To Command and Collar [Masters of the Shadowlands 6] (17 page)

Sam looked at the pale man sitting next to his Raoul. Like a vampire, the asshole Overseer apparently didn’t get out in the sun much. “She’ll be fine. She likes to unwind in the sub’s area, listening to the women chatter.” He grinned. “She’s a gay switch, so she’ll probably end up taking one of them upstairs.”

He spotted one of the Shadowlands trainees and held up a finger. The brunette nodded and reversed course to get him a drink from the bar.

Grabbing a towel from his toy bag, Sam wiped the sweat from his face and neck and dropped into a chair across from Raoul’s guest.
“Sam, this is Dahmer,” Raoul said.
The man leaned forward to shake hands and said, “You’re quite skilled. That was a pleasure to watch.”
Sam shrugged. “It was okay.” He’d deliberately picked a real screamer. Although some tops preferred their subs to control themselves, his bottoms knew he enjoyed the sounds of pain. This time, he’d drawn as much noise as he could get out of her. “But the slut went into subspace too quickly. And if she doesn’t, she’ll safe-word out.” He snorted. “They all do.”
The Overseer nodded, as if he now understood why Sam might want a slave. “There are ways around the problem, you know.”
“So I’m hearing.” Sam glanced at his friend’s little slave and caught a flicker of blue eyes before she looked back down. Brave woman, and pretty as hell in the French maid costume. “But I’m not interested in one like Sandoval’s. I don’t need someone to cook or clean, and with what I like to do to them, I wouldn’t trust one wandering around.”
“Actually, the majority of our…clients…have the same idea. Although Raoul’s results with his slave are quite impressive, we have many satisfied sadists on our buyer list, and they tend to keep their toys locked up. Closet or spare rooms work if the windows and doors are remodeled.” The man smiled and added, “Or even dog cages.”
When the girl visibly flinched at the Overseer’s words, Raoul put his hand on her head, and Sam noted a disturbing look in his eyes. The dom was too tenderhearted for his own good. Be hell of a thing if he got attached to an ex-slave.
Don’t be an idiot, man. No kidnapped slave is going to want a master afterward.
“Dahmer.” Hoping to pull the asshole’s attention from Raoul, Sam leaned back in his chair and said, “I’m rather interested. What’s involved?”
The Overseer’s smug expression would turn a man’s stomach. “First—”
“Excuse me,” Raoul interrupted. “I’ll leave you two alone now. I reserved the office room for my scene and should get set up.” He rose, picked up his toy bag, and tugged at the leash for his slave to follow.
The Overseer nodded. “I’ll be along shortly to watch.”
The girl cringed. When she bravely squared her shoulders and followed Raoul, Sam had to stomp on the urge to backhand Dahmer onto the ground.
The Overseer watched them walk away and commented, “She was a pleasure to fuck. Never stopped fighting, and I do enjoy a battle. The cage is what finally broke her to heel, no matter what your friend thinks.”
“He’s a fine trainer, but not particularly into pain…unlike me.”
“So I understand.” The Overseer went silent as Sally delivered Sam’s drink.
“Thank you, girl,” Sam said, smiling as the trainee trotted away. Her short skirt bounced over her round ass with every step.
“We almost picked that one up”—the Overseer nodded toward Sally—“but she left town that week. May still get her later, but she’s not suitable for this auction. Did I mention this one is for sadists? All the slaves offered will be masochists.”
“Sounds perfect.” Sam kept his voice level, although the thought of the bastards getting their hands on Sally was like hearing about a puppy being kicked to death. “I enjoy taking a masochist to her limits…and further.”
Dahmer leaned forward and started outlining how the procedure worked.
Sam listened, his face calm, even as anger burned in his gut. When Raoul had asked for help, Sam had agreed simply because the idea of slavery offended him. Now, after meeting Dahmer, his interest had turned purely personal. He wanted to put the guy away for years. Better yet, he’d take a bullwhip to the asshole and leave only a pile of shredded flesh.

Kim obediently followed Master R across the room, and the tiny tugs on her leash were a lifeline in a sea of fear. Yet the choppy waves quieted as the distance from the Overseer increased. She glanced back. People had obscured the sight of him.

If only his existence could be obscured as well. She sighed.
