While They Watch

by Sosie Frost

  If looks could kill, Shannon would have stuffed me through the piano wires like an egg slicer. She glared at me, and the song petered out.

  “So?” Her hand fell at her hip. “Play me something.”

  “What would you like?”

  “What would you like, ma’am?”

  Really? I gritted my teeth. Did Anthony expect me to give a condescending sushi monger the same respect as Simone? Shannon rolled her eyes as I repeated the question with her title. She patted the piano.

  “You’re the musician.” Her voice dripped with irritation. “Use that fancy degree and play something so I can dance.”

  I’d never earned my degree, but I did have a Masters in attitude. My hands banged the keys before I realized Duchess wasn’t the place to throw down a musical fight, West Side Story style.

  Only a few notes played before the room laughed. Apparently, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies wasn’t what Shannon had in mind.

  “Go on, Shannon.” Thomas hooted from the couch. “Give us a curtsy.”

  Shannon forced a smile. “I’m sure she can play something else, Master—”

  “I said twirl.”

  My inner genius cackled. Shannon’s cheeks flushed a vibrant pink as she gave Thomas a lunge and half-assed pirouette. He leaned forward, practically salivating.

  “Okay, okay. Now play something so we can get her dress off.”

  I couldn’t think of a song off the top of my head, so I studied the piano, picking a few chords to force my way through an improv of something jazzy yet sensual. Fortunately, the room focused more on Shannon as her hips swayed and arms rose over her head.

  For as unpleasant as she was, Shannon leapt into submission with no arguments or hesitations. Whatever Thomas wanted, he received. I didn’t dare look at Anthony. Not while another woman expertly demonstrated her place, and not while I plucked away at the piano with a year of self-doubt shadowing the notes.

  The bridge struggled to come together. Music wasn’t quite like getting back on the horse after a fall. It was more like riding the bike with two flat tires while chased by the neighbor’s yappy dog. Accidentals and time signatures and simple chords tangled in my head. The piano was never especially kind to me. The violin—that was as familiar as breathing. If I had my violin, I could have pumped out something sultry and classy and impressed the hell out of Anthony.

  He’d definitely be an attentive audience.

  And he’d be damn attractive to picture in his underwear if I got stage-fright.

  I snuck a glance at him. Dark eyes stared, studying my every movement at the piano. Listening. Enjoying. A thrill shimmied up my spine.

  He smirked.

  Heat joined the thrill.

  The song flooded my ears. Every sensual and dark thought I’d pent up within me crescendo’ed out for him to hear. As sexy as my deepest secrets could become, and as honest as my feelings for him could get.

  Then, my fingers slipped.

  Totally out of key. Totally wrong.

  A second wrong note. Then a third. I tangled, banging the key as all eighty-eight blended into a series of wretched errors.

  Everyone flinched.

  I stopped. My hands stilled over the piano. Silence filled the room.

  One.

  Two.

  Three seconds of dead quiet.

  Bile rose from my stomach, and every shred of joy evaporated. Chilling apprehension—a decaying, crippling anxiety—replaced my carefree ignorance. My heart thudded. Too fast. The arrhythmic panic foreshadowed a complete panic attack.

  Oh God.

  Not here.

  It’d been weeks. Maybe even a month. I’d worked so hard to keep it under control. To stuff all that misery and hate and humiliation deep into a forgotten hole in my soul. It was always there, threatening to consume me, to waste away, to corrupt, but I’d managed. I was living half a life, hiding from colleges and bills and any and all responsibility, but it had worked.

  I spent a year struggling to overcome that depression.

  One wrong note, and every bit of progress was lost.

  Shannon’s groan sounded suspiciously like gloating. “Please tell me they didn’t let you graduate playing that way.”

  I didn’t remember standing. The tears prickled my eyes, and the shards of anxiety threatened to pierce through any and all resolve I’d used as a shield. I couldn’t get trapped in that dark and terrible corner of my mind again.

