SEAL'd Legacy (Brotherhood of SEAL'd Hearts)

by Gabi Moore

  My throat went dry. This had to be a joke. A mistake.

  “I don’t know what you want…”

  “Shut up, Nora. I’ll tell you what I want. The whips and chains spiel is getting old. I want to do something truly kinky. Something really out there.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “Oh yes you can, and you will. I asked you nicely once, but now I’m telling you. I want to do something …dangerous with you.”

  I gulped, trying to think of something to say.

  “Something really dark. I want you to be scared, Nora. I want it to be a life or death kind of fear for you, I want to see you cry…”

  My hands were shaking.

  “No. That sounds crazy. I don’t consent, I—”

  His laugh cut me off.

  “Your consent is irrelevant.”

  “I’m going to the Police,” I said in a faint voice.

  “Good. I’ve been meaning to call in a favor with the chief for ages now. Make you sure you cry when you go, ok?”

  “You’re crazy, I’m hanging up--“

  “You’re a common whore, Nora. And I’m paying. What’s the problem? When you come around, which you will, we’ll speak again. And now I’m hanging up,” he said, and did just that.

  My mouth hung open as I scrambled to find a retort, then realized he had cut the call and left me hanging. It took a while to realize how enraged I was. I sunk back down into the water; again feeling like I’d just had my whole world scrambled for the second time in as many days.

  Fuck him.

  I had no idea who the hell he thought he was but fuck him.

  I was too shocked to break down into tears, too sad to scream out loud. My mind scrambled for something, anything. Then it found it: what if all my clients were just like Mr. Cane underneath? What if there was no such thing as a submissive man, only a man who wanted to try on submission, the same way trust fund kids take a gap year and try on being poor abroad, knowing full well they can go back to their rich lives any time they like? What if everything I thought was wrong?

  A fucking whore. I had never felt so stupid, and so humiliated, in all my life.

  The realization that Mr. Cane had never thought of me as in charge in any way was sickening. I had never let a man speak to me like he had just spoken to me. I never let people like him break the rules, and I certainly didn’t let them make any. But it was as though he had found a weird thread in the whole fabric of who I was and was gleefully unravelling it. I had no defense.

  Melissa had been right. As long as they pay me, I’m always the slave, no matter how you dress up the transaction. I felt like I wanted to puke. What did I want from him? An apology would mean nothing. And I didn’t want his stupid money anymore – that would just reinforce his power over me. No, there was only one thing that would satisfy me now. I wanted to make him suffer.

  For real.

  Alone again in that silent, too-hot bath tub, my mind began to open up. Whatever slurs that asshole threw at me, one thing was certain, and that was that losing control was simply not an option. I would not be insulted. I would not be threatened. And most of all, I would not have some idiot tell me what I wanted and didn’t want.

  I would have to get revenge. I wasn’t sure how yet. But it would happen. I wasn’t the one that was supposed to be humiliated, he was. As I sat and thought, a scheme took shape in my mind. If he wanted to play this game, well, I had some lethal moves of my own.

  Chapter 5

  Myth: BDSM skirts a fine line with abuse

  Reality: So?

  I glanced around the coffee shop, looked down at my watch and then frowned.

  At the last minute, the reporter had sent a message backing out of our meeting and turning down my asking price, suggesting another figure. A lower figure. He waited on purpose, just to string me along. The bastard.

  Fingers trembling somewhat, I dialed his number and strained my ears to listen over the coffee shop bustle. As it rang a dozen thoughts whipped through my mind. Was I enjoying this? Perhaps I was more of a Domme than I thought. This was some next-level dominance that even I felt a little weird about. But he had it coming.

  The reporter picked up.

  “That figure is very low,” I said immediately.

  “Mistress Morgan? Yeah, it’s not that low, honestly. A headline of this kind carries a lot of risk for us, you have to understand.”

  “Risk? What about the risks I’m taking?”

  I hated his tone.

  “Ma’am, I do understand, but that really is the standard fee we offer for a feature of the kind you want us to publish. You have to understand that when a source wants to conceal themselves like you do, it’s a lot more work.”

  “More work? But all you have to do is keep me out of it.”

  “And we will. That’s part of what we’re offering you. So you see it’s not just the fee. We want to be careful about how we go about it, and so should you.”

  I sighed and tapped a painted fingernail against my tea cup.

  “Well, you can forgive me for not feeling particularly trusting – you’re not exactly a reputable publication.”

  “Reputable? I’m sorry, but that’s a little rich, coming from you, don’t you think?” he snapped back.

  That stung. But he was right, of course. It’s hard to be the revenge-craving dominatrix in a story without looking like the bad guy.

  “This man is the most powerful businessman in the country,” I said calmly. “He’s a zillionaire, a household name. He has a wife and children and a spotless public image. It’s a big, juicy story I can give you, with photos. There’s no question that your magazine will get record sales. The story deserves a higher figure than you’re offering.”

  “No way.”

  “What I have is valuable.”

  “And we’re willing to pay you for it,” he said without skipping a beat.

  I sighed loudly, tapped my fingernails a little more quickly and then smiled to myself.

  “Ok, then I’ll take it somewhere else.”

