AtHerCommand

by Marcia James

  Some of the neighbors were using their wood-burning fireplaces and the homey smell of the smoke drifted in the air. There were several interior lights on up and down the street but the only noise was the occasional barking of a dog. Clouds obscured the moon. Were they in for more snow? It was certainly cold enough for a blizzard.

  Two headlights cut the darkness as a car turned onto the street where he’d parked. Dalton slumped lower in his seat and watched as the small car slowed and turned into Dominique’s driveway. It was her. The soft light of the street lamp shone too briefly on her profile as she pulled up to the garage in her black-and-white spotted car. The markings looked like a domino. Dalton grinned. Suzi had mentioned that “Domino” was her nickname.

  She waited for the garage door to rise and Dalton picked up his camera to capture the woman in his telephoto lens. Too dark. He’d have a better shot of her once she exited her car. Domino eased the VW Bug into her lighted, one-car garage between a bike and a lawnmower. Garden tools and other maintenance items hung on wall pegs and there were bags of mulch stacked against the back wall of the garage.

  She turned off her ignition. Holding his breath in anticipation, Dalton raised the camera to his eye again. Through the lens, he could see her reaching for the car door handle with her left hand as her right hand lifted to the visor’s garage door remote. The car door swung open and one jeans-clad leg emerged. Then the garage door began to close.

  “No, no, no!” Dalton’s words echoed in the car as he watched the door descend, blocking Domino from sight. He thumped his gloved hands against the dashboard in frustration. All he wanted was one good look at the woman. Okay, so he was overreacting here but how could he investigate Domino, trail her outside of the club, if he’d never seen her unmasked face?

  It was no use leaving his car and trying to get a look through her windows. A quick circuit of the house earlier had revealed opaque soft blinds in all the windows—impossible to see through. As he sat grinding his teeth, interior lights came on in the house, creating a friendly glow. He doubted the woman inside would be so welcoming if he rang her doorbell.

  Dalton turned on his ignition and waited for the car’s heater to take the chill off the air. He might as well head home and get some sleep. He’d try tailing her in the morning. If that proved fruitless, he’d visit Mistress Bella again. That thought filled him with an unsettling combination of dread and sharp anticipation—like facing a cavity-ridden trip to a dentist, who happened to be a hot, stacked babe with a drill.

  Dalton shook his head. He would not get hooked on Bella the way Jason had on Tori, no matter how hot Domino was. Sure, some of the sex club session had turned him on. But it was just the hint of danger that appealed the adrenaline junkie in him. Yeah, that was his story and he was sticking to it.

  Frowning, he eased the car away from the curb and saw a dark shape flash by his front bumper. Instinctively, he slammed on the brakes. The animal made it safely across the street and disappeared into a hedge. Probably just a squirrel. But, as he drove away, Dalton couldn’t shake the impression it had been a black cat—the perfect bad karma event to top off his day.

  Chapter Nine

  God, he hated Valentine’s Day.

  Dalton printed out his last report, turned off his office computer and stretched his aching shoulders. What a nightmare. Thanks to the usual February 14th crazies, he hadn’t had time to tail Domino before she started her club shift. His first V Day bust had been the guy who went postal in a Pennsylvania Avenue florist—all over the cost of a dozen red roses. Then an angry woman had taken hostages in a Dupont Circle card shop. After surrendering, she’d explained she was bitter over never having received a Valentine’s card. And Dalton didn’t even want to think about the incident at the mall Godiva Chocolate store.

  He resisted rubbing his tired eyes, stood and grabbed his coat. Time to clock out. He’d stop by home long enough to shower and change into the preppy clothes worn by his Xecutive Branch undercover persona. Then he’d head over to the club to see what he could learn.

  Dalton slipped on his coat and adjusted his holster. Maybe he’d get a chance to do a little investigating after his sex club appointment—unless he had an escort like the first time. Having a bouncer along on the trip to and from S&M Room Five would put a crimp in his plans tonight. But he’d keep his eyes and ears open for any opportunity to gather information.