  I’d never make it back out.

  I darted from the piano, but Anthony was there, blocking my path before I fled from the room.

  He didn’t let me go.

  His arms surrounded me. Pinning me. Keeping me still.

  He didn’t allow me to run.

  And I think that’s what I needed the most.

  Thomas grabbed Shannon’s arm. “Where are your manners, slut? Sometimes I think you like to misbehave.” He turned to Anthony. “I apologize for her behavior. This will be rectified immediately.”

  Anthony didn’t answer him, too concerned with my panic.

  I hated it. My stomach swirled with sickness, my mind with memories of an abandoned life, and my heart with broken remnants of an unattainable dream. I swallowed as much of the hurt as I could from my expression. His hand brushed my cheek.

  “That was impressive, pet.”

  My words raked with honesty. “I messed up.”

  “One note?”

  “The whole song.”

  “...The song you made up on the spot?”

  “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have played.”

  He didn’t let me twist away. “I’m glad you did.”

  His voice wrapped over the areas his arms couldn’t protect. A wave of safety beat at my head, trying to chase away the dark thoughts. Even my insecurity couldn’t resist.

  “You’re a talented musician,” he said. “Why didn’t you graduate?”

  I shouldn’t have looked at the piano, but I did, and the memories of everything dark and horrible and unforgiving recurdled my stomach. Not just the flubbed note, but college and my performances, my future and my only real ambition.

  It wasn’t fair. My mind never remembered the little things—going to the store for milk or getting my last haircut. But every agonizing second of my last performance on that stage burned into my mind.

  It’d haunt me forever.

  My chance. My opportunity.

  Twenty-two years of work, struggle, and sacrifice—hours upon hours of studying and practicing until my hands were raw—lost in a blink.

  “Nothing happened,” I said. “I just quit.”

  “You quit.”

  “I didn’t want to do it anymore.”

  “Why?”

  Why was he so close to me? It was too hard to freak out in his arms.

  I drew in a steadying breath, savoring the sharpness of his scent. Somehow, even lost in an unfamiliar, potentially dangerous club, Anthony’s strength and confidence offered me a shred of rationality.

  He made me feel safe. In his arms, nothing could harm me—even my own unrealized expectations.

  Anthony stroked my cheek. “Don’t hide your gift, Morgan. It makes you special. Very special.”

  I didn’t look up. “Do you...like special?”

  “I like taking what no one else has…and no one has a concert violinist to call their pet.”

  I shivered, the heat of his words wrapping over my exposed insecurity. He held me close, gripping the tender spot on my arms just above my elbows. I couldn’t move.

  He certainly had me. Pinned in place. Hanging onto his every comforting word.

  But he was wrong. I wasn’t a concert violinist. Not anymore.

  And no matter how many improv pieces I played on the piano or how often I nearly pulled my hidden violin from the closet, it wasn’t happening.

  But I could hold my head up again. I could look him in the eyes, handle the club for the night. His confidence was infectious. I didn’t want to be his. I wanted to b
e him. Poised. Strong.

  Whole.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He tapped my nose. “Sir.”

  “Sir.”

  “I might not be so lenient in the future.”

  “What would happen then?”

  Some of the couples were on the move. Anthony’s lips twitched into a wicked smirk, and he took my hand.

  “I’ll show you, pet.”

  We followed the others from the den to a private room designed for…

  Well, a show. As far as I could tell.

  A ring of tables bordered the room—some private booths, some wingback chairs, everything dark and comfortable and intimate. The room was under-lit, but chains lined the walls, and restraints clattered from every table. The stage was only a little platform, a step up, nothing more. But a soft, padded table was the grand feature. Almost a bed, almost a bench, and designed for one reason only.

  Thomas pushed Shannon onto the table. He lifted her dress and, in a single, violent motion, ripped her panties to her knees.

  Whoa.

  The doms went from zero to Guantanamo Bay after one flippant comment.

