relationships that had ended a little over two years ago. The D/s connection had been good between them, at least at first. When had things started to sour?
Was it him? Was it her? He had no fucking idea. He just knew at some point he began to feel suffocated, hemmed in by her neediness and his own apparent inability to love her unconditionally. When she’d broken things off amidst a storm of tears and recriminations, all he’d really felt, if he were dead honest, was relief.
“I don’t believe that,” Bonnie said gently, touching his arm as she said the words. “You’re more than a good Dom. You’re a terrific guy and we’d love to see you meet someone worthy of you—a submissive who can appreciate the intensity and passion you bring to everything you do.”
Taggart smiled. If there was someone else out there like Bonnie Wilson, maybe he’d consider it. Though he knew in his heart of hearts, he’d probably just fuck it up. He wasn’t a relationship kind of guy.
Bonnie reached for something from the counter where he’d wrapped Matt’s new whip. Staring down at whatever she held in her hand, she said, “Hey, I know this site.”
She turned back toward Taggart with a broad grin. “Here we are hassling you about meeting a nice sub, and you’re already on the case.”
Taggart stared without comprehension at the small card she waved in his direction. His confusion must have shown on his face, because she continued, “BDSMConnections. I know it because a really good friend of ours met the love of his life on that site.”
“BDSMConnections,” Matt echoed, peering over his wife’s shoulder to read the business card she held in her hand. He glanced up at Taggart, also grinning like a monkey. “Why, Tag, you old rascal. I never saw you as the online dating type.”
“Oh, that,” Taggart said. “Jordan King gave me that.” Reaching back to the counter, he snagged the second card and held it out for the couple to see. “Jordan’s a filmmaker—does documentaries, online commercials, stuff like that. He came by last week to see if I was interested in making a demo video for this BDSM site—you know, do a little demo on whip making, maybe try out a few of them for the camera. Jordan pitched the idea to the owner of BDSMConnections. He’s apparently looking to expand from being strictly a dating site to more of a hub for all things BDSM.”
“That sounds great,” Bonnie said enthusiastically. “You’re totally going to do it, right?”
Taggart shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. He’s coming by Sunday afternoon to do the shoot.”
“You sound hesitant,” Matt said. “What’s the issue? Are they going to charge you for ad placement?”
Taggart shook his head. “No. No cost to me to film the demo or place it. I just give them a royalty percentage on anything I sell there.”
“It sounds like a great opportunity—placing your wares on a site that directly targets your primary market—serious players in the BDSM scene,” Matt said.
“That’s exactly what Jordan said.” Taggart winced. “It’s just this whole internet thing…”
“I know, you’d rather be living on a horse ranch in 1887,” Bonnie said with a laugh, though her eyes were kind. “Seriously, Tag, it sounds like a nice, gentle way to ease into the scary waters of the internet. It’s a place to start. If orders start coming in from there, you might even consider hiring a web designer to create a website and bring you into the twenty-first century. You could cut back on being a traveling salesman and spend that time on making whips.”
“I know you’re right,” Taggart said. “I’ll definitely get around to it, eventually.” He glanced around his workshop, his eyes stopping on some of the very expensive leathers he’d recently procured from Australia that had put a serious dent in his working capital. “I could use more cash flow up front to buy the inventory I need. Maybe it is time to move to the next level.”
“Sounds good,” Matt said with an approving nod.
“And, while you’re at it,” Bonnie chimed in, “you could sign up at BDSMConnections. Leather Master would make a great handle, and I bet you’d have more sub girls than you’d know what to do with banging down your door.”
“Yeah, right.” Taggart laughed. “That’s just what I need.”
Chapter 3
Rylee’s heart was pounding, her muscles tensed and coiled as she prepared to lunge. Marco easily sidestepped her and caught her in a chokehold. Without apparent effort, he flipped her. Rylee grunted, the air knocked out of her as she slammed into the mat.
Stepping away from her, Marco stared down at her, his lips compressed in a thin line. “Hit the showers. Session’s over.”
“What the hell?” Rylee blurted as she struggled to her knees. “We’re just getting started.”
“No. We’re finished. I don’t know where your head is at today, girlfriend, but it’s definitely not on Jiu Jitsu.”
Rylee opened her mouth to protest, but Marco spoke over her.
“You’re unbalanced and you’re ignoring self-defense. You keep attacking from an inferior position. You’re never going to get me in a lapel choke from a bottom mount. You know better than to try for a choke from a bottom cross side position. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a white belt newbie, or some guy in a street brawl. You’re sloppy and you’re using muscle instead of brains. Training’s over for today. “
Rylee hauled herself to her feet, dizziness for a moment nearly overcoming her.
Marco touched her elbow to steady her. “What’s the deal?
Did you eat this morning?”
Rylee shook her head. “Not hungry,” she mumbled. She had hoped the session would help her refocus and let go of the negative energy from the evening before with that flaming dickwad, but clearly she’d made a mess of things, even though she knew better.
She took the towel Marco was holding out to her and wiped the sweat from her face and neck. Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them back. “Sorry,” she said, turning her face away. “I should have canceled. I’m not myself.”
“Who are you exactly?” Marco replied, and though she wasn’t looking at him, she could hear the smile in his voice. “And what have you done with my kickass blue belt who’s nearly ready to go for the purple?”
Rylee turned back to him, managing a weak smile. “Rotten night,” she said.
He nodded. “Let’s go to the diner. Get some food in you.”
“That’s okay. I think I just need to be alone. I’ll go over to the college and do some laps.”
“No. You’ll come with me to the diner and eat a proper breakfast and then you’ll tell me what the hell is going on, and what happened last night. That’s not a request, it’s an order.”
Rylee grinned in spite of herself. “Yes, Master Marco,” she said.
He grinned back. “Don’t let Jordan hear you calling me that. He’ll think I’m topping from the bottom. Now, go shower, and no dawdling. You have ten minutes and then I’m coming in there.”
“Okay, okay,” Rylee said, giving in. Marco was more than her trainer. He was her best friend. They’d met at a BDSM clothing and toy boutique just after she’d graduated from Lewis and Clark. They had struck up a casual conversation. The friendship had been instant. The Jiu Jitsu had come later.
At the diner, Rylee tucked into her scrambled eggs, bacon and rye toast with a vengeance. When she looked up from her plate, she saw Marco regarding her with an expression of indulgent amusement.
“Having a growth spurt?” he asked with a chuckle. He was nibbling on one half of an English muffin.
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