Happiness suffused Lucy, so acute and all-consuming that she could only sink to her knees.
The cool slide of the collar around her neck made her cry in earnest, and she sensed rather than saw Josh get down to her level. He kissed her tears away with such tenderness, that she thought her heart would burst.
"Look at me, pet?"
She did as he asked and he smiled and a shudder went through her when he locked the delicate collar around her neck and deposited the key.
"I love you, my sweet Lucy, and you're all mine now."
"I love you too, Sir."
He kissed her then, a passionate kiss of need and possession, and she melted against him. By the time he broke the kiss she was ready to fuck him right there on the floor of her father's study, and judging by his wicked grin he knew that too.
"I'm afraid, pet, that would be one step too far for the judge."
She giggled and he helped her to her knees, just in time before the door opened and her father stepped back inside the room.
His gaze zeroed in on the collar around her neck and he blanched before he made a visible effort to smile.
"That will take some getting used to."
"It's what I want, Daddy. What we both want."
Josh's arms went round her waist and she held her own out to her father, who stepped into her embrace after only a moment's hesitation.
Everything would be all right. She just knew it would.
The End
www.dorisoconnor.com
LOCK, STOCK, AND SPANK HER
Copyright© 2013
R. Brennan
Beth pulled into the first empty space she could find and put her car in park. She leaned over the dash and peered up at the green and white sign bearing the logo for The Newton Hotel. She made a visual sweep of the parking lot, hunting for Marcy’s silver coupe, before checking the clock on the dash.
5:57 P.M.
The “munch” started at six. Beth sighed, turned off the ignition, and plopped her keys into her purse. She checked the rear view mirror. Cool, gray eyes rimmed by a meticulously thin stroke of charcoal liner stared back at her. She dabbed at a smudge in the corner of her left eye and smiled at her reflection.
Perfect.
Just enough coal to give her eyes an exotic appearance without screaming ‘gothic whore’. She pinched color into her pale cheeks and fluffed up the mess of tawny curls framing her oval face.
She cast another searching glance around the lot, and grinned when she caught sight of Marcy’s car swinging around the corner to pull into the empty space facing her. Marcy flashed Beth an enthusiastic wave, smiling brighter than a toddler on Christmas morning.
Marcy was a Domme, and the only BDSM lifestyle friend Beth had. She’d been the one who’d convinced her to give the local BDSM community a chance after her relationship with her last Dom, Martin Walters, fell apart. Mistress Marcy worked as an associate in Martin’s law firm, and had offered a hand in sympathetic friendship when Beth caught him fucking another woman on the giant mahogany desk in his office. Consumed by confused anger, Beth had mistaken the door to Marcy’s office for the stairwell. She’d burst in, desperate for a place to hide and lick her wounds. Instead of outrage at the interruption, Marcy had ushered Beth into her office and offered a sympathetic ear. That was six months ago, and the two had been close friends ever since.
One last check in the rear view and Beth was out of the car and headed over to Marcy. “Evening, Mistress.” As usual, Beth admired the way Marcy’s clothes hugged her shapely form. The black pencil skirt stopped at mid thigh, drawing her gaze downward, to impeccably polished leather knee-high boots with three-inch spike heels. “You look fantastic.”
Marcy graced her with a wide smile. “As do you, my dear.” She leaned in and placed a maternal kiss on Beth’s cheek. “That green really suits you. It brings out your pretty eyes.”
Beth smoothed the hunter green skirt, cheeks heating. “Thank you, Mistress.”
“Shall we go in?”
Nervous butterflies danced in Beth’s stomach. She cast an anxious glance at the hotel’s front entrance. “You’re sure this is a good idea?”
Marcy gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Of course I’m sure. Just remember what I told you. If anyone makes you feel uncomfortable, or you aren’t interested, just say you’re under my protection. I’ve been in the community a long time. Nobody will mess with you. I promise.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you say so.”
Marcy chuckled. “They’re people, Beth, just like anyone else. Remember that and you’ll be just fine.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
The pair crossed the parking lot and stepped into the hotel lobby. The woman behind the counter offered them a warm smile. “Good evening. Welcome to The Newton. How can I help you?”
Marcy stopped at the wide marble front counter. “We’re here for the Capital City Kink Munch. Is it being held in the usual conference room?”
The woman behind the counter nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. Just down the hall to the right.” She pointed a manicured finger at the back of the opulent lobby. “Last door on the left.”
“Thank you.”
Beth followed Marcy down the corridor the desk clerk indicated while trying to ignore her damp palms and racing heartbeat.
You can do this.
At the end of the hall, Marcy stopped and turned to face her. “Now, remember what I told you. If you feel uncomfortable or threatened in any way, just tell them you’re with me.”
Beth straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, hoping to bolster her shaky confidence. “Understood, Mistress.”
Marcy awarded her with a brilliant smile. “Good girl.” She pushed open the conference room door.
The sultry beat of a slow jazz rift filtered through the opening to greet them.
With curiosity overriding her nerves, Beth arrived at her first BDSM munch on Marcy’s finely clad heels. Her anxious gaze swept the large space.
