by Joey W. Hill
She’d been there as well. When a goal that big was accomplished, a person died a little death. They had to resurrect themselves to embrace the future. But she couldn’t deal with that. She couldn’t sustain any good memory to get past the bad one, so it was like Jorge. She had to package it all up, box it away. Put it away. Let it go.
She pressed her fingertips to burning eyes and took a swallow of the wine she’d poured herself. She might need something stronger tonight, and thought about cracking open some of the rich bourbon she had for holidays. Just a shot glass should be enough to put her to sleep.
Her cell phone buzzed. She kept it with her, despite the fact she deleted all of Max’s texts without reading them, the voicemails without listening to them. She couldn’t go that route, had to box him up with all the rest.
She glanced at it and her brow furrowed. She had an excellent memory for numbers, but she had to stretch to recognize that one, since she’d only dialed it once in her life. Dale. It was Dale. Was Max calling from Dale’s phone, hoping to get her to pick up? No, he wasn’t like that.
She flipped open the phone. “Dale?” She tried to make her voice sound cordial, pleasant. Detached. Like she hadn’t shared an evening of murder and mayhem with him and his impromptu SEAL team.
“I’m down at Progeny, Janet. Max has signed up for a session with Mistress Sue. I called up the form he submitted on himself for Dom review. He’s representing himself as a Level Ten. No holds barred on pain, no limits in terms of being shared with other Doms or subs. Male or female.”
“Within two seconds of being around him, no Mistress in her right mind will believe that shit.”
“He has the training to do and be whatever’s necessary to get the job done,” Dale said evenly. “And you know no one can stretch a Level Ten like Sue. She’ll break him down like a set of Legos.”
“If he thinks…”
“He doesn’t know I’m calling you. I think he’s trying to figure things out about you. Like BUD/S training. Full immersion. So this call is a lot like the one you made to me a few weeks ago. Max may be in trouble. If that concerns you, you have until ten o’clock to make an appearance and do something about it. That’s when his session with her is scheduled to start.”
* * * * *
She waffled, she struggled with herself. Getting dressed to go to the club almost defeated her. She didn’t want to leave her solitude, the comfort of her nest. By the time she appeared in the foyer of Club Progeny, it was quarter to ten. She’d wasted five more minutes debating on whether she was going to get out of the car. She was angry at Dale for calling her, angry at Max for doing this. She was just angry, but in a passive, badger-down-its-hole way. She wanted someone to stick their hand within biting range so she could take off a few fingers, almost as much as she wanted to stay unmolested.
Dale was watching for her in the public sitting area visible from the lobby. She showed her ID to the hostess, barely pausing for the hand stamp before she came to him. He was alone, so to speak. A female submissive knelt on the floor next to him, her head on his knee while he stroked her hair. She was still perspiring from the session they’d shared, the lash marks on her bare back and pretty buttocks visible because she was naked except for a silver collar and leash. She was holding on to his leg as though she couldn’t let go. Since she seemed to be spiraling down from an intense subspace, Janet had a feeling his leg was her anchor.
The sight of the girl’s devotion, her response to Dale’s mastery of her, made things clutch in Janet’s throat, her stomach start to hurt. No, she wasn’t ready to feel. Was she? Or maybe she should have come here sooner. But not when Max was here. Not like that.
“Public floor,” Dale said, nodding in that direction.
Janet’s gaze sharpened on him. “You said ten o’clock. It’s not ten.”
“I called you at eight. He approached Sue about letting him ‘warm up’ for her, and she obliged him. She’s had him on display for an hour.”
Though there was no reproach in Dale’s tone, Janet felt guilty. It irritated her tremendously. Max made his own choices. He didn’t know she was here. She had no need to rescue him. It wasn’t like anything unsafe would happen to him. He was just going to learn that a hardcore Mistress was no one to fool with. To fool, period. If Sue thought he was Level Ten that’s how she’d treat him, unless he used a safe word. And the chances of that happening…
Setting her jaw, Janet went toward the public floor. Dale motioned to a slim Goth sub in dog collar and stressed jeans. The young man came over immediately. “Yes Sir?”
