Cal’s suspicions had been right. This was about that whole sex slave thing. Mac was going to make him think about the one thing he struggled not to think about. “How should they be? We’re roommates.”
“She’d like you to be more.”
“More than a roommate? What? She wants to sleep with me?”
Mac grimaced. “That answers one of my questions. Are you straight?”
What the hell? “What’s going on here? Are you her pimp or something?”
“No.” Mac’s frown turned ferocious. “I’m the executor of Bruno’s will. That means I’m responsible for seeing that his wishes are carried out to the best of my ability. He didn’t specify that he wanted you two to be roommates. He wanted you to dominate her.”
“That’s fucked-up. It’s abuse. I did some reading about your BDSM, and it’s just a license for men to hit women.” Sara on her knees, worshipping his cock… God, he was an asshole even fantasizing about it.
“And that answers my other question,” Mac muttered. “Which is why you’re here. I’d like, with your permission, to do two things.”
Mac seemed to be waiting for Cal to say something, but no way was Cal going to help move this conversation along.
Mac sighed. “Okay, maybe just one thing. I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Harmless enough. “I won’t answer them if I don’t want to.” Cal took a bite of his beef, just to show he couldn’t be intimidated.
“Of course. Let’s start with whether you’re straight or gay.”
Cal swallowed. “Straight.”
“Are you involved with anyone right now?”
“No.” It had been eighteen months since he’d ended it with Lena, and that had been a tepid affair at best. Never again with the punk rock chicks…
Mac eyed him narrowly. “Have you ever been dissatisfied with a sexual encounter because things didn’t go the way you imagined they would?”
Cal pushed his potatoes around on the plate. “I don’t know how to answer that. Have I been frustrated because it turned out the woman in question wanted something different than what I wanted? Sure. But no means no. And sometimes people’s desires don’t match up.”
“Yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Have you ever had a clear picture of how the encounter was going to go—what you were going to do to her, how she’d like it, what you would do together, that kind of thing. Only, the woman doesn’t follow the script? Worse yet, she misses out on what you knew was going to be great?”
“Yes. Sure. Hasn’t every guy?” Cal felt the tension build in his shoulders and abdomen. Mac was describing nearly every sexual experience of his adult life. “That’s what makes it so crazy. We’re supposed to be focused on the woman’s pleasure, but when we are, the woman starts talking or trying to take over. I understand the goal is for both of us to want the same thing—simultaneous orgasms or hitting the G-spot or whatever Cosmo says is hot this month—only I don’t work well coordinating with others.”
Mac leaned back, turning the stem of his wine glass with one hand. “Exactly. So what if you were making love to a woman who took direction well?”
“Now you’re back to ordering a woman around in the bedroom. How can that ever be right?”
“You’re a composer, yes?”
Cal gave him a look. He knew what Cal was.
“And you’ve conducted orchestras?” Mac asked.
Was Mac cross-examining him? Cal lifted his chin. Where was this going?
Mac continued, “You have to tell the orchestra what to do, don’t you?”
“It’s not barking orders like some dictator. The conductor and orchestra have to discuss the piece.”
Mac smiled at him. “Only that’s not quite how it happens, is it? You’re the conductor. You have to ensure that the orchestra produces the sounds you want, creates the performance you know they can and should. It’s not like the principal cellist can second-guess your decisions, or even make suggestions of her own.”
Cal ate for a while, mulling this over. He’d seen a lot of rehearsals, his own and other people’s. Conductors could be assholes, or they could be civil. Cal always wanted to keep things civil. He had this odd superstition that nastiness would infect the music. And above all, Cal respected the music.
Cal waved his knife in the air. “Okay, so while the conductor needs to be polite, it’s his job to call the shots. That’s because he has a role to play, and the musicians have their parts to play. It’s still no license for abuse.”
Mac put his cutlery down on his plate. “Let’s get the abuse issue out of the way, shall we? Just because millions of wives are the victims of domestic abuse, we don’t outlaw marriage—we outlaw the abusive behavior. Are there dominants who abuse their submissives? Yes. And as a community, we ensure that those crimes come to the attention of the authorities, the subs get help, and the community gets educated.”
