Disciplining the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 5 (9 page)

She stuffed in her boob and laced up her dress. “Ever hear of the Thin Red Line?”

“The war movie?”

She cocked her head. “Nightclub for supernaturals. Lots of chains, manacles, whips, riding crops. You following?”

“Uh…”

She slunk to him, heels tapping provocatively, hips swaying. “Strange as it may seem, I like the sub role with a very strong Dom in charge.” She ran her nail over his jaw. “Want to be my Master?”

He swallowed. The prominent ridge in his throat bobbed. “You mean hurt you?”

“Arouse me.” She leaned into him, wallowing in his scent. “Strip and then spread me wide, shackle me so I can’t move, pink up my ass, mark me as your possession. Four stripes, five, a dozen. Up to you. Display me to the audience. Take me in front of them in every possible way. Nothing forbidden. Claim me as your sexual slave, a submissive you’ll use well, hard, and long.”

He stared. “Audience?”

“Dozens of men aching to be you as you mount me from numerous positions, using every orifice.” She eased back. “You in?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it.

Wynona steeled herself for his disgust, warning herself not to cry. She’d fallen on her sword for the greater good.

He staggered back and turned to the door.

She lowered her face.

“Yeah, I’m in.” He looked over. “We’ll leave as soon as your shift ends.”

Huh? By the time she got to the door, he was already down the hall, Stefin, Anatol, and Taro close behind.

Wynona followed. Zoe shot around the corner, cutting her off. They both reared back.

“Have a question.” Zoe slipped her arm through Wynona’s and pulled her down the hall away from Rafael and the guys. “Heather said you’re lending out your dress. Love the laces. Can I borrow it tonight? I wouldn’t ask normally, but Stefin couldn’t stop gushing about it. I’d put in a wish with MJ, but she likes to play with my head before giving me what I want. I’m so not in the mood tonight. After work, Stefin and the guys are taking me to the second circle. This time, I want to look slightly more demure. Keep the others guessing about what’s under the leather before the boys strip me bare. So, can I? Heather said you’re not pissed at us anymore. You’re not, right?”

She pinched the top of her nose. “Hold me, please?”

“Sure.” Zoe hugged her. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you have any information on what happens to a good angel turned bad?”

“They don’t get to go to the second circle, that’s for sure. You’d think they would, being corrupted and all, but Satan doesn’t take kindly to traitors. Doesn’t trust them like he would someone born rotten or anyone conned into selling their soul. Bastard. Don’t get me started on what he did to me.”

“I won’t. Can good angels ever redeem themselves once they’ve fallen?”

“Dunno. I suppose anything’s possible.”

“Like me becoming mortal? Or you being alive and human again like you once were?”

“I see your point. Is this about Rafael?”

“He won’t listen. He’s so horny he’s willing to screw up his wings, career, and existence to get a little nookie. So far, we’ve only made love missionary style, which is strictly for newbies, and already some of his feathers are turning black. After the Thin Red Line, those suckers will probably fall off. He won’t be able to ascend to Heaven. He’ll be stuck here on a fast track to Hell.”

“Want me to have my guys talk to him?”

“To recruit him even faster to the dark side?”

“Right, lost my head for a moment.” She rubbed Wynona’s back. “Maybe Rafael won’t like what goes on once he sees it in action.”

Of course he wouldn’t, but by then it might be too late to save him.

* * * * *

Rafael stared at the computer screen, his mouth sagging open at the website Stefin had pulled up. There was no end to fetish wear. Cuffs, collars, gags, muzzles, blindfolds, hoods, cock harnesses, and something called the seven circles of hell D ring for cocks. The thing looked like a torture device from his slave days. “I’m supposed to wear stuff like this at the club?”

He’d told them about Wynona’s invitation, asking for their advice on how to behave, what to wear. Clearly a huge mistake.

Stefin looked over. “Knowing Wynona, that stuff won’t be hardcore enough. Hey guys, what’s that site for a Dominatrix and her boy toy?”

“Hold it.” Rafael turned in his chair. “She said I’m the Master and she’s the sub.”

“You’re sure? That doesn’t sound like the pissy reaper we know.”

He tightened his jaw. “Yeah, I’m very sure about what she said. And her name is Wynona, not pissy reaper or anything else pejorative, got it?”

Stefin looked at Anatol.

Anatol sighed. “Pejorative means rude, unkind, nasty.”

Stefin nodded and held up his hands to Rafael. “Easy, all right? If she’s the sub, that changes everything. You can wear what we usually do at the BDSM clubs.”