  “Wait,” he blurted. “Let’s meet in person and I’ll …see what I can do.”

  Bingo.

  “In person? I can’t see why,” I said.

  The funny thing about those people that start off in fight mode is how quickly they can come around to fuck mode.

  “So that I can see you’re legit. So I can take a look at these pictures. You’d be surprised how many dead-end stories like this we end up following for nothing. But if you’re for real, we can talk.”

  I was silent.

  “Deal? No promises, just a meeting. I mean, you’re not going to get a better offer.”

  Dear reader, I have a piece of advice for you: never, ever listen to someone who wants to tell you that you’re worth less than you think you are. A man who tells you that he’s your only option is afraid of you exploring those options too closely.

  “Fine,” I said. “I expect to be compensated for my time, though.”

  “Holy shit, you mean …like, pay for a session?” he laughed, just a little too loudly. But when I remained silent he stopped laughing.

  I calmly told him a time and place, plus my fee for an hour, and then hung up. Men like him are a necessary evil in life, I suppose. I couldn’t act surprised that a trashy tabloid magazine had some sleazy people in their ranks, but it irked me to deal with him all the same. The truth was I had already contacted several better newspapers and had been turned down by all of them. And though I could send what I had directly to his wife, that just didn’t have the delicious flavor of justice that come with a big, public humiliation like the one I had planned.

  I’d meet the reporter, talk up the price a little, and then when I was happy, I’d hand over my own personal dossier on Mr. Cane and all the utterly humiliating pictures I routinely had him pose in and send to me.

  The reporter would have no problem seeing that the pics were taken in a public place, and could pass them off as something taken
by one of the magazine’s paparazzi. I’d deliberately gone with a magazine since even if Cane decided to sue; he’d only end up drawing more unwanted attention to himself. And the only thing worse than the world seeing you wearing hello kitty ears and a diaper in Mary Avenue dog park was getting into a legal mud-slinging match with a shady tabloid about it. If he wanted to come at me, I’d simply keep releasing more and more images.

  It wasn’t a foolproof plan, by far. But it was worth the risk if it worked. I finished my coffee, tried to gather myself and then left the café, a little ruffled but thankfully no longer feeling as emotional as I did the day before. I climbed into my blood red Audi R8 Coupe, kicked off my heels and sped down Newport coast Drive, bare feet on the gas pedal, letting the wind whip my hair up around me. I leaned back far in my seat, let one hand rest on the wheel and the other on the door, and smiled.

  Yes, now I was feeling better.

  I thought about getting Angelica a gift or going for a long hike somewhere, if I wasn’t too tired later. I had one more client for the day, though.

  Mr. ‘kink’.

  I had to admit that he had me a little excited. I like to think I’ve seen it all, but it was always fun to hear a request that was juicy enough to make its confessor blush.

  I got home, checked the time and realized I’d have to get ready quickly in time for our first, introductory meeting. He’d tell me what was in his dark little heart, I’d listen and take it all to put in my folder, and then we’d plan our first play date.

  The house was cool and refreshing after the heat of the drive over. In the same room where that …thing happened with Mr. Cane, I tidied up, lit some candles and plumped the sofa cushions.

  For first meetings like this, full, elaborate costuming isn’t necessary, but you do still need to play the part. I opened my cabinet and flipped through a box of my favorite records, all classical music and opera. I selected the one that would get me in the right frame of mind, carefully placed it on the record player and daintily lifted and placed the needle. The strident sounds of Prokofiev’s Dance of the Knights went booming through the house and I smiled with satisfaction.

  Here’s some more advice: if you ever need some help transforming yourself into an uber-confident, fearless super bitch who has enough chutzpah to command the known universe to its knees, then apply red lipstick in the mirror while listening to the opening of this piece. Works every time.

  For my meeting with the new guy I chose a long, narrow white sheath dress, something that Nefertiti herself would wear if she were sluttier. It reached the floor but hugged low and close around my bust, giving a deliberate peek of the side curve of each breast.

  I added a simple gold cuff round my upper arm, double checked my mascara and spritzed my cleavage twice from my bottle of Oud Cuir D’Arabie, because it smells exactly like hot leather. I was still a little nervy, still not feeling one hundred percent myself, but even on an off day I was certain no newbie would be able to detect it.

  I finished up and went to lift the needle off the record just as I heard the doorbell. Head held high, I glided over in my heels and went to open the door.

  But wait.

  Before I go on, I have to tell you something.

  Have you ever had something happen to you, or met someone, or done something that changed your life so much that you can barely even remember who you were before that? Have you ever had such a game changer fall into your lap that even your ability to remember your old life disappears?

  I don’t want to give anything away here; I promised you an unexpected story, and you’ll get one, but I can’t resist telling you that this moment, the moment when I opened the door, that was the moment my life hinged on, swiveled and spun round in a completely different direction than I had ever anticipated.

  At the time, I suspected something, but I had no idea, really. Look back at your life now and the things that made the biggest difference to the story of your life, and tell me – didn’t they kind of sneak up on you, in a way?

  In any case, let’s get back to it.

