DangerousLust (3 page)

“Since you are not driving in you will exit through the
library and then reenter the house. When you’re in my home I expect you to
behave as a guest, and I will treat you as a guest in return. Once you enter
the Marquis’ Quarters—my name for the playrooms—you will no longer be a guest
but a submissive in the presence of a master.”

I was shaking so much so that Master Clay turned to look at
me. “It’s natural to be afraid, Leona.”

I nodded jerkily.

He opened the patio doors and let me out. We slipped between
the bushes as he pointed at a door twenty feet from where we’d exited. While
every room or door I’d seen so far was set with glass, this door was solid.
There was a bell on the wall beside it.

“Once you pass through that door you are mine. Do you
understand?”

I blew out a breath. “Probably not.”

Clay smiled. “I have to appreciate the honesty. Is this
something you still want to do? If not then I will call the driver back and you
can go home.”

“I want this.” It came out as more of a question than a
statement, but at least I’d said it.

“If you truly do, then all you have to do is walk through
that door.”

Clay released my arm.

“Where are you going?” I asked, feeling very alone though he
was only a foot away.

“I will meet you inside.”

Clay returned to the library, closing the French doors
behind him.

I stood there, huddled in the shadow of a house the likes of
which I’d never been inside before. I wasn’t just in the deep end of the pool,
I was in the ocean. I didn’t know if Clay was a shark or a life raft.

I walked to the door, examining the plain exterior. There
was no hint as to what I’d find on the other side. I wondered how many other
women had stood here, wondered if they’d regretted walking through the portal.

Hugging my purse against my stomach with one arm, I reached
out and turned the doorknob.

It wasn’t a dungeon. The walls weren’t stone draped with
chains.

It wasn’t an elegant library like the one I’d walked
through. Too many photos of naughty schoolgirls bent over desks had made me
think that spanking always took place in a library.

It wasn’t a bedroom, for which I was grateful. I probably
would have bolted if I’d seen a bed. I was as jumpy as a cat in a room full of
rocking chairs. That was one of my grandma’s favorite expressions, and I’d
never really understood it before now.

The room on the other side of the door was a closet. There
was a bar with hangers on it, a while wall of drawers and a bench in the
center. There was a second door, this one solid cherry rather than painted
white, across from me. The drawers were glossy wood and the area around the
hanging bar seemed to be lined with cedar. This closet was probably worth as
much as a car.

I closed the door and waited. When Clay didn’t appear I
started to relax. Setting my purse down I walked around looking at everything,
though there wasn’t much to see. The only thing I discovered was that there
were small gold plates engraved with numbers on the drawers.

The interior door opened. I spun to face it, and my
heartbeat, which had slowed, now sped up once again.

“Leona.”

Clay—Master Clay—looked the same, except that he’d rolled up
his sleeves. It wasn’t until he took a step into the closet that I noticed the
crop he held in his right hand.

I gasped and took a step back. My shoulders hit the drawers.

“Leona, I’d like you to take two deep breaths.”

Calm radiated from him, easing my fear. Or maybe it was his
aura of command that I was responding to.

I took one breath, then a second. Clay nodded.

“This is, as you may have guessed, a dressing room. This is
the place where you will let go of the outside world and give in to your
submission.”

I nodded.

“Out loud, please.”

“I understand…I understand, Master Clay.”

“Good. You’ve been assigned drawer number seven. When you
enter this room you will remove your clothing. For now you’re allowed to keep
you undergarments, but in the future I will expect you to be fully nude once
you enter.”

“Yes, Master Clay.”

“Did you bring the checklist?”

“I did. And my doctor’s note.” I pulled the folded papers
from my purse and held them out. Clay waited a moment, forcing me to stand
there with my arm outstretched before he took them.

“I’ll leave you to change. When you’re ready, come out. As
promised you’ll find more appropriate undergarments in your drawer. A gift
welcoming you to the world of BDSM.”

Clay started to exit but stopped and looked back.

