Jordan sat and sighed as she hunched over, catching her hands between her knees. “I don’t really know what’s going on, to tell you the truth. We had this bet, see.” She paused, but then plunged on, suddenly desperate to confide in someone, especially someone who knew Donovan. “Donovan got it into his head that I’m secretly a sub, beneath my dominant exterior, as he calls it. He made me a bet that we would do a scene”—she felt herself coloring, but pushed on—“and if it affected me, you know, um, if it reached this secret submissive core he thought I possessed, then he would get to have me for forty-eight hours as his personal sex slave.”
Annette snorted with laughter. “That’s a good one. Leave it to Donovan to come up with something like that. What did you get if he lost the bet?”
“I’d have him as my personal sex slave.”
“So, I take it you lost the bet? And you were forced to spend the weekend as his submissive sex slave?” Annette laughed again, shaking her head. “Between you and me, that sounds kind of like a win-win situation. I’d be willing to sub to the Master for a couple of days, and I don’t have a secret submissive core, as you call it. I am dominant through and through. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Gene to death, but Donovan Cartwright is seriously hot. A weekend with him would be just fine with me.”
She leaned toward Jordan conspiratorially. “So, tell me, just between us girls. Was the Master as amazing in person as he is on stage? More importantly, did you have fun?”
“More than fun. It was amazing. It was sublime.” Jordan hadn't meant to admit this quite so readily or so fervently, but it was true.
Annette cocked an eyebrow. “Sublime, huh? So what’s the problem?”
When Jordan didn’t immediately answer, Annette frowned and hit her forehead with the flat of her hand. “Oh, shit. What am I saying? This is Donovan we’re talking about. That’s the problem. You’re falling for him, aren’t you? I mean, really falling for him, not just riding the high of an amazing weekend.”
“Yeah,” Jordan admitted.
“And nobody warned you that Donovan Cartwright, while a lovely guy and a fabulous Dom, is genetically incapable of commitment. At least that’s been my empirical observation in all the years I’ve known the guy.”
“What?”
“Yep.” Annette nodded soberly. “I guess it’s both a gift and a curse. A gift because he’s able to give of himself one-hundred percent, each and every time he does a scene. There’s no conflict, imagined or otherwise, with someone waiting on her knees at home for the Master to return. This makes him great for the club, great for business. But a curse, too, because no one’s ever been able to capture and tame his wild heart.”
Jordan wiped away sudden tears with the back of her hand. She tried to take comfort from Annette’s words. At least they made a kind of sense. Donovan hadn’t been specifically rejecting her, Jordan. He was just a commitment-phobe who was genetically incapable of connecting with anyone on an intimate level. The tears fell faster, these thoughts offering little comfort.
“Hey,” Annette said gently, putting her hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “You’ve really fallen for the Master, huh?”
Miserably Jordan nodded. “Yeah. Stupid, huh?”
“No, not stupid. Entirely understandable.”
Annette was quiet for a while, her hand still resting on Jordan’s shoulder while Jordan forced her tears away. Suddenly Annette removed her hand and twisted to face Jordan.
“Genetics,” she said solemnly, “can be altered.”
Then she grinned.
Chapter 13
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my distinct pleasure to introduce you to Mistress Jordan, our new Mistress in residence here at The Bondage Wheel. Starting tomorrow evening she’ll be taking private clients in the red room. You can sign up for fifteen to sixty minute sessions. The prices for her private services are listed in the red fliers on the bar and on the tables at the back.” Gene was standing on the main stage in the dungeon, Jordan and Donovan on either side. Hoots and applause followed his announcement. All eyes were on Mistress Jordan, including Donovan’s.
She looked better than fine, her hands confidently on her hips, the tops of her perfect round breasts bunched alluringly over the bone-stayed leather of her corset dress, her long, slender legs drawing the eye to her arched feet shod in the fuck-me stiletto heels. Donovan had a sudden fantasy of pushing Gene aside and striding directly up to Jordan. He would reach for her, slipping his hands into the tight corset and tugging her lush, creamy breasts free of their confines. He would lower his mouth and close his lips over her nipples, sucking each to a hard point before pushing her to her knees. He would show the guys who were practically salivating as they pressed close to the stage that this so-called Mistress belonged to him, the Master.
