Penance (Long Slow Tease, #2)

PENANCE

Long Slow Tease, Book 2

By
A
nn
M
ayburn

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Penance

By Ann Mayburn

Copyright © 2014 by Ann Mayburn

Published by Honey Mountain Publishing

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

**DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, BDSM or otherwise, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Ann Mayburn will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in this book.**

Have you ever noticed how women, in general, are the last ones to allow themselves to be sick? We’ll ignore our own raging 102 degree fever to make sure our sick kids have their popsicles, will somehow manage to baby our
ill boyfriend in between our own bouts of running off to the bathroom to throw up, and will tell people that we’re just fine while we’re dying on the inside. I’ve found this to be true of not only physical, but mental illnesses as well. We’ve been raised to be perfect, to be superwomen, to let no man, no virus, no chemical imbalance stand in our way of being everything that everyone could ever need.

Not only is this need for perfection exhausting, it’s unattainable. Eventually, all of us have to admit we’re human. That we sometimes can’t handle everything, that we may not be perfect, and that we need help. Humbling stuff for women trying to be superheroes.

While researching Penance I spent a good deal of time talking with women who have suffered from PTSD. One common thing I noticed among all of them was how long they struggled to pretend they didn’t have it, that everything was okay, that their co-workers, families, and brothers- and sisters-in-arms didn’t have anything to worry about because they were just fine. We’re not talking months, but years in some cases of women functioning but not living, playing the part of a happy and well-adjusted member of society when on the inside they feel like they’re already dead.

One particular woman’s story that stuck with me was from a
n Army nurse, let’s call her Angie, who’d done three tours over in Afghanistan in a field hospital. Angie told me about coming home after her third tour and having every single classic sign of PTSD possible, which she hid from everyone because she didn’t want to let anyone down with what she felt were just minor inconveniences that would go away with time. But those minor inconveniences grew into major problems, and after an extended bout of depression that included not leaving her house for three weeks and being unable to sleep more than an hour at a time due to the horrible nightmares she was having, she attempted suicide. Thankfully, her family was checking with her daily at that point and found her in time to get her stomach pumped. But it wasn’t until she, a trained nurse who’d been fully briefed on PTSD, was in the hospital talking with a therapist that she acknowledged maybe she needed help. And she was shocked that the world didn’t end when she asked for it.

I talked with Angie last week. She’s doing well by the way, happily married to a man she knew growing up with a baby on the way and doing weekly therapy. She said it was amazing how, on looking back, she was not only lying to other people about how she was doing, she was also lying to herself. Despite all the red flags, all the signs of trouble and danger, she’d convinced herself that if she could just pretend everything was all right,
her PTSD would go away.

Unfortunately, we can’t wish away being sick. We can’t will ourselves to heal from the flu, nor can we wish away things like PTSD or personality disorders. These are illnesses
no different from pneumonia, chicken pox, measles or any other physical sickness and sometimes we need help to fight them. We need to admit that we need someone to talk to and that it doesn’t make us weak, broken, or bad to reach out for help. We must admit that we’re human and find the strength to trust someone enough to tell them the truth because every single one of us is worth saving, every one of us, whether you know it or not, is someone’s everything.

I hope you will enjoy the final installment of Michelle and Wyatt’s story. It isn’t easy, bad things happen, crappy decisions are made, but true love is worth fighting for and together
Michelle and Wyatt will go through hell to save each other.

Ann

PS- Here’s a list of people you can
call if you ever need to talk:

Michelle Sapphire reclined back in the sumptuous cream leather seat of the private jet, watching the sky race by outside and sipped on a glass of excellent champagne. Across her lap lay a velvety soft cashmere throw the color of honey, and a tray of fresh fruit sat on the table next to her seat. Though she was surrounded by every luxury money could buy, it was the man across from her who she cherished more than anything.

He wasn’t pretty like many of the men in her family’s social circles.
One would never find Wyatt casually getting a manicure, or spending two hours doing his hair. Not that he needed to. She longed to run her fingers through those thick raven strands, brush it back and see the glints of silver coming in around his temples. Despite his relaxed demeanor, there was something about him that silently broadcasted he wasn’t a man to be fucked with.

Probably the result of all his years as a Marine…or just Wyatt himself.

He rubbed at her elbow with his sock-clad foot. “Anything I can get you, Domina?”

Yuki
, wearing a flowing yellow and cream silk maxi dress, answered from the other side of the private jet where she and her husband and submissive, James, were lounging. “Actually, yes you can Wyatt.”

Michelle turned to look at her best friend, but the beautiful Japanese woman kept an expressionless face. Wyatt looked to
Michelle, then back to Yuki. “What is it, Ma’am?”