  Those watching the performance picked seats near the action. I half-expected Simone to pass around a bag of popcorn alongside the crop she tossed to Thomas.

  Shannon didn’t panic even though her every curve was exposed. She obediently spread her legs.

  Thomas gave her no warning, no preparation. His hand cracked against her behind with enough force to leave a pink handprint in his wake.

  She shouted.

  The room murmured in appreciation.

  Oh God. I spun around, hands over my eyes.

  “He’s hitting her!” I gasped.

  Anthony’s arms curled around me, his whisper comforting, warm, and sane despite the club’s complete madness.

  “She misbehaved, pet.”

  Thomas’s hand caught Shannon again. Higher on her ass. He cupped her flesh, and she jerked. Her groan was less audible that time, and that displeased her master. He slapped her once more before unceremoniously shoving her discarded panties into her mouth. Her next moan muffled over the silk.

  “What are you thinking?” Anthony whispered in my ear, his words leaving a trail of goosebumps. “Tell me how you feel about this.”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “No?”

  I flinched before the next spank.

  Then, Thomas picked up the crop.

  His order came harsh and unforgiving. “Start counting.”

  The crop whistled in the air and cracked against Shannon’s skin. Her voice strained through the panties. “One!”

  Anthony’s hands drifted low, brushing against my stomach. “Rule one, pet. Talk to me.”

  What was there to say? Shannon’s skin flushed pink. She whimpered and counted through the panties stuffed in her mouth while every strike nearly drove her from the table.

  Even from the doorway I spotted the thick bulge in Thomas’s pants. He liked it. He beat her, and he liked it.

  Was this okay? Was this supposed to happen? The only lessons I’d learned about relationships stemmed a general shame of sex and the resolve to run if anyone ever raised a hand to me.

  But Shannon didn’t fight.

  Mariah and Genn and the other submissives…they eagerly watched the spankings, their hands either rubbing their own pleasure or teasing their master’s obvious excitement.

  Even Simone—a woman who would hardly tolerate a single insolent word—offered Thomas other implements to use on Shannon.

  “This scares me,” I whispered.

  “Why, pet?”

  Anthony traced delicate patterns over my skin. My musical freak-out had subsided, but a new fear replaced the usual anxiety.

  Anthony towered over me. His hands were huge. They’d so easily wrap over my neck if he wished. And he was strong enough to toss me wherever he wanted. A wall. A bed. The floor.

  I had no hope of physically resisting him—and he knew it.

  That was part of the game we played.

  A game I hardly understood.

  Thomas assaulted Shannon’s behind, but his strikes also pinkened her back and thighs. More than once, the crop darted between her legs. The panties couldn’t muffle her pained howl.

  She sputtered a number that sounded like fourteen, but I’d lost count around two.

  “What if he hurts her, sir?” I asked.

  Anthony nuzzled against my head. His words hummed over my skin. “You mean…what if I hurt you?”

  I barely nodded, but he felt it. “You’re much bigger than me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And stronger.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  His hands tightened. Almost reflexively, my hips ground backwards.

  What in the world was I doing?

  I’d admitted to a man that his size, strength, experience terrified me, and yet my body heated like I stumbled too close to a fire.

  And maybe that’s what I did. Tumbled headfirst into the flames of desire like a klutz cooking s’mores.

  “Do you trust me?” Anthony never disguised the passion in his voice. The low rumble growled through me.

  Why lie? “Yes, sir.”

  “Shannon isn’t hurt.”

  Her cry rang out, pleading seventeen between a grunt and moan.

  “But he’s beating her.”

  “Watch her move, pet. Look closely.”

  Thomas’s next hit was lighter than the others. A mere tap instead of a raging swipe. Shannon’s knees buckled. She stretched out over the table under her own power. Her chest heaved, and the dress bunched over her back.

  She trembled and rasped, but her hips dipped in towards the edge of the table.

  Grinding.

