Red Hot Obsessions (171 page)

Rae blathered on about how when she got to college, she had sneaked away from her cousin-roommate-chaperone Hester and screwed college boys a couple times but that had made her more ashamed and now she didn’t know what she was doing but she wanted start a clinic to help autistic kids and she just didn’t want her life to be so hardscrabble and desperate as everyone else’s, and if that guy he had sent to Pirtleville, that cloistered town that huddled in the lawless desert, if he told anyone in her family anything at all, no one would ever speak to her again and she couldn’t bear that.

Wulf cradled her to his side with one hand and dialed a number into his phone with his thumb. He told the guy on the other end of the line to come back to the city because he didn’t need to bother the Stone family of Pirtleville. “Just peruse public records for due diligence,” he said. Wulf turned to Rae, “Jonas wasn’t even there yet. He has spoken to no one.”

Rae sagged against his side as much as the steel-boned corset would allow. “Thank you.”

“I wouldn’t want to cause problems with your family.” Wulf’s bass voice sounded distant, like he was talking to the corner of the room instead of to her. “Being estranged can be difficult.”

“Oh?”

That was a standard conversational response, an invitation to continue, but Wulf stroked her side and didn’t say anything more.

Rae surmised that his family must not like him being in the sex business, either. She couldn’t imagine choosing the ownership of a sex parlor over one’s family, though. Someone who would do such a thing would be so callous to choose sexual gratification over family ties, but she didn’t want to think that Wulf would do such a thing.

Wulf said, “If we’re not to keep Mr. Park waiting, we should begin training soon.” Wulf detangled his arms from her, though his firm hand held her arm like he was holding her hand. “The spa area has everything you’ll need to freshen up.” He ducked his head to look at her face. “You’ll be all right?”

Rae wiped her eyes hard. Purple eye shadow and mascara smeared on her hands. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Excellent. I’ll meet you in Play Room Two in five minutes.” He strode out of the wardrobe area, leaving Rae alone in the extended closet that smelled like laundry soap and leather cleaner.

Her eyes still leaked tears, and she wiped them with the backs of her hands, feeling relieved but still a mess.

Something had happened with Wulf when he had held her, something that made him back off and raise his hands like he had felt an electric shock, the bad kind, and then she was pouring her heart out to him and knew nothing more about
him
.

The shiny man had shut off his reaction and turned the mirror on her.

But he had said something about family, that being estranged from family was difficult.

He hadn’t said
his
family, just the oblique reference to estrangement.

Rae had taken enough psychology classes to know that he was hiding something inside that shiny shell.

And she had taken enough psychology classes to know that psychopaths can convince you that they are not merely shiny shells.

