TangledBound (11 page)

Sam tamped down his desire to trace the marks with his
tongue. He pocketed the second alcohol pad and nodded at the door. “Out with
you.”

That was five minutes ago. Sam led her through a maze of
hallways. The music grew louder and the lights dimmer, the deeper they moved into
the club. He opened one last door and she came face-to-face with a sea of
people. Fetish costumes, some complete with masks, captivated her. Beyond the
dance floor, the glimpses of low-lit rooms roused her nervous curiosity. Sam
cupped her elbow and guided her into the crowd. Assaulted by the close-up
scents of perfume, hair product and what she would have sworn was lust, Melanie
inched as close as she could and followed Sam’s lead. She tried to ignore her
strung-thin nerves. This was a triumphant moment. She was inside the club and
about to collect all the first-hand experience she could put her hands on.
Nothing she’d seen on the Internet compared to this. Bonus, she was with Sam, a
pleasure in itself, even if she didn’t know where they were going from here.

Melanie reached for a handful of his shirt to anchor herself
to him. Now that she was in the middle of the crowd, the mass of people
intimidated her. She was glad for Sam’s confident stride as he steered their
course toward the far right section of the club. Left to her own, she wasn’t
one hundred percent sure she would have worked up the courage to venture into a
fetish club. As it was, part of her wanted to run.

Sam led her into a large chamber off the central floor and
some of her sensory overload backed off. Couples and threesomes sat together on
low, leather-upholstered benches, some talking and others pursuing more carnal
activities. One particular trio of people caught her attention and she couldn’t
help but stare.

A man and a woman sat side by side, angled toward one
another as they talked. At their feet, another woman knelt between them,
completely naked except for a pair of tall, slim white bunny ears mounted atop
her head and a fluffy white pouf peeping from between the cheeks of her bottom.
While Melanie watched, the fully clothed man pulled a baby carrot from his
pocket and offered it to the girl on the floor, who visibly quivered at the
sight of the treat. The bunny-girl leaned in to eat the carrot from her
Master’s palm.

“That’s an interesting blush you’re wearing,” Sam said in
her ear.

Blinking, Melanie averted her eyes as her face flushed
hotter. “It’s, um.”

“Pet play. I don’t see it often here. I think most people
reserve that for private situations.” He brushed his knuckles across the pulse
point at the base of her throat. “It excites you.”

“The tail’s pretty,” she said defensively, unable to even
imagine what was going through his head.

“Yeah, it is.” He placed a fingertip beneath her chin and
tipped her head back. Melanie closed her eyes but Sam denied her that retreat
with a sternly spoken, “Look at me.”

She reluctantly met his gaze. The heat in his eyes seared
straight to her core, alternately melting her body and confusing her head. She
suddenly had trouble breathing.

“Something that genuinely excites you is not a turn-off to
me. You have no reason to hide or deny.” Sam lowered his head as if he were
about to kiss her, but he stopped himself with a low curse and released her.
“Come on. We’ll sit for a little while.”

The big room seemed to be a hub of some sort, with several
exits into other rooms and halls. Melanie followed on trembling legs as Sam led
her into an intimate area that resembled an old-fashioned theater. When she
drew abreast of him, he bent his head to speak into her ear. “This is a
showcase. The Dominant partners are presenting their submissives for display.
Think of it as a classic car show, where collectors go to have their efforts
seen by other collectors.”

Melanie nodded to indicate she’d heard but she didn’t look
away from the couples doing their thing in the room. One pair in particular
caught and held her attention. The fully clothed man crouched behind his nude,
kneeling female partner. While Melanie watched, he put his hand on top of her
head and pushed her facedown to the floor. The woman folded over at her guide’s
urging and Melanie could see her wrists tied together at the base of her spine.
The man released her head and stroked her flanks, an upward caress that coaxed
the woman’s buttocks into the air.

Sam touched her elbow, breaking the thrall. She glanced up
to find him still close, his breath steady at her temple.

“Do you want to spend some time in here watching?” he asked.
“Or do you want to move on?”

