by Nia Farrell
Chapter Eight
For the five o’clock reenactment, the Germans would finally be allowed to win. In the last scenario of the day, the hangar’s flagpole flew the Union Jack, and British pilots scrambled to defend their base from attack.
One by one, the British riflemen played dead. British planes pretended to be “shot down.” Finally, it was Alex and three German planes in an aerial ballet that seemed so real, by the time it was over, her fingernails had dug crescents into her palms. The outcome was inevitable. Alex’s Sopwith Camel landed and sputtered to a halt on the far side of the hangar. The German planes flew off, triumphant.
The men had told her to stay under the dining tent until they came for her. With temperatures near ninety, they wanted her to keep cool and protect her skin. She’d applied SPF50 sunscreen this morning, but carrying her purse on her arm had worn it off. Now she had a band of sun-pinked skin on her forearm.
She sighed softly. She knew better. She’d brought the tube in her purse to reapply it. But Alex and Dmitry were proving exceptionally distracting, to the point of making her forget essentials like putting on more sunscreen and drinking more water. God help her tonight, when she’d have to share the stage with Michael “God’s Gift to Women” Holliday. She needed to stay out of his reach, but having Alex and Dmitry in the audience, watching her, waiting to whisk her away for a night of delicious debauchery, was bound to distract her.
The men returned, elated with how well the battle had gone and hungry for more than just her. Replay’s caterers had done an exceptional job, keeping something on the buffet line throughout the day for people to graze on. Dinner choices were chicken marsala, flank steak Bordelaise with duck confit, bourbon-glazed grilled salmon, or portabella mushroom and cheese ravioli with thickened chicken broth rather than the typical alfredo or red sauce. Lara avoided dairy products ahead of a performance, which eliminated the ravioli, however tempting it might be. Instead, she chose the glazed salmon with grilled asparagus, and fresh fruit for dessert.
As soon as dinner was done, the three of them fetched Lara’s outerwear from the casino and shared a ride back to Replay. Dmitry went to his room to shower and change. Alex stayed in the limo, which would take him to Sir Piers’s home to do the same. Lara returned to wardrobe and readied herself for the evening, cleaning up in the women’s changing room shower and applying makeup before slipping into the evening dress that she would wear.
Done, she followed resort staff member Samael to the room where the band was assembling and warming up. Finding a corner, she did the same, going through the vocal exercises that she used religiously. The playlist had already been shared. At seven thirty, the band carried their instruments to the Nightclub Room, stage dressed as a World War I canteen. Michael Holliday was already there, strutting like a peacock among the period music stands.
Lara needed to avoid him. Neither Alex nor Dmitry had arrived. Looking around and recognizing a familiar face, Lara decided that the safest place was at the bar, where Ray stood ready to pour the two-drink limit for attendees. He mixed her a glass of tonic water and pineapple juice that she nursed while she waited to take the stage.
Just ahead of eight, Alex and Dmitry came in, looking handsome as sin in their period suits. Alex wore a bowtie with his. When Dmitry looked at her and adjusted the knot of his tie, she realized that she hadn’t put their collar back on. It was still in wardrobe, in a locker with her purse and other clothes.
Oh, dear.
Dmitry started to head her direction. Alex stopped him. Putting a hand on Dmitry’s shoulder, he guided him to the table they would share. Front row, center, it was directly in front of the vintage microphones that she and Michael would use.
The tables filled up rapidly after that. The pilots who’d flown today, their ground crews, and the soldiers who’d “galvanized” to portray three nationalities during the reenactments were seated at the closest tables. She assumed that the others who’d come were Dominants and submissives who would stay and play, once the concert was done.
Sharing one table were Jannet MacDonald, Ian McGregor, Aubrey Wolfe, Mr. Vashon, and Sir Josef. With a few minutes left to spare, Lara went over and greeted the group, then made her way to the front, welcoming the other guests as she went. By the time she reached the front of the room, Sir Piers and Eleanor had joined Alex and Dmitry.
The VIP table.
