by Kallysten
"Finally talking sense. I guess there'll be no need to feed you milk and send you to bed with a spanking like a naughty boy after all."
A shiver ran through his body at those words, just like she had probably known would happen. The smile was clear in her voice when she added, more quietly, “Or maybe just the spanking, then."
Ray's cock stirred in the confines of his pants, and a simple word escaped his lips.
"Please."
She clucked her tongue in reprobation. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We have some unfinished business to discuss.” She paused for a second as though considering her words. “You lied to us this morning."
He didn't reply, didn't move a muscle, even though that accusation made him want to squirm in anticipation of the punishment he was sure it would earn him.
"Nothing to say in your defense?” she asked impatiently.
Ray struggled to keep his voice level. “You didn't ask me a question, Mistress."
She snorted. “Fair enough. Let me try again. Why did you lie to us this morning?"
Yet again, her fingers wove into his hair. Ray started raising his head without waiting for the tug he knew would come.
"We weren't playing,” he explained, meeting her eyes and remembering how wide they had been that morning when she had realized who was standing in front of her. “You weren't Mistress Red then."
Her expression became thoughtful, and she briefly inclined her head. “I guess not,” she conceded, “although you did drop to your knees for me, didn't you?"
Ray allowed a small smile to come to his lips. “It took me a little while to realize I wasn't dreaming."
Her face revealed nothing of what she thought, but both her scent and her heartbeat betrayed her. The first was spiked with a hint of lust suddenly, while the second jumped as though she had just been running.
"No dreams now,” she said slowly. “And no more lies. Did you know the woman my colleague asked you about?"
He hesitated, no longer than a second, but her fingers tightening in his hair called him to order.
"I did."
She didn't appear surprised in the least, and her next question came without a beat.
"Did you meet her here?"
"Yes."
"Did you play with her?"
Ray's mouth opened to deny he had, but his answer changed before it came out. The way he saw it, he had not played with her; he had been playing with Keller, and Keller had merely demanded that he submit to MacAlair as some sort of experiment. He doubted Mistress Red would see things the same way, however.
"Yes."
She seemed to ponder her next question, taking a little longer to ask it. “Your Sire gave you permission to play with her like he did last night?"
Ray felt like chuckling at the somewhat bitter memory. “Not exactly, no. He gave me to her."
Shock bloomed on her face, as unexpected as an exotic flower in an arctic landscape—and as beautiful. She must have noticed how closely he was looking at her because she suddenly let go of the strands of hair through which she had been twinning her fingers. Ray dutifully dropped his gaze.
"Your Sire is Owens, isn't he? Keller Owens?"
"Yes."
"How well did he know her to ... to give you to her?"
Ray struggled to resist the urge to look back at her. Was she asking because of her investigation, or was that a more personal question?
"She played here often,” he offered, hoping that it would be enough to satisfy her.
"And Owens? How often does he play?"
It felt wrong, to hear her say Keller's name. It felt even worse to answer her. Ray had to remind himself that anyone else in the club would have been able to give her the same information to be able to push the words out. He wasn't betraying his Sire, he repeated to himself; he wasn't, even if it felt like it.
"Most nights."
Her heart jumped again, betraying the same tension her voice held. “Is he here tonight?"
"No."
More than he wanted to say had to have transpired in that simple word, because she asked, “You really don't know where he is, do you?"
Ray pushed away suspicions and half-formed guesses. “No, Mistress, I don't."
"Why did he leave you behind?"
Ray had asked himself the same thing dozens of times in the past few days. He had even asked Keller, a couple of times. He could have given her a hundred reasons, but the truth remained that he didn't know. Maybe he had made a mistake, one more, one too many. Maybe it was all a test of some sort. Maybe Keller had simply tired of him.
"I asked you a question, Ray,” she said mildly after a few seconds had passed.
"I'm sorry, Mistress Red. I have no answer."
One more time, she tugged at his hair, angling his head so she would see his face when he replied. “Did he kill her?"
It was tempting to say no, and maybe push her away from considering Keller as a suspect. If she thought he was lying, however, it might make things worse for both Keller and Ray.
"I don't know,” he replied, meeting her gaze and willing her to see he was telling the truth.
"Did he have any reason to kill her?” she insisted.
Something broke in Ray at finding himself forced again to question his loyalty to his Sire. It was one thing for him to purposefully disobey or lie to Keller. It was entirely different to be asked to betray his confidence.
"Maybe,” he snapped, “she asked him too many questions he had no reason to answer."
A grin slowly emerged on her face, ferocious and almost gleeful.
"And maybe someone here needs to learn to watch his tongue."
Chapter 8
With each question Grace asked about Keller Owens, she could see cracks grow in Ray's countenance, and it became a test. How far would she have to push before he pushed back? As it turned out, his breaking point was much closer to the surface than she had expected. She couldn't help grinning when he finally lost control. Now she had a reason to take him to the relative privacy of a playroom.
"And maybe someone here needs to learn to watch his tongue."
