The Inner Room (17 page)

Ignoring his protests, Jack kicked Mitchell’s legs roughly apart. Tony and Cam knelt on either side of the cursing, snarling man and forced his ankles into the cuff restraints at the bottom of the X.

Mitchell’s voice had risen high in his panic and his rage. “Goddamn it,” he squealed, “you fucking perverts, let me down this second! You have no right to do this! Let me down!” He let loose a stream of invective as he struggled fruitlessly in his bonds.

“I’ve had enough of his mouth,” Jack growled. “Gag him.”

Cam moved toward the gear cabinet and retrieved the biggest ball gag in the drawer. Returning to Mitchell, he jerked his head back by the hair and pushed the gag roughly into his mouth. He buckled it tightly around the man’s head.

Mitchell’s shouts and curses were muffled to a pitiful gurgling. His face was beet red, his eyes rolling wildly in his head.

Cam felt a moment’s conflict. The inner room was almost a sacred place in his mind, and a basic tenant of his BDSM philosophy included consent and respecting limits. How did what they were doing fit in with that?

Then the image of Marissa as he’d found her last night, her body torn and bruised, the terror in her tearful eyes, loomed large in his mind. This vicious, lying sack of shit had done damage it might take years to undo. He’d created wounds that might heal and scar over in time, but could never be forgotten. What they were doing now wasn’t about consensual and loving BDSM. They were just using the location as a means to an end. It was the best way to reach this monster and hurt him where he lived.

Cam leaned close and murmured in Mitchell’s ear. “Do you think you’re as scared now as Marissa was last night? Did it make you feel like a man to overpower and terrorize a woman, you pathetic piece of shit? How does it feel to be bound and gagged against your will? Welcome to the inner room, asshole.”

Fred, who was standing in front of the cross, reached into his jacket and removed his smart phone. He pushed a button and held it up. “Smile,” he said to Mitchell. “You’re on Candid Camera.” He kept the phone aloft.

“The bastard used a crop on Marissa, is that right, Cam?” Jack said as he moved toward the whip rack.

Cam nodded. Jack returned with a long-handled crop. He held it toward Cam. “Care to do the honors?”

Cam stared at the crop. “No,” he said quietly, recalling the bruises on Marissa’s ass. “I’m afraid I couldn’t stop.”

Jack nodded his understanding. While Fred continued to record, Jack stepped to the side of the bound man and brought the crop down hard, leaving a neat red rectangle on his white ass. Mitchell jerked and yelped against the rubber ball in his mouth. Jack hit him again, leaving an identical mark on the other cheek.

Jack cropped the bastard until his ass was bright red, his body slick with fear sweat. Finally satisfied, Jack dropped the crop on the counter for later sterilization and returned to the cross. The four men lined up in front of Mitchell, who sagged in his cuffs, drool dripping down his chin, hate in his eyes.

Mitchell started to struggle again, his shouts emerging incomprehensibly behind the ball gag.

“Feels pretty shitty, doesn’t it?” Cam said, letting his cold hatred seep into his words. “Being used like this against your will by someone you despise, and then threatened into silence. Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

“Maybe he’s learned his lesson,” Jack said. He reached for the buckle of the ball gag and pulled it open.

Mitchell pushed the gag out with his tongue, drool streaming down his chin. “Let me down! Goddamn it to hell, let me the fuck down, you freaks!”

“I don’t think his punishment was sufficient,” Tony commented drily.

“I have to agree,” Jack said. “He does seem a little slow. I guess we’ll just have to put the gag back and try again—”

“No!” Mitchell cried, jerking his head from side to side. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Please, no. Don’t do that. Please. I’m begging you.” His voice cracked and tears sprang to his eyes, which he blinked back angrily. “Let me down. Just let me down.”

Tony took a pen out of his jacket and held it, along with the document, in front of Mitchell. “You ready to sign then?”

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’ll sign that thing,” Mitchell snarled.

“Maybe a little cock and ball torture will change his mind,” Fred suggested. “We could tie him down to the exam table. We should probably shave his pubes first.” He moved closer to Mitchell. “Tell me, do you like needles?”

Mitchell’s face paled, sweat beading on his upper lip and forehead. “Christ,” he murmured. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening, all right,” Jack assured him. “And we have all day, boy. We’re committed to the task of teaching you a lesson. How long it takes you to learn it”—he shrugged—“that’s up to you.”

