The Agreement (48 page)

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Master," I gasped, crying now in
earnest.

"Good," he said and bent down to kiss
my buttocks, one after the other, resting his cheek against one. "Perhaps
you'll be a bit more careful in your behavior when I give an order."

Then he sat me up and turned me to face him. I
tried to wipe away my tears, which I knew would make my mascara streak.

"Oh,
Kate
," he said, his voice
aghast. "Your lip…"

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

He touched my bottom lip and his finger came
back bloody. I just covered my eyes with my hands and cried quietly, no sound
coming out of my mouth, not wanting to look in his eyes because I just
lost
it. It didn’t hurt that much – not really. It was just so
intense
,
the way I felt. I couldn't explain it. I
had
to cry as if some kind of
dam had burst within me and I had to let the emotions out.

He pulled me into his arms and kissed my
shoulder, stroking my hair and I knew he felt truly bad about my lip, even
thought it wasn't really his fault. Then he pulled back, removed my hands from
my eyes, and shook his head softly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You were
too strong and I went a bit too far, waiting for you to make a sound to
indicate you'd reached your limit." His face was ashen, his brow furrowed
as he touched my lip. Then he leaned in and kissed me, taking my bottom lip
between his, licking off my blood.  Then he pressed my head to his
shoulder and spoke to those who stood there watching.

"This slave was trying so hard not to use
the safe word that she bit her own lip, drawing blood. Drawing blood is one of
my hard limits and hers, so I inadvertently crossed it. This was a mistake on
my part, and is due to my failure to recognize how stubborn she is and what a
high pain threshold she has. We're still getting to know each other. Don't let
your position as Dominant or Master prevent you from apologizing when you
recognize you've crossed a line or performed inexpertly. It's the only way to
regain your slave's trust."

Then he pulled me back from his shoulder and
wiped my cheeks with his fingers, so tenderly, that it succeeded in calming me.
He really did regret what happened.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "It
won't happen again."

Then he pressed my cheek once more against his
shoulder. He picked me up in his arms, and carried me over to the Attendant.

"Can you clean off the equipment for
me?" Drake said, his voice soft.

"Certainly, Master D. Do you need a private
room?"

"Yes," Drake said. "Preferably
one with a bathroom."

I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to see other
people and how they responded to the little drama playing out before their
eyes.

Soon, Drake carried me up the central staircase
to a second-floor bedroom that looked like it belonged in some grand mansion in
Florence instead of Yonkers, the carpets thick, the walls covered in rich
brocade, the bed enormous. Drake carried me into a small bathroom and sat me on
the vanity. I grimaced because my ass was tender but as he'd said to those
watching the spanking, the small bit of discomfort would remind me that I'd
been punished.

He ran some water and wet a washcloth with cold
water, pressing it against my bottom lip for a moment.

"I'm fine," I said when he pulled the
cloth away, a tiny bit of blood still on it. "Master."

"You're strong-willed," he said.
"Stronger than I knew. I never wanted you to be scarred because of
anything we did together, Kate. I never want to draw blood."

"Master, it's just a bit of skin I pulled
off. It won't scar."

He pulled me into his arms and I slipped my arms
around his neck, my tears stopped now, just a strange sense of calm descending
over me.

He moved back and looked me in the eyes.
"Do you want to go home now? Or do you want to stay? You've barely seen
anything."

"Let's stay," I said, drawing in a
deep breath. "If it pleases you, Master," I added quickly, making a
face and tapping my head lightly with a fist. "I want to see the dungeon
if you want to take me there."

"Are you sure?" he said, his
expression now doubtful. "When we first met, I thought it would be good
for your 'research' but now, I'm not so sure you'll enjoy it. Things can get
pretty intense. There are people who
do
want to draw blood, Kate. Who do
want to feel pain and administer pain. People will be fucking. It can be
upsetting to you if you’re not used to it."

"Whatever you think, Master. I trust you to
know what I should do."

He nodded, just staring at me for a moment as if
deciding.

"Maybe it would be good to go down there
for a short while, just so you can satisfy your curiosity. But I may only go in
a bit deep. Not to the really intense places."

"You're scaring me, Master."

"I don't intend to. Just want you to be
prepared for what you'll see."

"I trust you, Master."

"I value your trust, Katherine. I take your
trust in me very seriously."

Then he kissed me, softly, and stroked my cheek
with the backs of his fingers, touched my bottom lip. 

He pulled me off the vanity and we made our way
back down to the main floor, walking through those assembled to watch various
displays and demonstrations of technique. A few people nodded to Drake as we
passed but didn’t speak to him. It was all very respectful.

We descended a wide staircase to the basement
and immediately the atmosphere changed. The basement was dark and made of old
brick and had a cold-sweat feel to it like in a cave. Some heavy bass-filled
electronic music played in the background, its beat insistent. Dubstep. I
recognized it –
Trolley Snatcha
by The Future. It was probably the
only Dubstep tune I knew. When I lived in residence at Columbia, one of my
roommates played it endlessly.

The lighting was subdued and there were
imitation torches on the walls, flickering with an eerie light that I knew was
electric rather than a flame. But the effect was the same. A bit spooky and
definitely darkly sexual.

