by Dani Collins
Despite her curiosity about his friend, her attention was torn to the stage as the show opened with a slave auction on Gor, where an earthling woman had arrived and didn’t understand her position in her new world. The other enslaved women tried to educate her, dancing exotically and demonstrating a woman’s fulfillment in pleasuring a man, particularly the joy of slave orgasm, but the new arrival escaped her chains and ran off stage.
At that point, a hunt was organized. Horses were needed and people were turned into ponies fitted with tails that were attached by insertion. They wore bridles, saddles and other gear and left in a gallop. When two ponies returned, pulling the queen’s carriage, the set had been transformed into an apple orchard where the human ponies were being put through their paces. One stallion mounted a filly, much to his masters’ mortification, resulting in several snaps of a crop, but what else could be expected when animals were part of a show?
The ponies were led away and the set transformed into a bedroom where a man watched through a screen as a woman seduced another, spreading her legs for deep fingering and eliciting wild cries of pleasure that echoed through the silent room. When she left her satisfied lover, the woman walked to the other side of the screen, the set revolved, and the watching man tied her naked to the wall and began to flog her with a many-tailed crop.
Gasping, Violet sat back and snapped her head to look at Porter, wanting to know if this turned him on. He leaned to her, eyes not leaving the stage, but his attentiveness indicated he was as attuned to her as he was to what was happening on stage.
“Watch her hand. She’s telling him when to continue.”
Swallowing her angst, she watched the woman’s hand flare out in a splay of fingers after the next lash. The man made a show of pacing and catching his breath. When the woman’s hand closed in a fist, the whip reddened her back. She flinched and moaned, splaying her hand each time the lash landed. Then her hand would close and the lash would strike again. Her cries grew louder. The whipping went past ten, twelve. Her hand stayed fisted through a half dozen quick lashes in succession as her long scream pierced the silent room. He moved down her legs and she began to cry, sobbing, “Please, please.” Her body trembled and the sobbing went on, but her hands stayed tightly closed.
Violet didn’t think she could take anymore of watching and was relieved when he turned the woman around, but he began to stripe her front from breasts to thighs, leaving welted lines while the woman only stared into space, sobs reduced to shallow, ragged breaths. Finally, when Violet couldn’t bear it any longer, the woman opened both her hands like one star upon another and the torturer lowered his whip
The lights went out.
Violet sat back, cold fingertips against her lips, thinking, mind fuck.
* * *
Porter tried to read Violet’s expression as the lights came up. Her painted eyes were wide, her lips parted in shock.
These are your friends, she seemed to say as she looked at him. This is your world.
It was, he silently confirmed.
“You’re confused because you found that exciting, but you think it was abusive,” he said.
She drew back, but the struggle on her face told him he’d struck close to the truth.
“It wasn’t abuse. I know abuse. That was like a boxing match,” he said, making her choke with disbelief. “Or any other struggle of strength,” he continued. “It’s visceral and gripping to watch. That’s why you couldn’t look away. You wanted to know how long she could endure it and so did everyone else, including the couple themselves. If you knew exactly how much sting that crop delivers, you would be sitting here in awe the way I am, admiring her stamina. She’s on a hell of an endorphin high right now. There’s a pleasure side to a flogging that you have to experience to understand.”
Curiosity sharpened her dazed gaze. “When you talked about pain being controlled and having rules…I wasn’t sure if you meant that you’d been on both sides of something like that.” She indicated the empty stage disappearing behind the rise of people standing for intermission.
“I have,” he admitted. “Let’s get fresh drinks.”
Porter pulled her into him as they pressed through the crush, so she could hear him over the noise. She smelled incredible, looked even more delicious. He wanted to stroke and fondle and make her come apart, but he wanted to make her understand more. Not convince her, but at least accept why this world was a part of his life.
