Chapter 5 #2
A familiar warmth settled over Crone as he descended the six steps into the Dungeon playspace behind Jagger and Moira. The air was different here, charged with subtle notes of leather and wood polish, mixed with the underlying energy of couples already in play.
His visits to Montana had become tethers in his calendar.
Three or four times yearly, he was drawn back here by Jagger and Moira’s steadfast friendship.
Their stubborn refusal to let him retreat into isolation had forged bonds so deep he couldn’t sever them had he tried.
What had started as formal guest privileges at Rawhide Ranch had evolved into a profound kinship that defied simple definition.
The clubs in Costa Rica served their purpose, but they lacked this sense of belonging. Here, the staff greeted him by name, remembered his preferences, and anticipated his needs.
The Dungeon itself seemed to embrace him, its carefully controlled atmosphere washing away the demons haunting him.
Each visit reinforced what he’d known from his first scene here.
This space held more than equipment and protocols.
It offered understanding, acceptance, and a profound respect for the power exchange that occurred within its walls.
“Damn if Derek didn’t read me right,” he mumbled softly.
Rawhide Ranch had become more than a playground during visits.
It had somehow turned into a sanctuary where he didn’t have to expound on his fears that kept haunting him at night.
He had no idea why he hadn’t realized it years ago, but he now instinctively knew this would be where he could find the means to finally expel the ghosts of the past still revisiting him in his dreams.
I need to take the job. Here is where I may finally become human again.
“These are new,” Crone said as he ran his hand over the exquisite craftsmanship of a spanking bench, appreciating how every detail had been meticulously planned.
The black leather padding whispered luxury beneath his fingers.
Cushioning was strategically positioned to cradle a submissive’s frame while maintaining access for discipline with perfectly placed straps to hold a body in place.
“Yes, it was time to upgrade some of the equipment. We do that at regular intervals.” Jagger gestured to the row of Saint Andrew’s crosses, spanking benches, and gestured to various spreader bars suspended from the ceiling.
“Keeping our Littles and submissives comfortable is key… even during a scene.”
There were already people at play and the familiar aroma of sweat, lust, and leather drifted through Crone’s nostrils.
“Can we expect a treat from you tonight, Master Crone?” Sadie chirped excitedly as she skipped closer with Derek by her side. “I just love watching you in action.”
“Careful, angel,” Derek growled. “Or you might just feel the bite of my whip.”
“Pfft, don’t be such a grouch, Daddy,” she cooed but pressed her petite body closer, just in case he was serious.
“I intend to scene, if that’s what you’re asking, little one.” Crone’s voice dropped to his Dom tone, which he noted had a visual effect on both women. Their backs straightened and their eyes glimmered.
“Have you looked for a potential partner yet?” Derek prodded.
Crone’s scar crinkled as he lifted one eyebrow. He didn’t miss the hint. “I told you, Derek. My way and in my time.”
“Ehm… I’m a little lost.” Sadie looked between the two men.
“Master Crone just accepted a position at Rawhide Ranch… as our expert in specialized whip therapy.” Derek smiled broadly.
“Ooh! How exciting. Does that mean I could go for some therapy too, Daddy?”
“You’re pushing it, wife.” Derek’s growl held a measure of amusement. His possessiveness toward his Little was legendary, which was matched by Sadie’s determined efforts to provoke him.
“And you keep promising—eek! No, Daddy!” Sadie’s squeal echoed through the Dungeon as Derek hoisted her over his shoulder.
She kicked her legs dramatically while he marched toward a Saint Andrew’s cross.
“Please, Daddy... I didn’t mean to make you angry!
” The wink she tossed their way betrayed her mock distress.
“Little manipulator,” Crone chuckled, shaking his head. “She orchestrated that entire performance.”
“Indeed. Derek’s well aware of it too. She’ll regret her success when sitting becomes a distant memory tomorrow.” Jagger drew Moira against him, nuzzling her neck. “What do you say, my pretty little wife... shall we test the new sex swing?”
Moira’s expression transformed into pure delight as she did the best interpretation of bouncing her pregnancy allowed which was more like the shimmy of an excited puppy. “Oh, yes, Daddy. I’ve missed flying through space with you.”
Crone watched the interplay with fascination. Moira embodied such fascinating duality. On one hand she was a fierce warrior queen who could stand toe-to-toe with her massive husband, yet here she transformed into pure innocence, radiating joy at simple pleasures as her Daddy’s Little.
Retreating to the bar, he ordered an aged Macallan.
Finding a strategic observation point, he settled in to absorb the energy flowing through the Dungeon.
The whipping scene he planned could wait.
Right now, he needed to immerse himself in the power exchanges surrounding him, searching for a submissive who craved that rare ethereal connection as desperately as he did.
Peace washed over him as he observed the Masters working their craft.
Each scene spoke of dedication and trust cocooned within profound intimacy.
His chest tightened with memories surfacing.
He’d never forget the tingling laugh of his wife, Sarah, nor her unwavering faith in him, and the completeness they had shared for fifteen years until breast cancer stole her away.
She had been by his side since he was eighteen years old, and her loss had driven him to increasingly dangerous missions, seeking oblivion in service.
On the fifth anniversary of her death, that desperate recklessness had cost him dearly.
Sadly, the horror and captivity of those two years had reformed him and replaced the sadness and longing for his wife.
He still thought of her at times… until the dark reality hit home.
He wasn’t the man she used to know. Sarah wouldn’t recognize who he had become.
Sadie’s indignant squeal piercing the air, followed by Derek’s deep laughter cut through his dark memories, grounded him in the present.
He watched Jagger carefully securing Moira in the swing.
Her giggles were a sign of anticipated pleasure.
Their easy intimacy and the natural flow between Dominant and submissive sparked an ache he had buried deep.
Crone hadn’t realized how much he missed that feeling of togetherness, until now, watching the easy camaraderie and connection between the two couples.
Crone’s gaze shifted to a spanking bench next to where Derek and Sadie were scening.
Swirling the aged whiskey in the glass, he observed the scene with growing interest. Doc Quincy’s technique with the flogger was impeccable and was showcased with each precisely measured strike.
Yet something crucial was missing. The submissive’s body responded mechanically, accepting each blow with quiet endurance, but there was no electricity in the air, no building crescendo of energy between Dom and sub.
No gasps, whimpers, or telltale tremors of genuine connection.
It was the kind of reaction Crone resented since it shouted of a submissive either manipulating the situation or she wasn’t invested in the scene or her Dom.