A long red cape materialized, the garment suspended in air. Beside it hung black tights with the front and back parts cut out to expose a man’s cock, balls, and ass. There were also boots that laced up the front and a wide belt with a whip hanging from it.

Rafael thought the leather pants Stefin put him in were awful. He pointed at the items. “That’s as bad, possibly worse, than what’s on the site. I’ll look ridiculous.”

“Hot.” Stefin winked.

Taro and Anatol snickered.

“Are you guys putting me on? I know I’m an easy target.”

They sobered. Taro shook his head. “We’re not yanking your chain. Doms wear stuff like this at the clubs.”

“What about subs? What will Wynona wear?”

Stefin smiled. “A ball gag for sure.”

“What’s that?”

He leaned down, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

What he brought up wasn’t any better than the first site, except this one catered to females. Rafael made a face at a red rubber ball shoved into a woman’s mouth and held there by straps. “Why would Wynona want to wear that?”

“She wouldn’t. You would, to keep her quiet.”

Rafael bunched his shoulders. “Care to rephrase that?”

“Hey, she’s your babe, do whatever you want. Leave me out of it.” Stefin stepped back.

Rafael perused the site, checking out lockdown cinchers, spanking panties, half-cup leather bras. He leaned closer. Those were nice. Chastity thongs, riding crops, studded paddles, bullwhips. Ugh, that couldn’t be fun. Collars, wrist and ankle restraints, arm binders, spreader bars, long black gloves, jeweled masks. She’d look good in one of those. But the rest…

“Do women really like this?”

“Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.” Anatol leaned over this time and typed something. “Check this out.”

A video started, music swelled, the strains dark though more smoldering than ominous. The photography was surprisingly professional, lighting sensuous. A dozen black candles cast a soft glow on a stone wall that resembled one found in an ancient monastery or dungeon. Thick chains dangled from the ceiling, ending in brutal manacles. Two bolts were in the floor, spaced widely apart. Secured to them were shackles, the metal glinting dully in the faint light.

Drums beat, the booming sounds introducing a huge dude who strutted into the scene. He wore a full hood, lace-up boots, a leather belt, and those ridiculous cut-out tights. His schlong was at least twelve inches, dangling halfway down his thigh.

One of the guys bumped Rafael’s arm. He didn’t bother to see which one, unable to tear his gaze away from the screen. The dude’s, or rather the Master’s, balls were larger than ripe plums.

The drums grew frenzied. A woman, the presumed sub, wiggled into the scene, her high-heel boots similar to what Wynona usually wore, only these were even higher. She had on the red cape.

Rafael smacked his palm against the desk. “I knew you guys were putting me on. That’s women’s wear.”

Taro shook his head. “Unisex. A Dom or sub can wear it. Watch.”

Already, the Master had secured his sub’s arms above her head, her ankles to the floor, spreading her legs widely. The camera angle changed, showing her from the front, head down, long, blonde curls hiding her face. She whimpered.

Stefin huddled close. “Ball-gag time.”

Sure enough, the Master pulled one off a nearby table, this one all black. The sub shook her head vigorously. “I’ll be good.”

Stefin made a derisive sound.

The Master tossed the gag back on the table, untied the cape, and pulled it off her.

Whoa. Leather strips crisscrossed her curves, a kind of harness that didn’t cover her boobs, ass, or cleft in the least. Like Wynona, she had no hair down there. Gold rings hung from her folds and nipples. Another dangled from the wide black collar around her throat.

Violins played. She lowered her face in a submissive position.

The drumming resumed, trumpets wailed, cymbals crashed. The Master kept his cool, strolling around her, tapping the whip against his palm. She looked over. He growled fiercely. Head down, she waited obediently for her punishment.

The music cut off, the only sound Rafael’s heavy breathing. The guys’ too. They crowded him, their attention riveted to the screen.

The Master lifted his arm. The ends of the whip jumped. A drumroll rang out and he brought the whip down. The scene changed to slo-mo, the camera showing a close-up of the sub’s satiny ass. The knotted cords struck the middle of her cheeks and curled around her hip.

She keened, a wailing trumpet accompanying her.

Four times, the Master meted out her punishment, leaving new marks in different areas. Finished, he dropped the whip and buried his face in her cunt, licking her lust-drenched folds.

She cried out.

He squeezed her whipped cheeks and gorged on her clit, not allowing her to come. She clenched her fists and fought her restraints. For her disobedience, she got another lick from the whip.

