Control is her kink…and she’s losing it.
It’s another gloomy Christmas for Pamela Dane. Not only is it the anniversary of a dark period in her life, but all her friends had the nerve to hook up. It’s not easy for a female Domme to find a playmate. Maybe The Cage in San Francisco will be the perfect place to escape—and find a willing man to chase away the memories.
Christian Nolan is at the BDSM club for the hell of it. Yet the minute Mistress Dane takes control of him, she not only stuns him with her talent, he stuns himself with his willingness to surrender. Her offer to meet him there for another night is intriguing—and frightening.
Pamela’s session with Chris shakes her to the core, resurrecting memories she’s afraid to face. But Chris isn’t willing to let her past haunt her…even if it leaves his heart in tatters.
Warning: Hot, strong man on his knees, which will bring you to yours. Strap-on action, anal play, lots of leather and tons of tension. Alpha male who likes to do whatever the right woman tells him to do, including another woman.
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
The Christmas She Rules
Copyright © 2009 by Jennifer Leeland
ISBN: 978-1-60504-840-6
Edited by Heidi Moore
Cover by Kanaxa
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: December 2009
www.samhainpublishing.com
The Christmas She Rules
Jennifer Leeland
Dedication
To Crystal Jordan, who always had faith I could find a home for this story. To Rowan Larke, who never gives up on me, even when I give up on myself. To my editor, Heidi, who gave this story a chance and made it better. And to all my readers who have followed these characters around and still want more. To Romance Divas, to whom I owe so much. Thank you all.
Chapter One
It was going to be another lousy Humboldt County Christmas. As Pamela Dane drove her small car in the pouring rain, she listed all the good reasons she had for being miserable this holiday season.
Her usual playmate at David’s BDSM parties had gone back to her husband. It seemed the man had finally decided playing his wife’s D/s game was better than divorce, which left Pamela without a submissive. Oh, there were a few nice ones at David’s Saturday get-togethers, but none of them matched her kink.
It didn’t help that several members of their small society had paired off in the last year. She wrenched the wheel of the car as she exited the busy road onto her small street. All that loving BDSM couple crap was enough to make any Dominant green with envy. Pamela was no exception. She parked her car outside her tiny house nestled in the outskirts of Eureka and ducked raindrops up to her door. Christmas was on its way and she couldn’t help taking stock.
Divorced, alone, financially comfortable but emotionally frozen, Pamela didn’t hide from herself. She knew what she was. At thirty-five the chances of finding a male submissive she was willing to keep were small, miniscule. Control was her kink. She had to be in control all the time. She wasn’t a switch in any way. There wasn’t a submissive bone in her body. She flicked on the lights in her living room and glanced around as if she’d never seen it before. What did it say?
Like her life, it was bare. Very few personal items graced her shelves. Several books, since she loved to read, but no photographs or knick-knacks. And very black. Black leather couches, black lacquered furniture, black electronic equipment.
Suddenly, the prospect of spending her Christmas vacation alone, here, was repugnant.
In a frenzy, she rushed to her bedroom and yanked out a suitcase.
Get away. Get away from the loneliness. The quiet.
As she packed, she planned. San Francisco. She’d go there. She wondered if Valerie was going out of town. Valerie had an apartment in the city and Pamela could crash there. Yes, a bigger, busier city. That was what she needed for Christmas.
***
Lights flickered as The Cage Club maintained the illusion of candlelight with electric bulbs. Pamela’s gaze darted over the patrons. Not too many Dominants and several submissives. Those were odds she liked. On the counter was a small Christmas tree about two feet high. Amusingly, the ornaments were tiny little whips and handcuffs.
She made a beeline for the club owner. She’d met Dominique years earlier through David and now that acquaintance was paying off. She’d been given a free pass for the Christmas holidays and access to private rooms. New members were often restricted, but she was welcomed because of David’s word. Her leather corset tightened unbearably as she bent down to wipe the rain off her black boots. Her tight pants, black wig and heavy makeup were her costume, her disguise. She dressed the part so no submissive would mistake her for something else. She was Mistress Dane in this world and every inch of her screamed that fact.
In the center of the club was a large area surrounded by wrought iron bars. A huge sign above the entrance said “The Cage” and within the confines were several groupings of people, some standing, some on all fours. Whips, canes and crops were wielded with expertise. Dominique followed her gaze, her blue eyes lit with anticipation. “Did David tell you about our cage?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“It’s usually the first step for newcomers. Here they can practice, play, discover each other under the watchful—and lustful—gaze of others.” Dominique’s voice was smoky. “The sounds and the smells are the most memorable part of my club.”
Pamela could well believe it. As a man flogged two women another man stood just outside the cage and stroked his cock. Another male Dominant attached nipple clamps to a prone woman who cried out and increased the pleasure of the others. The slap of the flogger and the moans of the recipients sent the man who masturbated over the edge and come spewed over the towel in his hand, his face contorted in pleasure.