  At least he’d thought to make an appointment with Mistress Bella. According to the club’s receptionist, quite a few members liked to celebrate Valentine’s Day with a little kinky sex. Good thing he’d locked in an hour of Domino’s time.

  As he headed to the cop shop’s rear parking lot, he picked up his pace. Dalton felt energized, anticipating the evening despite his intense first session with Mistress Bella. He grimaced at the memory as he opened the Mustang’s door and slid behind the wheel.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror as he backed the car, he spotted the determined gleam in his eyes. Maybe he should get his head examined for not dreading this appointment. No, he wasn’t nuts and this was not just some risky thrill. He was drawn to Domino. She challenged him to a battle of wills and a war of wits. And Dalton was determined to win at any cost.

  * * * * *

  Domino stared through the two-way mirror into S&M Room Five. The sight was more tempting than her grandmother’s tiramisu. Dalton was back. After a crazy evening that had included Baby Bob adding Cupid-like wings to his diaper attire, Dalton’s arrival was like a Valentine’s present from the Fates. And she planned to enjoy unwrapping the gift.

  Dom watched her client pace around the room, allowing a sharp-edged anticipation to grow for both of them. Unconsciously, she smoothed her hands down her red leather dress, tracing the outline of strategically placed, heart-shaped cutouts. Her red mask sported matching heart-shaped eyeholes. She’d chosen the dress from the club’s wardrobe room in honor of February 14th. But she knew she looked good in the outfit, which hugged her body and highlighted her complexion and dark hair.

  For once Domino was pleased to accentuate her physical attributes. Here, she didn’t have to worry about feeling diminished or vulnerable thanks to the unwanted attentions of men. Her sexually aggressive Mistress Bella persona gave her a sense of power. And she particularly enjoyed turning up the sexual heat when Dalton was the customer she was teasing.

  Domino removed his file from the holder by the employee door. Flipping it open, she scanned her notes to review the toys and such she’d used during her first session with the man she’d nicknamed “Dangerous Dalton”. Checking the file was a stalling tactic since she recalled in vivid detail every second of their time together. He was a hard man to forget, no pun intended.

  Closing the file, she returned it to the holder. There were a lot of things she could do during this session but Dom found herself reluctant to cause the man any pain. Sure, he was paying to be topped but she just couldn’t shake the feeling there was something else going on with Dalton—a reason he wasn’t sharing for being here. During their first session, he’d appeared to be play-acting, just pretending to be a submissive. He’d tried to conceal his natural arrogance along with the cold determination in his eyes. Maybe he was at the club as some sort of penance, but she still hated to hurt him.

  Well, if she took pain out of the S&M equation, she still had submission and humiliation to work with. Her lips widened into a grin. Even if she wasn’t planning to beat him, she should join him. Throwing back her shoulders, Dom assumed the cocky expression she’d perfected in front of her bathroom mirror and opened the door to Room Five.

  I’ll be damned. Even as Dalton tried to remove his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he knew the mental curse was true. Domino, in her Mistress Bella, red-leathered, she-devil parody of Valentine’s attire, had the power to make him sweat as if the fires of hell were licking at his feet.

  Forgetting his submissive role, Dalton watched as she strode toward him, a sexy sneer tilting her mouth. Her dark eyes sho
ne with a predatory gleam behind her red mask. Damn, he wanted to rip off that mask and capture her full, crimson lips. And when he’d tasted his fill, he’d explore the rest of her ripe body, touching every sweet inch of her.

  Dom stopped a foot away, an ominous amusement chasing the sneer off her face. Raising her right hand, she pinned him with the end of her riding crop. “I never would have taken you for a slow learner.”

  Starting, Dalton remembered his cover and lowered his eyes.

  She chuckled. “Too little, too late. I’ll remember this infraction when we arrive at the punishment portion of our program.”

  Domino circled him, letting her crop trail across his chest and back. Dalton remained passive and forced himself not to imagine her plans. When she again stood in front of him, she pointed the crop to the floor.

  “Strip and present yourself, slave.”

