“Hey Lauren,” Marc said to her as the wedding wound down. “Here.”
She didn’t recognize what was in his hand until he handed it to her. The key to her butt-plug. “Good timing.”
“Go upstairs to the Pink Room. There’s an outfit laid out for you, and I want you to wear it to the club tonight. It includes a collar—”
She frowned. Collaring? What? A collar was a big deal, and it meant as much as a wedding ring to many Dominant/submissive couples.
“It’s temporary, just part of the costume. I want everyone who sees you to see you as my submissive tonight, not as Mistress Lauren. It was the only way I could think of to do that. It doesn’t lock, you can attach it yourself.” He paused. “It’s not for real. Just a costume.”
Well. “Okay.”
Lauren started up the stairs slowly. What had he picked for her to wear on her first public night as his sub at WhipperSnapper?
“Lauren, wait up!” Elisabeth called jubilantly.
“It was such a beautiful wedding,” Lauren said, once more admiring her dress. “You look stunning.”
“I can’t believe Marc pranked our wedding with that boy band!” she laughed. Well, at least she thought it was funny. Thank goodness.
“You know Marc. He probably spent weeks thinking of the perfect thing to do that wouldn’t enrage you but would still be funny.”
“It worked. Everyone had a blast.”
Elisabeth kicked off her heels and Lauren did too, figuring that ascending the huge staircase barefoot would be much safer.
“I was just going upstairs to change for the after-party, if that’s okay?” Lauren asked. It was Elisabeth’s home now, too, after all.
“Of course, me too. Trevor said he has a surprise for me at the club, and I can’t wait to see what it is.”
“I was instructed that there’s an outfit for me waiting in the Pink Room. But I need to hit the ladies’ room first.” She discreetly flashed Elisabeth the tiny silver key in her hand and Elisabeth grinned.
“Ooh, he’s devious, that one. I’ll grab my outfit and meet you in there so we can help zip each other up.”
At the top of the stairs, Lauren went to the Pink Room, which was basically a very girly guest room and bathroom, the one where they’d all gotten ready earlier, while Elisabeth pranced off to the master bedroom.
It was sheer pleasure unlocking the chains and removing the plug, which she washed carefully with antibacterial soap and wrapped in a bag before setting it aside. Her ass felt empty now, and a bit sore. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was struck again by how different she looked all dressed up in the blue dress. But it looked great on her, if she did say so herself.
Stepping out of the huge bathroom, the outfit Marc ordered her to wear was spread out on the bed. It was a good thing he warned her about the collar, or she wouldn’t have worn it. She wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment, especially since she didn’t even know if she could truly enjoy being his sub, much less be in a full-time D/s relationship with him.
Well, she could easily be in a full-time D/s relationship with him if he was the sub, but that wasn’t going to happen until she got him to play her slave for a week. Someday, hopefully.
Really? Was that really what she wanted now? No way to tell, since they hadn’t even properly scened with each other. But tonight . . .
An emerald green corset and a short black vinyl miniskirt lay on the bed, with a thick black collar that would be seen from across the club. Awesome. She sighed. Would this permanently ruin her street cred as the Domme of the club? Black stilettos sat on the floor, the heels so high she knew they would hobble her, keeping her from her usual striding steps.
Yes, he was devious, that Marc.
Oh, and a new thong, a green that matched the corset. At least it would look good with her red hair. But if she got even one leprechaun joke she’d kill someone.
Elisabeth knocked.
“Come in,” Lauren called. “I haven’t worked up the nerve to get dressed yet.”
“A collar?” Elisabeth asked, pointing to the bed.
“It’s a temporary one, to show everyone I’m his sub tonight. It’s not like yours. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Elisabeth nodded and turned around. “Will you help me out of my wedding dress, please?”
Lauren carefully unhooked the tiny eye-hooks down the back and helped her slide out of the wedding dress. Underneath, Elisabeth was naked except for a white strapless bra, a blue garter on her left thigh, and . . . a thin metal chastity belt.