It was much rawer, coarser and less controlled than David’s dungeon. Pamela smiled. Perhaps this was what she needed. Dominique pointed to an area near the right side of the cage. “Those four over there match your questionnaire. I asked them to wait.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Only that you are a visiting Domme and would like to play.” Dominique gazed at her. “They are all…unattached.”
With a quick nod, Pamela stepped away from the counter. She scanned the submissives Dominique had chosen and spotted one man in the corner. He did not stroke himself, but stared transfixed at the women on their knees. His erection bulged in his slacks and he wore no shirt. He had straight, cropped brown hair and a square jaw. By the length of his legs Pamela could tell he was tall even though he was seated. His eyes riveted her, however. They were a tawny gold that shone in the muted light around him. Something in his manner revealed his preference.
Cautiously, she stepped across the room. A woman moved away from the wall and presented herself with head bowed, but Pamela only registered she was female before she moved on. She wanted a cock tonight. A very specific cock. When she reached the man he glanced up and then dr
opped his gaze immediately. Definitely a submissive.
“Are you engaged?” she asked formally.
“No, Mistress.”
“Do you wish to play?”
His breath hitched and his hands twisted. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Come with me.” She turned away and approached the large counter at the entrance. He followed at a respectful distance, tall and quiet.
“Do you have your own collar?”
Silence for a heartbeat and then, “No, Mistress.”
It wasn’t common to collar a sub the first time at play, but Pamela wanted the formality, the illusion of ownership. Just another part of the fantasy. It made it feel less…random.
She glanced at Dominique who found three and laid them out for Pamela to choose from. One was a dog collar with pretty stones. No, too feminine. Good for a puppy boy, but this submissive might be more of a challenge. The second collar was smooth and sleek. Again, not really his style. Or hers, for that matter. The last one had spikes on the inside that would press against his skin. She lifted it from the counter and turned to the man. “This one.”
He glanced at it and fire flickered in his gaze. The bulge in his pants strained. Yes, this was the right one to choose. “On your knees.”
It was a pleasure to watch him sink to his knees. His shoulder muscles were firm and taut. His back was criss-crossed with white scars that indicated he had been flogged. Had he liked it? When his tongue flicked out to lick his lips she caught the glimpse of a tongue piercing. She wrapped the collar around his neck and stopped. “Before I adjust this I want a safeword. If it is too tight you must tell me. If I remove this and find you have not told me it was damaging you, I will punish you. And believe me, you won’t like it.”
A tremor shifted through him and he said, “Yes, Mistress. My safeword is ‘red light’.”
She watched as his throat moved beneath the collar when he swallowed. He was sexy, submissive and fucking beautiful. She tightened the collar and the spikes dug into his flesh. His hiss of pleasure ripped right through her and shot lightning to her pussy. Finally, he said “red light”, and she set the adjustment. The sight of those spikes dipped into the rough surface of his flesh sent tingles through her. He was a gem.
“I don’t know you, so you will tell me if I do anything that is not pleasurable to you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“What is your name?”
“Christian, Mistress.”
“What name do your Dominants call you?” she demanded.
“Chris, Mistress.”
The way he addressed her correctly, the way he knelt at her feet, the sight of his collar made her wild with desire. She wanted to fuck him, own him. But first, she had to follow the correct procedure.
“Into the cage, Chris.” She shoved at his ribs with her booted foot and he started to rise. Her foot clamped down on his side and forced him back. “No, crawl.” Normally she didn’t make a man crawl. But something about this man pressed her limits, made her want more.
For a moment, she thought he might refuse. His gaze drifted up and he glared at her, but glanced away after a split second.
Oh, you think I didn’t see that? I know what you are. You’re a submissive that doesn’t like to truly submit. You’ll submit to me, big boy. She shoved him with her foot again and he crawled across the floor to the entrance of the cage. She watched him for a moment. The way he moved, the way his hands and knees slid across the floor in unison, resembled a wild animal, a panther maybe. Something exotic and dangerous.
On her way she grabbed a flogger and a pinned glove from the table of accoutrements near the entrance. She snapped the flogger and several patrons began to pay attention. Chris reached the center of the cage, an arm’s length from the others in the cage, and she said, “Stop.”
She straddled him, her pussy warm and heated through her pants. She dug her long nails into his back and he arched into them. She scratched him with long, drawn-out digs that left red marks on his skin. By the heart-wrenching moans that came from deep in his chest, he was turned on by her ministrations. She slid the glove over her hand. Small pins with rounded ends protruded from the palms and fingers. She raked them down his spine and he thrust his hips forward. Red lines marked his skin and he started to pant. Her own heartbeat began to thump.