She leaned forward to place her empty glass on the coffee table next to the untouched glass of milk. She had seen the flash of distaste on Ray's face when he had noticed the milk, and while she had had no intention to make him drink it, it had served its purpose. She remembered being in his place, and having to drink that glass of milk before being sent to stand in a corner like a child for the rest of the night. She couldn't imagine doing the same thing to Ray, even if it would have been the perfect punishment for him. It was obvious how much he craved attention, and denying it to him was bound to hurt him more than blows. She was wondering if, maybe, his Sire had not left him behind for this very reason.
She cut short her musings and stood, walking past him with a curt command.
"Follow me."
She stopped just behind him and watched him carefully. His tension was clear in the rigidity of his back and his fisted hands crossed behind him. She could almost feel him think and argue with himself—was he going to keep playing with her, or would he flip his card again, red side back up, and tell her to go to hell?
A few seconds trickled by. When he finally stood and turned toward her, eyes directed at the floor and wrists still at his back, Grace let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She led the way to the back of the club, keenly aware of the gazes following them but confident that Ray's hesitations wouldn't be noticed.
Since she had sent him to wash his mouth earlier, he had behaved much better than his little display on the dance floor had led her to believe he would. Knowing she was a Special Enforcer, it had been pure provocation for him to bite a human, willing or not, just yards away from her. He had been quick, however, to place himself back in the position he had chosen the previous night, at her feet and responding to her words and touch in the sweetest way.
Had they been alone, she would have avoided antagonizing him once
she realized that his Sire was a difficult topic for him. Alone, they were not, however, and as time passed, couples or small groups had settled in the sitting areas around them, close enough to listen to their conversation if they cared to try. Ray knew what she was, and she was fine with that; that didn't mean she wanted everyone in the club to know.
When the attendant asked her what kind of room she wanted, she didn't hesitate before asking for a private one. She soon stepped into a playroom identical to the one from the previous night except for the lack of a bay window. The door shut with the soft click of the latch behind Ray, and when she glanced at him, she found him already undressing, folding his clothes methodically and making a neat pile with them near the door.
"I didn't ask you to undress,” she said mildly just as he was finishing, and watched him freeze before adding, “although a little initiative in anticipating my needs can be nice. As long as you don't overdo it."
He seemed taken aback by the praise—because that was how she meant it, despite the roundabout way in which she had voiced it.
"Does your Sire know you're playing tonight? Is there anything you don't have permission for?” she finished before he had time to respond.
In front of her, Ray had slid back to his knees, his body a mass of coiled muscles. Unlike the previous night, his cock hung low, interested by the proceedings and yet far from being fully erect.
"No, Mistress. To both questions."
"Is that why you're so sullen? Because you're not supposed to be here?"
He took so long to answer that she thought she would need to call him to order. When he finally did, his words came slowly, almost reluctantly.
"I am sorry if I appear sullen. It wasn't my intention."
And that, Grace realized at once, did not answer her question. The fact that he was avoiding giving her a meaningful reply, however, might have been an answer in itself.
"I have one more question about Owens. Answer it, and I won't ask anything else about him."
She sat down on the bench against the wall and waited for him to give her a sign that he accepted her offer. He didn't look up, didn't speak, but his head moved in a shallow nod.
"You said you don't know if he killed her. Do you think it's possible that he did? Look at me when you answer."
For close to a minute, he kept his gaze on the floor in front of him. When he finally raised his eyes toward her, the tiniest frown marred his brow.
"He is my Sire,” he said, putting more weight on that last word than should have been possible with such a quiet voice.
A little annoyed, Grace shook her head. “You're not—"
She stopped herself, the meaning of his words jumping at her through her irritation. Owens was his Sire, which meant that he had killed at least once before; he was therefore capable of killing. These same words, however, also explained why Ray was so troubled. Even if she hadn't realized it until now, she had been asking him, with just about each of her questions, to betray his Sire and Master. She almost apologized for it before deciding against it. There were other ways than words. His punishment would be first, though.
Leaving him where he was kneeling, she walked over to a shelf on the wall and looked inside the clear Plexiglas box. The scarves were all different, some of them sheer and light as a breeze, others made of a heavy cotton. They could have a multitude of uses, and she could see herself using them to tie him up or caress him with the most elusive of touches. Right then, however, what she wanted was a blindfold. A dark blue bandana-like scarf seemed well suited for that purpose. At the last second, she also grabbed the sheerest, thinnest scarf in the box.
"Give me your hands,” she demanded as she walked back to stand in front of him.
His palms rose up toward her. She moved them together as though in prayer and tied the sheer scarf around his wrists, maybe a little more tightly than she would have tied a human.
"Look at your hands."
His eyes came up to look at his hands she was still holding in hers, but whatever he thought of his restraints, his expression showed nothing.
"I know you could rip these to shreds without even trying. If you do, I'll be disappointed. If you don't, I'll reward you. Understood?"
His gaze flickered a little higher to meet hers. “Yes, Mistress."