“I want you to do a little public play with us.
Right here. Right now.”

Michelle would have laughed at the horrified look on
Wyatt’s face if she didn’t know what was waiting for them once they landed. Shit, if he couldn't take some public play here, he was going to hate the Velvet Fist, the BDSM club where she’d cut her teeth and her old stomping grounds. They were on their way to Chicago for a friend’s wedding/collaring ceremony, and afterwards, the reception at the Velvet Fist. Wyatt had insisted that he wanted to be available for her to play with if she so desired, but to be honest, the thought of taking any man to the Velvet Fist as her submissive made her nauseous.

Almost five years ago her fiancé, first love, and first submissive, Owen, died in a tragic robbery attempt gone bad
while trying to protect Michelle. He’d been co-owner of the Velvet Fist, and the place was filled with memories for her, bittersweet echoes of a different time in her life when she was a young woman in love. Now, she would be there as a woman who was bringing a new submissive into the club her dead fiancé helped build. Yuki said no one was freaking out about it but her, but Michelle still couldn’t let go of the feeling that she was somehow betraying Owen by having Wyatt there.

After all, she’d sworn on Owen’s grave
she would never love another, yet here she was, totally besotted with another man…..a man who deserved better than her. She tried to shake off that morose thought and concentrated on the present. Regardless of if she deserved him or not, Wyatt was here with her now, so she would hold herself together and be strong for him. He deserved the perfect Mistress and she would do her damndest to be just that.

Wyatt looked to
Michelle, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I don’t share, hard limit.”

She nodded. “I don’t share either.”

He glanced at Yuki. “Sorry, Ma’am, but my Domina said no.”

With a soft laugh James, Yuki’s blond
haired, blue-eyed husband, and owner of the jet, leaned forward. “No, we’re not talking about touching each other. My Mistress and your Domina are going to think up some terribly wicked thing for us to do to keep them entertained.”

Flushing, Wyatt ran a hand through his hair, the big muscles of his arms flexing in a distracting manner. “Domina?”

She smiled at him, her heart lightening as her mind lifted to a more aware, more aroused state, a slightly higher level, but not to the point where she flew in her Top space. Uncrossing her legs, glad she’d worn a loose skirt, she toed off one of her shoes and placed her bare foot in his lap. The world around her faded as her attention turned to Wyatt and what he needed, what he deserved.

A very focused, unmerciful, bad ass bitch of a Dominatrix…with a dash of sugar to go with the spice.

“You know I told you I wanted to show you off, Wyatt, and I mean it. Yuki will see you and she will appreciate the beauty of your form, the gift of your submission. And it will make her hot, make her want to fuck James hard and fast, so he benefits as well.”

Wyatt cleared his throat and kept his eyes firmly on
the other man. “James, you okay with this?”

James
laughed. “Absolutely. Look at it this way. We both get to admire two naked, aroused, fucking sexy-as-hell women while remaining true to our Mistresses. Not only that, but serving my wife in public turns me on. I know other men want to be where I am, to have such an amazing Mistress own them. I feel a great deal of pride about myself because I belong to Yuki.” His voice turned soft, reverent, and Michelle watched him stroke Yuki’s face with a look of such love that her heart sang for them. It reminded Michelle of how Wyatt looked at her. “I will do whatever she needs to make her happy. She knows that, and I know the same is true for her.”

Wyatt
abruptly moved her foot out of his lap. “You’re right.”

He stood and stripped off his shirt before bending over and pulling off his socks. She had a wonderful view of his back muscles flexing, the complex
, faded tattoos moving across his skin.

James picked up the phone next to his seat. “I don’t want to be disturbed. Even if the plane is going down in flames, leave me alone.”

Once free of his socks, Wyatt took the tray of fruit and moved it to a table farther down the sumptuous plane. When he returned he folded down the seats into a bed. Finally, he turned and knelt before Michelle. “How may I please you, Domina?”

His gaze flickered over to where Yuki and James sat and watched, but she snapped her fingers. “I’m over here, Wyatt. For someone who swears to serve me you seem far more concerned about others in the cabin.”

His shoulders tensed and he looked down, but not before she saw the flash of defiance in his gaze. “My apologies, Domina.”

“Yuki, do you have a blindfold?”

“Of course.” She stood and went over to her carry-on, digging through it. “Blind fold, lube, cuffs, small flogger, and a variety of vibrators.”

“I just need the blindfold. Wyatt, go get my carry-on and then take the blindfold from Yuki.”