Keeping her gaze on the St. Legers, she welcomed them to the club, then took her place on stage. Michael joined her, flashed his perfectly capped smile at the crowd, and leaned away from the microphones to whisper to her.
“Ready to knock ‘em dead?”
Instinctively, she stepped away, putting more space between them as the lights dimmed. “Sure thing.”
Michael was the big band’s official vocalist. Technically, she was a guest artist, only appearing with them on occasion. Her regular band was much smaller than this one, but talented beyond belief and just the nicest people to work with. This group was too cliquish for her. Polite but chilly—far from the warm, friendly musicians that she was used to working with. But there was no arguing that they were the biggest and the best band on the circuit that she’d heard.
She sang backup for Michael’s solos, then did two songs of her own near the halfway point, just before the band took a ten-minute break. When the last note of her torch song fell, the lights came up. She automatically sought out Alex and Dmitry, who were applauding with the rest of the room, pride shining in the depths of their eyes.
“I never would have guessed.”
She’d been so focused on the two Dominants, she was unaware that Michael had come up behind her.
“Rumor has it that you got kinky with some flyboys. Next time we work together, I’ll be sure to bring toys. Ol’ Michael here can make you sing like you’ve never sung before.”
She shuddered with revulsion.
“Giving you goosebumps?” Mistaking her reaction, he stroked the exposed skin of her arms and touched the sides of her breasts. Reflexively, she jerked away from him. A heartbeat later, Dmitry had his hands fisted in Michael’s lapels, and Sir Piers was pushing his way past Alex.
“Mr. Chezhekov, put Mr. Holliday down. Now,” Sir Piers commanded.
Dmitry did. Curling his lip in disgust, he came to where Lara stood and flanked her with Alex. The two Doms were clearly ready to protect and defend her.
Sir Piers focused his attention on Michael. “Mr. Holliday, you will apologize to Miss Eastman for touching her without permission. Replay is all about consent. If you were focused on her instead of yourself, you would clearly see that you do not have it. If you wish to continue to perform tonight, you will respect her wishes and maintain a courteous, professional demeanor. Touch her again without permission, and you will be immediately escorted to a limousine and returned to your hotel. Is that understood?”
Michael gave her a look so full of venom, it should have killed her on the spot. “This isn’t over, bitch.”
“Holliday, that’s enough.” Sir Piers took out a cell phone and punched a number. “Geoffrey, Mr. Holliday needs a ride back to his hotel. Samael will see him to the door. Make certain that he arrives safely, hmm?”
The orchestra conductor stepped forward, intending to intervene. Sir Piers stopped him with the flat of his palm. “It’s done,” he said firmly. “And in case you need it explained further, I suggest that you speak to my attorney. You were here, right beside them, and did nothing to stop your employee from his assault on Miss Eastman’s person. Ms. Bryan can tell you what it could cost to defend yourself and your man in court against sexual harassment and assault charges, particularly in a case that you will most certainly lose, given the number of witnesses. Now. Think very carefully about how you wish to proceed. You still have your band. You still have Miss Eastman. I suggest that you find a way to make that work and avoid a breach of contract suit as well.”
Crap.
Not that Michael didn’t deserve it. Not that Mr. Zelznick ha
dn’t turned a blind eye when he knew damn well what went on every other time that they’d worked together. But Zelznick was a man. A lifetime member of the Good Old Boys Club. He would make excuses for Michael and put the blame on her.
They always did.
Except at Replay. Two days ago, she would have least expected it in a place where men commanded and women obeyed. But now she knew better. Submission was a gift. The relationship between a Dominant and submissive was rooted in trust and built with utmost care. Needs were met and boundaries explored. As a result, both the Dom and the sub grew, as partners and as individuals.
And she had two men, ready to help her spread her wings and fly. She just had to get through the rest of tonight’s set.