“We could always use the strap-on. I bet Phil loves a good ass reaming, am I right?” Tony said with a grin.

“Excellent idea.” Jack moved toward the gear cabinet. “I don’t think we’ll bother with the lube though. Real men don’t need lube.”

“Wait!” Mitchell screamed in alarm. “Okay, okay, okay! I’ll sign the fucking thing.”

The four men returned to stand in front of Mitchell. “You agree to all the stipulations?” Tony said.

“Yes. Yes, I said I’d sign it.”

“You’ll give Jack the keys to your office and your home? You’ll quit your job and move out of this state?”

“Yes. I said yes, damn it. I want to get as far away as I can from the likes of you.”

“We’ll be watching you,” Jack said. “Before I bought this club, I used to be in enforcement. I know people, if you follow me.” He let the implied threat of his words linger in the silence a moment, and then added, “One false move, we’ll be on you like white on rice.”

“I got it, I got it!” Mitchell cried. “Just let me down. Let me out of here.”

Jack nodded toward Cam, who moved to the cross and unstrapped Mitchell’s right wrist. Tony moved closer, again holding out the pen and the piece of paper. Fred helpfully placed Mitchell’s confiscated iPad underneath it.

With a shaking hand, Mitchell scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page.

A low, plaintive moan wove its way through Cam’s dream, jerking him from sleep. He bolted upright and reached for Marissa, who was thrashing beside him, the sheets twisted around her.

“Marissa. Marissa, wake up. Hey, wake up. It’s only a dream.”

Marissa’s eyes remained screwed shut as she twisted out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me!” she cried.

“Marissa. Stop it. It’s me. You’re safe. You’re here with me, sweetheart. Wake up. Please, wake up.” Cam pulled Marissa into his arms. He could feel her heart pounding, and her skin was damp with sweat.

Finally she opened her eyes and looked up into his face. “Oh, Cam,” she whispered, her face crumpling.

“It’s okay, baby,” he crooned, cradling her against his chest. “It’s okay. It’s all okay now.”

But was it?

It had been nearly a week since they had booted Phil Mitchell out of town. Marissa had claimed to be fine, citing her credentials as a medical professional that enabled her to process the situation, her three visits to the hospital psychologist who dealt with grief and trauma, and her awareness that Mitchell was no longer a threat in their lives. She hadn’t slept at her apartment since that bastard had forced his way in, which Cam completely understood.

Cam was more than ready for her to officially move in, but decided to give her a little more time before broaching the subject. He didn’t want to undermine her recovery by making her somehow think he was suggesting she should be afraid of living alone.

He decided instead to focus on resuming their D/s exploration, which up until the trauma, had been such a source of intensity and pleasure for them both. But now Marissa, who before had been so wonderfully eager to push the erotic envelope, seemed to have closed up like a flower in the dark, tightly furled and shut off from the joy of submission.

Instead she threw herself into her work with a vengeance, leaving the house at dawn to go to her club, then spending ten to twelve hours every day at the hospital, and working on her computer when she came home at night to catch up on her charts. She had fallen into bed each night this week claiming exhaustion, and Cam knew she wasn’t lying about that. But he also knew she was using it as an excuse to keep him at arms’ length, both physically and emotionally.

He wanted to be patient, and he understood she needed time to heal, but he also knew the longer she held herself apart, the harder it would be for them to reconnect. Something had to change, and he understood he would need to be the one to effect that change.

Now he just held her and stroked her damp hair away from her face. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll hold you and keep you safe.” She smiled, and lifted her face to his, closing her eyes for a kiss. He kept vigil for a long time, until he was certain she was asleep. Only then did he close his own eyes.

“Tomorrow,” he promised himself, “I’ll talk to Jack. He’ll know what to do.”

~*~

Marissa pumped furiously on the elliptical, arms and legs working in concert as she approached the thirty-minute mark. Dana, who had finished her workout a minute before, stood beside her machine toweling the sweat from her face. “Have time for a quick fruit juice after your shower?”

Marissa looked down at her friend, glanced at the wall clock and shrugged. “I guess so.”

They met up twenty-five minutes later at the exercise club’s small café. As they sipped fresh orange juice, Dana said, “So, how’s it going? I’ve barely seen you this week. You doing okay?”