“I’m naturally dominant. My first lovers were as young as I was, still finding their confidence. They were too easy for me. I found myself drawn to older women with strong ideas about what they wanted. One liked a good spank and coached me to deliver it. Given my childhood, I was pretty confused by her wanting corporal punishment—I didn’t want to become my father—but I saw right away this was different. She thanked me. I needed to understand why she could be grateful, when I hated the guy who’d done it to me. Playing with her led to parties and clubs where the pain was more acute. At one point it was suggested I should experience the other side to hone my skills. I did for a while, but I’m a lousy sub. Doms are incredibly frustrated by me. When it comes to quitting, I don’t.”
“Because they never had anything you wanted? Not even relief from pain?”
Her question was so surprising it perplexed him. More like they had been placeholders for his father, someone he refused to allow to defeat him. By the same token, when he wielded the whip, he did it with all the things his father had never shown him: respect and regard and care. He didn’t hate his father for beating him. Plenty of kids got their asses whipped and considered their upbringings healthy. No, he hated his father for not loving either of his sons and proving it through brutality. He wanted to draw and quarter the bastard for torturing Tomas all his life, holding the brass ring of acceptance and support just beyond his brother’s reach.
They were interrupted before he could voice all of that to Vi.
“Navarro! It’s been way too long.” A firm hand clapped him on the shoulder.
Another fine example of his colorful social network pushed through the crowd to stand next to him, but if rumor had it right, this friend was mostly mainstream these days—apart from the pirate-like costume complete with mask, tall boots and a serving wench at his side.
“Dominic.” Porter greeted him warmly. They’d never been sexual partners, the occasional female between them notwithstanding, but they’d beaten the snot out of each other with various implements on several occasions, including rapiers. There were few men he felt matched his own level of control, but Dominic was definitely one of them.
Clasping Dominic’s hand, he hooked an arm across the man’s shoulders and yanked him in, receiving a firm double tap on the back in return.
“I thought you were married and out of the scene?” Porter said.
“Left the wife at home and picked up this would-be doxy outside. Crying because she had to turn away from her proper upbringing and enter this dark life to save her family.” Dominic gave the woman’s rounded cheek a caress with his gloved finger. “Poor thing’s scared out of her wits.”
“You’ll be kind enough to show her it’s not so bad, once she fully understands what’s expected?” Porter guessed with amusement, admiring the way Dominic’s wife did a fine imitation of a trembling virgin, blinking limpid eyes with apprehension. She was thirty if she was a day, and he knew the real estate mogul from her photos online. He’d checked her out the minute he’d learned of their marriage.
“Do exactly as you’re told,” Porter advised her. “I’ve heard he’s turned into a soft touch, but dark streaks never completely disappear. Will you keep Violet company for a minute, while we catch up?”
He introduced the women and they quickly tilted their heads together while he stood shoulder to shoulder with Dominic.
“I heard you were marrying, too. That’s not her?” Dominic asked.
“No,” Porter said, bristling with dismay that he couldn’t introduce Violet as
something more significant that his date. He quickly redirected, “But I was stunned to hear you were tying the knot. And kids? Plural?”
“I know,” Dominic said wryly. “So white-picket fence it’s like we’re scripting an ad for oatmeal. The most exciting thing happening in my bed these days is an eight-hour sleep. I shit you not,” he insisted when Porter chuckled.
“But you’re here.”
“Second honeymoon. Our first chance to play in months, but I’ll take quality over quantity anytime.” He looked at his wife with lust dipped in reverence. “Arianne commits to a scene like you wouldn’t believe.”
“And you don’t find marriage…restrictive?”
“Bondage is restrictive, but if the right person ties you up, makes it fun, you can’t wait for the ropes, right?”
“You’re eventually cut free from bondage,” Porter pointed out.
“Sure, and if one of us stops enjoying what we’re doing we’ll reassess, but so far I’m rope stoned and loving everything about it. Think shibari.”
