When she reached the bottom step, he was there to take her hand. He studied her as a Master would, no hint of warmth or affection yet. She could use a hug before doing this. Several in fact, but that expression kept her quiet, her eyes lowered before his intent gaze. Everything inside her coiled tight, waiting for his approval.
“I told you your punishment is for five days. Today is day five.”
She thought about enduring the sting of that brush one more time, and she didn’t think she could bear it. “You don’t have your brush with you,” he said in a mildly accusing tone. “Turn around, lift your skirt. Let me see how cruel I was to you.”
She knew there was mild bruising, reddish abrasions, but not as much as she’d expected for how excruciating it had felt. Apparently that part of the body could sustain a lot of impact without reflecting the results. But she still quivered as he traced the marks on her buttocks, visible from the scrap of thong. “What does my girl think? Does she need one more spanking to help her understand the lesson?”
She imagined herself kneeling on the stairs, fingers digging into the carpet as he administered her punishment. She wanted to say no vehemently. But her body quivered, anticipating.
“That’s for my Master to decide.”
He was silent, then his arm slid around her waist. He stood on the floor level and she was still on the bottom step, so his jaw brushed the juncture of throat and neck, his lips finding the latter. She melted into the first openly sensual and affectionate gesture he’d given her all week. She hoped she had permission to touch him, because her fingers curled into his forearm, never wanting to let him go. Her sore buttocks pressed against his hard body, dressed in the club wear he’d worn the first time she saw him. Black dress jeans, heavy-weight black T-shirt, and his belt with the silver buckle. He wore the silver-tipped boots. “Good answer, girl. I think we’re done with that part of things, for now.”
Chuckling at her relieved sigh, he turned her in his arms, cradling her face in one hand as he held on to her with the other. “You look pretty enough to eat. I plan to do that tonight, too. I’ve missed tasting your pussy.”
But he started with her lips, putting his mouth over hers. She would have expected the wild animal he’d kept stoked all week within her to come to life, tear him to shreds in the attempt to crawl all over him, crawl inside him, but instead everything went completely still. The knife edge of her arousal was so intense, it was paralyzing, locked with an equally strong emotional response.
She made a little noise, her arms limp at her sides, her body leaning into him as he framed her face, plundered her mouth, teased her tongue and lips. Her hands ended up on his hips, thumbs hooked in his belt, and when he lifted his head at last, he held her full weight against him. With a faint smile, he tightened his arm and brought her to the floor so she was looking up at him. He fingered her collar, sliding his finger underneath the Trident pendant. “You’re wearing it.”
“I’ve only taken it off for the shower. But I . . .” It was new to her, to ask for new structure, new rules, rather than just letting him set them, but she hoped that was part of what he wanted her to explore as well.
“I know I’ll need to wear other jewelry at times, for different things. But I’d prefer it if . . . when I did, I had to ask your permission to remove it.”
His gaze heated, his body rippling against her as he tightened his grip on her waist, fingers sliding over her tender ass to stroke with devastating gentleness.
“Agreed. You definitely don’t have my permission to remove it tonight, Athena. You belong to me utterly. The moment we walk out this door, until we come back through it tonight, we’re one hundred percent in scene. You understand?”
It meant every word he uttered was a command, that she asked permission if she wished to speak, and that she was completely his. Tonight was graduation for all the lessons of the week, to see if her trust had reached the level needed to handle tonight’s . . . obstacle. She pushed the word away, not wanting to think of it that way, and that in itself was a heartening change. She was going somewhere her Master wished to take her. That was the beginning and end of it. The rest didn’t matter.
NINETEEN
As they pulled up to Release, Athena’s belly quaked. There were nearly forty cars in the parking lot. Maybe they were having a demo tonight, like the rope bondage. If so, that could be a good thing, because if the members’ focus was elsewhere, it wouldn’t be directed solely on the two of them.
Dale put the truck in park, cut the engine and then turned on the seat to look at her. She couldn’t meet his gaze. Her hands were tight in her lap, her back straight, her breathing shallow. She stared at the doors and thought there was nowhere in the world she wanted to be less. Her resolve at the house had drained away with every mile.
“It’s more than just Sheila and Amy, isn’t it?”
He was so good at that, though in all fairness, anyone who knew anything about her would know this reaction had to be more than that. “It’s not you. I don’t want you to think—”
“Stop.” The quiet command drew her attention to him. Dale closed his hand over the two of hers. “My ego doesn’t need stroking. This moment is all about you, nothing else. You’re not Roy’s wife, his widow, Lady Mistress or name-your-mask. You walk in there as who you want to be, claiming something for yourself, a gift for you. There’s nothing harder for a woman like you to do. That’s what’s scaring you so badly. Isn’t it?”
As always, he waited her out, let her think it through. She nodded and felt a wave of sheer misery. “What if I can’t do it? What if it feels wrong to me?”
“Then you make that choice.” He stretched his arm along the back of the seat and played with her hair. He nodded toward the street. “There’s a great Cantonese place a few streets over. We’ll go get dinner, maybe—”
“You’d be okay with that?”