More worried, Rae hurried, brushed some blush and bronzer on her eyelids to replace her sobbed-off makeup, found a pair of high-heeled black cowboy boots that fit her, and set off to find Wulf.

~~~~~

Secrets on his Skin

Five minutes later, panic was setting in because Rae was lost in the freakishly huge building that was The Devilhouse where the pristine white hallways wound around and around and then she found herself at the front desk with its lush potted plants and shining windows instead of deep inside the dungeon wing.

“Help!” Rae implored Glenda the receptionist.

Glenda giggled at Rae’s dismay and led her through some more identical corridors to Play Room Two, which was completely the opposite direction that Rae had thought she should go because she still had no idea how The Devilhouse was laid out.

Glenda cheerfully swatted Rae on the butt as Rae rushed in
late
to find Wulf waiting, lounging in the dim dungeon on what Rae now knew was a spanking couch, and reading something on his phone. The light from his phone glared on his face, illuminating his strong features from below, a classically demonic look at odds with his glowing, golden hair that should have crowned a sun god.

Around him, medieval-looking contraptions littered the stone-lined room. Some large frames were only half-visible in the shadows around the walls. The Inquisition could have rooted out all its opposition if they’d owned such a collection of floggers and racks.

Rae shucked her warm robe and laid it over a bar bolted to the wall. Cold air trickled over her skin. “Hi, um, Sir. Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find you.”

Wulf frowned. “If you were a submissive, I’d use the occasion to spank you.” He patted the couch. “But as you’re not, so let’s get on with it.”

“What would you do if I was a client?” Rae asked, a little breathless at the idea of being spanked. Would he lay her across his thighs?

He said, “I would double your usual charge and then spank you. Nice boots.”

Rae turned her leg out to show them off better. “Do they look okay?”

“Stunning. The high heels suit your bum.”

Rae hadn’t thought about her ass being on display in the leather teddy thing and stifled an urge to cover her butt with her hands.

Wulf said, “Here is Mr. Park’s file.”

This time, Rae took the manila file carefully and leaned against what looked like a small mechanical bull to absorb every last word and implication inside.

Inside, Mr. Lando Park had detailed his wants and needs. His picture showed a middle-aged man of Asian descent. Considering his surname, Rae thought he might be Korean. His medical exam stated that he had occasional back spasms. “Seriously, his safe word is
Gun Control
?”

Wulf’s wry smile was amused. “He claims that phrase will never pass his lips, no matter what punishment he endures.”

“Sounds like some of my uncles.” Rae read further, noting that when Lando Park had applied to the club, he had had exactly one sexual partner, his wife. She pointed that out to Wulf. “Is that unusual?”

Wulf shrugged. “You Americans have all kinds of kinks. Much more so than we degenerate Europeans.”

She laughed and went back to reading the file, though the subterranean gloom made that difficult. This time, she wasn’t going to miss stuff. She angled the paper to catch the pale light from the iron fake candle sconces better. The flickering light played over the pages that looked like a medical file.

According to the file and his usual Domme’s handwritten notes, in the beginning of each session, he engaged in defiant behavior, refusing her commands, no matter what the commands were, until she began to punish him in earnest. Then, he broke quickly. The apex of the session came when he submitted.

Rae had assumed that BDSM session notes would read like a shopping list of kink. These notes read like a psychologist’s notations. “This seems more like performing a rehearsed theater scene than having sex.”

“An accurate observation.”

“And it seems more like counseling than acting.”

“Indeed, often it is. The Devilhouse can provide important mental health services for our clients as an outlet for frustrations that might otherwise prove dangerous.”

That disturbed Rae. “Then they should be in real counseling.”

“Many of them will not engage in formal counseling. An old friend of mine utilizes the services here several times a year, though he booked sessions every week during the financial markets crisis. While we carry the usual BDSM implements on site—whips, canes, and such,—he brings frying pans, cricket bats, and the like. He pays an exorbitant fee to have five girls beat him until he is quite injured.”

“Good Lord! He’s not right in the head!”

“And yet, since he has been availing himself of The Devilhouse’s services, he hasn’t started even one pub fight. Before, he nearly went to prison for assault several times and ended up in the hospital with knife wounds or gunshots on three occasions, not to mention the other people whom he fought and hurt. Without this emergency valve, he would most likely be incarcerated for murder by now, or dead.”

“He doesn’t hit the girls here.” She forgot to modulate her prim, churched voice, and that came out all aghast.

“Never. The first couple of times, I kept security in the room, but it became abundantly clear that, though he blusters around and grabs at the girls a bit, he does not want to fight. He wants to be beaten.”

“Okay, then.” Even though it was consensual, it didn’t sound safe or sane at all.

When she finished reading, she asked Wulf, “So what’s our plan?”

“My plan is to stick to training you today.”

His dry tone made Rae laugh. She said, “It seems that Sonya had a usual script with him, to let him be defiant up to a point, then push back.”

Wulf nodded. “Yes. We might stick to that script unless there is a problem.”

“Okay.”

“So I’ll start out saying ‘no’ to everything you do, and you bring me around,” he said.

“What, seriously? You’re the client?”

“We have to teach you what to do.” He slapped his knees and prepared to stand.

“I thought you would show me what to do.” And she liked it when his hands were on her body.

“I’ll guide you while we’re working. Come on, then.” They stood up, and Rae tossed the file over by the door.

The file knocked against something that rattled. “What was that?”

Wulf glanced back. “The cache of riding crops.”

“Riding crops?” Rae went over to look. Sure enough, ten black crops stood in a slim, black waste paper basket just outside the door’s frame. “Is that where you’ve been getting those riding crops that, like, magically appear in your hand?”

He laughed. “It’s not magic.”

“Good Lord. I thought you had them spring-loaded up your sleeves,” Rae said. “I’ll be darned. Is there a whip caddy in every room?”

“Most rooms. You never know when you’re going to need to punish someone.” Wulf removed his suit jacket and folded it, laying it on the spanking bench.

She waited, watching, for him to take off his silver tie and shirt. His chest and back felt thickly muscled every time she ran her palms over those crisp, white shirts of his, and even now, the sparkling white cloth clung to the rounds of his broad shoulders.