Perspiration shone on her neck, torso, and back.

The Master explored the separation between her cheeks, her tightest opening. She pushed to her toes. For that response, he tightened the ceiling chains, ensuring she remained in the position. Stretched out, trapped, used.

He drew the whip between her legs, stroked her nub with the handle, and kissed her deeply.

She surrendered once more, arching her back to expose her breasts, pushing them into his palms.

The drums started again. Could be they’d never stopped, Rafael couldn’t be certain.

The Master undid the ankle shackles.

Why? “Is it over?”

“Nope.” Anatol pointed at the screen. “Watch.”

With her feet free, the Master pulled her legs up to his hips and drove his gargantuan cock into her dripping sheath. Her head fell back. He kissed her throat, pumped like a mad man for five full minutes and finally came.

The video went black.

Rafael wilted in his chair, winded as though he’d run miles, his rod so hard the skin stung. Well on his way to corruption.

Chapter Nine

Once her shift began, Wynona rushed through her clients without major incident. Each time she had a spare moment, she hotfooted it to her office and scoured the net for information about good angels turning bad and then back again.

Google claimed to have all the data in the universe. Ha. The only stuff that popped up on her screen was from paranormal TV shows, phony spiritualists looking to make a fast buck, and chatrooms populated with the clueless or trolls with snarky comments.

She was on her own. Surprise, surprise.

When the last client exited, she handed her dress over to Zoe. The length was a smidge too long but the overall effect dazzling. “You totally rock that.”

Zoe smiled shyly, the flames in her eyes demure. “No, I don’t. I’m not you.”

“Thank your lucky stars for that.”

“What are you talking about? You’re gorgeous, tall, built. If I’d looked like you when I was mortal, I wouldn’t have sold my soul for Ebenezer’s love, which, by the way, didn’t work out. Prick.”

“I’m sorry. You really envy me?”

“What woman wouldn’t?”

“Try all of them. I’m a reaper.”

Zoe shrugged. “You come off as a hardass, but you’re really a pussycat inside. I’d chalk up a lot of your problems to women being envious of you.”

“What about the way men avoid me?”

“They have problems I couldn’t begin to get into.”

No kidding. Rafael had just arrived to pick Wynona up for their
date
. Prom night this wasn’t. Black tights hugged his sinewy thighs and calves, his feet clad in retro combat boots. A macho belt hung from his lean hips, a mean-looking whip dangling from it. His chest was bare, shoulders covered by a full-length black cape. His junk hung free, his cock on the move, rising steadily to point at her, his nuts puffing up.

Despite her misgivings about this, her folds grew plump and damp. She wasn’t only doomed, she was damned.

Zoe looked over. “Guess I should go.” She zipped out of the room.

Rafael eyed the black terrycloth robe Wynona wore, From Crud to Stud embroidered in red on the front. The service gave these as parting gifts to clients who’d graduated the programs. It was also a clever marketing ploy to get the brand out to others.

He gestured to the robe. “You’re going to the club in that?”

She gestured right back at him. “Are you kidding me with what you’re wearing?”

His expression darkened. “Doms dress like this all the time.”

“Who told you that? Stefin?”

Rafael’s cheeks flushed. “Taro said the red cape was unisex. Who cares? I refuse to wear anything but black.” He smoothed the garment. “The red one’s still in the treatment room. You can wear it.”

“Now you’re telling me how to dress?”

“As your PO, I should have.” He stroked the whip. “As your Dom, I have the right.”

The pulse within her pussy beat harder, her folds dripping. She shouldn’t like him this way, considering it was screwing up his future, but it was murder to resist. Also necessary if she expected him to come out of this relatively unscathed.

She drew back her shoulders. “You’re not my Dom until we get to the club. I’m going home to change first. You can wait here.”

He blocked her. “I’ll take you.”

“Don’t trust that I’ll come back?”

“I know you will.” He fingered her robe. “I want to see you get dressed.” He tugged the terrycloth. “As soon as you lose this, we’ll go.”

She was nude underneath, except for her boots. “You expect me to leave here without clothes.”

“Like I said, I’ll take you.” He unfurled his wings.

They were wider and longer than she recalled. Darker too, black marching relentlessly through white. She reeled.

He untied the sash around her waist, eased off the robe, and pulled her close. Their fronts molded together, his rigid shaft sheltered between her slick folds. She gripped his arms to keep upright, her throat convulsing with a whimper and moan.

“Everything will be all right.” He brushed his lips over her cheek. “I promise.”