“I’d like to stay.” She licked her bottom lip. “If that’s
all right?”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and tugged her toward him.
“My time is yours tonight. Come out of the way of the door.”

For the first time since entering the room, she noticed the
club’s designer had provided for audience seating. She and Sam weren’t the only
audience in the room either. Both men and women occupied the plush upholstered
chairs arranged in semicircles to the right and left of what she now realized
was an un-elevated stage. The other observers sat both together and apart, some
with their heads together, whispering. Others seemed content to enjoy the show
as solo entities.

Sam dropped onto a loveseat and gestured for her to claim
the cushion beside him. She carefully smoothed her too-short skirt before
sitting. The precaution didn’t help. Her hem persisted in climbing her thigh of
its own volition, leaving a thin strip of bare skin between the slinky material
of her skirt and the lacy band of her stocking. Absurd that she felt exposed
with that bit of skin showing, considering she and Sam were seated facing
full-on nudity. And considering exactly how much of her skin he’d already seen
and touched.

While she fussed with her skirt, another cluster of people
caught her eye. Two men stood facing one another, their erect penises touching,
their postures perfectly straight and their eyes locked. Melanie slanted a
questioning glance at Sam, who tipped his head to the right of the two men. A
woman sat within arm’s reach of the men and Sam’s car show analogy finally
struck her as appropriate.

She leaned into Sam to say, “They really are displaying
their possessions, aren’t they? What about the…possessions?”

Her shoulder touched his chest. Heat coursed down her arm,
along with a bone-deep awareness of him. Sam shifted his weight and stretched
one forearm along the loveseat behind her back as he ducked his head for a
quiet response. “If you’re wondering how they feel about being on display,
you’d have to ask one. Generally, though, they might be excited by the prospect
of being watched. Or the act of giving up control and being posed.”

She frowned at his chin, recalling what he’d once said about
baring her to others’ view. “Is this something you’d want to do? Display me?”

“Displays for the sake of showing off aren’t my thing,” he
answered. “I might not conceal you from view but I wouldn’t model you either.”

Melanie turned back to the scene, unsure how to handle the
fact that he’d dropped the hypothetical submissive “if” and directly laid claim
to her twice now. The first time could’ve been a simple slip of the tongue. If
the second time was a slip too, she didn’t want to know.

Sam’s fingertips grazed her shoulder and his voice rumbled
close behind her, drawing her back from her thoughts. “Bored already?”

She turned abruptly, found Sam too close as her lips bumped
his chin. His light touch tightened, the breadth of his palm closing on her
shoulder in a secure grip. Melanie froze. She expected him to recoil but he
didn’t. His breath warmed her cheek and his fingers flexed once before sliding
down her arm to her biceps. When he did retreat, he did so slowly and did not
relinquish his hold.

Swallowing, she said, “It feels rude to watch.”

“You’re in an awkward position as an observer instead of a
participant, but they want to be watched.” He finally released her and stood
but offered his hand immediately. “Come on. There’s more to see.”

Finding she welcomed the opportunity to touch him, she
placed her hand in his and stood. Sam steadied her with a hand on one hip as he
steered her forward, urging her to lead the way from the room. Sam took the
lead and guided her down a short, narrow corridor. They weren’t alone in the
hall. A petite woman held a nearly naked man on his knees at her feet and a
cell phone pressed to her ear. The man’s head was bowed, his hands on his knees
and his spine straight. Melanie looked back as she and Sam walked by, surprised
to see an expression of calm patience on the man’s face.

She squeezed Sam’s hand to get his attention and he paused,
turning back to her with a question in the arch of his eyebrow.

“I don’t understand the interactions,” she said. “Some of
them aren’t behaving sexually at all.”

“Sex can be a very small part of the BDSM relationship. Did
you not learn about that on the Internet?”

Bristling, she said, “I’m sure there’s plenty I didn’t learn
about. I
did
learn that I need to be in a real relationship.”

“With a stranger you met online,” he countered, his tone
suddenly hard.