His body language seemed to answer that question, since he was relaxed, no censure in his tone. All this preparation, yet at this moment, he saw it as no more than a change of plans. “This isn’t about me, Athena,” he reminded her.
“Yes, it is. We’re . . . together. You have needs as well. And I . . . part of who I am, what I want, has to do with your happiness. Truly.”
“I get that. I know making the person you love happy will always be a significant part of what brings you joy. That’s not just the sign of a natural submissive, but a generous and loving human being.” He gave her a smile then, and they weren’t Master and sub, just Dale and Athena. “But when I say something, I mean it. As long as I believe that what you want, what you truly want, is not to go into that club, but to explore what we need from each other in other ways, ways like we’ve been doing, I have no problem with that. I want you to be yourself. That’s my desire.”
He took both her hands again, rubbing her cold fingers inside the grip of his warm ones. “Whenever I master you, you open up and show me that deep, beautiful submission that’s so much a part of who you are. I feel like a kid at Christmas, given every present he ever wanted. Yes, I want to walk through that door. I’m enough of a guy that I want to show off this gorgeous, smart woman who trusts me enough to let me be her Master. But more than that, I want your happiness. I want you to value that as much as you value my needs. I want you to realize, once and for all, they’re the same thing. Those two things feed off one another, and become even more than either of us ever realizes.” He moved one hand to her shoulder, tightened there. “Okay?”
“Okay.” She looked back at the doorway again. He’d given her an image she liked. She imagined walking in there as his possession, with him as her Master. She thought of how often she’d brought Roy here, and the way he’d looked at her. There was another misconception about male subs, that the Domme was “the man” in the relationship, that it was a role reversal, but she’d never felt that. She’d always felt safe with him, physically.
“Master?” She turned, met his blue-green eyes.
“Yes, Athena?”
“Please . . . I’d like to go inside. Will you take me?”
“Yes, I will.” He unbuckled her seatbelt, fingers caressing her hip. “I’m very proud of you.”
As a wave of warmth suffused her at the praise, he curved his hand around the side of her neck, bringing her to his mouth. She let out a pleased hum as he made it hot, demanding, teasing lips and tongue, giving her a sharp nip that made her gasp. When he lifted his head, that mildness was gone. She looked into the face of her Master and was deliciously lost. His hand dropped and her legs parted for him. She made a tiny noise of need as he cupped her sex beneath the feathers of the skirt, making idle circles with his thumb as she held his gaze, jerked in aroused reaction to the intimate fondling.
“You trust me?”
“With everything.”
“Any fear?”
“A little,” she admitted. “But other things . . .” She bit her lip as he pressed on her clit. “Seem to be outweighing it.”
A feral grin crossed his expression then, making her heart lighter, even as her body was heavier, needier. “Stay there,” he ordered.
He stepped out of the truck, pulled a duffel from the back, then came around to her side, opening the door and handing her out of the vehicle. She’d seen Masters who made their subs walk behind them as they entered, snapping a leash on them once inside, since blatant displays of BDSM practice weren’t allowed in the parking lot, but Dale wasn’t one of those. He took her to the door with a hand on the small of her back, low enough it rested the upper curve of her ass, a titillating tease. He opened the door for her, a Southern gentleman, and once inside, pressed against her side.
“You keep your eyes lowered unless I tell you to lift them, Athena. You rely on me to guide you, and you don’t speak unless I give you permission to do so or ask you a direct question. All right?”
She nodded. He pinched her and she jumped, clearing her throat. “Yes, Master.”
Keeping her gaze lowered was like being partially blindfolded. She expected he’d realized that. It relieved her of the need to confront expressions. When he stopped at the desk to check them in, she felt Susan’s eyes on her, heard the tone of surprise as she responded to Dale. The hostess did the obligatory check of their membership cards, which Dale had secured from Athena at the house.
“Have a good time,” Susan said. “Both of you.” There was a question in her voice, as if she wanted Athena to respond, to confirm her unexpected role.
“You may respond to the hostess, Athena.”
Athena lifted her gaze then, more ready to do that than she’d expected herself to be. She met Susan’s gaze fully with a faint smile on her face. “Thank you. I intend to.”
“Would you like to sign the guest registry?” Susan’s well-manicured hand pushed the book more squarely beneath her view. Dale’s touch on her back told her it was okay. Picking up the pen, Athena made a slash mark and wrote her name next to his. MC / athena.
She was one of the lowercases now, as Jimmy said. No. She’d always been, just as Dale had known.
He took her past the bar, through the main room. She heard the voices, tried not to pay attention to any modulation of the conversation that suggested they were being stared at. Dale took her to the suspension room, like he’d taken Willow, only his destination wasn’t one of the large frames. Instead, he took her to the stockade. It was an upright T-shaped steel device. A sub’s collar and cuffs could be attached to the horizontal piece and then the vertical part of the T would be lowered or lifted to the angle the Master desired. A different interpretation of the stocks of historic times.