Marissa glanced away as she answered. “Fine. I’m doing fine. Work is a good distraction. And Cam’s been great.”

Dana nodded. “So we’ll see you at the club tonight?”

Marissa shook her head. She could feel the traces of a headache coming on. “Cam’s got a client. I’m just going to stay home and get a good night’s sleep.”

“Marissa.”

“What?”

“I’ve known you a long time. You’re not okay.”

Unwelcome tears pricked at Marissa’s eyelids and she blinked them away, annoyed. “Nonsense. I’m fine. I’ve been seeing a counselor. Everything’s good.”

“Marissa.”

“What?” Marissa let the impatience slip into her voice. “I told you. I’m fine.” She finally looked directly at Dana, and was annoyed to see she was smiling.

“What? What’s so amusing?”

“Your insistence that you’re fine, when I know you’re not.”

Again Marissa started to protest, but Dana stopped her with a held up hand. “Marissa. Shut up for a second and listen. I want to ask you a question, and I want your honest answer.”

Marissa tensed but nodded. “Okay.”

“When is the last time you scened with Cam? When is the last time you were properly whipped?”

“Dana!” Marissa hissed, glancing at the tables around them, though no one appeared to be paying them any attention.

“Answer the question.”

“Well. Not since…before. I’ve been too busy,” she rushed on defensively.

“There is nothing more important right now.” Dana reached for Marissa’s hand.

“Give me a break. I mean, I haven’t exactly been in the mood to play, you know,” Marissa replied, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

“I’m not talking about play.” Dana’s voice was gentle but earnest. “I’m talking about sustenance. About the life-giving submissive experience your Master can give you, if you let him. You know in your bones exactly what I’m talking about. For people like you and me, there is nothing more centering, or more essential, than being brought back to our core essence. It’s what you were missing all your life until you found the courage to explore this key aspect of what and who you are, Marissa. And now that you’ve found it, you need to hold on to it. You need to nurture it and let it continue to grow. Don’t shut Cam out of your life. Not now. Especially not now.”

Marissa started to protest, to explain that she was essentially living with Cam now, and they’d never been closer. She wanted to refute Dana’s claim that she was shutting Cam out of anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because she knew, when she quieted the rest of the noise in her head, that Dana was right.

~*~

“How’s she doing? How’re you doing?” Jack was wiping down the bar in the still-empty club in the hour before it opened. Cam sat on the stool opposite him, waiting for his new client.

“Fine,” Cam answered automatically. He looked up to see Jack regarding him with those dark, penetrating eyes. “Not so fine,” he amended with a sigh. He told Jack about Marissa’s avoidance of intimacy, and his own uncertainty in the face of it. “I love her so much, Jack. I don’t want to cause her any more pain. I don’t want to push her before she’s ready.”

“Let me ask you something.” Jack put the washrag aside and focused his full attention on Cam. “If you were her trainer, not her lover, or no—let’s not even talk about Marissa and you. If a client came in to see you, and told you she was new to the scene, but had found her soul mate, and D/s had become a central focus of her life, but a recent traumatic event had made her unsure about continuing, what would you say to that client?”

Cam didn’t even have to think about the reply. “I’d say BDSM would be the very best cure for whatever ails her. I’d explain to her that what happened has less than zero to do with BDSM, with the intensity, the exchange of power, the passion.”

“And you’d be right,” Jack replied. “And then you’d probably contact her Master, am I right? And you’d tell him…”

Cam chuckled admiringly. Jack made what had seemed so muddled in his head suddenly crystal clear. “I would tell him it was his responsibility to his sub to quit handling her with kid gloves, and to give her what she needed—what they both needed.”

Jack pointed a finger at Cam. “Bingo.”

~*~

The next morning after a leisurely breakfast at an outside café, Cam announced, “We’re going to run a little errand in Manhattan. There are few things we need to pick up for later.”

“Where’re we going?” Marissa asked with what seemed to be genuine eagerness.

“It’s a place called C&C’s in the Village. You’ll love it.”

When they came out of the subway on St. Marks, Cam led Marissa along the street and down the few stairs to the basement-level BDSM gear shop, tensing slightly in case she balked. His talk with Jack the night before had galvanized him, and he was determined to show Marissa she had nothing to fear, and everything to gain, from resuming their D/s love affair.

