In Control

by Michelle Robbins

  "Who...who released you?" Ceci hesitated over the question.

  The fact of her freedom clearly horrified the bullies at the table. Annabel sat back into her chair and smiled her satisfaction. "Seth. You challenging his decision?"

  As one, everyone there glanced to the left. Annabel followed their gaze and saw Seth sharing a table with a man she didn't know and his newest trainee. As if becoming aware of the watching eyes, he looked up and over. The ice-fire blue of his regard lashed the kennel, but lingered for a long moment on Annabel. Then, as if unconcerned by the scrutiny, he returned to his meal and his guest.

  And Annabel returned her attention to the slaves.

  She smiled. They did not.

  Seth's action of making eye contact with her, then turning away reinforced the claim her presentation as no-longer-a-slave was allowed and accepted. Of course, by all rights and freedoms of a woman in the state of Oregon, Annabel was no one's property, but she'd pledged her adherence to their intentional community and sworn obedience to its norms and expectations. In the dungeon, vanilla rules did not apply. Annabel wore no visitor's badge. She was in her element--those bitches be damned--and she was ready to ensure the piper was paid in full.

  She put the slaves through their paces with malice. They were to obey and to smile when addressed, no matter the words or demands by the uncollared. Pleading gazes leapt from girls to their respective masters, who paid the situation no mind. The expectations of a slave's conduct were carved in stone. Slaves demonstrated grace and poise, despite whatever goads and abuses came their way. Hell would be paid if they broke protocol.

  Early on she dismissed some slaves from the situation. They were ones who hadn't victimized Annabel, and they fled the tables gratefully. The others, the ones she knew as vicious, backstabbing snakes...oh, they paid the price.

  A small voice whispered in the back of her mind, telling her that she had now become the abuser instead of the abused. But the river of vitriol uncorked inside of her couldn't be dammed. It spewed from her like a river that had burst its banks. She delighted in watching Ceci and Kaydee's faces reddening with temper and humiliation.

  How does it feel to be on the receiving end, bitches?

  A shadow fell across the table at the same moment a look of relief blossomed across the slaves' faces. Annabel glanced over and saw Mike. The First Knight was here to defend his community from abuse.

  Crap.

  "Welcome to the Quarterly Dungeon Romp," said Mike, as though he didn't recognize her. Which, of course, was impossible, but Mike's expression revealed nothing beyond impersonal civility. "We appreciate your interest in our chosen lifestyle, but abuse of the slaves by outsiders is not permitted."

  Someone tittered. She couldn't be sure, but it sounded like Kaydee. No surprise there. Kaydee was the type to kick a person when she was down. Wasn't that what I was doing?

  Trapped by Mike's stern gaze of frozen green, she could only watch as he frowned toward the table, a hard glance of rebuke that silenced the ill-mannered slave, then returned his attention to her.

  "We welcome guests, of course," he said. "Please feel free to join us at the head table. There we'll answer all questions regarding our philosophy."

  The head table? Where Seth sat? Or was it where Jeremy sat since Mike had joined him? Either way, there was no chance in hell she was going to sit around a table with either of them, while Mike expounded on their chosen philosophy. Had he lost his mind?

  "You're kidding, right?" Annabel's couldn't find the breath to do more than breathe the question.

  "No?"

  She reached for her bravado. "Not only no, but hell, no. Your choice of company leaves a shitload to be desired."

  "I see," said Mike. "Then I assume your reason for being among us is to denigrate our community and our chosen lifestyle. That's not allowed."

  He made a one-handed gesture of invitation to someone behind her. Muffin stepped into her view, all bearish and red-haired. He wore a T-shirt of neon yellow emblazoned with the words DUNGEON MASTER. A sinking feeling hollowed her stomach. Her own thoughts came back to haunt her: in the dungeon, vanilla rules did not apply. And a Dungeon Master had the final word in any conflict.

  "Please escort the lady to the leather community," Mike said to Muffin. "Apparently, she got lost and ended up here."

  Muffin extended his ham-like hand. "C'mon, Annabel. You know the rules."