She asked, “Is there a riding crop bucket in your office?”

He shrugged. “I have a few crops stashed in my desk, among other things.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.” Rae rubbed her arms. The brown leather and lace did almost nothing to keep her warm. At least the boots kept her feet off the cold tile floor. She selected one crop from the identical bunch.

Wulf strode to the center of the dungeon and stood between the St. Andrew’s cross and the spanking couch. “The previous injunctions about blood and fluids still apply, as we still have not received your medical release.”

Rae gulped. School and all this training—or whatever Wulf called it when he tied her up and screwed her until she screamed—had kept Rae busy. She needed to do that medical exam, soon, if she was really going to work here. Not doing it might suggest that she didn’t want to be hired, and she didn’t want that.

He continued, “And a word of advice: start out harsh, then get harsher.”

“Really?” Rae’s heart clenched.

“Mr. Park is a tough case. Don’t allow him to question you. Don’t allow him to fail to call you ‘Mistress’ or ‘Ma’am’ or whatever your choice is. He wants the attention. He wants to be punished for his infractions. He is such an ass to everyone in his daily life that this is the only way for him to return to civility.”

“He’s a jerk? Have you met him?” That might make it easier.

“A few times, I have had to rescue one of my admins from his verbal abuse, and I know of him from mutual acquaintances. He’s a prosecuting attorney for the state.”

So Mr. Park did indeed like to argue. Rae wondered how a state prosecuting attorney could afford this club and the number of private sessions that were recorded in Sonya’s neat handwriting in the thick file.

“Let’s get started.” Wulf wrenched at his silver tie, loosening the loop and pulling it off over his head. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, exposing his throat.

Rae stopped perusing the dungeon to watch. She thought Wulf was going to strip off that clean, white shirt and stand buck naked to the waist, but he stopped unbuttoning his shirt with just the top button, exposing again just the robust upper curve of his pectorals,
dang it.

She had never seen his bare chest, even though she had had sex with him twice. The first time, he had barely pulled his dick out of his pants when she had her way with him in the back bedroom of that party, and the second time, yesterday, he hadn’t taken off his shirt either, when she had been tied spread-eagle to a frame while he took her from behind.

He draped his tie over his jacket on the inclined bench and stood in the center of the dungeon, surrounded by equipment designed for his torture. “Proceed.”

He must not be turning off the dungeoncam today because he hadn’t waved to it. She had to do this right, for him and for whoever was watching in the booth. “What’s your safe word?”

Wulf raised one blond eyebrow a fraction on an inch. “I’m sure I won’t need one.”

“It’s customary.”

“That is correct. We’ll use,” he considered the rough-tiled ceiling for a minute, “Your Majesty.”

Someday, Rae wanted to know everything that went on inside that shiny, mirrored shell of his. “Do you submit to me?”

“Yes,” Wulf said. His perfunctory tone suggested boredom.

She had read a lot about BDSM on the internet last night, hiding her phone screen from her cousin-roommate Hester. Despite the cool air in the dungeon, her body heated.

Rae drew herself up to her full height of over-six feet when one included the high-heeled boots, though she only reached Wulf’s ear. “Get down on your knees, sub.”

Wulf said, “No.”

Rae knew that this was a breach of everything. He hadn’t called her Ma’am or Mistress. He hadn’t done what she said. He was in full defiance mode.

She knew she had to hit him with the riding crop that had felt so light but now felt like a thick oak branch in her hand.

She stepped behind him.

He didn’t turn to watch her walk around him. He spread his feet and rounded his back, bowing his head and waiting for her to hit him on that broad expanse of white shirt.

She flipped the whip against her bare leg, testing. Every flick felt wrong. Every time the whip hit her own thigh, it felt like being hit with a hard piece of wood instead of a supple sting.

She was hopeless. “I can’t do this.”

“Of course you can. I’ve given you the perfect opportunity.”

“I’m not any good at this. I’m not a Domme at all. I wouldn’t even make a good sub.”

Wulf spun and grabbed her around the waist. He walked her backward like they were tangoing and then her back touched the cold wall. He said, “Use surprise.”

She spread her fingers on his chest, ostensibly pushing him away, but she could feel the muscle wrapped his chest and body with hard cords under his crisp, white shirt. Her fingers trailed down, following the heavy ridges across his sides.

Wulf took the riding crop from her hand. “Hit less with the stick and more with the end, with the leather bit here.”

He raised the lithe crop and Rae held her breath as he snapped it down.

A line of pain stung Rae’s thigh, though she hardly noticed it because Wulf’s hard body pushed her against the wall, his rippled front to her breasts. The lash hurt, but it stung lightly and didn’t feel like getting pounded on with a stick. Instead, it focused her attention yet more on her body pressed against his. Her hands itched to grab him, pull him down to her, and kiss him hard.

“See?” he said. “Snap it with your wrist.”

“I understand.” Desire swirled in Rae’s head, making her dizzy. If she reached up and grabbed Wulf, they could tumble to the floor. When he handled her like this, every thought in her head turned to screwing him.

She reached up around his neck and started to pull his head down to kiss him.

“No. This isn’t play time.” His insistent voice sounded hoarse, and he grabbed her wrists and trapped her hands against the wall. “You can’t go unprepared to Mr. Park.”

She wanted to beg him to touch her. His body pressed her against the wall, and he didn’t seem to want to move away. His cock poked her leg. She whispered, “Please.”

“No.” His voice was harsh, like he forced out that word, but he still didn’t back up.

Rae gulped and forced herself to calm down, which was difficult with Wulf still flattening her against the wall and her skin prickling with passion. “I don’t think I can do this Domme thing.”

“Yes, you can. That night we met at the party, you were magnificent, Rae. You wanted, and you resolved to take what you wanted. Nothing cowed you. Nothing stopped you. Do that now.”

Rae didn’t want to be a Domme for Lando Park. She wanted to screw Wulf right now, even with the dungeoncam watching them. Her body strained toward him, even though his chest and taut belly pressed her against the faux stone wall.

Wulf dropped his hand to her waist, a mistake.

She pulled her other arm out of his grip, grabbed his hands, and twisted like a fish, spinning them both and pinning him with his back against the wall with his arms flat against the stone. She kissed him hard. With the very high-heeled boots on, she didn’t even have to stretch up too far. He tasted like mint with a faint hint of chocolate.