“Noah, watch over Debbie for a few minutes. I need to handle something.”
“Absolutely.” Noah slid into the booth on the other side. Dale shifted his charge across the floor with easy strength, transferring her hands to Noah’s leg with tender firmness. Debbie blinked at both of them hazily, and Dale touched her face. “It’s all right. You stay with Noah and behave for him. I wouldn’t want to have to whip you again.”
“No, Master.”
Noah resumed stroking her head, just as Dale had been doing. He’d probably be cuddling her on his lap like a kitten when Dale got back. The boy had a wide nurturing streak. He could also use his vibrating tongue stud with diabolical effectiveness. Maybe he’d have Debbie suck him off while Noah lay on his back between her spread knees and took her to the screaming edge of a climax. Dale’s focus had been taking Debbie into that subspace zone, rather than coming himself, but a release would feel damn good.
First things first though. Best to stay close at hand to prevent a possible homicide. Max had done something misguided, but Dale didn’t think it was a capital offense. Janet might feel otherwise, and he suspected her ire was going to be like an IED—aimed at anyone who tripped her wire.
Janet slid through the crowd. She didn’t have to go far to find Max. He was the subject of a lot of attention. Sue had him in a full headmask, only the mouth open to allow breath. That explained the rigid state of his muscles. He was surrounded by people, noises, things he couldn’t identify, and she had him bound face forward—legs, arms, torso and throat—against one of the cages.
Inside the cage was a trio of female subs, dressed in strips of black leather and lots of black eye makeup that made them look like a trio of succubae straight from Lucifer’s harem. Six hands were greedily caressing his flesh, two of the women on their knees to nip, lick and suck his cock. With his hips strapped firmly to the cage bars, he had no ability to pull back, and his buttocks were flexing in helpless struggle against their stimulation. There was a big ring around the base of his shaft to keep him from coming, but Sue also had a vibrating dildo shoved up his ass, tormenting him further.
Max had never taken anything up his ass but the slim probe she’d used with Rita. What was inside him now had the girth of a well-endowed male, so Janet knew it had to be burning like a son of a bitch, no matter how much lube Sue had used to ease it in properly.
Every visible muscle in his neck, shoulders, back, ass and legs was tense as a board. Not like a sub fighting against the inevitable, but like Prometheus grimly chained on his rock, being disemboweled by an eagle. Could Sue not see it? Of course she probably could, but as long as he wasn’t using the safe word, and he was in no physical danger, there’d be nothing to trigger ending it.
The Mistress in question, a voluptuous woman in a short black bob wig and beautifully tailored red corset, was sitting nearby, playing with the cock of a handsome slim man she’d bound onto a wheel while an additional submissive slowly rotated him, Sue had volunteers playing a game of rings with his erect member. Anyone who succeeded was given a prize, little trinkets. Sue was a versatile and creative Mistress. Janet curled her lip.
As Janet suspected, Sue was keeping a careful eye on Max, but she wasn’t seeing what Janet was seeing. However, she was a good enough Domme to pick up weird vibes, because Janet noted Sue was keeping that eye trained on him even a little more closely than usual.
Dale had call
ed it immersion, like BUD/S training, trying to figure out what Janet needed. Maybe that was part of it, but as Janet shifted to view Max’s profile, she recognized it as more than that. This was penance. Max had put Level Ten because he wanted everything Sue could dish out. When the real session started, Janet would lay money he’d push the voluptuous Mistress until she’d done everything to debase and humiliate him. He was punishing himself.
No one but his Mistress had the right to do that.
Goddamn Dale, goddamn Max and goddamn herself, for this frozen wasteland of her heart. But when Sue glanced at the clock and rose, reaching for her single tail, Janet was already pushing through the crowd toward her.