Somehow Master R heard her above the music, conversations, and sounds from the scenes. After setting his bag down, he tilted her face up and studied her for a minute, then unclipped her wrist cuffs. As he wrapped his arms around her, his faded leather vest was soft under her cheek, his body solid. Strong. He rested his chin on top of her head. “You did well, cariño. I’m proud of you.”
Oh, the way her heart leaped at those simple words was worrisome. Very. Once this was over, she’d go back to her own life—yet how much would she be missing this man, this master who held her emotions in his grasp as easily as her body.
I don’t care. Think about it later.
Right now, she needed all her worry efforts for the scene. A real scene. In the last few days, he’d played with her in his dungeon, just a little, letting her get used to his style, to the feeling of helplessness, and to the sounds and scents again. Her panic attacks had eased off, so he could restrain her—usually—without her screaming and losing it. But he hadn’t told her about this scene. “What are you planning, Master?”
“So nervous.” The sound of his voice was sexy and low with her ear against his chest. He didn’t seem worried at all, and his sheer self-confidence was something else she leaned on. “We’re doing a fireplay scene, gatita.”
She stiffened.
No way. Absolutely not
. She realized with a sinking feeling that she hadn’t added fire to her limit list as something to avoid. And she didn’t really have a hang-up about it, just the normal dislike of getting
Set. On. Fire. Drown the man.
He picked up his bag and started walking again, this time with his arm around her, which was good since her balance had gone somewhere. Probably back to Savannah.
I need to go there too
. Anywhere but here.
“It’s what Dahmer wanted.” He touched the end of her nose with his forefinger. “The good news is I won’t restrain you.”
“No restraints? Really?” A horrible fear tumbled off her chest. The thought of being helpless anywhere around the Overseer had…had been awful.
“Yes. Since this is the only scene we’ll do in public”—he smiled at her—“you might as well have one you will enjoy.”
Enjoy
? “Um. Master. No restraints—that’s good, but I’m not so sure about having you set me on fire.”
He laughed. Hearing the rich sound was like being in an outside elevator, rising out of the building into the light. “I don’t intend to scorch you, Kimberly.” He continued walking toward the far end, exchanging greetings with the club members. Was there anyone who didn’t know and like him?
Near the end of the room, Kim saw Master Z. His dark gaze met hers, and he smiled slightly, lifting his chin as if giving her courage.
He had. She took a breath and followed Master R down a hallway. Large glass windows on each side let people observe scenes in the various rooms. He pulled a reserved sign off a door on the left and walked in.
The room pretended to be an office with a six-feet-high filing cabinet on the near wall, a large oak desk in the center, and a couch and coffee table on the far side.
“Remove everything, including your cuffs, and kneel beside the desk, please,” Master R said. He waited, eyes on her, overcoming her hesitation with his certainty she’d obey.
Her hands had gone numb, her mouth dry, but she did as he ordered, folding her apron and dress, removing her stockings, and setting them on the coffee table. She knelt on the glossy hardwood floor in his preferred position, hands behind her back, knees parted. She lowered her head reluctantly.
“You may watch, gatita,” he said quietly.
He pulled a sturdy square table from the corner to beside the desk. Supplies came from the filing cabinet drawers. A wooden skewer with a ball of gauze wrapped around one end came from his bag. Three more followed. He poured a clear liquid into a high-sided metal bowl. A fat candle went into another heavy metal dish.
When he lit it, a shudder went through her. She gritted her teeth and looked down.
“Did you use lotion after showering as I asked?” His voice was casual, like checking if she’d added pepper to the seasonings.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Excellent. It’ll keep your skin nice and moist.” He soaked a bath blanket in the sink and wrung it out. That, a pitcher of water, and a fire extinguisher went on the floor at the far end of the desk.
“You going to set the place on fire too?”
As well as me
? Her voice came out a high whine.
“It’s a corollary to Murphy’s law. If you’re not prepared, bad things will happen. If you are, nothing goes wrong.” He pulled a fabric-covered pad out of the cabinet. It was so thick it raised the top of the desk to his waist. He smiled at her. “And this material won’t burn, gatita. Now come here.”
I’d rather not
. “Yes, Sir.” She rose, striving for poise, since three people had already gathered outside the window. She’d never felt less like putting on a show.
