The final touch to her outfit had been given to her right
before they left when Micah secured a platinum choker around her neck. It was
designed to look like a dog's choker collar, but was much too exquisite, with
three onyx stones set in at the front.
So that everyone knows you're taken,
he had said with a sexy smile on his face.
She wasn't sure if that was true or if he just wanted to see
her in a fancy dog collar, but it was a striking piece of jewelry either way.
"Very sexy," Micah said, staying close as he
directed her back toward the main foyer. "I might get jealous
myself."
"Oh? Why's that?" She tried to act like she fit
in, glancing around as nonchalantly as possible.
"Because every male here will have his eyes on
you."
"Well, don't hurt anyone." She plucked a flute of
champagne from a passing silver tray as the waiter nodded and smiled at her.
"Mmm, I'll try to keep that in mind."
She giggled up at him as his gaze followed the server almost
threateningly.
"Down boy."
He looked back at her. "Funny. I thought that was my
line."
She shook her head at him. He really needed to get the word
incorrigible tattooed on his forehead.
"I'll think about it," he said, reading her mind.
"So, when does everything start?" She sipped her
drink as he navigated her through a throng of people.
He checked his watch. "In about ten minutes. That's
when the doors will be locked and everyone will retreat to the basement."
She took a deep breath. It was getting easier being here. No
one had jumped out and pointed a finger at her, yet, announcing that she was a
BDSM scene party virgin, so maybe she would make it through the evening
unscathed.
"No one is going to point you out, baby," Micah
said.
She glanced at him. He really did look good tonight. He had
chosen an Under Armor, long-sleeved, skintight shirt that hugged his body like
a second skin. She could actually count the muscular ridges in his abdomen. His
tailored black slacks hung low on his hips, and he wore a thick, black leather
belt with a brushed silver buckle. He looked good enough to eat. It was easy to
see why someone would want him to work them over. He looked as good as his
reputation claimed he was.
When he glanced askance at her and licked his lips, she knew
he'd heard every word of her thoughts.
She blushed.
"You sure know how to boost a guy's ego." His arm
slipped more securely around her waist.
"Don't go getting a big head about it," she
quipped, smirking with amusement and taking a drink of her champagne.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Miss Garrett." He steered
her toward the back of the house. "We should head downstairs."
She linked hands with him and let him lead her. He had
warned her about what she would see. There would be naked men and women here,
tied and bound and on display as they were worked over for the others in
attendance. Apparently, some submissives enjoyed the public humiliation.
They were exhibitionists…like she was, only different.
Micah nodded to a male dressed in leather, who nodded back.
"Do you know him?" Sam said, turning and watching
the man walk away.
"Yes."
She lowered her voice. "Is he another dom?"
"Yes."
They reached an open staircase made of brown stone, which
half-spiraled around a circular wall. Murmuring noise and soft music echoed up
from the basement, and they began the descent into what Sam could only imagine
calling the Temple of Doom.
"It's not the Temple of Doom," Micah said quietly.
"I know, but I don't know what else to call it."
"Just call it the dungeon."
"The dungeon." Sam let the two syllables fall off
her tongue, contemplating all that the simple word implied.
She imagined medieval wickedness, maces, iron maidens, and
odd contraptions where prisoners and criminals were tied down and punished.
"That's more like it," Micah said quietly as they
reached the bottom of the stairs. "But not quite as primitive." He
gave her a crooked grin.
"Micah." A blonde in black leather and very red
lipstick smiled and broke from a group of other leather-clad individuals and
walked over.
Sam bristled, and Micah secured her more firmly to his side,
his strong hand nestled against her hip.
"Mistress Diamond." Micah bowed his head in
greeting. "Meet my…" he glanced at Sam, "girlfriend. Sam, this
is Mistress Diamond. She's the one who invited us."
Mistress Diamond?
How apropos. Her teeth were so
white they sparkled like diamonds.
Bleach much?
At least Miss D was
human, which meant that with her new immortal strength, Sam could take Miss
Diamond if she made a move on her man — male, whatever.