Porter snorted at Dominic likening his marriage to the Japanese art of rope binding, but he couldn’t help recalling the conversation he’d had with Ann this afternoon. He’d been sitting there tortured by desire for Violet after an intense negotiation that would put him very married and would set Violet very far out of his reach. Throughout the meeting, his gaze had been drawn outside to where Ann had played with that ridiculous dog of hers, wearing her ridiculous outfit. He’d felt pressed to make clear their association would be temporary and she’d come back with surprisingly accommodating responses.
She was a lot more outspoken online than she was in person. In another lifetime, he might have found that intriguing enough to learn more about her, but for now it was safer to file her away as a means to an end.
Still, he was oddly envious of Dominic, manacled to the right person.
I won’t keep you tied down long, he’d said to Ann, but if he could wear that smug air of contentment, he might consider something permanent.
* * *
Arianne’s glance flashed toward her husband when he laughed. She’d tried some decent French then sagged with relief when Violet said, “Is English better?”
“Oh, thank you! Yes.”
“No problem, but please don’t mention—”
“Got it.” She winked. “We like to keep the scene going, too.” She rushed on without giving Violet a chance to explain more fully. “Can you believe this place? Do you do this a lot?”
“No,” Violet said with a vigorous shake of her head. “I’m very new to all of this.”
“I like to think I’m open-minded and experimental. My husband doesn’t turn a hair, of course. He practically grew up in these places, but…” She widened her eyes in a goggle of amazement.
I know, Violet mouthed.
“I was terrified I’d be laughed out of here. The baby fat just won’t fall off. Be honest. Do I look ridiculous?”
“Not at all!” Violet rushed to assure.
Arianne was pretty and doe-eyed and voluptuous in the very best way. Her breasts were pushed up by a corset over an ivory top with a drawstring neckline. It sat across her upper arms, leaving her shoulders bare. Her skirt fell in layers of long black lace and burgundy silk from one hip, so her thigh was bared well above the top of her knee-high, spiked boot.
“Look how I’m dressed,” Violet countered.
“Oh no, you’re stunning. Once Dominic pointed you two out, I was as bad as your date there, unable to look away from you.”
“He wasn’t—”
“Oh, he was watching you every second, totally mesmerized.” Her gaze lifted briefly and she said, “He’s staring at you now and— Oh, does that flicker mean the show is coming back on? Hey, how open are you? Will you help me take things to the next level?”
* * *
As the lights flicked, Porter shook hands with Dominic, promising that absolutely, if he was ever in California, he’d come by for a beer and—repressed shudder—meet the kids. Then he watched Dominic reach to tuck one of his wife’s flowing curls back from her ear.
“It’s time to take our seats,” he advised.
“Can’t we talk a little longer? Violet’s been so kind, making me feel better. Merci beaucoup,” she said to Violet in heartfelt French. She hugged Violet as if Violet had imparted wise advice or bolstered her courage. “Oh, you smell good! And you’re so pretty and soft.”
Violet blinked in bemusement as her cheeks were kissed in turn, saying in her exotically accented French, “I’m sure he won’t hurt you. Don’t worry.”
Porter started to chuckle inwardly at Violet’s willingness to go along with the scene. Then she shared a look with the serving wench that took him aback. It was a tiny signal of request and allowance, like they were about to coordinate movements for a daring trick—
With graceful slowness, allowing plenty of anticipation to grow for their rapt male audience, they came together as if drawn by unseen forces. Voluptuous tart-red lips met sensual, open pink ones. They didn’t hurry it, playing out the kiss with a pretty hand to a cheek and another weaving into dark hair, the tender, passionate contact prolonged so Porter’s already throbbing cock nearly broke the fly on his pants.
“That is what I’m talking about,” Dominic said with unabashed lust. “If she thinks she can blow my mind, she goes for it. Every. Single. Time. We’ll be leaving now.”
Porter barely heard him over the pound of his pulse in his ears, brain about to explode. It didn’t make sense. He’d just watched far more graphic and kinky play on stage, but the almost innocent sweetness of the women necking pushed him to the edge.