“Tonight, to give you a taste of Mistress Jordan’s formidable talents, she has graciously agreed to do a scene with the Master.” This pronouncement was greeted with more applause, the collective gaze finally shifting toward Donovan, who gave a small, theatrical bow. “With that,” Gene said, glancing with a smile in Donovan’s direction before looking again at the crowd, “I leave you to it. Have fun and remember our bywords when you scene, whether in public or private—safe, sane and consensual.”
Gene moved to the back of the stage, as they’d previously planned for the upcoming scene, while Donovan moved to the center and gazed down at the audience, catching the eye of his chosen couple and smiling down at them. Congregated around the stage was the usual weekday crowd of about forty people. Fridays and Saturdays drew easily triple that number, many of them gawkers and dabblers who would stare, eyes wide, fists at their mouths, at the scandalous goings-on around them. Though he knew the weekend amateurs were good for business, Donovan actually preferred performing for what he perceived were the more serious players that came out on the weekdays.
He looked now at Jordan, who had moved closer to him on the stage. She was wearing more makeup than he was used to seeing on her—her lips painted a shiny, dark red, the golden-red fringe of her thick lashes now coated with black and accentuated with eyeliner. She looked hot, every inch a Mistress, powerful and in full control. She stared boldly back at him with those flashing green eyes, no hint of the girl who had slept so sweetly in his arms only the night before.
When he had arrived earlier that evening, he’d been a little nervous, not sure what she would expect now that the weekend was over and they would have to work together. He’d spent much of the afternoon and early evening alternating between daydreaming about the amazing time they’d spent together, and cursing himself for getting involved, if that’s what he’d done, with a colleague. It had been a lark, a one-time thing, a way to prove his point beyond all doubt that more lay beneath Jordan’s dominant exterior than she had heretofore been willing to admit.
But women so easily got the wrong idea. It wasn’t their fault—they were just hardwired that way. They confused passion for love, and when you threw D/s in the mix, the lines were even easier to blur. He’d worried when he got to the club she might do something embarrassing like sink to her knees in front of him and wrap her arms around his thighs, resting her cool, soft cheek against him as she murmured her undying love and submission.
She had done no such thing.
In fact, she barely seemed to notice his arrival. Admittedly, he’d come in rather late, just before the club opened, his entrance timed to avoid any uncomfortable reunion between the two of them. He’d found her in the staff changing room. She’d been putting on her stage makeup, brushing the mascara wand over her lashes, her lips parted in concentration as she stared into the mirror.
His body had reacted without his mind’s consent—his cock stiffening at the sight of her, his loins recalling the sweet, yielding warmth of her, his heart constricting in a way that was almost painful. He approached her from behind, deciding it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing if she fell into his arms, lifting her face for a kiss, her eyes fluttering close
d in anticipation.
But instead, upon catching sight of his image in the mirror, she’d only smiled, lifting her hand in a small wave. “Hey there,” she’d said, not even turning around. “Glad you could make it.”
For a moment he was taken aback. Where was the sweet, trembling girl he’d held in his arms only that morning? He’d quickly got hold of himself, however, relieved Jordan was taking things in stride. Her reaction, he’d told himself firmly, was the best he could possibly have hoped for. No complications, no recriminations, no expectations. The sub girl was gone, replaced by Mistress Jordan, and that was all to the good.
“Mary and Richard have volunteered to serve us tonight,” Donovan now told the crowd surrounding the stage. “For those of you who don’t know these two, Mary and Richard are both avowed subs who also happen to be happily married to each other. I’ve had the honor of working with them before in private sessions. Tonight will be their first public scene, so please welcome the couple.”