“How can someone who’s submissive say that it was abuse? Isn’t it consensual?”
Mac smiled. “You’d be surprised how assertive a submissive can be when he or she knows a dominant has overstepped the terms of the consent.” He took a sip of wine. “Your point is still valid. Some submissives get wrapped up in a relationship, giving away more and more of their power. That’s pretty analogous to domestic abuse. We watch for that, and intercede when needed. It helps that we’re a community.”
Mac leaned forward. Cal felt prickles up the back of his neck. This shit was about to get real.
Mac sighed. “I want you to come to The Club. See what actually happens. It’s a gamble because I’m effectively dropping you in the deep end. I can’t think of any other way for you to learn.”
“Will Sara be there?” Cal really wasn’t ready to see her in fetish gear. He could just about hear his fantasies going crazy. Molto agitato.
“No. Other than last night when she was with me, she hasn’t been back since Bruno’s death. They didn’t come to The Club very often.”
“Why’s it called ‘The Club’? I thought these places had clever names like ‘Old Dominion’s Den’ or ‘The Whip Place and Showroom.’”
Mac folded his napkin carefully. “You’re a funny man. That’s good. Humor is an asset in…BDSM.”
Cal could tell Mac had been about to say something very different. Something about Cal. And Sara. He told himself he was glad Mac had held back, but it wasn’t entirely true. Part of Cal wanted to know…everything. And that scared him.
Mac indicated Cal’s plate. “Are you finished? Shall we go?”
***
Cal expected a literal dungeon, and he got it in the sense that they had to go down some stairs to get to The Club, which occupied the space under a sprawling nightclub. The music upstairs was zydeco with some Latin flair thrown in. Downstairs, it was bass-heavy, screechy-vocals metal. He leaned toward Mac. “D’you ever have classical music night? Get some of the blue-haired kinksters in?”
Mac just laughed.
Cal hadn’t been kidding. He understood the point of heavy metal, but surely some Beethoven with the bass line cranked up would have the same effect. He started making a mental list of pieces with strong percussion components.
Interesting that he hadn’t heard the throbbing bass through the floor, nor could he hear the live band playing upstairs. He looked up at the ceiling, which had to be soundproofed pretty heavily to completely deaden that much noise on either side.
He followed Mac through two rooms filled with semi-naked bodies using BDSM equipment in various tableaux. It should have been sexually arousing—there were enough naked women around—but Cal felt like a theatergoer arriving well into the first act. He’d get the point, but not until he’d been here for a while.
Mac stopped in the third room, which was almost quiet by comparison with the first two. No heavy metal, just a low thrum of something. It took Cal a moment to identify it. What he was hearing had to be sexual desire.
Fascinating. He’d never been in a place where a
group of people, engaged in sexual situations, created their own music. He wanted to close his eyes and concentrate on the sounds. Mac had found a huge black leather sofa and matching chairs—clustered so that people could talk, but facing a large alcove with various pieces of equipment. There was a thick, silky cord suspended from two brass pillars, as though the whole thing was a display in a museum. A brass plaque hung down from the cord—Reserved, in fancy script. Mac indicated that he and Cal should sit at one end of the huge sofa.
“Do you have any interest in anal sex?” Mac asked him.
God, the questions this guy asked. “Not really, no.”
Mac’s mouth flexed into a half-smile. “Perfect. I want you to watch the scene from beginning to end. Think like a conductor, not like a sexual being. Break it down like it’s a performance.”
Cal nodded. He took a sip from a water bottle provided by a pretty woman wearing a halter top that didn’t really cover her nipples. She handed one to Mac, who stroked her flank as she left.
“We’re waiting for the action, right?” Cal asked.
Mac nodded.
“How about you? Are you interested in anal sex?” Cal twisted to stare Mac in the eye.
“That’s hardly germane to this situation.”
Which was code for none of your business. Tough. “What I’m asking is, do you do this stuff? Or are you just interested in watching?”
Mac’s smile widened. “I do this ‘stuff’ as you call it. Just not tonight.” He looked at the alcove. “Well, actually, there’s more to it than that. I—”
Cal waited. He could be very patient when he needed to be.
