The Dom's Dungeon (14 page)

Pity rose
in Alex until he remembered that she'd tried to do the same to Mac for no other
reason than spite.

When the
two approached, Drake rose. His black eyes displayed no pity at all as they
traveled over Cynthia's body. “Kneel and apologize to Master Steel, then to
Master Alex's sub.” His words were deliberately chosen, and Cynthia flinched at
MacKensie's
designation as Alex's submissive.

Cynthia
knelt awkwardly, all her grace gone. “I'm sorry, Master Steel. Please forgive
me.” The monotone left little to be read.

“Forgiven,”
Steel said, his taut face adding without words that he wouldn't forget.

Cynthia
turned slightly and looked at
MacKensie
. “Please
forgive me,” she
repeated,
her face blank and cold.

MacKensie's
eyes
brimmed with tears. “Of course,” she whispered.

Alex's
mouth thinned. His little sub's sympathy could be heard, felt, and seen.
Cynthia's attitude, however…

“Cynthia,
you speak the words of repentance but feel no remorse, only unhappiness that
you were caught,” Drake said and lifted Cynthia to her feet. “You are not
welcome in my club. Do not return.”

The
woman's soft gasp of shock showed she had expected everything would go back to
normal.

Drake
handed Steel his car keys. “Please escort her to the car. I will be out in a
moment.”

Steel
nodded and gripped Cynthia's arm again. He snagged her coat on the way out the
door.

Drake
walked over to Alex. A flick of his eyes asked for and received Alex's
permission to speak and touch. He lifted
MacKensie's
chin with one finger. “Little one, a truly repentant submissive is forgiven and
cherished by her master, whether she is punished or not.” His black eyes
gentled as if he could feel the quivers racking the little cat's body. “And
sometimes punishment isn't about love; sometimes it's just punishment.”

He let her
go, nodded at Alex, and headed out to take Cynthia home. Alex didn't envy him
the trip.

“I think
the evening calls for a walk on the beach,” Alex said. “Come, people; let's get
some fresh air.” He set his mostly untouched drink down on the table. There was
yet a scene to play out tonight, and he'd need a clear head.

* * * * *

Seattle
glowed brightly on the horizon as Mac took one last look before entering the
house. The long walk in the brisk sea air had blown away the shadows of the
evening, and the soft shushing of the waves erased the screams that had filled
her imagination. Alex had held her hand as they strolled along the water's
edge, and that had helped too.
Mostly.

So maybe
she'd had a few moments of wanting to be home, reading an old Heinlein, and snuggling
in the extra-soft quilt that Mary had made just for her—the one with kittens
peeking out from behind each square. The homesickness hadn't lasted too long.
Hand on her stomach, Mac rubbed away the lingering remnants and took a
fortifying breath of cool, briny air.

After
tossing their coats on the entry table, the others headed into the kitchen.
Tess said she'd make some hot chocolate and asked Alex where he kept the
Baileys
Irish Cream.
Sounded like
everyone felt better.

Oblivious
to the subdued mood, Butler had spent his time running in happy circles on the
moonlit beach, and now he trotted up to the house, sides heaving and tongue
lolling out.

Before he
could escape, Mac grabbed his collar. As she pulled the dog toward the back
room to dry him off, she heard Peter's voice in the kitchen. “Push her?”

Alex
answered, “Exactly.”

Push her? Push who and where and why?
Those
Doms
could be pretty inscrutable sometimes. With a shrug,
Mac concentrated on getting the seawater and sand off Butler and not on herself.

“I do not
want to smell like fish and dog,” she told him, receiving wiggles of delight at
the attention. She put out some more dry food, checked his water, and left him
tromping down imaginary grasses to make his dog bed more comfy.

Mac
stopped in the hall to remove her long coat,
then
entered the living room. Everyone had returned to their favorite locations:
Zachary and Tess in front of the fire, Peter and Hope at the large picture
window, watching the water. Alex appeared from the kitchen with a large tray of
appetizers.
“Ah, my favorite French maid.
Serve our
guests, please.” He handed her the tray.

She
glanced down at her costume and sighed. She'd actually forgotten what she wore,
and now she knew why he'd wanted her to wear it. With a soft laugh, she walked
over to Hope and Peter. “Would you care for something to eat?”

Peter's
brows drew together, and his light brown eyes chilled. “Has Alex not taught you
how to address a Dom?”

Oh
frak
.
Where'd
all the
friendly atmosphere go? “Ah.
Sir.
Would you care for something to eat, Sir?”

“Better.”
Peter picked up tidbits, one by one, and popped them into Hope's mouth while
Mac stood as if she'd turned into a table or something. After a few minutes,
Peter finished feeding his sub and took a miniature quiche for himself. As he
ate it, he looked Mac up and down, making her very aware of the scantiness of
her costume. She tried to think of a way to edge away, but that would be too
obvious. Instead she turned her gaze to the water.
I'm a table.
Just a table.

Knuckles
caressed the top of Mac's pushed-up breasts, and she jumped, almost spilling
the appetizers. She tried to step away, but Peter grasped her arm, holding her
in place. He ran his hand over her cleavage again. When she glared at him, he
smiled slowly. “If maids don't pay attention, they get in trouble. Didn't your
master mention that?”

She
frowned at him, getting a feeling there was no right answer.

“At this
party—at most of our parties—we grant permission for the other
Doms
to touch our subs.
Within reason.”
The back of his hand stroked over her neck and bare shoulders.

Alex
hadn't, had he? She looked over her shoulder to where he stood by the
fireplace, his arm resting on the thick oak mantel. His blue gaze met hers.
After glancing at Peter, he returned to his conversation. Dammit. An ugly burn
ignited in her stomach, and it sure wasn't arousal. Obviously Peter had
permission to touch her. How far could he and the other Dom go? “What is
considered within reason?” she asked and hastily added, “Sir.”