He followed her gaze, then grasped her waist and set her on the desk. The material was cold against her butt, the foam soft. “People will watch, and it’s nice to know they enjoy what we do, but this scene, Kimberly, is only between you and me.” He kissed her lightly, and she inhaled the faint scent of his cologne, the one she thought of as sea mist and testosterone.
After walking behind her, he pulled her hair to the center of her back and…
“You know how to braid hair?” she asked, recognizing the tugging feeling.
“Mmmhmm. I used to brush and braid my mamá’s hair.” He was actually humming along with the music, and she realized it wasn’t the Goth band playing on the dance floor. The room had its own sound system, and this was a Secret Garden album. One of her favorites. Soothing.
“You’re trying to calm me down before setting me on fire.”
A sharper tug on her hair. “This will not hurt you…unless I wish.” He pinched her arm, a sharp nip. “That’s as bad as it should get.”
She breathed out. “You’re sure?”
“I have been doing this for many years, sumisita.” He tied a string around the end of her hair and stepped in front of her, taking her face between his hard palms. His eyes were so serious and caring and yet…stern. She might be afraid, but this was what they were going to do. He wouldn’t back down—and why did that seem as reassuring as it did terrifying? Sometimes she didn’t make any sense, even to herself.
“This is about trust, cariño, as so many scenes are. Human instinct is to fear the flame. Now we shall see if your trust in me can overcome it.”
Oh, when he talked like that, she knew he’d never hurt her. “I trust you,” she whispered.
“Brave gatita,” he murmured. “I know you do. Now I want you on your knees, ass high, leaning on your forearms.”
What? He planned to set her butt on fire first?
Once she was positioned, he ran his hands over her, rubbing firmly, waking her skin, waking her, darn him, as he moved from her shoulders, to her waist, and slowly down. He fondled her bottom for a long while, never touching anything, until all her
anythings
throbbed, needing to be touched. Her fingers tightened on the foam as she realized he was deliberately arousing her.
As he pushed her legs slightly apart, she felt her wetness dampening her inner thighs. A second later, he pressed open her folds with his fingers, and he gave a satisfied hum.
Dammit, after the past few days, he knew just how to turn her on, and her body roused for him at a finger snap anyway. Too easily. Her head bowed, and she shut her eyes tightly.
Slut. I’m a dirty
—
The sound of a hand hitting flesh was simultaneous with the shocking sting on her bottom. “Ow!”
“You don’t think those nasty thoughts about my sumisita, Kimberly.” Another ruthless swat made her grimace as the pain shot through her.
His thick finger touched her pussy and pushed firmly into her. She gasped. Her need to wiggle was stopped by the heavy palm on her ass. He slid his finger in and out and chuckled. “I think if you stay with me much longer, we should have a few spanking sessions just for fun.”
Her
no
was contradicted by the way her pussy contracted around him.
“Spread your legs more,” he said, and as she opened, his other hand traced a path between her labia, spreading wetness upward. When one calloused finger grazed over her clit, slick and rough at the same time, she moaned at the excruciating jolt of pleasure.
“Feel, gatita. This is ‘A.’” His finger slid up and around her clit in an odd pattern. “B.” A different pattern. “C.” Swirling touches over her clit. Never the same place twice. But with each new letter and the slow thrust of his finger, in and out, her need steadily increased.
“G…”
No. Stop
. She could feel the blood swelling her tissue until her lower half pulsed in time with her heart.
Two fingers slid into her, filling and stretching. “L.”
“I don’t want to come. Please, Master. No. Not here.”
“This time you don’t have a choice, cariño,” he said levelly. He never slowed, actually pressed deeper. “O… But since you don’t want to share with our audience, then you will come without moving or making any noise…or I’ll spank you some more.”
Oh God, that just made her more frantic—and he knew it.
Drown him
. Her fingers gripped the edges of the foam pad as her willpower started to disintegrate, leaving her unmoored, floating away on the tide.
“R.” After kissing the hollow of her back, he nipped her bottom, and the zing of pain sent a tremor through her.
Don’t move; don’t make noise
. She trembled, trying to hold still, needing to wiggle, feeling how her vagina tightened around his fingers as she got closer.