Mr. Zelznick had never had the chance to see what she could do. Lara’s four-octave range allowed her to sing every song that remained. She was brilliant. She knew it. It was one of those rare performances where you could feel the energy shifting in the crowd as you sang for them. You gave, and they gave back. Whispers of conversation ceased. Attention was totally focused on the music, and on her. Each piece received enthusiastic applause. She did three encores before Sir Piers decided that she’d done enough.
When the last ovation ended, she went up to the conductor while he was still free. “Mr. Zelznick, I want to thank you for letting me finish the concert.”
He blinked like an owl. “Thank me? I should be thanking you! The evening is done, the contract fulfilled. The boys and I will be celebrating in the hotel lounge, if you would care to join us.”
It was Lara’s turn to look stunned. “Thank you,” she stuttered, almost beyond words. “Really. Thank you very much. I’m sorry. I would love to join you, but I already have other plans. Maybe another time?”
He smiled. Actually smiled. “Soon, I hope. I have your email. I’ll be in touch.”
He was already in motion to help his band pack up and leave. Samael was doing the same with the reenactors who had come only for the concert. The sooner they cleared everyone out, the sooner the vetted members’ scene could begin.
Sir Piers and Eleanor met Lara as she stepped off the stage. “Just wonderful, my dear! Wonderful! I hope that you can save room on your calendar for next year’s event. The first full weekend in April is what Alex and I have been discussing.”
Jannet and Aubrey were next in line, with their Doms. Lara shook hands and spoke to everyone who came forward to meet her, until only Alex and Dmitry were left. “I have things in wardrobe that I need to get,” she told them. “After that, I’m free to do whatever. Go wherever, since I can’t stay here. That is, if you still want to.”
Dmitry’s eyes fairly smoldered. “We want many things,” he said. “But first comes spanking. Alexei’s hand. My belt. Then we fuck.”
Alex stepped up and put his hand on her throat where his collar had been and echoed her words. “That is, if you still want to.”
She shivered with anticipation and felt her knees grow weak. “Yes, Sir,” she croaked.
Alex smiled darkly “Is your rental car here?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And will it hold the three of us for a short trip?”
“I think so. You tall men will need to sit up front. I’ll fit better in the back.”
Alex looked at Dmitry. “Have them call for the limo, please.”
Chapter Nine
When they left wardrobe, each man had an overnight bag, Lara had her clothes, and Dmitry carried a suitcase of what were probably toys. Out front, Alex helped Lara into the limo, then slid into place beside her. Dmitry followed, sitting on the opposite seat.
“We have twenty minutes, more or less,” Alex said, turning up the lights as the limo pulled away, headed for wherever they were going. “Time enough for the spanking that you have coming, minx. What did we tell you before the last battle?”
Lara balled her hands in her lap. “To leave the collar on.”
Alex lifted a brow.
Crap.
“Sir. To leave the collar on, Sir. I took it off to wash and put on makeup.”
“I understand,” he said smoothly. “And that, I can dismiss. But you chose to not wear it. You disobeyed our order, and that we cannot have. Punishment will reinforce the lesson learned. The next time that you are told to do something—especially when it is for your own good, to keep you safe, you will remember this. Are you wearing knickers?”
“No, Sir,” she answered meekly.
“Come, then. I need you to pull up the hem of your dress, kneel on the seat, and lie across my lap.”
Lara obeyed. Stretching out to lie on his thighs, she braced herself on her knees and forearms and forced herself to relax. Tightening her muscles would only make this worse. And she still had Dmitry and his belt to go.
Alex reached for her hem and pulled it to her waist, exposing her bare ass. He fondled it for a minute, then smack! The first blow hit her left cheek. The second struck her right. He kept going, increasing the strength of them, varying the angle of his hand and where it landed, until her whole bottom felt like it was on fire.
Tears welled. Pooling in her eyes, they spilled to track down her cheek. She wiped them with her fingers, determined to be strong, to show them that she could handle this.
Handle them.
Lara turned her head. Dmitry was staring at her, lust burning in his dark eyes. His hard-on challenged the fit of his pants. Reaching for his belt, he undid the buckle. The next thing she heard was the erotically-charged, unmistakable sound of leather sliding through the loops.