The ladies parted with a half-lidded look that was deliciously sexual. Only the hint of a satisfied smile in red smudged lips, and the uncertainty in Violet’s eyes as she lifted her gaze to Porter’s, gave away that the kiss had been staged.
“Nikki,” Dominic said in a chilly voice as he grasped her hair and leaned into her space. “The first rule of prostitution is to save your sexual favors for your paying customer.”
“I couldn’t help it! She’s so pretty. Don’t you think she’s pretty?”
“Extremely, but you’re still out of line. It will take a lot to make this up to me.” He wouldn’t hear about watching the rest of the show. She would begin paying for her mistake immediately.
Violet stared after them with big eyes. “He’s just playing, right?” she asked as they disappeared.
“I’d be more concerned about my thoughts on the matter than his,” Porter said, taking her hand in a firm grip. “If I were you.”
“You’re upset?” Her hand flexed in his.
“I’m so insanely turned on I’m ready to fuck you right here.”
People wove around them toward the ballroom. She blushed, certain they’d overheard him. He probably used that specific image to tease the exhibitionist streak he kept accusing her of possessing.
“She said watching women make love was the number-one male fantasy. But the women on stage went a lot further. I didn’t expect you’d be this affected.”
“You did it specifically to push my buttons. Do you know how much that excites me?”
From inside the ballroom, an English tutor’s voice began a salient conversation with his young male student.
“The show works up to an orgy in which the audience participates,” he said. “Shall we go back in or…?”
She shook her head. “I don’t like being watched that much.” But she reached for him with a boldness and intention she couldn’t have contemplated a week ago. Rubbing the hard shape in his pants, she said, “I want to be alone with you.”
He covered her hand, but rather than remove it, he tightened her grip on him. “Do you have any idea how full this place is? Privacy is at a premium right now.” With a grim flattening of his mouth, he brought her hand to his chest and gently crushed it. “And I deliberately didn’t book us a room.”
“Why not?” The protest left he
r even as her mind said, It’s okay. You live in his house. She looked around, suddenly longing for a different kind of privacy. The kind to explain who she was and why she had pretended to be Violet.
“I didn’t want to be tempted,” he answered. “It’s probably hard to believe that I have a conscience, but I do, Vi. The sadistic stuff I’ve played with, the spanking and whipping…that’s always been more a request I grant and try to learn from than something I seek for my own benefit. I always come away feeling guilty, even if they loved every second of it. In a way it feels good to feel guilt. I’m a masochist in my own way, I suppose. I like my conscience to suffer. That way I know I’m nothing like my father. But if I hurt you…” His thumb stroked over her knuckles. “That’s not the kind of guilt I could live with.”
“Hurt me how? By not offering a future? We can have one, Porter—”
She cut herself off as the ballroom doors closed with a metallic clatter. Eloisa remained outside them, her arctic gaze taking in their near clinch.
“Leaving?” she guessed, approaching with a stiff clip of her heels on marble. “Together?”
“I’m willing,” Violet said, tossing her head with exactly the level of defiance Eloisa had used the first time she’d seen her. When she looked up at Porter, her heart shook, but not with fear. More like a chick breaking from its egg. “Take me to your car, and I’ll show you where I live.”
“And then what, chèrie?” Eloisa asked with sly malevolence. “Wait for him to fall in love with you? The way you’ve fallen in love with him?”
Ann usually had a lot more to hide behind when she needed to dissemble. It had been a long time since her most tender feelings, the ones with skin that was new and thin, were pulled out and laughed at. But she’d come a long way since the early days when Cain had torn her apart with a few harsh words.
“Am I supposed to be embarrassed that I’ve fallen in love? Why?” Looking Porter right in the eye, she said, “The more I learn about you, the more attractive and admirable I find you.”
“And you, Porter? Do you return those feelings? That would set up certain expectations, of course. A cancellation of a wedding, for instance.”