Micah cleared his throat and tightened his grip. The message
was clear.
Behave!
Sam smiled sweetly, fighting her urge to stake her claim in
Micah, and held out her hand. "Hi. Nice to meet you."
"My pleasure." Mistress Diamond flashed a genuine,
congenial smile, non-threatened and non-threatening, but Sam still didn't like
her.
Perhaps Micah had a point with that whole
taking-his-last-name thing. If she started calling herself Mrs. Black, the
message would be clear to potential usurpers that she and Micah were a unified
pair. Of course, when Micah saw that thought roll through her mind, he looked
at her with a self-satisfied grin plastered on his puss.
I told you so
was written all over his face. Sam issued him a mock glower to let him know not
to even think about rubbing her nose in this one later.
"Thank you for the last-minute invitation," Micah
said, smugly turning his attention back toward Miss D.
"It was no problem." Mistress Queen of the Night
looked between her and Micah. "Will you two be playing out a scene
tonight?"
"No," Micah said. "Sam and I are only here to
watch."
Mistress D nodded and looked at Sam. "Micah's
introducing you to the lifestyle then?"
"Something like that, yes." Sam tried not to stare
at those unbelievably white teeth.
"Well, you've got the best here," she said,
glancing back at Micah. "He'll take excellent care of you." Mistress
White Teeth turned toward Micah. "I was so pleased to hear you were coming
out of retirement, by the way."
Micah patted Sam's hip gently. "Not exactly out of
retirement, but close enough."
The mistress's bright eyes lit up and those perfectly
reddened lips curved into a secretive smile. "Would you like to join me
during a scene? I have the most incredible submissive here with me. The guy can
take more than I can give him, to be honest. I think he'd like you a lot,
Micah."
Micah looked over at Sam and shrugged. "I don't know,
Diamond. He's your sub, and that's your equipment. I wouldn't want to
impose."
Sam got the impression Micah was trying to ask for her
permission.
"No imposition, Micah. It would be an honor to do a
scene with you."
Micah kept his gaze on Sam's.
Well, she had come here in hopes of seeing Micah in action,
hadn't she? This was her chance.
Finally, she nodded. "You should, Micah. I want to see.
I want to watch."
Micah turned back to she-who-hath-the-white-teeth.
"Okay. Sure."
Mistress D grinned victoriously. "Excellent. I was just
about to get started." She motioned for them to follow her as she headed
off into the depths of the dungeon. "I'm set up back here."
She walked toward an ornate, heavy, black curtain
embellished with gold embroidery and tassels as if it had come out of some
Elizabethan palace. Miss D held it aside.
Sam's eyes opened wide as she ducked under into a darkened
walkway and passed a large room in which a topless woman danced to exotic music
while a rather brusque male lounged on a mound of large pillows of various
colors and watched.
Micah leaned down and whispered, "Gorean scene."
She frowned up at him, not knowing a Gorean scene from the
Dance of the Sugar Plum fairies. He shook his head and rolled his eyes as if to
say he'd explain later.
Mistress Diamond quietly directed them past the room and on
further into a more open area.
"There are four rooms set up down here," the
mistress said. "Two on the other side, and two this way."
Micah nodded as if this all made perfect sense to him, so
Sam nodded, too. Sure, she could pretend to know what she was doing.
They stepped past another heavy curtain into a room where a
small gathering had begun to form around an open area. Large, heavy hooks hung
from the ceiling, similar to the ones she had seen in Micah's basement. A
dark-skinned male knelt on his knees in the corner, with a black, fabric bag
over his head. He was naked and his hands rested on his thighs.
Mistress D fell into character as she grabbed a whip off a
nearby shelf and cracked it against the concrete floor. The man in the corner
twitched at the sound of the whip and lifted his covered head, obviously aware
that his Mistress had returned. She marched toward him in her knee-high, shiny
black boots.
Micah leaned in and whispered, "That's her
submissive."