The music originated from a small sound system hooked to an unmanned laptop sitting on a long conference table. A small dance area separated the speakers from a smattering of navy draped tables in varying shapes and sizes. Folding chairs, about half of which were already occupied, surrounded their candlelit surfaces. The bar stood at the opposite end of the room, manned by a solitary tender wearing a formal tuxedo vest and black bow tie. To the right of the bar lay a row of three vendor tables, each buried by a variety of lifestyle gear, fetish clothing, and sex toys. Beth made a note to check out the array of goodies later. It had been far too long since she’d allowed herself the right to indulge. Without a partner, a majority of the items on display would only collect dust in her bedroom drawer, beside the blindfolds, the cuffs and clamps Martin had left behind. Constant reminders of what it was like to “belong” to someone. Beth frowned. She missed her collar and the way it made her feel, even if she didn’t miss Martin the Cheat.
“Let’s sit here.” Marcy stopped at an empty table near the wall about halfway between the dance area and the bar.
Beth waited for her to choose a seat before settling in the empty chair beside her. “Can I get you something to drink, Mistress?”
Marcy graced her with a smile. “That would be lovely, thank you. Tanqueray and tonic with a lime.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“And don’t you dare come back here without something for yourself. I refuse to drink alone.”
Beth hadn’t planned on drinking, but Marcy only came to the event for her benefit, so she could hardly say no. “Of course, Mistress.”
“Good girl.”
She slid from her chair, and made her way to the bar, careful to avoid checking out the patrons she passed along the way.
The bartender greeted her with a warm smile. “Evening, miss. What can I do for you?”
“Tanqueray and tonic with a lime, and I’ll have a white wine spritzer.” The bartender gave a nod and set to work on he
r drinks.
“Why not order a Shirley Temple while you’re at it?”
Startled, Beth swung about. “Excuse me?”
A tall man with a shaved head and sparkling blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, smiled down at her. “A spritzer is an old lady drink.” His hungry gaze travelled over her from head to toe, bringing heat to her cheeks. “You definitely don’t look like an old lady to me.”
Beth swallowed her surprise and pasted on a friendly smile. “I appreciate that, Sir. However, I don’t remember asking for input on my beverage decisions.” She forced her attention away from his striking eyes, looking lower, past a sensual mouth and dimpled chin. She took in the lightly furred chest peeking from beneath his black leather vest, and the tattooed biceps bursting from the sides.
“You didn’t, but I am a gentleman and I’d hate for you to give anyone the wrong impression.”
The bartender returned with her drink order, setting the glasses on the bar beside her.
Beth paid him and grabbed the drinks. “Keep the change.” She turned and flashed a polite smile at the intimidating stranger. “I have no use for anyone who’d judge me based solely on a drink choice, but thanks for lookin’ out. If you’ll excuse me, Mistress is waiting for her cocktail.” Before he could reply, Beth sidestepped and hurried back to her table, pulse hammering. Her hand shook as she set the gin drink before Marcy. Settling back into her seat, she released a pent up breath.
Marcy wrapped her fingers around the glass and cast a raised brow glance at her. “So?”
“So what?” She took a calming sip of her wine and willed her heart into a more normal rhythm.
“Don’t be coy. Who’s the leather stud you were talking to?”
Beth shrugged. “No idea.” She glanced at the bar: The stranger in leather had disappeared. She ignored the pang of disappointment prickling her between the shoulders. Despite his slightly overbearing nature, she had to admit, he filled out those leather pants quite nicely, and his voice…just raspy enough to turn her knees to mush.
Marcy sighed. “Pity. He’d look quite fetching on the end of my leash.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
Marcy grinned. “Yes, but that’s why you adore me.”
“True enough.” She scanned the conference room for any sign of the stranger’s shaved head. “I definitely didn’t get the impression he was the kneeling type.”
“The interesting ones never are.”
After a few moments of silence, Marcy clucked her tongue, drawing Beth’s attention away from her not so subtle searching. “He got to you, didn’t he?”
Beth gave Marcy her best, befuddled look. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t even try it. I know that look. You have the hots for him, don’t you?”
A nervous laugh bubbled from her, a little too loud to be natural. “Of course not!”
“Bullshit. If you don’t, why is your face the color of a beet right now?”
As much as she loved Marcy, sometimes the woman’s ability to pinpoint her every wicked thought really irked Beth. “Okay, so maybe I found the guy a little attractive.”
Marcy grinned. “No maybe about it, little one. You’re smitten.”
Beth huffed. “What difference does it even make? He’s gone now, and neither of us has any idea who he is.”
“No. But, I can find out.” Before Beth could react, Marcy was out of her chair and stalking across the dance floor with a full head of steam.
Oh Lord.
No good could come from it, of that she was convinced. Marcy was an amazing friend, but restraint wasn’t part of her genetic makeup. She focused her attention on the flame flickering in the center of their table and refused to track Marcy’s movements, instead spending her energy reminding herself why she’d allowed Marcy to convince her to attend the BDSM meet and greet in the first place. The heat of embarrassment burning her cheeks had expanded to her ears, and she refused to allow anyone to see her discomfort. She cast a quick glance at Marcy through a veil of brown tresses.