  Without meeting her eyes, Dalton undressed quickly, embarrassed that his cock was already at attention. Then as he’d learned in his first session, he dropped to his knees and kept his head bowed.

  She moved forward and brushed his hair from his forehead with a red-gloved hand. It was a strangely affectionate gesture and he almost raised his head to meet her eyes. Was this a test to trick him into adding to his errors?

  Domino stepped back, turned and walked toward the throne chair in the corner. She snapped her fingers and barked a single command, “Follow.” And then, as if she sensed him rising, she added, “On your knees.”

  He bit back a rude, anatomically impossible suggestion and moved after her. With every complaint his knees sent to his brain, Dalton swore someday he’d show the little tyrant paybacks were hell. And that day couldn’t come soon enough for him.

  Domino stopped at one of the room’s cabinets and he waited, eyes downcast, for her to select a few items for their session. Then she snapped her fingers again and he followed her to the black velvet throne. She sprawled with an arrogant ease in its padded depths as he knelt before her, awaiting her next command.

  “Something tells me you just aren’t in the proper frame of mind for this game,” she said. “You need something to remind you of your status.”

  Using the tip of her crop, Domino tilted up his face. She dangled a studded leather slave collar from her left hand. It was adjustable but Dalton knew it’d be a snug fit around his eighteen-inch neck. He was right.

  Her gloved fingers brushed against his skin as she fastened the rough leather band around his throat. He shivered although the room felt increasingly warmer.

  “In this room, you are a slave…my slave.” Her husky voice caressed him, drawing his eyes up to hers. Their gazes locked and held. “In this room, your body is mine.”

  Dalton felt his heart kick and his pulse accelerate. Her eyes seemed to darken and intensify as he watched.

  “In this room my word is law and you will obey.”

  Suddenly, her arrogant demeanor softened. For one crazy moment, he thought she would kiss him. Her eyes dropped to his mouth and as he held his breath, Domino leaned toward him. Then abruptly, she sat back, blinked and donned her Mistress Bella persona like armor.

  What the hell was she thinking? Dom berated herself for her slip even as she mourned the missed kiss. The man was a poster child for animal magnetism. His nude body, the magnificent muscled expanse of it, made her mouth water. He exuded common-sense-destroying pheromones but she had to maintain the upper hand—literally. Still that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy herself just a little.

  Dom settled back in the chair and crossed her legs. She smiled as Dalton’s eyes traveled from her open-toed, high-heel pumps up her sheer black hose. His gaze lingered where the stockings disappeared under the hem of her leather mini-dress. Maybe it was time to put that male interest to work.

  “Like what you see?” she asked.

  Dalton dropped his eyes. “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Good.” She chuckled. “You may not have written foot fetish on your club application but my toes are in the mood for a little pampering.”

  She uncrossed her legs and extended her right foot toward Dalton. He hesitated then slipped off her shoe and closed his warm hands over her heel and ankle. For several seconds he just stroked her foot with his fingers, causing her to clamp down on the moan that rose to her lips. After a couple hours in arch-hammering high heels, she was putty in his hands.

  He glanced up as if gauging her reaction to his touch. When she didn’t reprimand him for his insolence, he kept his gaze on hers. Dalton massaged her foot for a marvelous minute before slowly raising it to his mouth. Dom held her breath. Without breaking eye contact, he brushed his lips against the top of her foot and nibbled her ankle. She exhaled in a long sigh as shivers of awareness traveled up her leg. This was nothing like a session with Tootsie Tom, her foot-fetish client. This was heaven.

  Dom enjoyed his sensuous ministrations, almost forgetting her role in the game. When he lowered her foot to the ground and picked up her left one, she allowed him to set the pace. Again, he slipped off her shoe and treated her foot to a mix of stroking fingers and oral pleasure. She sank lower in the chair as she relaxed for the first time that day.

  With his eyes still on hers, Dalton brushed his lips over her left calf, leaning closer to tease the stocking’s seam with his tongue. Dom could feel the wet kiss through her hose and wished she dared to strip them off and remove any barrier between his lips and her skin. Using his hands to massage her calf, he ran his mouth up to her knee. It felt unbelievable.

