Chapter 8 #2
“Ray, when are you done there?” Drake’s smooth voice came from her right. A few feet from the other Doms, he was studying her, a line between his brows. “I’d like your opinion on the wall attachment for the pentagram.”
Relief flooded her, leaving her almost dizzy. Swallowing, she glanced at the small clock on the back wall. “As soon as my replacement arrives, I’m free.”
“Ah, but are you easy?” Kiefer asked and wiggled his eyebrows.
Why did men have to be such jerks? Grow up, dumbass. “No. I’m not,” Ray snapped.
His eyes hardened. “You—”
“Are you Ray? You must be Ray.” A tall woman joined her behind the bar. Her voice was a low alto. “I’m Calliope, and you’re relieved from duty. Oh, and welcome to Chains!”
The sheer exuberance made her smile. “Thank you, Calliope. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
“She didn’t say that to us,” Kiefer muttered to the biker Dom. “You think she’s lesbian?”
As she headed for the end of the bar, she heard Drake saying, “Kiefer, I don’t want to hear you making sexually suggestive comments to women. I want to think you’re better than this.”
“Hey, this is a BDSM club—sex is on the table.”
Drake paused for a moment, then said mildly.
“At Thanksgiving, turkey is on the table. But you’d be unhappy if your father rammed a drumstick into your face.
To a woman, your behavior comes across like you’re shoving your testicles in her face.
Like you’re desperate for sex, no less. Your reprehensible behavior makes women uncomfortable and is not acceptable here. Do better.”
Oh, burn. Ray barely managed to keep from hugging the Chains cop. How often did men call out other men for their sexually aggressive behavior? Like never.
Drake turned to Blaize and said something in a low voice.
Blaize nodded, setting a hand on Kiefer’s shoulder. “With me. We need to work on your lack of social skills before they get you tossed out of the club.”
Yes, yes, yes. Of course, she shouldn’t be pleased Kiefer had been taken down a notch, but…damn, it’d been awesome. She beamed at Drake. “Okay, Chains police. I’m all yours.”
“All mine?”
She flushed—and realized she was standing much closer than she usually did with men.
Amusement glinted in his eyes as he stroked the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Ma chérie, if you say this to a police officer Dominant, you might well be tucked into a jail cell and…used. With your consent, of course.”
“O-of course.” He’d have his hands on her again, restrain her, maybe take her… The bottom of her stomach slid right down into a pool of lava.
His mouth curved. “This appeals to you, I see. Perhaps we should discuss your interests.”
Oh, oh, what was she doing? “Uh.” She shook her head. “This…tonight I planned on only meeting people. Making friends. Not doing anything.”
“I see.” A corner of his mouth tilted up. “I would hate to disrupt your planning. Or give young Kiefer a bad example.”
She frowned. He was right. “Why is it different?” Old gods, but this was confusing.
He chuckled. “First…we are not strangers. I’ve kissed you. Touched you.”
Oh, he so had.
His lips quirked. “But what happened in the past isn’t a guarantee you’d still be interested. And if you’d been reserved, I would have given you your space, and I will at any point if you ask for it. But when you approached, your distance from me suggests you might enjoy something else.”
She realized she was still standing too close. Intimately close. “Oh.”
Before she could decide if she should retreat, he smiled. “Come, let’s go look at your pentagram.” He put a hand on her lower back, moving her toward the stairs.
Her bare arm brushed against the soft fabric of his shirt, against the solidness of all those muscles underneath. And somehow, she was far too aware of his warmth.
Down, body. Behave.
The security at the top of the stairs checked their hands—even Drake’s—for purple slashes and waved them past.
At the foot of the stairs, she stopped to look around.
In the center of the room, a naked woman stood with her arms restrained over her head. Not one, but two male Tops took turns using a cane on her. She was crying and wiggling to get out of the strike zone—and yet her nipples were erect and arousal was obvious on her wet inner thighs.
People upstairs were looking over the railing and watching.
Ray swallowed, feeling the sweep of excitement. What would it be like to be the woman, in the center of the room? It was close enough to her nightmare to raise a ball of anxiety inside her, yet… Being restrained, touched by someone special while being watched by strangers was one of her fantasies.
One that’d turned so very wrong. She shook her head hard and met Drake’s eyes.
His gaze on her was like the sun, warm and heightening everything she was feeling. He made a sound deep in his throat.
“What?” She frowned at him.
“You are so very conflicted.” He lifted her hand, kissing her fingertips, then lacing their fingers together. “Come, we have a pentagram to check.”