  Left with no other choice, she pushed herself away from the table and followed Muffin as he left the Owner/property area and headed toward the section of the dungeon populated by folks in the leather lifestyle. Yes, Muffin knew her, as Andy did, from her past visits here, but the leather on her body must have given people the idea she'd switched kinks.

  Was such a thing possible? Wasn't sexuality hard-wired?

  She needed to think.

  "Wait, Muffin," she said, stopping. "I need some food. I can find my own seat."

  Muffin's expression was hesitant, and Annabel couldn't blame him...nor could she blame Mike in retrospect. Her intent had been to cause some emotional damage and that was absolutely against the dungeon's rules. Who's the vicious bitch now?

  She raised one hand and marked a cross across her heart. "I swear I'll be good." Then, without giving Muffin a chance to protest, she set out toward the buffet table.

  The trip through the food line was painless. She had a chance to feel bad for not bringing a dish, but her current pennilessness wouldn't allow for unnecessary purchases. Hell, it wouldn't allow for necessary purchases. She relied on JoBeth for everything these days now that she'd spent her money. However, right now that moment of embarrassment was fleeting because an avalanche of questions snared her attention.

  Yes, it has been a while.

  Yes, I'm fine.

  The leather? Soft as butter and so comfortable.

  What? Well, my life is in flux right now...you know how that is.

  Jeremy? It didn't work out.

  Yes, destiny is full of surprises.

  Thanks, but I've already got a seat. Maybe next time?

  No, I'll get my own drink, but thank you.

  Wow, this chicken looks good...

  She finally managed to escape the curious hoard and slipped toward an empty table. It was close enough to the leather men and women that it appeared she was partaking of the conversation and community building, but was also angled enough not to be an actual participant.

  There she sat. The dinner tasted like straw, and an unexpected thickness in her throat kept her from swallowing more than tiny pieces. In fact, she spent more time pushing her food around her plate than actually consuming it.

  She'd been kicked out. Sure, Mike was polite about it, pretending to not recognize her and treating her like a guest, but the truth was she'd been removed. Kicked out. Rolled out the door. Axed from the community she'd been a part of for more than a year. It hadn't always been a bed of roses, of course, but she'd liked belonging. Now...where did she belong? Did she belong at all?

  "Hi."

  A voice at her elbow pulled her from the morose examination of her food on the daisy-pattered plastic plate. A pair of quiet gray eyes met hers, underscored by a toothy smile and a pair of well-sculpted shoulders. Hair the color of corn burst from the constraints of what looked like what had once been a crew cut. The rest of him was hidden beneath a pair of pants and a collared shirt of some casual brand, but he looked lean and fit, a man in his prime.

  He'd been sitting with Seth a moment ago. What did he want with her?

  Her answer was a cautious, "Hi."

  "Can I sit down?"

  Annabel blinked, startled. "Uh...sure."

  He maneuvered into a chair. She couldn't help but notice he limped. "You okay?"

  "Story of my life," he answered with another bright smile. "I was born with it."

  What did a person say to that? I'm sorry? I'm glad? That's too bad? She settled on smiling back. "Can I get you something from the buffet?"

  "Naw,
" he said. "I cleaned a plate over there." He gave a careless gesture with his thumb. "Thanks, though."

  "No worries," said Annabel and took a sip of her cola. Why was he over here and not with Seth? His arrival had to have been deliberate since her table was somewhat off the beaten path. In truth, he looked slightly familiar. Had she seen him before? Or was it that movie star smile that prodded her for recognition?

  "Your first time here?"

  He nodded and fiddled with a napkin on the table. He looked...nervous.

  "Um," he hesitated, giving substance to her appraisement of his nervousness. "I saw you get the boot. I...I wanted to offer my sincere apologies for it. There was no reason for them to kick you out."

  She grabbed for the tattered remnants of her bravado. "It says a lot about the kind of men who populate that area...and nothing good at that."

  "Yeah," he said. Then flicked his eyes at her before lowering his gaze to the tabletop again. "A goddess shouldn't be treated that way. She should be worshipped."