He tugged
on her hair. “Well, now, that changes with each party. Right now, I think I'll
improve the view.” His fingers slid inside her corset, and she tried to jerk
away. “Don't move, sub,” he snapped. His eyes, so light a brown they were
almost gold, seemed to glow.

She froze,
and the tray she held started to shake. He took the tray and set it onto the
table, then, watching her with a steady gaze, undid a few of her corset hooks,
exposing her breasts down to the nipples. Her hands fisted at her sides in an
effort not to push him away.

With an
amused smile that reminded her of Alex's, he handed her the tray. “Off with you
now, pet. I'm sure Master Zachary is hungry. Ranchers like their food.”

She
stopped halfway across the room, trying to get her composure back. Somehow,
when she'd been a whore, she'd managed to turn off her sense of outrage. Not
tonight. Peter's touch hadn't roused her like Alex's; instead he'd made her
angry.
What a jerk.

She eyed
her gaping corset and tried to decide whether to set the tray down and do the
hooks back up or continue serving. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Peter's
steady gaze on her, so she gripped the tray firmly and soldiered on. Hopefully
the rancher would be more polite.

Zachary
sat on the couch. Feet tucked under her long skirt, Tess curled up against him.
The Dom had a craggy, weathered face with darkly tanned skin like a man who'd
spent his life outdoors.
When Mac offered him the tray,
rather than sitting up and selecting something, he remained leaning back, one
arm along the back of the couch.

Mac held
the tray forward.

“Down
here, where I can see what I'm getting,” he ordered, pointing toward his lap.

Well, good grief. Does Alex know what voyeurs his friends
are?
She
bent over, all too aware of how the weight of her breasts made the corset gape
farther open.

He did the
exact same as Peter, picking out appetizers and feeding them to Tess.
While Mac remained bent over.

“You know,
that corset looks mighty uncomfortable.” Zachary ran a finger along the top.
“Don't move,” he cautioned. He reached over the tray and undid hooks until only
three remaining clasps at the bottom and the two thin shoulder straps kept it
on her body. “There, that should feel better.”

She glared
at him.

He smiled
slowly, but no humor showed. From the corner of her eye, Mac saw his sub ease
away from him. With one finger, Zachary lifted Mac's chin, forcing her gaze to
stay on him.
“
MacKensie
.
I
don't like that look.”

She yanked
her face away and stepped back. “Well, I don't like—”

He rose so
fast, she didn't have time to move. Yanked from her hands, the tray hit the
table with a clatter, and Mac landed
facedown
on the
couch with a hard hand keeping her in place. A second later, he'd stripped her
of the corset entirely, leaving her in only a thong, garter belt, and fishnet
stockings.

Before she
could think what to do, Zachary set her on her feet and took his place back on
the couch. He wasn't even breathing fast. “I realize you're a beginner, so I
let you off lightly.” He handed her the tray. “You may take that to your master
and explain why you're not in uniform any longer.”

She stared
at him, her heart hammering in her chest. He'd taken her clothing. But he
hadn't tried to cop a feel, not like most men would have. And although his eyes
showed appreciation for her nakedness, he made no move to touch her further. He
was totally in control. She took a step back, caught a sympathetic look from
Tess, and kept retreating. Damn him.

No way…no
way was she going to walk essentially naked all evening. Especially with
everyone else fully dressed. She looked around for Alex. His back to the room,
he pointed out something on the water to Peter. Mac glanced at Zachary. He'd
pulled Tess into his lap to kiss her. No one watched Mac. And the door was
right there.

She might not surrender, but she'd definitely retreat.

After
setting the tray down, Mac hastened up the stairs to the master bedroom. And
there she paced, caught in a quandary. Should she return back downstairs for
the rest of the party? Damned if she would do that without clothing. But if she
put on clothes, what would Zachary do? Even scarier, what would
Alex
do? Her heart squeezed at the
thought of his displeasure, and wasn't that totally bizarre? In the last twelve
years, aside from Jim and Mary, she'd never changed her behavior for anyone, no
matter what they might think.

Okay, Mac. Think. Be logical
. If
she didn't go back downstairs, she'd break the deal with Alex. She'd promised
to submit at his parties and all that. This was a party. So she couldn't cut
out early, no matter how offensive his guests were.

But she
refused to walk around without clothing, so… Her suitcase held a long jean
skirt like Tess's and a discreet, sleeveless, button-down top. After pulling
them on, she checked herself in the mirror.
Nothing
provocative about this.

Surely
Alex would understand that she couldn't tolerate being mostly naked. Wouldn't
he?

Frak
, but I'm so screwed
.
Trying to rub the butterflies out of her stomach, she descended the stairs and
entered the living room. The light scent of wood smoke from the fire mingled
with a cool breeze from the window someone had opened. Zachary and Tess had
joined the others at the window, so everyone stood on one side of the room. Mac
clenched her hands at her sides. Join them or resume serving? But she'd already
served them once, dammit, and look how well that had turned out.

Casual,
then.
Just go hang out with them.
Note
to self: stay a good distance away from the nasty
Doms
.

Her breath
kept hitching like a bad motor as she crossed the room and stopped beside Alex.
Eyes down like a good little sub, she listened to Tess's description of
kayaking. When Tess's light voice stopped in midsentence, no one picked up the
conversation.

Silence
grew.

Mac
glanced out of the corner of her eye at Tess and Hope. The look of horror
blossoming on their faces made her stomach sink.
Oh
frak
. Beam me up, Scotty.
Quick.