She whispered back, "And she wants you to…work him over
or whatever?"
He nodded.
Micah's eyes narrowed on the submissive, and he tilted his
head studiously. Then he looked up at the ceiling and over at the toys and other
items Mistress D had laid out.
"Quit calling her Mistress D," he said softly.
"Get out of my head, and you won't hear me call her
Mistress D."
Micah huffed with exasperation but turned admiring eyes on
her. "You're sexy when you're feisty."
Sam grinned sweetly. "Why, thank you, honey."
He smirked at her obvious sarcasm.
Mistress
Diamond
knelt beside her submissive and
whispered something in his ear and then the sub nodded. Sam heard him say
something, but couldn't hear what. The mistress looked up at Micah and nodded,
motioning him to join her.
"Well, here goes." He gave her a quick kiss and
smiled.
His smile was all for her. Micah's chest puffed up and he
held his head high and his back straight as if he wanted to honor her with his
pending performance. He obviously wanted to impress her. And wasn't that the
sweetest thing ever?
As he walked away from her and inspected several coils of
rope on the shelf, every female eye in the room focused on him like hawks to a
field mouse. Oh yes, they wanted her man — male, whatever. He was pure hotness.
Sensuality and sexuality personified. And he was all hers.
His eyes flicked sideways to her as one brow arched in reply
to her thoughts.
I love you.
He smiled darkly and placed his palm surreptitiously over
his heart in reply.
When he turned around, he came to an abrupt stop and his
face blanked.
Sam frowned. What was wrong?
She turned in the direction he was looking and gasped before
snapping her mouth shut.
The submissive.
It was Trace.
Traceon knew it was Micah before he turned around. He could
tell by that luscious hair falling like black silk over his shoulders. Seeing
Sam among the onlookers confirmed it.
Cat. Out of the bag. Oops.
Now they knew. They had just joined an elite group of people
that included only the three of them. Trace, Micah, and Sam. They now knew more
about him than anyone else.
And it shamed him. Which was really quite perfect since that
was why he was here: to be shamed and humiliated in front of a group of people.
His cock instantly swelled as his immense power laughed at him and shrunk into
the shadows.
When Micah finally did turn around, he froze in place.
Apparently, Micah was just as surprised as he was to see that his sub-to-be was
Trace.
Once again, wasn't this just perfect? Trace had sought Micah
out for his reputation as a true master of the art, and now he was going to get
a taste of Micah's abilities first-hand.
As long as Micah didn't back down.
His mistress whipped him with a horse hair flogger, the
coarseness stinging his skin, making it feel as though a hundred tiny
lacerations had ripped his flesh. He knew from experience that they hadn't, but
the pain still smarted. Again, and again, she struck him. Then once more for
good measure.
"We have a guest today, slave," Mistress Diamond
crooned, prowling around him, digging her long nails into his chest and torso
as she scratched him and continued around behind him. When her nails reached
the place on his back she had struck a moment earlier, Trace winced. His skin
was already raw.
"Yes, Mistress." Trace eyed Micah, who only glared
back at him.
"What do you think of him, slave? Do you think he can
hurt you more than I can?"
Trace knew Micah could and would, but he also knew he could
never admit that to his mistress.
"No one can hurt me more than you can, my
mistress."
"Good answer, slave." She whipped his bare ass as
his reward for pleasing her.
Meanwhile, Micah scoffed. He knew the truth as well as Trace
did. No one would bring the pain like Micah could, and even Mistress Diamond
had to know that as the truth.
"Give me your arms, slave," she commanded.
Trace did as he was told, watching Micah retrieve the whip
his mistress had used earlier. The nine-foot coil unfurled, the leather landing
on the floor with a satisfying slap.
Mistress Diamond often used the whip for effect only. She
never used it on Trace, because she didn't trust herself with such a precise
accoutrement. Why did he get the feeling that Micah knew exactly how to handle
a whip — and that he would use it on Trace?
With his wrists bound, his mistress fastened him to a chain
hanging from a hook in the ceiling.