He doubled his belt in his right hand and tapped his thigh. “Five,” he rumbled. “Do not move.”
Kneeling on the floor, he put one hand on the small of her back, keeping them connected between blows. The first one made her buck and gasp. The white-hot stripe burned, and the sound it made resonated deep within, echoing in her pelvis, radiating outward, traveling down her legs and up her spine. The second vibrated her anus and her pussy, making her acutely aware of her empty, aching need. The third blow literally took her breath away. The fourth made her gush. There was no mistaking the scent of her arousal when the last stroke fell.
She cried, of course. Ugly tears that the men seemed to find beautiful. Or maybe it was her submission, watching her do penance for her sin against them. Either way, they were as turned on as she was, but she hadn’t been given permission to move, let alone do anything more.
“Good girl,” Alex crooned, stroking her hair, rubbing her shoulders and her back. “You should thank Dmitry for his belt. It’s a rare treat for his play partners, and he chose to share it with you. Dmitry, take your seat, and I’ll send her over.” He waited until Dmitry was back in place. “Now, hands and knees, Miss Eastman. Crawl to him. Dmitry and I have a bet on just how much of him you can swallow.”
Lara straightened her arms, pushed herself off Alex’s lap, and sat up. Scooting to the edge of the seat, she looked at Dmitry, slid to the floor, and watched him watching her as she crawled between his feet. He opened his fly and freed his erection. That magnificent cock of his stood straight in the air. Precum welled on the tip, glistening in the interior light.
She wet her lips. He inhaled sharply.
“Suck me, lisička,” he growled, stroking himself. “Show Alexei how this is done.”
“May I use my hands—how do you say Sir in Russian?”
Dmitry’s eyes gleamed with appreciation. “Cэρ. Ser. Close. Very close. And da. Yes. Use hands, lips, tongue. But I warn you. I feel teeth, you feel belt.”
Her ass was already on fire, but she wasn’t complaining. She imagined each stroke being delivered with love. Imagined the marks that they’d left as proof of their ownership. They hadn’t even kissed her, and she was already wondering if there was any way to make their threesome work in the real world. She’d been looking for a sign, but so far, nothing had come.
She took Dmitry in her hands and stroked his shaft, milking more precum from his slit. Opening her mouth, she took hi
m in far enough to cover his crown, swirling her tongue over the velvet skin, tasting his essence and finding him delicious. She traced the rim with her tongue, sucked in his glans, and rubbed the point underneath that made him groan.
Lara circled the base of his penis with one hand and cupped his sac with her other. Fondling his balls and cinching her fingers around the bottom of his shaft, she took in more of him, and more, a little at a time until she’d taken half of his length. Shifting her body and changing the angle of her head let her swallow him to the root.
“I win,” said Alex.
“We both win, do you not think?” Dmitry tunneled his fingers in her hair and gripped her scalp. “Is good, mischka. So good. Smell how ripe she is, Alexei. Juicy, like a peach, da? You should join us. Why wait?”
Hearing Dmitry’s sexy baritone suggestion, all she could think was, Please, please, please, please, please….
Dmitry took control, holding her head and fucking her face in earnest. Behind her, she heard Alex shifting. She recognized the rustle of fabric as he took off his coat and vest. He would need those gone, if he was going to slide down his suspenders and drop his pants.
Yes!
Kneeling behind her, Alex wet his hand on her slickened folds and worked one finger inside, incrementally, until he was knuckle-deep. He fucked her with it, getting her wetter, stretching her out, making room for a second finger, and a third. When she was ready, he lubed his cock with her juices, notched his head, and pressed forward, gaining entry and forging deeper, stretching her out as her body adjusted to his possession.
Having Dmitry in her mouth and Alex in her pussy, the sensations were almost overwhelming. Every thrust from behind changed her position and made it a challenge for Dmitry to remain in control. Eventually, a rhythm developed that let her arch back to meet Alex and take Dmitry deep in her throat.