With one foot balanced on the floor, she swung her other leg around and then straddled him backwards so her fingernails and the pins dug into his tight ass. She loved his ass. It was perfect, taut and dipped on the sides in sexy definition. She leaned down and bit him hard enough to mark him. She reached around with her ungloved hand and flicked the button to his slacks open. A flick of her wrist removed the glove from her other hand. She wanted to feel his skin when she punished him. The zipper seemed loud in the cage, but she was too intent on the response from the man beneath her to notice her surroundings. She eased his pants down until they slid to his knees. He had gone commando so she didn’t have to worry about underwear. She grasped his cock in her hand and slid her nails over its surface. He rotated his hips and her other hand slapped his ass with a sharp crack. “Hold still.”
His body froze.
She stroked him with a sure hand, caressed his balls, dug her nails into his flesh. His body shook from the effort of holding still. Precome leaked from the fissure on the head of his cock. He was a big man, massive. She imagined impaling herself on his impressive length and jamming it all the way inside her. She grappled for control as she continued slow, easy strokes and inhaled the scent of his sweat.
“Mistress, please,” he begged and trembled. She smiled. Now he would beg her to let him come. This one might even beg for a blow job. The arrogant ones always did. Especially arrogant ones with a big dick.
“You may speak. What do you beg me for?”
He choked a little and the muscles beneath her body tensed. “Please, Mistress, let me touch you.”
Her head whipped around to stare at his bowed neck. He asked to touch her? Not to get off. But to let him touch her? His request not only made her pussy clench, but it stabbed her heart. That was a place she didn’t want to go. It’s just sex.
Wary, she shifted her weight until her hot, wet pussy rested on his neck. He would feel it there, pulsing. “Tell me what you would do if I allowed you to touch me.” She kept an easy stroke on his cock which grew harder at her words.
His voice was low and strained. “I would untie your corset knot by knot until your breasts spilled into my hand and I could lick your nipples. I would stroke the inside of your foot with my tongue and slide it up your leg until I reached your wet clit. I’d suck on your pussy until you came in my mouth and then I’d lick every drop of your come.”
Inadvertently, her hand quickened at his words. Jesus. His voice was deep and sexy, but the words, the promises. She had to gain control here. He was at her command. “Then beg me. I may grant you that wish. I may not.”
He remained still beneath her, his arms shook, his cock strained in her hand. With a groan, he gave in. “Please Mistress. I beg you. Let me touch you. Let me serve you.”
She probed his asshole with her other hand. His breath hissed as he inhaled. “What are you doing?”
She removed her hand and smacked him hard on his buttocks. “You will ask permission to speak.”
“Mistress, may I speak?” he growled.
“You may,” she said as her finger slid inside his ass. The resistance there was strong. She stretched him, probed him and noted how his hot rod jerked in her other hand.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped.
“I’m playing with your ass.”
“I don’t like anal play,” he said flatly.
His cock told another story. She added a second finger and his cock jerked and twitched. More come oozed from the little fissure. She swabbed the come from the head of his penis and added it to his ass. It eased her entry even more. He growled a low, vibrating sound from deep inside him. Sh
e thrust her fingers faster and stroked his cock in time with her thrusts. “You’re lying. You shouldn’t lie to me. I’ll punish you for it.”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said. I also heard what you didn’t say,” she snapped, even as she kept the quick rhythm in his ass and on his cock. “Say the safeword if you want me to stop.” She added a third finger. His muscles clenched around them, but his cock pulsed in her other hand. He was so close to coming.
Would he say the safeword? With some men it wasn’t that anal play wasn’t a turn on, but it seemed too humiliating, too demeaning. How could Christian know that for a Domme like her fucking his ass was heavenly, sexy, sensational? It gave her power. Deep inside that channel was the place that would send him spiraling. He’d come so hard, his come would splatter all over the floor and drops would spatter her legs and boots. But his resistance to her exploration was a turn on too. There was power in getting a man so hot that he’d let a woman fuck his ass with her fingers. Slowly, she slid her warm pussy along his spine and he groaned.
“Well, Christian?”
“Mistress,” he groaned and his head dropped.
Her fingers slammed deeper in his anus and the tip of her nail reached his prostate. She pressed and he cried out, his head flung back. She removed her fingers. “I told you to stay still.”
“Mistress, please let me touch you. Let me touch you,” he whispered.
“You may move your hand to touch my knee,” she allowed. His begging made her wet, dripping, hot. God, she wanted him. She wanted to come on his back and slide her juices all over him, mark him as hers. This was such a rare response for her that she stopped still for a moment.
His hand stroked the inside of her knee and reached toward the back of her leg. He stroked her knee with long, capable fingers. As his hand crept up, she shifted so one foot was on the floor and one ankle rested on his neck. Even through the thick leather pants, his fingers left a trail of fire as they slid toward her heated pussy. Even through her pants, the feel of his touch sent heat radiating through her veins. He was a hairsbreadth away from her pussy when she smacked his hand. “I said my knee.” She stood up straight. “Now you’ll have to be punished.” Anticipation stole through her. She wanted to make him come from her punishment.
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