She released his hands and grabbed the second scarf she had kept on her shoulder while tying the first.
"Do you know why you're being punished tonight?"
"Would you like a list, Mistress?"
Slowly, she stepped behind him. “Not this time. I trust you could give me details if I asked. Just the main offenses."
She watched his back as he replied, admiring not so much how straight he was kneeling, but rather how perfect his skin was, smooth and unmarked. A day after his last punishment, a human would still have worn a few marks, but Ray did not. It only made her want to do better this time and leave a longer-lasting trace on him.
"I lied to you. I did not submit at once. I was insolent."
"I will forgive the lies as we were as far from the scene as we could be at the time. And the insolence too since I all but asked you to betray your Sire and I realize I shouldn't have."
The muscles of his back rippled, the movement revealing he was troubled by her words. She wondered if it was the forgiveness she was offering or her admission of fault that was surprising him most. She knew some Dominants refused to admit ever being wrong about anything. In her mind, however, if she was going to hold her submissive accountable for the tiniest mistakes, she had to hold herself to some standards as well.
"So really, the only thing you are to be punished for tonight is looking at Mistress Red and trying to fool yourself into seeing Grace.” Leaning down, she placed the bandana over his eyes and tied it at the back of his head. “I think you need to be reminded how precious the gift of sight can be. And there's no better way for that than to lose it.” She walked back in front of him and examined the blindfold, folding over a corner of the bandana. “Can you see anything?"
"No, Mistress."
There was a new tightness to his voice that hinted he wasn't too happy at that moment. Grace smiled to herself and took a step back.
"Stand up."
Arms crossed, she watched him obey. The usual elegance of his every movement was spoiled by a little unsteadiness as he tried to get his bearings.
"I want you to lean over the horse, chest completely down and holding the far end."
The horse was only about ten feet from him, the four wooden feet bolted to the floor at an angle and supporting a padded platform at waist level. As soon as Grace finished speaking, his head turned in the general direction he needed to go. He hesitated for a second then started taking slow, cautious steps that revealed his fear of tripping over something. His bound hands were raised in front of him, both searching and guarding him against unpleasant encounters. A little beneath them, his cock bobbed up and down as though playing the same role.
"You're very pretty,” Grace mused aloud, causing him to stumble. “Show me just how pretty. Raise your hands over your head and turn around for me. Keep turning until I say you can stop."
She moved across the room as he performed his imitation of a ballet figure. Feeling devious, she almost demanded that he continue on the tip of his toes, but decided against it. From the look of concentration on what she could see of his face, she was sure he was trying to keep himself orientated in relation to the horse. She stopped him with a word mid turn, so that he was facing the wall rather than the horse. Without waiting for her to urge him on, he took a step forward—and immediately stopped. His face turned around as though he were looking for the horse, but unable to see, he soon looked straight ahead again and took another step, this one clearly hesitant.
"Problem, Ray?” Grace asked sweetly after a few seconds of watching him take single steps this way and that, getting no closer to the horse in the process.
"Mistress, I ... I do not know where the horse is anymore."
"I see. You are always allowed to ask for help, remember?"
He turned toward the sound of her voice and inclined his head. “Yes, Mistress, I remember. Could you please guide me?"
"I will.” She moved to stand behind the horse. “Lower your hands but don't hide your cock. Now follow my voice. Do you know why I will guide you? Because you put yourself in my hands. Remember you chose this, Ray. Next time Mistress Red is in front of you, remember you chose her. Not Grace."
She fell silent before she could say that he would never have given Grace a second look, and Ray stopped walking at once. He was standing just an arm-length away from the horse.
"You're there."
He raised his hands again and found the support beam. “Thank you, Mistress.” Orientating himself by touch, he stood at one end of the horse and draped his body on top of it. With his arms stretched out, his hands were in the perfect position to grip the other end.
"Good."
He seemed to relax a little at the single word of praise. Grace picked up a wooden paddle on the wall behind her, being careful not to make a sound, then walked around the horse to stand behind him. She noted that his cock just rested against the rounded end of the padding and decided to allow that small contact. She doubted it would be enough to distract him once she started.
Without warning, she swung the paddle. It hit his ass with a loud smacking sound, pushing his hips forward and into the horse. For the first time, she also pulled a choked moan from his lips.
"Ten more has a nice, round sound to it. Count for me."
She almost regretted, when his pained voice reached ten with a gasp, having set such a low number. He moaned beautifully, and his ass had taken a lovely shade of red. Without having prepared him in any way, however, going further would have been too much, too fast. She frowned as she ran a light hand down his back and over his ass. He pushed back into her hand and she swatted him lightly. For a second, she had forgotten he was a vampire, and forgotten she still didn't know what his limits were. She started walking toward the side of the horse, wanting to see his face as she asked him how much pain he was in, but a glimpse of his cock told her all she needed to know. It was harder than ever so far and a shiny strand of precome hung from the tip. She was beginning to think she had been wrong when believing he enjoyed the idea of the punishment more than the actual pain. He might just need both equally.