The crowd parted amidst scattered applause as Mary and Richard, a trim pair in their mid-forties, ascended the stage stairs. Donovan had spied them when he’d first arrived at the dungeon, an idea springing into his head for Mistress Jordan’s debut. They had readily agreed to the described scenario. When he’d consulted with Jordan, she, too, had agreed it would be a fun, if challenging, scene. “Just follow my lead,” Donovan had told her. “I’ll do the talking while on stage, though of course you should feel free to chime in. I know your primary gig is to take the private clients, but this will be a good introduction to our patrons.”
“Don’t worry, Donovan. I know my way around a public scene,” she had reassured him, her tone haughty, though when he’d glanced at her face, her expression had been completely guileless.
Mary and Richard could have been brother and sister, both of them of medium height, with slight builds and closely cropped blond hair over sparkling blue eyes. Richard was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans, black work boots on his feet. Mary was wearing a red silk dress with spaghetti straps, matching sheer red thigh high stockings and shiny red patent leather high heels. They both looked nervous but excited as they moved to the center of the stage.
“Strip,” Donovan commanded. Without hesitation, Richard kicked off his boots, tugged his T-shirt from his pants and unzipped his jeans. Mary reached for the hem of her short dress and lifted it over her head, revealing her pale, slender body. Her nipples were pierced with gold hoops, her sex shaven smooth.
“Leave the shoes and stockings on, Mary,” Jordan said, her voice low and sexy, but at the same time authoritative. Donovan had to agree the look was much sexier that way than if Mary had stripped completely naked. He nodded in approval toward Jordan, who lifted her chin and graced him with the ghost of a smile.
Once the couple was stripped down as instructed, Donovan pointed to the ground and they knelt side-by-side facing the audience, their hands behind their backs, their heads lowered submissively.
Donovan again turned toward the audience. “Richard has agreed to be suspended, upside down, while his lovely wife pays proper homage to his manhood.” Amidst the audience’s enthusiastic reception to this news, Donovan continued. “I know from experience that both these subs like a little challenge.” He chuckled, “No, make that a lot of challenge, and we wouldn’t want to disappoint them. So tonight Mary’s hands will be bound behind her back while she services her husband, and Mistress Jordan and I will add a little, uh, incentive to the pair with our whips.”
He bent down, tapping each sub’s shoulder. They rose and followed him to the pulleys that were suspended from a thick beam in the ceiling over the stage. Richard lay obediently on the floor while Donovan and Jordan closed the sturdy cuffs that were attached to the spreader bar around his ankles and secured the bar to the pulley mechanism. They affixed thick cuffs with large D rings around his thighs and smaller cuffs around his wrists, which they clipped to the rings on the thigh cuffs to keep Richard’s arms in place while he was suspended.
When they were done, Donovan nodded toward Gene, who was waiting by the pulley winch at the back wall. Gene turned the winch slowly while Donovan spotted Richard. The spreader bar lifted, pulling Richard’s legs up into the air. Gene continued turning the winch until Richard was at the proper height, his head a foot or so above the floor, his already erect cock level with Mary’s chin.
Donovan had Mary place her arms behind her back, one forearm horizontally over the other. He wrapped soft but sturdy rope around her wrists and forearms, tying the ends in a simple knot that could be quickly released.
Leaving the bound pair, Donovan went to the whip rack on the side of the stage to select two floggers, but he was stopped by Jordan’s small, pretty hand on his. “I’ll pick my own, thanks,” she informed him quietly. Donovan nodded, watching as she chose a small but lethal single tail. As soon as she selected it, Donovan silently agreed it was the better choice for Richard.
They returned to center stage where their charges waited, naked and bound. Donovan looked out over the dungeon. Not a single private scene was in play. Every person in the place was at the stage. Even Annette and Suzanne had come in from the bar to watch. The place was silent with expectation, kinetic energy zinging through the air.