Sue had just positioned herself on the platform, within range of Max’s unmarked back, when Janet stepped on to the platform with her, shifting between the two of them. “You’re not going to touch him,” Janet said. “Not now, not ever.”
Max’s head snapped around as much as his bonds would allow, but Janet ignored the reaction, her attention on the other Mistress. She knew it wasn’t Sue’s fault, that the woman hadn’t done anything wrong, but it didn’t make the threat in Janet’s voice any less vehement, the emotions surging forth in her breast any less violent.
Sue blinked, brought the single tail down. “Mistress J,” she said carefully. “I’m sorry, what…”
Dale appeared at Sue’s side. Resting his hand lightly on the boning at her waist, he spoke in her ear. Janet stood there, vibrating with…rage, anguish…she didn’t know what. She spun around, eyed the three subs in the cage. “Get back. Get away from him. Now.”
They complied immediately, lifting their hands like they’d been caught at a crime scene. She shot a glance at the nearest staff member, an assistant to Mistress Sue. It was one of the perks provided to her, since her public scenes were a major draw at the club. “Take everything off him but the headmask and collar. I need a private room.”
She didn’t know what Dale said to Sue, or what they said to the dungeon master who’d appeared to see what was happening, but after a moment Dale gave her a nod, indicating that she was going to get the private room she wanted. Then a snarled oath, a strangled groan, jerked her attention away from him and back to Max.
When the staff attendant removed the vibrating plug and the cock ring, Max was too close to the edge. Just that bare amount of stimulation pushed him into orgasm.
He caught hold of the cage bars, the force of his reaction driving him down to one knee. His hips jerked as he spewed into the condom that had been rolled onto him. Since he wore the mask, she couldn’t see his face, but from the rigidity of his torso, she imagined the rictus of mortification, his embarrassment. All in all, he was a fairly private man. Yet he’d subjected himself to this. The complete moron.
It broke her heart open, and the pain of it nearly drove her to her knees. She moved to stand between him and the crowd, an ineffectual screen but one that allowed her to put a hand on his nape. He shuddered under her touch, and she knelt over him, her lips on his shoulder, her arm over his chest. She sheltered him, told him with the press of her body she was here, and she was the only one who mattered.
When he was done, his head was hanging low, mouth against her forearm, chest heaving. She slid away and he caught her wrist blindly.
“Let go of me, Max,” she ordered, her voice harsh. His fingers slipped away reluctantly, his mouth tight.
She took a tether from the staff member, clipped it to the wide collar around his throat. His body was quivering like a plucked bow string. Putting her hand on his chest, she exerted enough pressure to make him rise on shaky legs.
“Follow me,” she said.
She took him through the watching crowd, away from the main floor. They’d believe it had been orchestrated as part of the scene, and that was fine. No one knew what was truth or fantasy here except the Dom and sub, and sometimes the staff. But in the end, truth and fantasy always overlapped.
The room they’d given her was a small one, probably the only one available on this busy night. It had nothing but a chair and a sink. A Picasso-style mural on the wall showed a primitive and colorful scene of copulation between whimsically distorted human figures. She guided him down into the chair, unsnapped the tether and stepped away from him, placing herself against the wall. His head tilted, following her movements through the scrape of her boots on the tile floor.
The chair wasn’t a good idea, for the moment she saw him in it, she was transported to the warehouse again, seeing him slumped down, sitting under those dangling chains. She could tell his ribs were still tender, but the bruising was gone. The knife cuts were now pink, shiny scars.
“I want to take off the mask,” he said thickly.
“You’ll leave it on until I say so,” she said. “What the hell was this? What were you trying to prove?”
When his lips tightened again in stubborn reaction, her anger surged forth, hot and uncontrolled. It was out of proportion with the moment, but she didn’t care. She took a step forward and swung at his face, a sharp slap.
He caught her wrist before she could draw back. He dragged her onto his lap, holding her stubbornly while she squirmed against his hold. He just held her tighter, pressing his face against her flesh. She hated the feel of the mask. Finding the fastener, she unlocked it, unzipped the back and yanked it free of his flushed face, his spiked short hair.