She shook her head. “No, it won’t.”

“Trust me, it will. I want this. I want you.” He captured her mouth, his tongue spearing deep.

Her knees bumped his, their lips melding, his kiss impassioned, starved for her, the same as she was for him.

They ascended through the ceiling and roof to the outside, invisible as last time.

Wait a sec. If he could slip back into Heaven without anyone seeing him that might solve his wing problem. He could retract those babies and keep them hidden with no one being the wiser.

She eased her mouth from his. “Do you do this when you go home?”

He tensed, his grip tightening around her waist. “Kiss women?”

No, but now she was curious. “Sure. We’ll go with that. Do you?”

“Only Ursula. She’s history, like your Sandman.”

“He’s not mine. Do you go home invisible like we are now?”

“Until I reach the security gates.”

“They’re not pearly like I’ve heard?”

“Things change. Too many trying to storm the castle, so to speak. We have face and voice recognition now, along with retinal scanning, iris recognition, cavity searches, and full-body X-rays before anyone can put one toe in the place.”

Sounded horrible and didn’t make sense. “Given what’s happened to your wings, how’d you get through the last time when you picked up a change of clothes and our breakfast?”

“My feathers hadn’t turned yet. Must have been a delayed reaction.”

One he was making up for now, barreling full steam toward destruction. “What’s the matter with your people? Whatever happened to trust?”

“The last financial meltdown proved what a mistake that was. I can’t tell you the guys who’re on St. Peter’s shit list now.”

She didn’t care about them, only him. Damn. All those security measures brought her right back to the original plan, repulsing him with her true nature before he lost his chance to forego corruption and repented.

So be it. She was up to the task.

Once in her apartment, Wynona rummaged through her clothes, searching for her most disgraceful outfit.

Rafael gazed longingly at the bed and bath where they’d had so much fun, the chair they’d snugged on while sharing breakfast. He turned to her, expression brimming with hope, no different from a mortal who still longed for a miracle.

There wouldn’t be one tonight. For them to stay here wrapped in each other’s needs wasn’t possible. He had to witness the horrible truth about her and reform.

She shoved one garment after the other aside, the hangers rattling on the iron pole.

His shoulders drooped. He glanced away.

She blinked back tears and found what she needed. Didn’t take her long to get dressed given her scanty outfit. Bracing herself for the worse, she faced him. “I’m ready.”

Her military-style jacket sported a high collar and long sleeves, had no zipper or buttons, barely covered the sides of her breasts and stopped well above her fake navel. She’d seated a large rhinestone in the depression. Her half-cup leather bra lifted her boobs and exposed her nipples, gold rings hanging from each.

She’d paired her crotchless thong with a lacy garter belt that held up sheer black stockings, had donned her boots once more and wore a slave collar around her throat. The leather was savagely wide and studded with gold rings so her Master could easily slip a chain or his finger through the hoops from the front and back, right or left to yank her toward him. Making certain she behaved.

In order to put even more emotional distance between them, she’d slipped on a full-face mask in black satin, adorned with lace, sequins, and feathers. Sheer material covered the eye openings, allowing her to see out, while keeping him from seeing in and gauging her emotions. Given how her mouth was covered, he couldn’t claim her lips. No matter what anyone thought or said, a kiss was far more intimate than sex.

As her Dom, he’d have full access to her body tonight but nothing else.

Most men would have been turning cartwheels or groping her lewdly. He ignored her raunchy costume and stared at her eyes. “Take off the mask.”

“No. It’s part of my costume.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I do.”

“I’m your Dom.”

“Not ’til we get to the club.”

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into him. “Fine. Off we go.”

“You’re going to be sorry.”

Rafael cupped her ass and squeezed her cheeks. “Wrong. You’ll be sorry if you don’t behave.” He pressed his mouth to the sensitive area beneath her ear and suckled.

She collapsed against him, scarcely able to think. “While we’re there, beat my butt good. Screw me raw. Don’t want to disappoint the audience.”

He stilled and straightened. “Hurt me if you must, but I won’t change my mind.”

Damn him. “How in the hell could I even get close to hurting you when you’re doing such a bang-up job on your own?”

He frowned. “I should have listened to Stefin.”

“Let me guess, he’s been talking up Hell, how great it’ll be when your ass lands there.”

“He told me to use a ball gag on you. Silly me, I said no way and told him to watch his mouth about you or else.”

Crap. Rafael was too wonderful for her or any woman, even a good angel. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. Her mask dented. “Thanks.”