He stood, the evidence of his arousal straining against his pants. She hoped she wasn’t pushing him to far too quick, but she had to make him ready. The Velvet Fist was a serious BDSM playground, not a place for newbies, and she had her own small matter of pride to attend to. The part of her that wasn’t wallowing in the guilt of taking on a new submissive, a new man to love, wanted to show Petrov, the owner of the club and a good personal friend, that she’d paid attention during her training and used the skills he taught her to train a delicious Alpha male into a submissive any Top would envy.

And she wanted Wyatt to be proud of her, to know his Mistress
was well-respected in the community, that he’d chosen to serve a woman worthy of his devotion.

Unfortunately, Michelle really didn’t know if Wyatt would ever be comfortable doing a scene in public, let alone enjoying it. And if he
didn’t or couldn’t enjoy it, there would be utterly no point in forcing him. While she’d be happy playing in private with him for the rest of her life, she was sure Wyatt would enjoy the club, but only if she could get him in the right mindset.

Hopefully
, having Yuki and James witness such an intimate moment between them would help desensitize Wyatt. She certainly knew she would use every weapon in her considerable erotic arsenal to make sure it was an experience he would never forget. After all, he’d made every minute of her life unforgettable since the moment she first saw him at the base canteen in Afghanistan. Of course, they’d been unable to act on their feelings then. She was his superior officer, and any hint of impropriety would have gotten them both a dishonorable discharge.

But they weren't in the military anymore and she planned on enjoying the
hell out of Wyatt every chance she could get.

She studied his face, loving the faint lines that experience had given him, the way his gaze softened whenever he looked at her. Wyatt Callahan loved her with every ounce of his considerable heart and she would
treasure that gift. If he could just trust her enough to let her take complete control, she could bring him pleasure like no other. As silly as it sounded, having sex in public was an incredibly intimate affair, one filled with emotions and passion, something she greatly missed and wanted Wyatt to enjoy.

He took the blindfold from Yuki, swallowing hard as she grinned at him. Michelle didn’t blame him; when Yuki got into her
Dominatrix mindset she became almost feral. Indeed, Yuki’s smile had a sharp edge to it, a hint of the cruelty she could wield when in the mood. James, meanwhile, was taking off his clothes while avoiding looking at Wyatt, trying to give him some semblance of privacy.

Well, that wasn’t going to help Wyatt get used to people staring at him.

“Yuki, your sub seems to be afraid to look at Wyatt.”

Yuki turned on her husband as quick as a striking snake, fast enough to see James give Michelle an exasperated took. “What’s the matter, James? Have you suddenly developed a useless sense of modesty? I thought I beat that out of you years ago.”

James went to his knees, his hard cock flushed red and standing between his thighs. “No Mistress. This body is yours to display as you please, to use as you please. I live to serve your pleasure and, if that pleasure is looking at Wyatt, so be it.”

“Then, my pleasure is for you to assist Mistress Michelle.”

Licking her lips, Michelle looked between Wyatt and James, thinking about what she could do. What she
wanted
to do with them definitely wasn’t going to happen. After all, these two men were good friends and one hundred percent heterosexual. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy their mutual discomfort.

She could be such a bitch.

“Wyatt, that table can be pushed down into the floor. Click the release lever beneath it.” She gestured to the chair next to her. “Yuki, if you would like to join me?”

Yuki rose, her silky dress sliding down her body, unimpeded by a bra and probably panties. Moving past James, who gave her a pleading look, she sat down
on the couch next to Michelle and drew her legs up beneath her. When their eyes met and Michelle saw the mischievous sparkle in Yuki’s dark gaze, Michelle couldn’t help but smile. It had been a long time since she’d played with her best friend outside of a club. Oh, she’d watched Yuki and James have sex; they were exhibitionists and she’d walked in on them more than once, but it wasn’t the same. More like watching a movie than living the story. The visual was there, but the emotion, the energy that made it special, was missing.

“Wyatt, take your pants off and kneel before me. James I want you kneeling before your Mistress, but first take the blindfold from Wyatt and put it on him.”

The background hum of the engines barely covered Wyatt’s growl and he didn’t meet her eyes as he stripped, then knelt, his muscles rock hard with tension. She could almost see the battle going on in his head, the fight between his desire to please her and his need to prove his dominance to the other male. It was one thing to submit to her in private, but for a man who’d spent his formative years in the macho world of the US Marine Corps it had to be doubly hard to surrender before another man. His struggle with battling his nature for her pleasure turned her on immensely.

Lifting her skirt enough so that the tops of the pink garters holding up her silk stockings were visible, she leaned forward and brushed Wyatt’s hair away while James put the blindfold on him. A trace of sweat wet his brow and he pressed his lips into a firm line, his jaw tensing and releasing once the blindfold was firmly in place.