He was relieved when she offered no protest, as he was eager to introduce her to Celia and Cat. The familiar jingle greeted him as he pushed the door open and ushered Marissa inside.

“Oooh,” Marissa breathed, as she took in the small but crowded space, filled with BDSM gear, jewelry and clothing. Celia was at her usual post behind the glass counter. Cat, a tall, statuesque woman with very short blond hair and large brown eyes, turned as they entered the store, her face breaking into a bright smile.

“Master Cam!” she enthused, moving forward to wrap him in a hug. “Celia said you’d been by a while back. It’s about time you showed your face again.”

Cam laughed. “I know. It’s been too long. I’d like you to meet my partner and sub girl, Marissa,” he said, pride blooming inside him as Marissa slipped her hand into his. He turned to her. “This is Mistress Cat, and that’s Celia, her partner—”

“And sub girl,” Cat interrupted. “Though you wouldn’t know it from her sass.” In spite of her words, she looked fondly at Celia, who this week sported bright orange hair with purple tips. Cat turned back to Marissa with a welcoming smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marissa.” She waved an arm around the store. “Look around. Take your time. If you don’t see something you’re looking for, just ask.”

Cam took Marissa on a tour of the place. “I was thinking we should buy a single tail,” he said, noting with pleasure the dilation of Marissa’s pupils and the small shiver of excitement that moved through her as she stared at the array of whips hung artfully along one wall. “We’ll pick one out today, and then there’s one more thing I want to show you.”

After Marissa had looked at everything she wanted to, and they’d agreed upon a small purple single tail for their purchase, Cam led her to the glass jewelry counter. “Today,” he informed her, “we’re getting a second ring.” He had thought about how he would phrase it, as a question, or as a statement, and had decided on the latter. It was time to resume his role as Marissa’s Master, and to trust her enough to know she would respond in kind.

“Oh,” she said softly, bending over the glass to examine the jewelry displayed on black velvet shelves inside.

Cam pointed out a ring identical to the one he’d first picked out for Marissa prior to the piercing ceremony at Jack’s place. “We’ll take that one,” he informed Celia. “Oh, and a spool of that pink satin ribbon.”

Marissa turned a questioning face toward him. “What—” she began.

Cam smiled and placed his finger lightly over her lips. “You’ll see,” was all he said.

~*~

Marissa tingled with anticipatory excitement. Though she hadn’t even realized it until now—she’d been waiting for Cam to come back to her. Or no, that wasn’t precisely correct. She’d been waiting on a subconscious level for him to bring
her
back. Dana’s talk with her couldn’t have come at a better time, and she couldn’t help but wonder if someone—maybe Jack?—had talked to Cam too. He was different, or rather, he was himself again.

On the subway ride back to Queens, Marissa had examined the second tiny gold ring perched so prettily in its blue velvet box. But what had really intrigued her was the small spool of pink satin ribbon. Cam refused to say what it was for, only that she would see. He did share that he was going to pierce her second labia when they got home. She was aware he’d pierced many slaves-in-training, and knew exactly what he was doing, but still the thought of the sharp needle piercing her delicate labia sent a shudder of delicious fear through her, as did his promise of what would come next.

“To celebrate your second piercing, we’ll try out the new single tail. It’s been too long since you were marked, slave girl.”

She’d melted into a puddle of lust at his declaration, the words out of her mouth before she realized she was going to speak. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you.”

Now she climbed into the shower and soaped her body before reaching for the razor. She stroked her mons with the blades so she would be perfectly smooth for the piercing. Drying herself quickly, she came into the bedroom. Cam was lying naked on the bed like a Greek god, his large, thick cock casually fisted in his hand as he read a magazine. He looked over at her, a sensual smile on his handsome face.

“You will go to the dungeon to wait for me,” he said in a deep, sexy voice. “You will wear your collar and your wrist and ankle cuffs. You will wait in a kneeling, forehead press position until I come for you. Is there anything you want to say before you go?”

“I love you, Sir.”

Cam’s radiant smile warmed her from the inside out. “And I love you, sub girl.”

In the dungeon, Marissa buckled her thick black leather collar around her throat, and welcomed the mantle of submissive serenity that settled itself over her senses. It was the strangest feeling, one she was hard-pressed to put into the proper words. Just beneath a deep and abiding sense of peace lay a simmering excitement, like water in the seconds before it rolls to a boil.