“Leona, once you enter the Marquis’ Quarters you will keep
you gaze lowered. Do not speak unless spoken to, and be prepared to be
physically examined.”

With that he closed the door, leaving me alone teetering
between terror and desire.

The black lace camisole and thong were the nicest garments
I’d ever worn. The lace was soft, which I hadn’t expected. I was used to lace
being itchy, but this wasn’t. That probably meant it was expensive. The thong
was lined with thick silk and fastened on the sides with ribbons. I bit my lip
as I tied it in place, making sure the loops of the bows were even. It was easy
to imagine Master Clay untying it and the thought made me wet. The cami was
tight across my breasts but loose around my belly. The lace was thicker on the bra-like
cups, hiding my nipples.

Once I was dressed I tucked all my clothes, along with my
purse and shoes, in the drawer he’d assigned me. The last thing I did was to
apply another coat of lip gloss.

I wasn’t nearly as nervous now as I had been before, and my
hand was steady when I opened the door into the “Marquis’ Quarters”.

The eager self-assurance melted away as I saw what was on
the other side.

The room was low ceilinged and dark, with wood floors and
paneling on most of the walls. Spotlights in the ceiling shone on several
areas, leaving the rest of the room in shadow.

A large X waited in the center of the room—a St. Andrew’s
Cross. Mounted on the wall near it was a metal grid. Chains dangled from the
grid, glinting in the bright light.

There were two straight-backed wood chairs, one slightly
larger than the other, set against the wall. A wood post drenched in light
could have been mistaken for a structural support if it weren’t for the straps
wrapped around it.

There was a deep cabinet on the wall just inside the door,
blocking my view of the right side of the room. I took two small steps and saw
a lovely seating area. Plush couches were arranged in a square around a raised
platform.

I imagined myself up there on display for whoever was seated
on the couches and shivered. Large trunks were placed against the backs of the
couches, acting as console tables. Artwork and books rested there, making the
room a strange mix of elegantly staged sitting room and sex dungeon.

The cabinet beside the door was one of three along that
wall. The center one had glass upper doors. The interior was lit, showing off
what I thought were glass sculptures. After a moment I realized they were glass
plugs and dildos. My pussy clenched and my nipples pebbled under the lace. I
swept my gaze across the room, this time seeing other things hiding in the
shadows. What I didn’t see was Master Clay.

There were two other wood doors beyond the seating area, and
after a moment I decided that was where he must have disappeared to. I closed
the door to the dressing room and waited. I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d read
all about different positions submissives should take while waiting, but I had
no idea which position Master Clay wanted me in.

I settled on spreading my feet to shoulder width as if I
were doing squats in the gym. I rested my hands behind my back, hooking my
index fingers together. After one last look around the room I lowered my eyes,
staring at the bottom of the St. Andrew’s Cross.

A door opened. Footsteps approached, tapping over the glossy
wood floor.

I started to tremble the closer Master Clay got. I closed my
eyes and swallowed. When the footsteps stopped I opened my eyes, keeping my
gaze focused on the floor.

Master Clay grabbed my chin, forcing my head up. For a
moment my gaze snapped to his before I remembered the order and lowered my
lashes, looking down even though he was tipping my chin up.

He turned my head from side to side, examining me. It was
disconcerting. When he released my jaw his hand fell to the straps of the
camisole. Flicking them off my shoulders, he grabbed the top and jerked it
down. The lace abraded my nipples and I gasped as my breasts popped free.

In the next breath he was fondling me. Cupping each breast
in turn, he weighed them in his hands, then flicked my nipples with his thumbs.
He drew his hand back and slapped my right breast, just enough to cause a
little sting. I bit my lip—it was both frightening and arousing. My arm and leg
muscles were tight from the tension of holding still. The urge to respond to
his touches with ones of my own was strong. As was the urge to run. I barely
knew this man yet he was touching me as if he owned me.

Because he did.

That thought sent a fresh wave of arousal thrumming through
me and I found myself relaxing.

“Good girl. Let go. You need only do what I order you to do.
Anything else is irrelevant.”