“Oh my God,” Lauren said, laughing. “For real?”
“He put it on me a week ago, so we wouldn’t have sex and I wouldn’t have an orgasm until our wedding night, to make it more special. Since we’ve already been living together and all that.”
“Way to go, Trevor,” she murmured, admiring the dominant act. She’d have to use that sometime. No, wait. Stop thinking like a Domme.
Elisabeth helped Lauren out of her pale blue dress, and Lauren pulled on the satin green thong, which left her bruised ass visible for a moment before she hiked up the black miniskirt.
“Was that your first paddling?’ Elisabeth asked. “He really did a number on you.”
“Yeah, but I have to admit it really has helped put me in a submissive mind-set, since every time I sit down I think about Marc and how he did this. He’s the one who controls how I’m feeling when I sit, even if he’s not there. It was a smart Dom move on his part.”
“I love being paddled,” Elisabeth said dreamily, pulling a flowing white skirt that went to just above her knees over her chastity belt. Next followed an adorable white tank top with lace edging that said “Mrs. Brooks” in big letters across her ample chest.
“That’s so cute.”
“I have a tiara, too, and I’m keeping the garter on,” she smiled. “And of course, my usual collar.”
“Of course,” Lauren said, staring at her own collar. Fuck it. She picked up the corset and turned her back to Elisabeth. “Lace me up?”
“Tell me if I go too tight,” she said as she expertly laced the corset, tightening Lauren’s waist and pushing her breasts up and out into the large cups.
“You look fucking hot, girl,” Elisabeth said approvingly.
“I really don’t want to wear this stupid collar,” Lauren said as she picked it up, fingering it. “No one will ever look at me the same way again.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” Elisabeth asked. “Besides, plenty of people are switches. And even if you’re not—if you’re pure Domme through and through, then that will show when the week is over and you come back to WhipperSnapper in all your Dominatrix glory.”
Lauren laughed. “Good pep talk. Okay.” She placed it around her neck, the thick black leather feeling foreign on her skin. It had eye-hooks at different areas, much like the back of a bra, so it could fit different neck sizes. The front had a silver loop, like one would see on a dog collar.
Would he leash her? It almost might make it easier on her if he did, because then it would be clear that she was his and not just a sub in general. Also, it was such an elaborate setup that at least some people at the club would think it was another of Marc’s pranks.
With the collar on, she slipped on the stilettos and immediately grew four or five inches, practically standing on her tippy toes.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Like Marc’s fantasy girl,” Elisabeth said approvingly.
“Sorry about what happened with Roman’s toast, by the way.”
She sighed. “Tonight’s about celebrating. I’m going to let bygones be bygones. Especially if we’re all sharing a limo to the club.”
“Sorry.”
“Let’s go meet the guys. They should be out of their tuxes by now,” Elisabeth said, in an obvious attempt to change the sub
ject. “I’d suggest taking off those heels before going down the stairs, or we’ll all be spending the evening in the emergency room.”
Lauren stepped out of the heels and picked them up, slinging the straps over one finger. “Good plan.”
Trevor, Marc, Roman, Gregory, and Andrew stood at the bottom of the stairs in the grand foyer, each wearing their usual club-wear—jeans and tight black T-shirt for the BAD Boys, and Gregory and Andrew in full leather. Andrew’s collar looked a lot like the one Lauren wore, but his was real. It signified his commitment to serve Gregory.
The men whistled and clapped as they descended the long, winding staircase, and Lauren grinned, enjoying the attention, even if most of it was probably for the bride and her Mrs. Brooks camisole. But Marc only had eyes for her, it seemed. He watched her every movement, the desire at seeing her wear the outfit he’d bought her—and the collar—evident in his eyes.
Marc held her hand at the bottom of the staircase as she stepped back into the stilettos. She walked slowly, practically leaning on him to support herself on her toes.