He stroked her back. “Let’s not argue. Tell you what, we can stay here tonight. After we play around, I’ll make dinner or breakfast, whatever you want.”

Satan couldn’t have tempted Wynona more if he’d offered her a chance to be a teenybopper, experiencing life, friendship, acceptance followed by a ticket to Heaven for eternity. None of that meant anything now. Her love for Rafael was paramount and gave her the courage to resist and pull away. “Too vanilla. Boring in comparison to the club. Stay here if you want. I can go alone.”

He caught her hand. “Let’s cut to the chase. Tell me you hate me, and I’ll leave. Tell me you haven’t liked me for a moment, and I’ll never bother you again.”

“Wow, bingo on both. You are perceptive.”

“Say the words, Wynona.”

She should have but couldn’t get her mouth to work.

“Exactly as I thought.” With a smug expression, he pulled her back into him. “How much cash should I bring for the cover charge?”

“You have money?”

“All POs have bank accounts for incidental expenses.”

“Like taking parolees to BDSM clubs?”

“How much will I need to withdraw tonight?”

“Keep it. I have a running tab there and a dozen other places. What can I say? I’m a hedonist with nympho tendencies.”

She smiled proudly, waiting for him to bolt.

His cock wiggled against her. “Hang on.” He soared through the ceiling. “Where is this dive? I’m guessing not up. Should I go down?”

She gave him directions.

The club was within a recently inactive volcano, its entrance through a slit in the blackened rock and fiery embers glowing around the edges. Thus, the name the Thin Red Line, which also referred to marks left by Doms on subs’ asses.

The moment they landed, Wynona grabbed Rafael’s arm to keep him from going inside. “Retract your wings. Anyone sees your remaining white feathers, and I’ll have to reap as I’ve never done before so no one tears you apart.”

“You’d destroy others for me?”

If she were able to bite the dust, she’d die for him. “I may be a reaper, but I have some honor. You’re fresh meat here. Better listen to mama.”

He tucked those babies in, slipped his finger through a side ring on her collar and tugged her forward. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Yes, oh glorious, wondrous, stupendous Master.”

Rafael looked over. “Lose the ’tude.” He turned her around and smacked her butt.

She whimpered, wanting him to paddle her again and give her several screaming orgasms.

He pulled her inside the volcano.

Smoke billowed toward them, the sulfur stench more pungent than Zoe and her guys. Jagged rocks shimmered red and black. White flashes zigzagged across the ceiling and walls, resembling lightning streaked across a night sky. Thunderous music pounded. The alternative beat mixed metal, punk, grunge, and whatever else the band could throw together.

A leviathan of a guy blocked the club entrance, his black hood hiding his features, eyes narrowed, lips pressed together, his getup the same as Rafael’s, his dong too big to be real. Either enhanced by magic or he was a shifter, possibly a mule or a horse.

As soon as Rafael spotted the dude, he stopped.

Wynona’s hope soared. “It’s okay if you want to go back. I can’t blame you. This is nuts.”

“I know that guy.”

What? How? His face was covered. “He’s your old slave master? You fought him in a battle of good and evil? You’re his PO too? ”

“Next time I’m bringing a ball gag.”

With that attitude there wouldn’t be a next time. “Excuse me?”

“He was in a video Anatol pulled up.” Rafael hurried to the guy, yanking her with him. “Hey, good job with the blonde in the monastery or dungeon. Please tell me that wasn’t the only recording you made.”

Mr. Colossus smiled sweetly. “Dungeon. I have a string of videos. Hold on.” He grabbed a backpack from the floor, dug in and pulled out a business card. “My website addy’s on here.” He handed the card over. “I’m doing this job in between gigs. BDSM acting is a tough business. Pirates are screwing me royally putting my stuff online for free. Hey, I gotta eat and pay rent like everyone else.”

Nodding solemnly, Rafael tucked the card into his belt. “Anything of yours I watch from now on, I promise to buy first.”

He pointed. “No sharing either.”

“Never. You have my word.”

Wynona tugged on her collar. The leather bit into her throat, cutting off her scream at this idiotic conversation. Rafael shouldn’t watch porn. No wonder his wings were worse than the last time she’d seen them.

He pulled her into him and turned to the guy. “About the cover charge.”

“No biggie.” He stepped aside. “Tonight’s on me. Enjoy.”

They gave each other a high-five.

Rafael pulled her down the smoky passage. “You’re sure you have a tab here? He didn’t seem to recognize you.”