Brokered Submission (12 page)

Standing on either side of their sub, the two Doms took turns snapping off the clothespins, one expert, agonizing flick at a time. As the man jerked in his bonds, his face red and contorted, Zoë whispered, “What if he needs to use his safeword?”

“Hand signals,” Dylan whispered back. “If there’s ever a time you can’t speak, you agree on a hand signal or some other gesture to take the place of a safeword. When you’re in a position with me where you can’t speak, your silent safeword will be the opening and closing of your right fist.” A thrill of nervous anticipation shivered through her at these words. He hadn’t said
if
she was ever in a position with him where she couldn’t speak, but rather
when
.

When the last clothespin was flicked away, the woman knelt beside the suspended man and removed the gag. She stroked his face gently with a small cloth as the other Dom used a kind of pulley mechanism to lower the man to the ground.

Dylan and Zoë moved to another scene station, this one containing a large woman dressed in a tight satin dress, bound on her back to an inversion table and tilted so her head was lower than her legs. Three men were clustered around her, their cocks fisted in their hands, taking turns thrusting their erect shafts into her open mouth.

Dylan, his arm still around Zoë, led her past that station toward an ajar door at the back of the dungeon. “This second dungeon is for more intense scenes,” Dylan murmured as they crossed the threshold. The lighting in the second dungeon had a red cast to it, creating an eerie atmosphere. A half-dozen people were standing quietly along the wall, four men and two women, all of them facing the center of the room.

Zoë followed their collective gazes and her mouth fell open in shock as she took in the scene before them. A slight woman with large, dark eyes and a shaved head was suspended by chains that hung from the ceiling, shackled to her wrists. Her slender, naked form was pulled taut by her bonds, her feet forced up on tiptoe. A large, shirtless man in jeans, his torso covered in tattoos, was carefully inserting long, thin needles in a circular pattern around each of her nipples. Thin lines of blood ran down the girl’s breasts from some of the insertions, droplets splattering to the plastic mat on which she stood.

At the sight of the bright red blood, Zoë felt suddenly woozy and a little sick. She buried her face in Dylan’s chest. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, stroking her hair. Zoë took several deep breaths, reminding herself of Dylan’s previous words: This is all consensual.

“Look at her face, Zoë,” Dylan urged quietly. “Tell me what you see.”

Steeling herself, Zoë forced herself to look again, this time focusing on the girl’s face. The sub was staring at her Dom with what could only be called adoration, her eyes shining, her lips softly parted, no evidence of pain or suffering in her features. “Pain is a very subjective thing,” Dylan added, his voice close to Zoë’s ear. “Erotic suffering can be transcendent, in the right circumstances.”

They watched for another long minute, until Dylan whispered, “Had enough?” to which Zoë gratefully nodded that she had.

They returned to the dining room, where Dylan introduced Zoë to Hank and Michael, the owners of The Vault, along with a few other people sitting at the long bar that ran the length of the room. They engaged in casual small talk, as if the scenes, involving whips, chains and even blood, going on beyond the archway were the most normal thing in the world.

For this particular venue, Zoë supposed, they were. Both exhilarated and exhausted, she was eager to leave when Dylan made their farewells and led her to his car in the parking lot behind the converted hotel. On the drive home from the club, Zoë’s mind was teeming with images and thoughts about what she had witnessed that night.

She was glad Dylan wasn’t compelled to make idle conversation. He seemed comfortable with the silence as he focused on the road. It was as if he instinctively understood she needed to time and space to process the events of the evening, and her reaction to them.

As they undressed and prepared for bed, Zoë couldn’t resist stealing glances at Dylan’s muscular, broad frame. Had it been a typical relationship with the usual sort of guy she had found herself with over the years, she wouldn’t have hesitated to make it abundantly clear she was ready and willing for a little pre-sleep sex.

With Dylan, however, she found herself content to wait for his signal. He was the one in charge, and as odd as it was to admit to herself, she found she quite liked it that way.

When they lay down together, her mind and body were still thrumming with sexual excitement from the evening’s adventures, and she doubted she would be able to fall asleep very quickly, not with this sexy, naked man holding her against his warm, hard body.