“We’re going to have some fun tonight,” he whispered decadently in her ear. Shivers of anticipation ran down her spine.
“I think we will,” she replied. Roman’s advice took hold. Pretend. “In fact, I know we will, with you as my Dom, sir,” she said more resolutely.
“I like your attitude, baby,” he grinned, and he held the door open for her as they all climbed into the back of the white stretch limousine.
Chapter Six
Roman Chase felt like a fool. He should have listened to Marc and let him do the toast at the wedding. For some reason Roman had truly believed he’d be able to do it without hints of his misgivings about their marriage coming through. But those drinks had loosened his tongue and apparently killed some brain cells as well.
Fuck.
The only reason he was even going to the after-party was in an attempt to get back into Trevor and Elisabeth’s good graces after what happened. Ultimately, Roman had decided that he’d never betray Trevor, that he wouldn’t even try to go after his girl. But lately things were getting all screwy in his head. He wanted her, wanted the sort of masochistic pain-slut he knew she was. Out of all of the BAD Boys—a term he found both amusing and on-target, considering they did happen to be billionaires, occasionally tended toward arrogance (or at least he did, given his title as one of the best submissive trainers in the tri-state area), and they were Doms from the core of their souls. But out of the three of them, Roman knew he was the most sadistic. It wasn’t just dominating a woman that turned him on, it was seeing her in pain—beautiful, exquisitely erotic pain. And he liked it the best when she loved receiving it as much as he loved doling it out. That was Elisabeth.
Could there be another woman like her?
None that he’d met lately. But for Trevor, he’d trained Elisabeth to enjoy obeying and serving—being submissive—instead of just a masochist who was only in it for the endorphin high of erotic pain. Perhaps he could train a sub to get turned on by pain, to be a true masochist, in the same way . . . using Pavlov’s principles of intermittent reward.
The limo pulled up in front of the club, and the group bypassed the long line and passed the velvet rope, entering the dark, alluring world of WhipperSnapper. Their booth was empty, reserved for them as usual.
They all headed off in that direction, but Roman needed a break. He headed toward the bar and asked for a Coke, hoping the sugar and caffeine would put him in a straighter state of mind.
“Here you go, sir,” the girl behind the counter said cheerfully. He looked up at her. She looked like she was sixteen. Blonde, tan, and tiny.
“How old are you?” Roman asked.
“Twenty, sir. That’s why I’m allowed to bartend here, there’s no alcohol.” She smiled, flashing beautiful white, straight teeth.
“Roman Chase,” he said, extending his hand. She took it hesitantly and shook.
“From Brooks Wilde Chase. I’ve heard of you guys. I’m new here, so I—”
“Now you tell me your name,” Roman said, still holding her hand, enjoying the uncomfortable look in her eyes when she realized she was talking to the closest the club had to a celebrity. Well, one of them, anyway.
“Jessica,” she whispered. The lights at the bar illuminated her pretty blonde hair, and Roman just couldn’t help but imagine what those pink lips of hers would look like spread with a ball gag.
He smiled. “Nice to meet you, Jessica.”
Marc pulled the short black leather leash out of his pocket and held it up for Lauren to see in the relative privacy of their booth.
“I’d like to put this on you, and lead you somewhere we can play. Is that okay by you?”
Lauren looked nervous for a moment, then she smiled. “Of course, sir.”
He attached the leash to her collar, his cock getting hard just at the sight of Lauren—his Lauren— submitting to him so readily.
“You’re just pretending, like Roman suggested,” Marc said, as the realization hit him.
“Come on Marc, it was great advice. How am I going to give being your sub the ol’ college try if I keep looking at everything through the eyes of Domme?”
“But I like your eyes,” he teased.
“I like your eyes too.” She started to stand but he gently tugged the leash and she sat back down at the booth, looking confused. “Oh, wow. Okay. I’ll wait for your lead, then.”