  I was beautiful, self-assured, wealthy. I gathered I’ve explained that much to you. I was also a big, horrible asshole. You may have also come to that conclusion yourself. But take a good look at me right now, because after this point, things start to slowly shift. I never got any warning, but I’m warning you.

  I opened the door, and it was a man. It’s always a man, isn’t it? I smiled and stepped back to wave him in. He nodded shyly and stepped inside.

  He was tall, well-built, broad shouldered, but he had the most wonderfully gentle face. Full, sensual lips, a little stubble, and eyes that went deep, deep, deep, a kind of murky green-blue color that was light but intense all at once. It’s not that he was handsome, exactly. He certainly wasn’t a model. He just looked …real. Raw somehow. Like to merely look at his face you knew what you needed to about him.

  He followed me into the prepared room, and I made extra sure to waggle my backside a little, for his benefit. I gestured for him to sit, and he sat. I could already tell he was wealthy – that was good. But he wasn’t giving me many other clues.

  I smiled sweetly, laced my fingers over the knee of my crossed leg and looked at him.

  “Well then, welcome. Something to drink?” I said and glanced at the trolley of crystal bottles behind me, each filled with a different yellow-hued liquid. He blushed and shook his head.

  “No, thank you. Um, this is quite awkward for me, actually. I’m not sure of the …procedure here.”

  God, he was cute.

  I grinned and nodded.

  “I understand. Many people think that on the first meeting, I’ll be breaking out the whips and chains and they’ll have no say in what unfolds, but that’s not what happens.”

  “It’s not?” he said, and the tiny way he lifted the corner of his mouth matched the tiny way he lifted his one eyebrow. I laughed.

  “Unfortunately, no. This is your first ever time with a Domme?”

  “It is.”

  “Well, what’s important is that for every scene, or fantasy, or game that we play, there are rules. We decide the rules upfront, so that we don’t have to worry about them later on, when we’d bother rather just enjoy what’s happening. We decide on a safe word that halts all play, no matter what. I can go far. Very far. But I won’t push you further than I know you can handle. What happens between us stays with us. You’ve already signed the contract I sent you, but the more important thing is that we connect here, on a mental level,” I said, and drew and imaginary line linking his forehead with mine.

  He was nodding, eyes glued to mine, hanging on to every word. He smelt good. Even from way over there on his sofa, I could smell him, and it was all skin and powder and musk.

  “Why don’t you tell me a little about you?” I said. “About what you want and like?”

  It was awkward for me sometimes, too, these little interviews, where I didn’t have my regular bad bitch toolkit to fall back on and had to actually be a civilized, polite young woman.

  But this guy made it almost feel fun. I found myself genuinely curious about his answer. Did he want me to strap him down and give him a naughty medical exam? Throw him in a dog cage? Play at being a sexy female interrogation officer who tortured him sexually in a dark room till he confessed his juicy state security secrets? In case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t make that up – in my line of work, there is no such thing as political correctness.

  He shifted his weight, looked at the ground and sighed.

  “Like I said, it’s complicated, and I don’t want to just jump into something. I really just needed to meet you first. If that’s alright…”

  “Of course it’s alright! But I should remind you that I’m not a shrink, and don’t intend to keep boys around just to chat with them about their days,” I said playfully, and the look he gave me was so shocked I couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m kidding, of course. Mostly. But if you’re feeling shy, you really don’t need to b
e.”

  He looked like something was on the tip of his tongue, but he was afraid to spit it out. Fine. Not everyone can be as brazen as I am.

  “Um, by the way, I didn’t catch your name…”

  “It’s Dean.”

  “Dean. Well, Dean, let’s try something quickly, and you tell me whether you enjoy it or not, OK?”

  “You mean, right now?” again he flashed me that same shocked look.

  I smiled.

  “Yes, right now. Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” I said, giving him a little wink. I cracked my neck first one side, then the other, then cleared my throat. “Come here,” I said coldly, changing my entire demeanor. His eyes were wide as he contemplated this order, but he was soon on his feet and standing in front of me, hands hanging awkwardly at his side.

  “Get down on your hands and knees. My feet are tired,” I said casually. It took a while for him to catch my drift, but he dropped to his hands and feet before me, offering his back up as a footrest. I plonked my heels down onto him and adjusted my weight.

  “You know what I really need in my life, Dean?” I said, adding a little sarcasm to his name. “I’m tired of idiot men who can’t keep up with me. What I really want is someone I can break. Completely. Till they’re shaking and weeping and ready to sacrifice their lives and bodies for me.” Then I kicked my feet off, reached down, took his chin in my hand and looked at him…

  “Yes? No?” I said in my normal voice.

  He blushed.

  “Uh… I think no,” he said. I gestured for him to stand up. That was unusual. I raised an eyebrow at him. I was happy to do admin and small talk with a new client, but the sooner I could get back to the easy stuff, the better.

  “No?”

  “No. That’s just… that feels a bit mean actually.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or not. I sat back down again, and so did he. I was losing my touch, clearly, and had read him completely wrong.

  “Mean?” I said. “Honey you know who you’ve come to see, right?” I said, smiling warmly. He laughed, put his hand to the back of his neck and shrugged.