Mistress Jordan stood behind Richard, lightly stroking his skin with the leather tail of her whip. Donovan stood behind Mary and touched the top of her head. In a voice designed to carry, he said, “Mary, your task is to make your husband come. You will need to be very focused on what you are doing. Don’t let the flogger distract you. And you, Richard, use the pain from the single tail to get you where you need to go. The longer it takes, the more intense the whipping will become.”
He pushed Mary’s head gently forward between Richard’s spread legs. “Begin,” he commanded.
Mary ducked her head, closing her mouth over her husband’s shaft. Her task was made more difficult without the use of her hands, but Donovan knew from experience Mary was very accomplished at this particular task, hands or no. He began to flog her gently, swishing the leather tresses over her back and ass as she took Richard’s cock deep into her throat.
Donovan’s eyes kept flitting to Jordan as he flogged the woman in front of him. Though it was just a memory, he could almost hear Jordan’s breathy, sensual cries as leather met skin, and his cock nudged against his thigh as he recalled Jordan naked and panting at his feet.
The sudden, sharp snap of Mistress Jordan’s whip made Richard wince and drew several gasps from onlookers. She stared at Donovan as if the whip had been intended for him, a fire glittering in her green eyes. The image of the sexy, submissive slave girl he’d possessed for forty-eight hours evaporated like mist against a burning sun.
Forcing himself to focus on the scene before him, Donovan matched Mistress Jordan’s intensity with his flogger, flicking his wrist and catching Mary’s small ass beneath her bound arms with the full force of his stroke. Mary, deeply masochistic and highly sexualized, moaned against her husband’s cock and actually stuck out her ass to receive the sting of the leather.
Donovan glanced again at Jordan, his eyes drawn to her in spite of himself. She was focused on Richard, her lips parted in concentration as she moved in a sensual dance behind him. The air cracked with the sound of her whip as she expertly flicked the single tail over the suspended sub’s ass, thighs and shoulders. As if feeling Donovan’s gaze on her, Jordan looked up suddenly and their eyes met. Just as suddenly she looked away, but not before he saw something of the yearning sub girl he’d left behind only that morning.
Not sure if her look had been real or a product of his imagination, Donovan refocused on Mary, catching her ass and thighs again and again in the stinging embrace of the flogger, watching as her skin reddened to match the sheer red stockings hugging her pretty legs. Mary was a wonderful submissive, highly trained and deeply responsive. Donovan had always enjoyed his sessions with the submissive couple. Having Jordan there simply added to the intensity,
he told himself. Just stay in the moment. They were performing together and the dynamic between them was good. It was all good.
Richard began to moan, his breath coming in a rapid staccato of pleasure and pain as one woman sucked his cock while the other whipped his ass. All at once he stiffened, his hands clenching into fists at his thighs, his neck straining.
“Please, Mistress, may I come!” he shouted, as his wife continued dutifully bobbing between his legs, in spite of being steadily flogged from behind. Donovan felt a sudden and, he knew, irrational twinge of jealousy and annoyance that Richard, his longtime client, had asked not him, the Master, but rather, Jordan, for permission to come.
“You may,” Mistress Jordan replied in a clear, ringing tone. She continued to whip the now shuddering man as he shot his load down his wife’s throat. The room burst into spontaneous shouts of approval and applause. Once Richard’s spasms had died down, Jordan and Donovan lowered their whips and smiled at one another.
Donovan nodded toward Gene, who had remained standing near the winch in case of emergency. Gene lowered the naked man slowly while Donovan and Jordan helped Richard into position on the ground and then quickly released his cuffs. Finally Donovan turned back to Mary, who was kneeling on the stage like the well-trained sub she was, her head bowed. Donovan stroked her hair and she leaned into his hand like a kitten as she looked up at him with adoring eyes.
Donovan released her arms and helped her to her feet, giving her a quick hug and a pat on her bare ass before sending her into the embrace of her husband, who stood naked and grinning, his arms open to receive her.
Gene had returned to center stage. “There’ll be another show at midnight, and this time the Master will be taking volunteers. Meanwhile, have fun.”
BDSM Club Series Box Set Page 57