He tugged the camisole up, sliding the straps back up my
arms. Fisting a hand in my hair, he pulled my head back, forcing my gaze to the
ceiling and my back to arch, my shoulders moving down toward the floor. He
pulled until I worried I would fall, until I knew that if he released me I
would lose my balance.

“Let go. You’re mine.” He barked the words, his will almost
a physical thing, like the heat from a fire.

Muscle by muscle I relaxed, trusting him to hold me up.

“Good girl,” he repeated. His free hand dipped between my
legs, rubbing the thong against my pussy just as he had when we first met. This
time I tensed for a different reason.

He tugged the ties, just as I’d imagined, and the thong fell
away. For a moment it clung to my wet pussy, but with a flick of his wrists it
was gone, leaving my pussy and ass naked and exposed.

Two fingers fondled my pussy lips. He pinched and stroked
them, touching only the outer lips, not venturing in to my wet core, not
caressing my clit, which was swollen with need.

“You’re very wet. Highly aroused, yet I know you’re scared.”

He raised my head until I was standing straight. I focused
on breathing as I stared at the shiny chains dangling from the metal grid on
the wall. As long as I focused I could stay in control of my reactions.

Master Clay tugged my wrist until I unlinked my fingers, my
hands falling to my sides. He jerked the cami down around my waist. I shivered
standing before him naked except for the scrap of lace bunched around my hips.
Master Clay slapped my ass, hard enough to have me taking a half step forward.

“Remove it.”

I pushed the lace over my hips, letting it pool around my
feet.

Strong hands kneaded my ass, the fingers sliding between the
cheeks, just brushing my anus.

I let out a little squeak of alarm. His fingers stilled.

“I will use all your orifices, Leona.”

“Yes, Master Clay.” I hoped I didn’t sound as scared as I
felt.

“On your checklist you indicated anal sex and anal play as
something you were willing to try, but not something you’re excited about.”

“Yes, Master Clay.”

“Why?”

“I…I have never done that before. It sounds painful and…and
gross.”

He didn’t respond. I heard rather than saw him walk away.
Maybe that was the wrong answer. Twin bolts of fear and relief spiked through
me. Relief?

I heard drawers opening and closing. Master Clay returned
holding a fist full of straps.

“Wrists.”

I held out my arms, curling my fingers around my thumbs so
the trembling wouldn’t be so obvious. One at a time Master Clay wrapped simple
leather cuffs around my wrists. They buckled closed and had D-rings embedded in
them.

“Raise your arms. Hold them straight out at your side. Higher.
Good.”

Next was a belt, about as wide as my palm. It too was
leather, and very stiff. I heard it creak as Master Clay manipulated it.

“This is a posture belt. It makes slouching or bending
uncomfortable.” He settled it around my waist—my natural waist, higher up on my
belly than I would have thought.

“It’s heavy.” The words popped from my mouth before I could
stop them. I caught my breath in fear—I’d spoken without permission.

“That’s fine, Leona. I expect that the newness of these
experiences will inspire responses from you. This first time I will not punish
you for speaking, though I do expect you to be as silent as possible.”

I shuddered in relief. “Thank you, Master Clay.”

“Do you know what this is?” He held up the final thing he’d
brought over. It too was black leather, but was narrower than either the cuffs
or the belt.

“Is it a collar?”

“Yes. It is.” He stroked my neck with the back of one
finger. “Do you know what it means when a submissive is collared?”

“It means the Master who collared her owns her,
permanently.”

“Yes…and no. It means that the submissive has given over
control of her body and mind to the Dom. If he chooses to share her that is his
right.” Master Clay’s hand drifted to my breast. He flicked my nipple then
pinched it, hard. “If he chooses to give her away that is his right.” He raised
his hand, pulling me up by my nipple.

I rose onto my toes. It hurt—far more than I’d expected—and
yet I was aroused. I dug my fingers into my thighs to stop myself from pushing
him away.

“Does this hurt?”

“Yes, Master Clay.”

“And do I know that it hurts you? Do you think my causing
you pain is an accident?”