  A submissive, she realized, or possibly a slave. One who didn't know much about their chosen kink. Then why'd he been sitting at Seth's table?

  What the hell. I'll try out the Domina thing. Maybe it's a better fit than being a slave.

  "I agree," she said and warmed to her new role as dominant female. "Those folks over there don't seem to get that. Stuck in some archaic, dick-centric idealism from the fifties. Idiots."

  "Not everyone can evolve," he said and offered a supportive nod.

  "Men." She sniffed and offered a dismissive wave of her hand. "Can they nurture and secure the next generation? Can they create an umbilical cord? Can they enhance and support a viable community? Bah." She bent back to her plate, as if his answer was irrelevant.

  "Exactly," he said.

  Annabel almost sighed. Already she was bored. "What were you doing over there anyway?"

  "My brother dragged me along."

  She took another sip of her drink and gave an annoyed grunt as she hit the plate with her plastic cup on the way back to the tabletop, spilling the cola. He was quick to mop up the minor mishap.

  Without a doubt, he was not a dominant. She guessed he had a thing for her boots. That was not her kink, but she would walk all over him if that were his wish. She was that kind of bitch.

  "Your brother?" Maybe that was how she'd seen his face.

  "Jeremy."

  She jerked back, remembrance of where she'd seen that smile slamming into her. In a photograph on his brother's wall. "You're Zachary?"

  He beamed at her. "You know him? Us?"

  She frowned, causing his smile to drop from his face. "He said his brother was a Marine in Afghanistan. You can't be a deployed Marine with a physical birth defect."

  He flushed. "Uh...um--"

  "Never mind." Annabel cut him off and returned to her food. She sawed away at a slice of beef in some sort of red sauce. "Jeremy lied. I'm not surprised. That's what he does."

  Zach appeared uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he eventually offered.

  "Don't be. It's not your problem. It's his," she said, eating. Spices sizzled across her tongue.

  After a few moments of silence, he gathered his courage and said, "I'd love to see you. In private."

  Unpleasant memories of her last chosen partner flashed though her. Still...he was Jeremy's brother. She could do some damage with that. Jeremy would be horrified to have his brother under her control. Humiliated. She'd present it as a case of brother like brother, both men submissive and weak. Jeremy's reputation in the community would be shattered.

  The potential revenge was delicious.

  "Really?" she said, then used one of Seth's lines. "Think you're worthy?"

  Color flared across his cheeks. His eyes darkened with unmistakable hunger. "I beg to be given a chance." He pulled a pen from somewhere in his shirt and wrote a number on a nearby napkin. Finished, he pushed it toward her. "My number. If you consider me acceptable, please call."

  Cornered by her own words and actions, Annabel found herself unable to do anything other than take the number and push it into her pants pocket. He gave another one of his move-star smiles, stood and walked away.

  She watched him hobble.

  * * * *

  Zach made it back before his leg pitched him onto his face, stressed by the effort it had taken to exaggerate his injury for his charade. He slid into the chair and breathed a grateful sigh. The pen he'd borrowed was returned to Seth before he forgot about it.

  "Award-winning performance?"

  "I hope so," he answered and sat back in his chair, fighting for a comfortable position. "I tried hard to look unassuming and vulnerable."

  The brown-haired trainee knelt between them and set out a coffee service and slices of what looked like--and smelled like--apple strudel cake. His stomach growled its eagerness.

  "Anything else, Masters?" she asked in a soft voice.

  "Not for me," said Zach, then looked to Seth. "A nice serve. Very pleasing."

  She blushed and looked to Seth with an eager expression, her lips trembling.

  Seth nodded to her. "Good girl."

  And like any good slave, she bloomed, delighted with her owner's approval and probably the joy of serving well. She came off her knees and returned to her seat. Zach and Seth tucked into their dessert. Homemade, if he didn't miss his guess. Helluva good cake, too.

  "You moved like a three-legged hippo," Seth offered, after moments spent tending to his coffee.

  "Awesome," Zach replied.