Yet she must have fallen asleep, her rest deep and dreamless, because when next she opened her eyes, the sky outside the window was the pearly gray of predawn. Dylan was awake beside her, his hands moving sensually over her body. She lay still, savoring his touch on her breasts, her belly, her thighs.

When he finally rose over her, nudging her thighs apart, she was more than ready to receive him. Wrapping her arms around his back, she pulled him down, a guttural moan of pure lust wrenched from somewhere deep inside her. They made love for hours, by turns rough and gentle, finally stopped only by sheer exhaustion.

The next time Zoë opened her eyes, the room was flooded with sunshine, the sound of birds twittering outside the windows, and for several sleep-fogged seconds she had no idea where she was. There was no undercurrent of steady traffic punctuated by the beep and clang of garbage trucks and the angry honks of impatient drivers. The bed was impossibly comfortable, one of those mattresses that mold perfectly to the body, and the sheets were soft and cool against her bare skin.

Dylan was still asleep, a sexy five-o’clock shadow whiskering his strong jaw. He was on his back, the sheets pushed down to reveal his muscular, smooth torso and, as her eye trailed down the lines of his body, she saw the tip of his cock peeking just above the sheets, its erect outline visible beneath.

Zoë scooted silently down on the mattress until her face was level with Dylan’s hip. She lifted the sheet and leaned over his erection, tenderly cradling his balls in her hand as she closed her mouth over the head of his cock.

At first he didn’t move or react, his breathing deep and even. Zoë took her time as she glided her tongue down the length of his shaft to take him fully into her mouth. She lifted her head and lowered it again, creating a gentle friction with her lips as she moved.

She was startled by his hand, which suddenly closed over the back of her head, his fingers curling into her hair as he held her down. He pushed gently but insistently until she was fully impaled on his shaft, her nose pressed to his pubic bone. Her heart began a rapid tattoo against her sternum, her windpipe blocked by the way his cock was lodged in her throat. Panic began to edge its way through her system when she tried to lift her head to breathe, and his large, strong hand prevented her from moving even a fraction of an inch.

Her lungs began to burn, and there was an uncomfortable pressure building in her head. Was it happening already—was he purposely putting her in a position where she couldn’t speak, and would need to use her signed safeword? Her right hand was caught beneath her side, her left hand still curled around his balls. Would the left hand count? Could he even see it?

She pushed again against his firm hand, trying to lift her head, managing to gurgle a sound of distress. All at once he let go, and she fell back against the bed, propelled by the force of her movement.

Gratefully she sucked in air, not sure if she was angry, or excited, or both. Before she could sort out her feelings, Dylan was on top of her, his fingers closing tightly around her wrists, which he jerked hard over her head as he shifted between her legs, forcing her thighs apart.

As before, she was soaking wet, her cunt greedily sucking him in and clamping down. He thrust hard inside her as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, long and deep. Then he nuzzled against her neck, while he continued to thrust in and out, his cock stroking a sweet spot inside her, the sensation rapidly building into something she knew she couldn’t control for long.

“You belong to me, Zoë. You understand that now, right?” His voice was a low, sexy growl, his words punctuated with those perfect strokes that were rapidly sending her toward orgasm from the inside out.

“Yes,” she managed to gasp from beneath his masculine weight. “I understand, Sir.”

“That means you’re mine to do with as I will,” he continued. “This weekend is only the beginning. I will take you further than you ever dreamed possible. I will possess you completely and thoroughly. You will submit in every way to me. You will suffer for me, and you will experience exquisite pleasure, the likes of which you never knew existed.”

He swiveled his hips as he continued to thrust, and Zoë felt the climax rising like a wave, ready to crash at any moment. “Do you agree, Zoë? Do you freely give yourself to me, mind, body and soul?” He lowered his head and bit her right nipple, his hips and cock doing something extraordinary to her body, his hands still tight around her wrists.

The small explosion of pain at her nipple only fueled the lust already boiling over inside her. Was her submission freely given? Or was there in fact no choice in the matter? However she might intellectualize her response or her feelings, her entire being was shouting yes! Any remaining choice had been removed by a desire so powerful it obscured any other possibility. She was already enslaved, the word
no
erased from her vocabulary.