“There was a woman—a sub—”
“What happened?”
Mac’s mouth compressed to a straight line. His face seemed to age as he stared at a blank wall. Finally he said, “She died.”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” Cal recognized grief in the other man. These were real relationships. But… “May I ask you a delicate question?”
“All right.”
“You look far more grief-stricken than Sara does. What’s the difference?”
That caught Mac by surprise. He sat up straight, his face intent on the far wall. “I hadn’t thought about it.” He swiveled toward Cal. “Are you sure? She doesn’t talk about Bruno at all?”
“No. Well, she’ll talk about him, but frankly she sounds about as broken up by his death as I sound, and while I’m sorry he died so young, I didn’t know him very well.”
“Interesting.” Mac settled into his corner of the sofa. “Very interesting.”
Cal started to follow up with another question when a tall man in black leather trousers and a plain black T-shirt walked over to remove the brass stands and Reserved sign. When he spotted Mac, he walked over.
“Twice in two nights, counselor? To what do we owe this pleasure?” Then the man spotted Cal and frowned. “And who’s your friend? I wasn’t aware of any new members.”
Cal stood and held out his hand. “Cal Raynes. I’m Bruno’s heir.” He was taller than the other man, but not by much. They were nearly on the same level.
“Sebastian D’Alessandro. My condolences on your uncle’s death.”
“Thank you.” Cal sat back down.
“Well, that’s a different matter. Did you inherit your uncle’s membership?”
Cal looked over at Mac to see what Sebastian was talking about.
Mac shrugged. “Technically, yes. I’ve brought Cal here to see if he’d like to maintain that membership.” Mac was looking up at Sebastian, who was standing, feet spread apart and arms crossed, doing a Jolly Green Giant imitation. Only “jolly” and “green” seemed equally inapt.
As if he were answering a question Sebastian had asked, Mac explained, “I thought it would be good for Cal to view a scene. And yours are the best.”
Sebastian bowed. A naked woman, plump and dewy-faced, joined them and promptly knelt at Sebastian’s feet. “Marlie,” he greeted her gently. Then to Mac and Cal, “Gentlemen, enjoy the show.”
Sebastian looked down at the sub. “What’s your safe word?”
“Radish.”
“And if you need me to go slow?”
“Squash.”
Cal smiled to himself. Red and yellow. Cute.
“Do you have any hard limits other than The Club’s standard restrictions?”
“No, Sir.”
“What are hard limits?” Cal whispered to Mac.
“Things the sub won’t do or won’t allow Sebastian to do to her.”
“And The Club restrictions?”
Mac spoke quietly. “Condoms are required except for married or bonded couples. No blood or urine, ever, even if the parties say they’ve both consented. No asphyxiation play. I can show you the membership agreement.”
“That’s okay.” Cal wasn’t sure he could stomach the laundry list of perversions. Maybe he should just leave. He wasn’t sure why Mac brought him here, but if it was to make him want to “buy” BDSM, it so wasn’t working.
Then he looked up. Sebastian had draped the sub—Marlie?—over a special padded bench. Her breasts hung down from her torso, which was parallel to the floor. The device was quite cleverly constructed, complete with a padded level for her to kneel on and support for her forehead so her neck didn’t have undue stress holding her head up. It all looked vaguely ergonomic, like those odd backless desk chairs that are supposedly better for your spine. Only this device had Marlie laid out so her ass was fully exposed.
Sebastian secured her hands behind her back with padded straps. He caressed her arms, then moved on to her legs, which he shifted so her knees were wide apart. He stroked her flanks, then slapped one ass cheek after the other. Cal didn’t think they were hard blows, almost more affectionate than anything else.
“How does she look to you?” Mac murmured.
The device was at an angle so Cal had a better view of her ass than her face, but she wasn’t struggling. In fact, the only place she was bound was at her wrists. She could easily have gotten up and walked away.
“She looks fine.”
Mac just nodded.