Holding hands. Something she’d never done with a guy. How could it feel so intimate and grounding at the same time?
They wandered past so many interesting scenes. Floggings. Then something…a crop, yes, that was what the stick with leather patch on the end was called. The next scene showed tiny cups lined up on a man’s back like grotesque nipples. And farther down, a woman was caning another woman.
The door closed behind her in the Elfame room, shutting away the noise from the dungeon. Here, there was peaceful music and the trickle of water from the fountain.
Holy kraken, look at this! She smiled so hard it probably took up her whole face. My pentagram is in use.
Holding an ice cube like a crayon, a woman drew patterns on a naked submissive bound to the pentagram. On a nearby table lay fur mittens, a feather, and a sharp-toothed pinwheel thing. The woman’s breasts had thin red lines and were wet from the ice cubes. Her eyes were half-closed, dazed almost.
Even better, she looked comfortable with the pentagram tilted enough to support some of her weight and let her rest her head.
“It works,” Ray said under her breath. Satisfaction blossomed at the fulfilment of her vision.
“Oui. It’s perfect.” Drake put his arm around her shoulders, gave her a squeeze, and guided her back out the door into the regular dungeon.
Her sigh was happy. “I should have the chair done in a few more days. It still needs more coats of polyurethane.” She wanted a sexy-satin finish on it.
“Very good.” Drake looked down at her. “Do you have time for another project? It has a short turn-around.”
“Maybe?” Consumed with finishing up George’s projects, she still hadn’t informed her previous associates and contractors of her return.
“You know about our upcoming convention, oui?”
“Yes.”
“On the last day, we give out useful awards—bondage items, sex toys, impact toys. Handcrafted wooden paddles are always popular. Can you make some for the convention?”
“Paddles…like for spanking?”
His lips quirked. “Exactly for spanking.” He guided her toward a scene off to the left. “Hands get sore and bruised. Belts require skill to avoid welts. Paddles are useful.”
He motioned to where a brunette in a siren-red catsuit walloped a man bent over a padded bench. She was using what looked like a cheap Ping pong paddle.
“Something more…artistic…is needed for our convention,” Drake murmured.
It actually sounded like a fun project. Only… “I don’t know anything about, um, spanking paddles.”
“Easily fixed.” The wicked expression in his face sent a jolt of alarm—and heat—through her.
“Uh…how about you give me one to use as a sample?”
“I can. However, isn’t it important to know how it feels to the user—and to the recipient?” His expression was all innocence except for one raised eyebrow.
Dammit, he had a point. Sure, she could make something like the ping-pong paddle, but she had too much pride in her work to create something half-assed. “Yes, it’s important.”
“Then let’s give you the opportunity to try a variety—from each side of the slash.”
Each side of the slash? Wait, wait, wait. “You mean spanking and being spanked?”
“But of course.” He moved toward two people farther down the room.
The tall, mixed-race woman had a feminine warrior body in a sleeveless vinyl dress, a black brace on her arm, and platform boots.
Ray suppressed a sigh of envy. Preteen, she’d longed for a Wonder Woman body and to be a total boss.
Had thought she’d be the type to stand over a guy with a stilettoed foot on his chest. Instead, she was short.
Lean rather than muscular. And sure, she could hold her own in everyday life, but in bed? Totally submissive.
Life sucked lemons sometimes.
“Evening, Drake. And who is this?” the woman’s voice a firm contralto.
“Jasira, this is Ray, George’s protégé. She will be crafting wood paddles for our convention awards. Ray, this is Jasira and her slave, Casper.”
Casper’s name—totally on target. His skin was a milky-white, his hair blond. He didn’t speak but, eyes downcast, bobbed his head slightly.
“It’s good to meet you, Ray.” Jasira had a warm smile. She was probably around fifty, her slave maybe in his thirties. “We all loved George here.” Before Ray could speak past the sudden ache in her throat, the Domme turned to Drake. “Bastian mentioned you might be adding new awards.”
“We want to encourage more community service and mentoring.” Drake nodded toward the other side of the dungeon. “Like Blaize has been doing with the newer Doms.”
Ray followed his gaze and saw the charming Dom who’d been with the fuckwit Kiefer at the bar. Mr. Mentor really needed to be more proactive rather than needing Drake to tell him to deal with jerks. Eh, with luck, Kiefer would have learned his lesson.
“Bribes can be useful in motivating behavior.” Jasira winked at her slave, then asked Drake, “Do you need my help with something?”