Marcy stood at a table occupied by two well-dressed gentlemen and a blonde woman wearing some sort of tightly fitting, crimson corset. The older of the two men nodded at her and pointed to the row of vendor tables in the back of the room.
Beth quickly averted her gaze when Marcy swung around and headed back toward her with purposeful strides. Embarrassment warred with curiosity as she made a show of draining the remaining liquid from her wine glass, wondering if she’d ever have the kind of confidence Marcy seemed to exude. She had no idea what it was like to just ‘go for it’ the way her friend did. If she could be hurt as much as she’d been when Martin cheated, she had no interest in taking further risks with her heart. That was a pain she just had no taste for.
Marcy rejoined her at the table, grinning ear to ear. She scooped up her cocktail and spoke over the rim. “He’s single. Had a submissive for three years before she passed away, so he isn’t afraid of commitment. Oh, and he’s an entrepreneur.”
Beth quirked a brow, impressed in spite of herself. “Does he have a name, detective?”
“Yes, and if you’d can the sarcasm and act just a bit more grateful, I’ll tell you what it is.”
Her teeth came down on her lower lip. Marcy was right. She was being a brat. “I’m sorry. I’m just being snotty because you’re so much better at all this than I am … I’m positively hopeless.” She thought about how flustered she’d been, talking with … “What’s his name please, Mistress?”
“Alexander Sterling. The old man said he owns a craftsman shop on Fletcher Street in the Capital City’s artisan district. The vendor tables at the back are all his.”
Beth shook her head. “You found out that much in a two-minute conversation?”
“I’m a lawyer, honey. I get paid very well to know how to ask questions. And, my question for you is, what are you going to do with the gems of wisdom I’ve given you?”
It was a damn good question. One Beth had no ready answer for. She scanned the vendor tables, frowning. “He doesn’t seem to be very interested in selling anything. There’s no salesman at any of the tables.”
“Perhaps he needs a customer to draw him out of the shadows.” Marcy jabbed an elbow into her ribcage. “A single, attractive, submissive customer.”
Beth chuckled. “I get it.”
“Good. Now, go shop.”
Beth pushed up from the table. Best to get it over with. Marcy would never let her live it down if she didn’t at least make an effort to meet the man. “Yes, Mistress.” She gathered her courage and headed for the row of tables at the back of the room, offering a smile to the white-haired man who’d given Marcy the information as she passed. She did her best to ignore the knowing grin plastered across his thin lips.
Despite her expectation, when she arrived at the tables of wares, the mysterious Alexander Sterling failed to appear. Rather than look desperate, or as if she was hunting for him, Beth focused her attention on the array of items displayed on the white linen table.
The first table held an assortment of handcrafted BDSM toys. Beautiful wooden paddles with intricately carved handles lay beside an array of braided leather whips and leather tasseled floggers. The craftsmanship and attention to detail was evident in each item on display.
She flipped over the small white tag on the braided single tail with a serpent carved into the handle and jerked her hand back as if the tiny label was charged with electricity: Two hundred dollars? For that price the serpent should be carved in gold.
Beth moved to the next table, hoping the items there were a bit more in her price range. Not that she really intended to buy anything, but it would be easier to explain looking at items she could actually afford.
The middle table held a variety of different breast clamps, different size plugs and vibrators, ben-wa balls in varying colors and designs, as well as some lovely pieces of silver fetish jewelry. She moved quickly past the weighted clamps, cringing as she imagined what i
t must be like to have that much of a load hanging from her sensitive peaks. A bit of nipple play was one thing. A game of seeing how much weight titties could hold, not so much. She glanced about, disappointed Mr. Sterling still had not made an appearance, and moved on to the last of the tables, which held a wide array of collars, from the basic black leather band with a D-ring at the front, to more ornate pieces encrusted with various gemstones and chain.
Her attention caught on a lovely black leather collar studded with what appeared to be small green emeralds. Two loops of chain hung from the front like a necklace attached to the collar at either side of the D-ring at the center. She’d never seen anything like it: The perfect combination of functionality and delicate beauty.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?”
She whirled about, startled by the low, sultry voice sounding so close to her ear, and came face to leather-clad chest with Alexander Sterling. “Oh!” She took a step backward, bouncing her rump off the table. “You startled me.”
“Yes. I see that.” He chuckled. “It wasn’t my intention. Although, if I’d known how adorable you’d be all flustered, it might have.” His grin stole her breath. “Can I help you find something? Though, a submissive should never shop for her own collar. It should be chosen by her owner, and be a reflection of who she is.”
His words hit home, dredging up the emptiness she’d felt since breaking things off with Martin, reminding her how much she needed to find a new dominant.
“It’s the least her Master can do, in my opinion. That isn’t what you were doing … was it?”
Beth blinked. “No. I mean, not really. I was just looking. Besides, I’d need to have a master to do that.”
You want the job?
Silently cursing her errant thoughts, and frantic for something intelligent to say now that he was finally standing in front of her, Beth turned her attention to the goods displayed on the table. The collar on the dais flashed its emerald brilliance at her. “Umm… did you make all these yourself?”
The Crimson Rope Page 12