He took her face his hand, caressing her porcelain skin, and kissed her, hard. “Safewords still apply. You can always safeword out. I might want to hurt you a bit, but I’d never harm you. You know that, right?”
“Out of everyone in the world, you’re the only Dom I’d say I trust one hundred percent,” she whispered.
“Good. And I need to trust you, too,” Marc said. “That you won’t take this pretending thing so far that you wind up having to go through some sort of therapy after I’m done with you.”
She laughed. “Just give good aftercare.”
Now Marc stood, and she followed his lead, stepping out of the booth and walking across the crowded club. She followed closely, both because of the crippling high heels and the leash. But even without her usual dominant stride, she drew all eyes.
Marc had a feeling everyone was wondering what the hell is going on.
“Mistress Lauren?” LeatherBottom squealed in surprise when he saw her, immediately dropping to his knees and kissing the toes of her heels. “I’m so sorry, Mistress Lauren, I couldn’t help but to scream for him.”
Marc looked at him sternly. “Get the fuck up off the floor. I won the bet, and Lauren is doing this of her own free will. And if you ever touch or kiss my property again I will personally make sure you are suspended from WhipperSnapper until her time as my sub is up.”
LeatherBottom immediately stood, not daring to look at Lauren in the eyes without Marc’s permission now.
“Sorry, sir,” he said, and scurried off.
Good. He had to mark his territory, so to speak, or everyone would just be following Lauren around begging to lick her boots like they usually did.
He had to make it clear that she was his.
Originally, Marc wanted a private setting, but now he realized he needed to make their first experience very public, to show everyone.
“With your consent, baby,” he whispered in her ear, “I’m going to flog you in front of everyone on the Saint Andrew’s Cross.”
“Are you trying to humiliate me?” she asked, but there was no teasing in her voice.
“Humiliate you? Is that what submitting to me feels like?” He’d never want to humiliate her, it wasn’t his style. Sure, some guys got off on that stuff, but not him. Marc wanted to cherish his submissive, not embarrass her.
Lauren blinked rapidly, as if to keep from crying. “No, sir.”
“Carnation.” Marc said. “Fuck it. Red. I’m safewording right now.” He unhooked the leash from her collar and lifted her into a hug, leaving her heels on the floor so she was barefoot.
“You? You’re safewording?” Lauren asked, her body warm and comforting against his.
“I can’t do this anymore. I thought if I could show you that you could submit to me and enjoy it, hell—love it, that we could connect on a deeper level. Obviously, I was way wrong.”
“No, wait, Marc,” she said, still hugging him back, so that she spoke into his chest and not to his face. “Your motives change everything. I was upset because I thought you were . . . purposefully trying to humiliate me. But if you’re not, then I’m okay with it. I really am.”
“No,” he said. “I can’t do anything to you that you’re going to regret later. We can’t risk our friendship. I was trying to let the whole club know that for now, for this week or until you call it quits, you’re mine. That you choose to give yourself to me, and that I have responsibility over you.”
“But I am choosing to give myself to you, at least for this week. And I won’t call it quits sooner.”
Marc smiled sadly against her beautiful long red hair. He’d meant until she called it quits after the week was up. As in, what if she wanted to stay with him? To be his submissive for real, and not just playing pretend because she lost a bet?
“Please, Marc, don’t safeword out on me. I’m sorry. I want to let everyone know that I’m yours this week. In fact, it would really help me if you’d let me make an announcement before the public flogging. Please . . . sir. Please?”
An announcement? It wasn’t unusual at the club for a Dom to introduce his sub and perhaps tell a story, such as the reason he or she was being flogged, or if they were trying out a new toy, or if the sub was a newbie. That sort of thing. Sometimes, for fun, the subs begged their Doms to whip them to prove they really wanted and needed it before receiving their licks.
“Okay. But I’ll be checking in with you, and you better use the stoplight colors to keep me updated so we’re on the same page, got it?”
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