  His spoon sang off the sides of his coffee cup as he stirred a scoop of ground chocolate into the rich, aromatic blend. He took a sip and groaned his pleasure. They didn't have coffee like this in 'Stan."

  Seth forked up another bite. "Think she'll respond?"

  "I gave her my phone number. We'll see." Zach focused on making inroads into the dessert. "I left a well-baited hook."

  "Oh?"

  "I happened to mention Jeremy was my brother."

  Seth paused. His eyes gleamed with understanding. "What's your plan?"

  "The classic mindfuck."

  Chapter 5

  She managed to ignore the phone number for an entire seven days.

  Yes, she'd caught herself looking at her phone and thinking. She'd also caught herself fussing with the napkin he'd used to slip her his phone number. A Portland area code and number. No relation to Jeremy's that she could see. Not even the same carrier. By the prefix, she could see he used a budget, throwaway carrier, as if he had no intention of keeping a phone long-term.

  If he had no need for a long-term phone, then she had no need--or desire, really--to initiate contact. Then why am I tempted?

  Maybe he'd lost his phone and got a cheap replacement? That happened sometimes. Had the airplane company lost his luggage? That could explain much...except why he had stowed his phone. Most people tucked their phones into their carry-on. Lost carry-on?

  She took hold of her buzzing thoughts. What did it matter what carrier he used? But it did, because if he didn't intend to stay around, as indicated by the throwaway contract, then why get involved? She'd only be facing more abandonment. She couldn't handle more abandonment. She'd pretty much had more than her fair share of it and wasn't looking to increase that load.

  Wow. Obsess much?

  What was the obsession? His movie star smile and physique? His promise to worship her? Or was it--as the allegorical devil on her shoulder her continually whispered into her ear--that he was Jeremy's brother? Her control over him would send shock waves through the community, especially if she let on that Jeremy wasn't so different... They would believe her, wouldn't they? Delicious revenge. But she couldn't get the vision of his gentle gray eyes out of her mind as he'd promised to worship her.

  Or was it those shoulders?

  In the end, yeah, she called. The promise of his loving devotion was something she couldn't disregard. Wait...scratch that. Revenge is the reason. She'd be a fool to trust anything else. Neve
r trust again, she told herself, even as she picked up the phone.

  Zack's voice was as pleasant as she remembered, carrying a whiskey-laced-with-chocolate resonance that crept along her nerves with a subtle, dangerous charm. Using her Domina camouflage, she turned on the attitude and demanded he attend to her today--well, tonight really. His one and only chance lay in his agreement and the act of dropping everything to attend to her. Zach promised an astonishing experience and recited directions to his home.

  And just like that, she was on her way to a play date. Annabel had a brief moment of wondering why he'd sounded amused, but soon enough, early evening downtown traffic snagged her attention. In time, she found the street she sought and made the required left turn to head into the swanky part of town.

  This was the part of Portland that sported floor-to-ceiling views of...whatever was outside the window to see--mountains, rivers, Mount Hood turned a rosy pink by the kiss of the setting sun. In truth, this wasn't the part of town she came to often. Populating her world were artists sporting dreadlocks and coffee cups; utilizing backpacks instead of briefcases. Except...this area looked familiar.

  Had she taken a wrong turn? At a red light, she glanced at the paper she'd scrawled the instructions on, then checked her location. No, she had followed the directions properly, but, honestly, everything looked familiar. She didn't know anyone who lived in a high-value neighborhood like this except...

  Recognition hit and she slammed on her brakes, causing the cars behind her to follow suit with a chorus of angry horns. Cringing, she cranked the steering wheel to the right and plunged into the parking area of a Vietnamese diner.

  Annabel turned off the motor and sat for a few moments, shaking. This can't be happening. The dark memory of the Violation seared through her like a snakebite's venom. At length, enough time passed she was able to summon a bit of her normal fighting spirit. In fact, I won't let it happen.

  She yanked the oversized tote she used for a purse from the floor well of the passenger seat and began a clumsy search for her phone. Locating it inside her pouch of emergency makeup, she yanked it out and punched in Zach's number with shaking fingers.