“Let go of me.”
“No,” he said, holding her even tighter. “No, Mistress. I won’t. I can’t.”
“Stop it.” She shouted at him, struggled harder, hitting him wildly like she had that night. He kept his face pressed to her breasts to protect his eyes, so she didn’t realize he was answering her until she felt the force of his hot breath through her shirt, the vibration of the words.
“No. Don’t. Don’t. Please. Janet. Don’t do this.”
“What?” She jerked his face up with trembling hands. “Do what? What the hell am I doing to you?”
He looked away. When he did, the tears he was struggling to keep from falling glinted, driving into her heart like shards of clear glass. “Just don’t,” he said miserably.
She fought for control, to make some sense of her rage, the storm within her. “Tell me,” she said. “Goddamn you.”
He closed his eyes, and she couldn’t help herself. She gripped his face, pressed her forehead hard against his. “No. I didn’t mean it. Tell me. Just tell me.”
When he spoke, it was a low rumble, a half breath, like it was cracking his ribs all over again just to say it. She shifted her head so her cheek was pressed to his and he was speaking into her ear, each of them staring at the opposite wall. If there were mirrors, they would have seen endless versions of themselves.
“I came home,” he said, “and there was no home. My sister was there, but she was no longer… We’ll never be able to connect, love one another the same way. If I ruined that for us, Janet, if you’re… I’d do anything to go back to that day.”
He drew his head back, stared at her. His gray eyes were raw, tormented, and she found looking at them was like looking at the sun. Too bright and painful, risking permanent damage, but she couldn’t look away. “There’s this diving term we use. ‘Reset point’. It’s when you choose a familiar underwater object to orient yourself if you lose direction. I realized—too late—that you’re that point for me.”
He swallowed. “If I could do it over, I’d say the hell with the code, my need for vengeance or justice. I’d just make sure I never sent you to that place in your head that’s beyond where I can reach you. I need you, Mistress. I love you. Come back to me. Please.”
Just like that, the catalyst happened. An almost audible snap as everything tore loose, like a dam giving way. She hadn’t figured out what broke her out of that self-imposed prison last time, but there was no doubt what had done it this time. Max.
His voice broke. She found herself wrapping her arms as tightly as she could around his head and shoulders, curving her body a
gainst his. And he reciprocated, banding his arms around her, rocking them both, because now she was crying too. The ice was thawing, even as it was cutting her, hurting her.
But she was tough, tougher than anyone had ever expected, right? She wouldn’t let herself not love this man, this man who was afraid he’d lost her. But things were tender, painful, bleeding. She didn’t…she couldn’t pull it together.
“I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t feel, Max. I don’t know why…I wasn’t trying to punish you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yes, I did. I forgot the most important mission. Protecting the people I love, giving them everything they need. Amanda, you.” His voice stayed thick, even as he lifted his head so his gray eyes locked on hers. “There’s this thing we learn called counterinsurgency techniques—COIN. It’s when you learn that taking out a target or kicking in a door isn’t always the best route. Sometimes it’s getting the village kids candy or playing soccer with them, or helping their moms or grandparents rebuild a door that got kicked in on a raid. You defeat the enemy by winning the hearts of people who have dealt with too much death and loss, show them there’s some other way, showing yourself there’s another way. I should have seen there was some other way.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Max, you can’t regret something like that. You were right. He won’t harm anyone else. That has to be worth something.”
“But it’s not worth losing you. I’m sorry, Mistress. I won’t fail you again. Just don’t go away from me like that. It fucking killed me, these past few weeks…seeing you so far away, though you were so close…”
“Stop, stop, stop…” She rained kisses on his eyes, his wet lashes, his nose, his forehead, the strong jaw, and then she landed on his lips and held there, a deep, drowning kiss, filled with soft whimpers and needy moans.