After playing with the sub’s pussy, Sebastian inserted a slim vibrator. Marlie moaned but didn’t say anything. Cal imagined her body getting softer, sinking into the pleasure in her cunt. Sebastian applied lube to Marlie’s sphincter, then slowly inserted a butt plug—a device Cal only knew about in theory.
“So far, what does it look like to you?”
Cal said the first thing that came into his mind. “He’s tuning her like an instrument.”
“Precisely. Now he starts to play her. I would imagine she’s been ordered not to climax without permission.”
That made Cal smile. Like any woman would wait for permission to have an orgasm. Being ordered not to fake it, that he could understand. Wasn’t the whole goal to get a woman to orgasm?
“You’ll see,” Mac said as if Cal had spoken aloud.
Sebastian began to use a strap on Marlie’s ass, hard enough that Cal could hear each blow. Marlie relaxed even more, her ass rising to meet the impacts. Sebastian started at the roundest part of each cheek, gradually moving down until the strap had to be hitting the handle of the butt plug. Those blows made Marlie whimper but she didn’t tense up.
The scene took on an odd rhythm, like a slow movement building to a close. Cal had a growing sense that something exciting was going to happen. Sebastian gave Marlie a final flurry of blows, then stepped away.
The room—Cal suddenly noticed that Sebastian had quite the audience—felt jangly and wired, although no one spoke as Sebastian substituted a larger vibrator and removed the butt plug. Marlie’s ass was a rosy shade. Cal could almost feel the heat radiating from her skin.
Time for the final movement to start, the music that would tie it all together. Cal couldn’t take his eyes off Sebastian. The Dom checked on Marlie, then unfastened his leather pants and rolled a condom onto his erect dick. Who cared that Cal had never seen—let
alone watched—another man fuck a woman. This wasn’t peep-show porno. This was art.
More lube and then Sebastian was working his way into Marlie’s ass. Now Marlie’s body showed signs of the effort it took to keep still. Her hands clenched into fists that rose a couple of inches as she flexed her shoulders.
“Don’t come, sub,” Sebastian ordered.
“Ahh. Sir,” she pleaded.
Sebastian just smiled. “You can do this. Don’t let me down, Marlie. We’ve got a crowd watching, including The Lawyer.”
Did he mean Mac? Cal wanted to check to see if Mac had reacted, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Sebastian as he started to move, very slowly, in and out of Marlie’s ass.
“Oh, God, Sir.” Marlie lifted her head, arching her back. She seemed to be reaching back with her bound hands as if she wanted to touch Sebastian.
“Down,” Sebastian commanded. He stopped thrusting until the sub settled back on the bench. Her reward was a strong surge of Sebastian’s hips. Even with the black leather, Cal could see the man’s ass and hip muscles tighten.
The tempo increased slowly but inexorably—Bolero could be playing—and just when Cal thought something had to falter, Sebastian reached down to touch Marlie’s clit. It was like she’d been touched with an electric current. She screamed and started panting.
“Please, Sir, please,” she implored.
Sebastian clenched his jaw. “Yes, Marlie. Now.” His entire face tensed, presumably because he was coming too.
Marlie’s moan rose in a flawless crescendo, the perfect coda.
Then it was over. Marlie sagged on the bench, Sebastian pulled out and discreetly dealt with the condom. Cal discovered he was breathing hard, as if he’d been the one who’d fucked a sub in the ass.
Except Cal’s cock was still rock hard. And he was picturing Sara’s willowy grace submitting to him, following directions, and achieving an orgasm of mammoth proportions.
“I’m in,” Cal said out loud.
“Excuse me?” Mac said.
“Yes, I want to do this. With Sara. No more being roommates.”
CHAPTER 5
Sara was curled up on the sofa in Bruno’s—well, Cal’s—office when he came home. After a solitary dinner, she’d given up on her book and found nothing to watch on TV, so it seemed perfectly reasonable to settle in the oversized leather chair next to the fireplace and stare at Cal’s desk. Mac had invited him to dinner, and, she suspected, had taken him to The Club. After that, Sara’s mind refused to speculate. What would Cal make of The Club? Would he be disgusted? Or would it help him to understand his uncle—and her—better?
Spice Box; Sixteen Steamy Stories Page 104