“I don’t want some stranger.” She drew a deep breath for
courage. “I want you.”

Sam’s Adam’s apple rose and fell. “Why? You don’t even know
me.”

She tilted her head, perplexed by the question. “Because I
do
.”

“No. That’s not good enough. Give me reasons why.”

His demand broke her strained attempt at keeping her
emotions in check. Voice rising with frustration, she asked, “Haven’t you ever
been drawn to somebody with no reason? Overcome with curiosity to discover what
kind of person they are? To explore the way they kiss? Be surprised by what
they’re like in bed, be humbled by the kinds of things they whisper about
before sleep and smile about in the morning?”

The answer made her heart hurt and she didn’t wait for him
to reply. “Of course not. You prefer to know exactly what you’re getting out of
a sexual submissive, to draw up a contract outlining precisely what she will
and won’t be for you, and probably even make her sleep in a separate bed or
separate room because you don’t care to hear what she has to say after being
with you. You’ll never know what she loves about a new day because she’ll never
have the emotional energy to start the day with you.”

“Melanie.” He tugged on her wrist.

Shaking her head, she pulled out of his grasp and turned
away, looking for an exit. “Forget it. I can’t do this. Trying to make you see
me…it
drains
me. Love should energize the soul, not suck the joy out of
it.”

“
Melanie
.” Her name fell between them like a
whip-crack.

Fundamentally unable to disobey that tone, she froze. Sam
appeared in front of her and touched her chin, guiding her head back until
their eyes met.

“First, contracts serve a very important purpose. At the
very least of their usefulness, they protect you and they assure your limits
will be acknowledged and honored. Second.” Frowning, he rubbed his thumb across
her bottom lip. Something shifted in his eyes, mysterious to her but clarifying
to him. He lowered his head and kissed her, little more than a fleeting touch.

“Second,” he continued, speaking against her lips, “my
dungeon and my bed are reserved for my submissive. When she surrenders her
trust to me, I surrender my trust to her.”

“Give it to me,” she whispered, aching at the thought of him
with anybody else.

He pushed his fingers through her hair and cradled her face
against his chest. “I don’t think I have any other choice.”

Desperation wound her arms around his waist. After months
without touching him, she’d begun to forget the way her body fit against his.
Melanie tilted her head and opened her mouth at the base of his throat, frantic
for a taste of him. Sam’s groan vibrated against her tongue. He shifted and
suddenly she was sandwiched between the unyielding wall and his equally hard
body.

Behind Sam, people moved past them. In an instant, she went
from observer to exhibit and the change in roles affected her on a primal
level. Sam grabbed a fistful of her skirt and hauled it over her hip before
sliding his hands over her bare ass and lifting her off her feet. Melanie
scrambled to hold on to him as he pushed her up the wall and shoved between her
legs, forcing her thighs to part. She crossed her ankles behind his back and
moaned as his erection settled squarely against her, hard and big and so
amazingly good even through his pants and the front panel of her thong.

The club’s music throbbed through her, dragging her racing
pulse into an electronica rhythm that Sam encouraged by grinding into her
softness. He released one of her cheeks and crammed his hand between them to
wrench her panties aside. Robbed of that barrier, her folds parted and he
rubbed right up against her clit.

“Omigod, you feel good,” she breathed in his ear, just
before letting her head fall against the wall behind her. “Don’t stop.”

He shoved her top up beneath her breasts, baring her stomach
to the buttons marching down the front of his shirt. One broad hand curved
around the dip of her waist and he dug his fingertips into her flesh,
aggression and desperation and painful pressure in his hold.

“Don’t stop,” she said again, craving everything, anything
he would give.

“Not against a wall again. Not here. You deserve better than
this.” But he raked his teeth down her arched throat and forced his fingers
into the crease of her bottom, behind her thong’s skinny string, over the
tender pucker he found there.

“I don’t want better. I want you.” She clutched at his
shoulders and twisted her hips frantically, terrified he would stop and leave
her empty, that he’d leave her to another four months of dying for the fullness
of his cock inside her.