No, I don’t want to
. Her world narrowed to his slow tracing of the alphabet until each nerve around her clit quivered in anticipation of his touch. Oh God, she needed more. More. Her pulse hammered in her ears and between her legs. As her muscles tightened, her ass tilted just a little more.
“V.” He chuckled, a low sound that almost sent her over. And then, to her shock, he added another finger, thrusting hard. She gasped as every muscle contracted around him, increasing the sense of fullness.
Her body gathered; her breathing slowed to nothing.
Almost. Oh please
.
“We should try clamping this someday.” His words made no sense…until his fingers firmly pinched her clit.
Oh oh oh. Explosion
. Mind-shattering pleasure blasted outward as every nerve in her body fired at once. She shuddered—
don’t move
—and her immobility intensified everything until her skin itself pulsed with the sensations. She shoved her hand into her mouth, trying to stifle the cries.
“Pretty sumisita.” As he chuckled and released her clit, the blood surged madly back into it, and the rush of sensation seized her body, shaking it out of her control.
He slid his fingers out and gripped her hips, holding her firmly. Her heart thudded against her ribs as she gasped for air.
“I heard too much noise, and you definitely moved,” he said. Before she had a chance to regain her breath, four more stinging swats landed on her bottom.
Her insides clenched as the sting somehow engulfed her clit in another rolling wave of pleasure. She tried not to moan. Who knew what he’d do?
His sure hands rubbed her stinging cheeks, soothing the burn. Soothing her. Her breathing started to slow.
“Down you go,” he said, pulling her legs out straight and flattening her, stomach-down, on the pad.
Oh God
. Her butt throbbed, and her body still jerked from coming so fast and hard. Now more?
I don’t want to do this.
He dangled her braid off the side of the desk, laid a damp hand towel over her hair, and pulled the sturdy table of torture toys closer. When he lit the candle, it flamed up like a torch, scaring her spitless. With a grunt, he took something from his boot and snipped the wick. Making the flame shorter.
Flame.
She closed her mouth over a whimper.
He returned the tool to his boot, then leaned over the table, his hand on her back. With a squeeze on her shoulder, he kissed her cheek. She saw the stern set of his jaw. His dark, dark brown eyes looked into hers. “Do you trust me, cariño?”
The question melted whatever resistance remained after his demonstration of how easily he could control her body. “I do,” she whispered.
He waited.
“I do, Master.” He’d showed he owned her body; now he wanted her soul as well—and he had it. God help her, he did.
His knuckles grazed down her face, over her lips. “You please me very much, gatita,” he said softly.
Oh, she wanted to, so very badly.
He moved away to lower the lighting in the room until it was like dusk after a sunset. Then he leaned on the desk, close enough she could feel his body brush against hers. “Breathe, Kimberly, and listen to the music. I picked this for you.”
As his calloused hand stroked up and down her back, her muscles relaxed, flattening into the pad. Her breathing kept pace with the rhythm of the song, the slow sweep of his hand.
She felt something different—a cool streak and a flashing warmth almost simultaneously, and his hand slid over the same spot. Again, and again, and she realized there was no pain, just a touch of cool, then heat following and disappearing under the rough stroke of his hand. A circle around her bottom. Down her legs and up to her back. His rhythm was the lapping of water on the beach, not quite regular, but so natural. Warmth, stroke.
Her eyes were open, and she watched the shadows dance on the wall with the flash of flame, then die down to darkness again. She could hear, dimly, the sound of people outside the room, their voices like seagulls in the distance.
The heat intensified, nipping at her skin, yet her worry slid away as her body and her mind grew too heavy to stay focused.
His low baritone broke into her calm. “You’re being such a good girl, mi pequeña sumisa. Time to turn over.”
How did he make his voice tug at her like a strong current? His firm hands rolled her over, and cool air washed over her front. He arranged her arms at her sides and pulled her hair over the end of the desk again.
“Do you want to watch the flame, gatita?” he asked in that soft, smooth voice. “I love your accent,” she said, unsure if she was dreaming.
How strange a thing to say, but his eyes crinkled, and he simply repeated, “Do you want to watch?”
“Sure.” Her back didn’t hurt, not at all, except for her bottom where… “You spanked me,” she told him.