The basement was divided into room-like spaces.
Each room was open to a central aisle. Inside each room was some kind of
apparatus and people inside using it to inflict various forms of pain or
pleasure on each other. People down here were all dressed – or undressed
– for the atmosphere. Leather, latex, rubber. They wore and used chains,
masks, ball gags, spreader bars. There were whips and floggers of every design
on boards, and over the sound of the music, I heard the crackle of electricity
and turned, looking for the sound.

"Electricity, Master?"

"Yes," he said, his voice low. He
squeezed my hand. "We won't go there."

We walked around a crowd watching a scene,
threading through people who stood and watched, Doms with their subs on
leashes, some kneeling at the Dom's feet, watching the events transpire inside
the rooms.

In one room, a twenty-something male sub with
short spiky white-blond hair was standing in the center of the room, his hands
bound to hooks in the ceiling, his legs spread with a spreader bar. His
testicles were imprisoned in some kind of cage-like structure and he was being
struck on the ass and back with a flogger. His bald-headed older Dominant
dressed all in black leather stood behind him, whispering something into the
sub's ear every few strikes. The sub had a huge erection, obviously turned on
by what was happening to him.

I was shocked by the explicitness of the scene,
and everyone watched like we were children watching something we weren't
supposed to.

"…not allowed to come until I give you
permission…" I managed to hear the Dominant say.

Drake and I stopped for a moment and he stood
behind me. "Cock and ball torture," he whispered in my ear. "I
can feel myself shrink just watching it."

I smiled, thinking of him shrinking. It was
clear that the sub enjoyed what was happening. He had a huge erection, and I
suspected he was close to orgasm by how rigid he was, the way his face was red,
his breathing fast.

Drake took me to a room where a Domme was busy
flogging her male submissive, who was bent over, his hands and feet in
manacles. It was then I realized she was Lara – Mistress Lara.

Sadist.

"Master, that's Lara."

"Shh," he whispered in my ear.
"Remember your manners. She's in scene right now. Don't distract her. I
said she might be here."

"Sorry, Master. That's Mistress Lara."
I watched her, fascinated. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.
Her submissive wore only a leather jock strap and leather boots, a ball gag in
his mouth. She stood behind him and lazily slapped his bare ass with the
flogger. It was as if she couldn't really be bothered to flog him with any
focus.

"Why does she look so bored?"

Drake stood behind me, his arms around my waist.
"He's likely into humiliation as well as pain and submission. She's
humiliating him by appearing as if she doesn't really care. It's what he likes
and needs."

The sub's ass was getting progressively redder
as she flogged him with a bit more gusto.

"You. Are. A.
Worm
," she said,
her voice derisive, punctuating each stroke with a word. "You should be
wriggling on the ground at my feet,
slave
."

I turned to Drake. "He likes that,
Master?"

"Oh, yes. He's actually a very hot-shot
fund manager by day, but in private, he likes to submit."

"She did that to you, Master?"

He smiled. "Yes. I never intended to use
these kinds of techniques, but she wanted to see if there was a sadist in me
– or a masochist. There wasn't."

As we watched, Lara bent over her sub and spoke
to him, whispering in his ear. His ass was thoroughly red. Then she went around
beside him and picked up a cane. She ran the cane she held in her hand over his
ass, trailing it between his ass cheeks before striking him several times,
leaving long streaks across it.

We left Lara's scene and went to another room
where a man dressed in leather chaps was busy fucking a woman suspended from a
hook in the ceiling, her hands in cuffs above her head, her feet in straps also
attached to the ceiling. She wore a blindfold and had a ball-gag in her mouth.
I was fascinated with that scene for it was the least violent. It was pure sex,
bondage and leather.
This
I could get into, but then I saw her ass, it
was as streaked red. I saw several implements lying on the table next to the
wall – floggers, riding crops, canes, tawses. The Dominant was ramming
into her, hard, his hands on her hips, pulling her to him with each thrust.

Drake stood behind me, one hand on my belly, the
other wrapped around me and resting on my neck as if measuring my pulse and
respirations. I knew he was monitoring my response to what I saw, trying to
understand what aroused me, what repelled me.

"You
like
this scene," he
whispered in my ear. "Your pulse just increased, your breathing is more
shallow. If I slipped my fingers between your lips, you'd be nice and wet. Do
you want to try this one day?"

"Yes, Master," I said, butterflies in
my stomach. "Except for the ball gag and the cane."

He squeezed me. I held his hands, which were now
clasped around my waist.

"What do you think of all this,
Katherine?"

"I think that these people need each other,
Master," I said, somewhat saddened that they felt a need for pain, but
whatever the reason they did, it pleased them. I liked watching. It aroused me,
even when there was pain involved. Drake was one of these people. Maybe our
kinks weren't so intense as theirs. Maybe neither of us liked pain or needed
it, giving or receiving. But we needed submission and dominance. We needed what
each other gave.

"I need
you
," I said quietly,
realizing that I was one of
these people
, like Drake said. He kissed my
neck.

"I think it's time to go back
upstairs," he said, his voice a bit husky.

"Yes, Master."

He took me back up the stairs out of the
darkness with its heavy scent of sweat and sex and other aromas I couldn't
name, but would forever be associated in my mind with dungeons. We passed
through the bright salon where couples stood and watched demonstrations of various
techniques, and through the next room with darker lighting, where people danced
to a VJ playing some Latin music, a video being projected on a wall, a mirror
ball spinning, casting the room in thousands of sparkles.