  “Shannon has a safe word.” Anthony guided my hips against his. I couldn’t help it. I pushed back, teasing my body against his.

  Simone glided to our side. Anthony slid his hands over my arms. Holding me. Pinning me.

  Was it terrible to think that I’d wetted more?

  “Shannon will never use a safe word,” Simone said. “She’s too reckless.”

  Neither Simone nor Anthony appeared pleased by this. I peeked at them both, but I didn’t know who to ask.

  I frowned. “Don’t you like that? How can you dominate someone if they make you stop?”

  “It’s an issue of trust, little one,” Anthony said. “You trust me to not harm you, I trust that you’ll tell me if it’s too much for you to handle.”

  Simone glowered as Shannon cried out. “We understand our subs limits, but you never know when something might scare them. Shannon’s last master, Tex, was a freak. He made me look soft. He’d beat her until she bled and then some more, but she’d never tell him no. Thomas is much better for her.”

  “Safer for her,” Anthony corrected. “Safer for us. The less incidents we have at Duchess, the better. We wouldn’t want the fun to stop, would we, pet?”

  Restraint. I liked that. Anthony might have held me close, but he hadn’t hurt me. Not even a threat. Thomas slapped Shannon with another three successive blows. After the third, he rubbed his hand over the crop’s red welts. Shannon purred.

  This was a step to the dark side, and I’d exchanged my light saber for a pair of wet panties.

  But I had him. Anthony. My life preserver of muscle and testosterone that wrapped me in so much turmoil I willingly offered my dignity, body, and self-preservation to please him.

  To please myself.

  My breath trembled through me. “I don’t understand how someone would want to be hurt.”

  It wasn’t a confession any more. This was curiosity.

  “You’d be surprised, pet,” Anthony said.

  “Do you like to spank your...” My insides quivered. “Submissives?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Simone smirked. “The same reason the subs like to get hit.”

  I hated how she could answer for him, as i
f they read each other’s minds, or just understood far more than I could imagine yet.

  The heat from his palms seared my skin. My stomach clenched, and a good shiver tickled deep inside me. I believed them. About all of this. Sex. Submission. Pain. Pleasure.

  It sounded perfect.

  Then again, if Anthony had promised that leaping from the Eiffel Tower would feel good, I’d learn French.

  I pushed hard against him, wishing his hands would lower to where I needed his touch the most.

  His seduction masqueraded as a question. “Would you like to try it, pet?”

  Shannon’s muffled moans turned frantic as Thomas reached between her legs and stroked.

  Oh God. He touched her while everyone watched. And not like they were in the privacy of their own home. Both of them knew full well they had the attention of everyone. Every breath, every touch, every glistening bit of wetness from her slit. They showed it to us. Thomas beat and pleasured her like she was a common whore, deserving nothing more than to be spanked in a room full of strangers.

  My mind twisted.

  This wasn’t me…

  …Was it?

  I’d never been so wet before. I twisted, tensing my hips. I needed something more than a quick flick of my own wrist. My body craved a darkness only Anthony could give.

  My voice wavered. “I thought you only spanked a girl for being naughty, sir?”

  Simone laughed, a clear and condescending hum. Anthony didn’t shush her. His own smile grew—confident and wicked.

  “Pet, once you submit to me, you’re mine. If it gives me pleasure, then I am free to tease, explore, and fuck as I please.”

  “And…you’d enjoy spanking me?”

  Anthony snaked his arm around my waist to pin me against him. The other teased a path along the back of my thigh. His fingertips grazed my bottom. I braced for an impact, but he held steady.

  A threat.

  “I’ll give you two options.”

  Every part of me ached. I swallowed, afraid to move.

  “First…I’ll put you over that table and spank you. Give you a taste of this life. Hands, crop, flogger, a little bit of everything. A trial by fire, right here.”

  “Here? But everyone...is here.”

  Watching.

  Awaiting the next show.

  “Is that a problem, pet?”

  “What’s option two?”

  “I take you home with me.”