  Suddenly she realized his hands had ventured higher while he’d distracted her with his mouth. His fingers were skimming under her dress hem, toying with her garters and seeking the flesh above her hose. Domino gasped and straightened, shoving his hands away. Dalton smiled then quickly masked his triumph.

  This man was a submissive? Dom’s intuition hummed louder. There was something suspicious about this customer. She wanted to investigate Dalton, find out his secrets, but her role as Mistress Bella limited her options. So she stuck with the game plan and reacted in character for a dominatrix. She put her foot on his chest and shoved him backward onto his butt.

  “You have to earn the privilege of touching me,” Dom warned, her tone threatening despite the shimmers of sexual awareness he’d set into motion. “That little move is going to cost you.”

  Dalton acted chastened but his jaw clenched tight. Standing, Domino snapped her fingers and walked toward the bondage cabinet. She heard him moving slowly after her as she opened the cabinet and retrieved a pair of handcuffs. Though fleece-lined, the set of cuffs wasn’t a toy and couldn’t be opened without using two hands to spring the intricate lock. The cuffs were connected by a short length of cold steel chain.

  Turning, she extended the cuffs toward Dalton. A rebellious look flashed in his eyes before he lowered them to the floor. So, the man didn’t like being restrained. Dom smiled.

  “Hold out your hands,” she ordered.

  For a moment she didn’t think he’d obey but then Dalton raised his arms in front of him. Domino clicked the restraints shut around his wrists and ordered him to stand. Then she grabbed the cuffs’ connecting chain and led him to the center of the room. Using a remote control dangling from the ceiling, she lowered a pulley system with a metal hook at the end.

  Would she hang him like a side of beef while she punished him? Dalton almost jerked away when she attached the hook to the links between his cuffs. Then he broke out in a cold sweat as Dom raised the hook until his arms were pulled skyward. She didn’t stop until he was standing on the balls of his feet.

  Domino circled his body as though admiring her handiwork before heading to the second cabinet. He twisted his head to watch her, dreading to see what she’d pull from her toy box. But instead of the whip he’d expected, she withdrew what looked like a leather holder, rolled into a cylinder. What the hell?

  She walked back to stand in front of him, allowing Dalton a clear view of her actions. Turning the cylinder on its side,
Dom extended three telescoping metal legs which provided a tripod-like base. Setting the legs on the floor, she unrolled the now free-standing cylinder to reveal a multi-pocketed carrier. Inside was a variety of ominous-looking implements.

  The first several items resembled wooden drumsticks. They each sported a different tip made of materials from Velcro to sandpaper. Another pocket held a tool that looked like a tiny rake and there were several fur-covered gloves. It was the last implement however, that finally clued him in. A large, stiff white feather completed the custom-made tickling kit.

  For one brief moment, Dalton was six again, suffering through a pain-and-pleasure attack of the Tickle Monster. It’d been his mother’s favorite game, especially when she was drunk. She’d never figured out his screaming laughter hadn’t meant he was enjoying the torment. So, the Tickle Monster had become his personal nightmare. After his mother had abandoned him, Dalton hadn’t revealed his extreme ticklishness to anyone.

  As he watched Domino select the feather, he barely felt the sweat dripping down his body. She was going to tickle him. Would he make it through the session without using the “yellow” caution word or even the end-everything “red” safe word? Dalton wanted to ask her to gag him so he couldn’t break down and beg.

  Dom held the quill-like feather in front of his face so he could see the curving shape and pointed tip. He clenched his jaw and tried not to anticipate what was coming. He remembered that dreading a tickling only made his nerves more jumpy.

  “I promised at our first meeting to show you ways to sensitize your body.” Domino ran the tip under his chin. “Some pleasures can become so exquisite they’re painful. Are you ticklish, slave?”

  Dalton shook his head, unable to get the denial past his gritted teeth. She couldn’t discover how ticklish he really was. But as Dom ran the sharp tip of the feather down his chest and across his ribs, he shook from the effort to stand still. One look at her gloating eyes told him she’d guessed his secret.