Putting his bag down next to it, Dale grasped her hand with all the ceremony of a man taking a woman’s hand to dance at a Victorian soiree. He’d brought cuffs for her, as well as a stiff strap collar. After he buckled the cuffs around her wrists and the collar around her throat, a looser fit to allow her Trident to rest beneath it without harm, he secured all three restraints to the horizontal bar. He attached the cuffs to the clips that stretched out her arms so they were level with her shoulders, the collar secured to the center of the bar. He stroked her loose hair away from her neck so it spilled along the right side of the bar.
She’d seen Masters and Mistresses lower the vertical bar to the point that the sub’s head was hanging down, but Dale wasn’t interested in such an extreme angle. He lowered the horizontal bar so her upper body was at a ten o’clock angle from her hips. Then he guided her feet onto the foot pads and strapped them down, her legs shoulder-width apart.
She kept her eyes on the floor, but she was aware of people coming closer to watch. They were bound to attract attention. It wouldn’t be just her identity, but because Dale’s skill in conducting a session routinely drew interest. He wasn’t wearing a mask tonight. Maybe he’d worn it that night with Willow because the idea of an anonymous Master particularly aroused her.
Was Sheila or Amy part of the crowd? Were they staring at her with derision, or simply prurient curiosity? The thought gave her a wave of uneasy feeling, reminding her she was the center of attention, so vulnerable. Thinking of her dream, she had an unpleasant thought about what an accused witch might have felt, dragged from the safety of her home, strapped in a wooden stock with no defense against the ugly fear of her neighbors, their censure.
Dale’s boots were in front of her, his denim-clad legs. He stroked her hair, her face. He traced her lips with his thumbs, making them part. “Such soft, pretty lips,” he murmured. “All the things I want to do to those lips.”
She thought of all the things he’d already done with them, and a small shiver of anticipation went through her.
“There’s my girl. Dressed up so sexy for me, taunting her Master with her charms.”
He moved behind her then, hands sliding over her hips in the filmy dress. He pressed his body up against her, letting her feel his solid strength, his thighs against the back of hers, the heat of his groin against her core in the perfect position for fucking. If he’d meant his text, and she had no reason to think he didn’t, he planned to do that to her tonight, here in front of them all.
“When I’m ready for a break, I’m going to shift you over there.” He nodded to the forced orgasm frame next to them. It consisted of one upright pole, against which the sub was firmly bound. It had foot pads like the stockade, to lock the feet in place. A short, adjustable rod in front of the main pole was designed to hold a vibrator of the Master’s choice. The rod could be angled so the vibrator could be pressed against a pussy or pushed up inside it—or into a slave’s ass, if they were bound facing the pole. Then the Dom could force an orgasm as often as desired, while he or she watched.
“I like to take a coffee break, midsession. I’ll enjoy a cup and watch you come a couple times. Would my slave like that?”
The idea terrified her. And her thong was soaked. “Yes, Master.”
“Good answer.” He tugged on her hair. “We should get one of those for our bedroom.” He put his hand on the horizontal part of the T, between where her neck and wrist were restrained. She wished she could reach his hand with her mouth, but she was held fast. “We could put a stock like this out in the garden, and when you need a reminder of who your Master is, I’d make you stay in it for thirty minutes or so while I’m helping you out there. I know you’ll need that reminder, Athena. You get too lost in your own head, in others’ expectations of you. Whose expectations
matter?”
“Yours, Master.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, let it out. “I want to please you, sir.”
He tsked, gave her a swat. “Talking out of turn.” But he sounded pleased. “We’ll have to take care of that.”
He slid his hands under the skirt, heated hands making contact with her bare thighs. With her legs locked in that spread position, she was open to him, and he took full advantage of it, pressing harder against her ass as he reached over her thigh, fingered her pussy through the tiny thong. All the unspent arousal of the week was gathering in her stomach, such that she made a guttural sound of pleasure when he barely brushed her.
“Such a hot and needy little pussy. I’ll bet you’ll come in less than a minute.”
He kept stroking her, pinching her engorged clit. His other hand slid up to reach inside the low-cut neckline, scoop her breast from the bra cup, fondle it, tweak the nipple. “I’m going to do breast bondage on you tonight, before I put you on that forced orgasm tower. You’ll be an unforgettable picture. Fuck, I’m hard as a rock, girl, thinking of everything I can do to you here.”
She was getting lost in his ideas as well. Initially, she’d been distracted by the murmurs around them, trying to decipher if the tone was derogatory or voyeuristic in an unpleasantly personal way, but he was spinning a web around her that was making all of that far less important. In fact, the idea of them watching her was starting to be unexpectedly titillating. Her Master was here, doing as he desired to his sub, his slave, because that was his right. He was the wall between her and those others, her protection. He was the only thing that mattered.
He untied the dress and released her left wrist to guide her arm back, slide the dress off it. Then he remanacled the wrist, did the same to the other, leaving her only in bra and panties, her collar and the functional restraints. He caught his thumb under the stiff collar. “Look at me. Only me.”
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