“Yes!” she finally managed to gasp, just before the climax robbed her of language or coherent thought. “Yes, yes, oooh, yes…”

~*~

“New sub infatuation,” Louis said knowingly. “Based on past experience, I predict you’ll be over her by the end of the week.”

Louis Sutton was Dylan’s oldest friend in the scene, and the one who had sponsored his membership at The Vault. They’d met at a bondage workshop Louis had put on for a BDSM group Dylan had been loosely affiliated with when he had lived in the city. Louis was older by a good twenty years, but they’d always enjoyed each other’s company. Though they crossed paths regularly at The Vault, they made it a priority to meet up for a beer from time to time after work.

“No,” Dylan protested, shaking his head. “This is different. Our connection was instant and multi-faceted. She’s amazing, Louis. She’s new to the scene, but the most trainable, passionate submissive I’ve ever been with. This is it. She could be the one.”

“Well, then, I’ll call Jill right away. She’ll want to get started on the wedding preparations.” Louis laughed. “You’ve known this girl how long now?”

“Well, just a few weeks, but—”

“You’ve been involved for a few weeks and you’re ready to pop the question? Who are you, and what did you do with the real Dylan Hart?”

“Well, no,” Dylan admitted, aware he was weakening, rather than strengthening his case. “We haven’t actually been involved for a few weeks. We worked together on a business deal. But this past Friday we got together—involved, as you say.” Dylan decided not to tell the older man just how that involvement had started.

“So, wait,” Louis said with exaggerated slowness. “Let me make sure I have this straight. You’re telling me you spent a weekend with this girl, with this newbie to the scene, and based on those few hours, you’ve determined she’s the most trainable, passionate submissive you’ve ever met?” The skepticism dripped from his words.

Dylan shrugged, his grin sheepish. “Look, I know it sounds weird, but what can I say? You haven’t met Zoë. I’m telling you, this girl is one in a million.”

Louis grinned and shrugged back. “Hey, I’m sure you believe what you’re saying right now, and I really hope for your sake it’s true. After all, as Jill never tires of reminding you, it’s well past time you settled down, boy.”

While Dylan had had relationships over the years, and been in love a time or two, he had never met a woman he could imagine growing old with, and saw no reason to settle just because he was over thirty. Louis and his wife/sub, Jill, had married in their early twenties, and, soon after they met Dylan, Jill had made it her personal mission to find Dylan his ideal mate. Dylan had gone along for a while, but it had never worked out, and finally he’d forbidden her from trying.

Louis took a long pull from his beer bottle and held up the empty in the direction of an approaching waitress. He nodded toward Dylan. “Want another?”

“No, thanks,” Dylan said. “I have some work I have to get done tonight.”

“Not seeing Ms. Right? How will you survive?” Louis teased.

“Regretfully, no. She’s closing a big deal in the morning, and we agreed it was best if she stayed at her place.”

In fact, Zoë had said it would be best, and Dylan had pretended to agree, when what he’d really wanted to do was insist she drop everything in her life and commit herself fully, twenty-four/seven, to whatever was developing between them. Still, he recognized she was being the mature one in the matter, and in point of fact, he, too, had plenty on his work plate, including a venture capital deal that might necessitate a trip down to Washington, DC later in week, though he was hoping Ed would be able to handle the meeting on his own.

The waitress set a fresh bottle of beer in front of Louis and cleared away their empties. Louis glanced at his watch, picked up his bottle and drained nearly half of it in one gulp. He set down the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay, so when do we get to meet this model of submissive perfection?”

Dylan laughed. “Hey, I didn’t say she was perfect—she’s a work in progress, like all of us. That’s half the fun, right? She’s eager, sincere and full of potential. When I brought her to The Vault on Saturday, she was like a kid in toy store, just taking it all in.”

“Hey, Jill and I will be at the club this Friday. Maybe you two can join us? Hank’s got some bigwig whip maker visiting from Australia. He’s going to demonstrate some of his wares on some lucky sub and Jill, pain slut that she is, has already volunteered to be his victim, er, subject.”