Brokered Submission (16 page)

Zoë swallowed, her face heating. She knew she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t a sexual thing, she reminded herself. No big deal. And she would keep on her panties.

She allowed Master Cameron to unzip the long zipper at the back of her gown. She stepped carefully out of it. Master Cameron took the gown from her and placed it on the sofa.

He didn’t ogle her bare breasts, and indeed, barely seemed to notice she was nearly naked, save for thong panties, thigh-high stockings and heels. His matter-of-fact manner reassured her. This guy was a pro, and she could trust him.

“We’ll start with your hands behind your head, feet shoulder-width apart,” he said. “We’ll add restraints as I gauge your comfort level.”

That sounded good to Zoë, and she assumed the position, her skin tingling in anticipation of the stinging kiss of leather. He started slowly, just as Dylan did, letting her skin warm and accustom itself to the stroke, and then gradually intensifying as he applied more force to his swing. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation, visualizing Dylan standing before her, watching her.

Just when the strokes were edging from sensual pleasure to erotic pain, the flogging stopped. Zoë opened her eyes and twisted back to regard Master Cameron. Had she done something wrong?

“Good,” he said with apparent approval. “You handled that well. I’d like to secure your wrists, to give you more balance as we progress.”

Zoë, a little wobbly on the high heels, nodded her agreement. She glanced toward the X cross. Master Cameron, following her gaze, shook his head. “I want to suspend you right here.” He pointed to the chains hanging from the ceiling just over her head. Zoë swallowed at this pronouncement, but could see no real reason to protest.

He produced a pair of black leather wrist cuffs and some clips from his gear bag. The cuffs were lined with sheepskin, and they felt comforting as he closed them around her wrists and secured the clips to the chains.

He went to the wall and turned a handle attached to a pulley apparatus that caused the chains at her wrists to rise, pulling her arms taut over her head. A tremor of nervous anticipation shuddered its way through her frame, and she glanced at the closed door. “Don’t you think we should open that?” she queried.

Master Cameron, who was rummaging in his gear bag again, shook his head. “No. Let’s enjoy our privacy while we can.” He slipped some things into his pockets and returned to her holding up a satin sash. “I find it helps a sub to relax and focus on the sensations more effectively when visual stimulation is removed.”

“I’m not sure,” Zoë began, but he cut her off.

“That’s okay. I am.”

Just go with it
, she told herself, trying to ignore the sudden, jagged edge of worry that cut its way into her psyche. Then something occurred to her, and she blurted, “My safeword. You didn’t ask for my safeword.”

“Right. Apologies.” Master Cameron was now standing behind her. He placed the satin blindfold over her eyes and brought the two ends of the sash behind her head. “What’s your safeword?”

“Buyout.”

“Pardon?”

“Buy. Out,” she said slowly and distinctively.

“Buyout,” he repeated. “Okay, got it.”

She could hear him moving behind her, and then she sensed him standing in front of her. She startled when something cool and hard was pressed between her breasts. “Oh, what is that?”

“It’s a cane,” Master Cameron said. “A lovely, whippy cane.”

The sudden, whooshing sound of something being whipped in the air made Zoë flinch. “I don’t like canes,” she said quickly. “No canes.”

“Oh, I think the lady doth protest too much. I saw the way you were staring at my cane display last week. You crave the purifying experience only a cane can offer. Don’t bother to deny it.” His voice was playful.

“No, no,” Zoë blurted, a tendril of panic curling its way through her gut. “You’re wrong. I don’t want that. I don’t like canes.”

The playful tone edged into something harder. “I don’t remember asking you if you liked canes. It’s not your decision, sub girl. It’s mine.”

“No, wait,” Zoë insisted, confused and upset. “That’s not right. We’re supposed to negotiate a scene—”

Her words were cut off by something firm pressed over her mouth. It took her a second to realize it was his hand. She twisted her head, instinctively trying to step away, but her cuffed wrists prevented her. “Stop all that nonsense,” Master Cameron said with a small, unpleasant laugh. “Just go with it, love. You know you want it.”

He removed his hand. Shaken and shocked, Zoë blurted, “Buyout! Buyout, buyout, buyout!” Panting, she waited for him to remove the blindfold and let her down.

Nothing happened.

An ice pick of real fear stabbed through Zoë’s innards. “I said my safeword!” she cried. “Let me down this instant. I’ve changed my mind.”

Her shock deepened when Master Cameron just laughed, the sound harsh and derisive in her ears. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re way overreacting here, silly girl. We haven’t even started yet. You can’t end a scene before it starts. Don’t you know that?” He patted the top of her head. “It’ll be fabulous, I promise.”

Zoë opened her mouth to shout her protest, but the sound was cut off by a hard hand pressed hard over her lips. “Stop all the fuss. Behave yourself, sub girl. You’re being ridiculous.”

His hand was removed, and this time Zoë screamed, but almost immediately something hard and foul tasting was shoved between her teeth, cutting off her cry. She tried to expel the rubbery ball pressing her tongue back toward her throat, but found she couldn’t. Master Cameron was behind her, buckling the thing onto the back of her head.

Zoë’s heart was beating so hard she could feel it knocking against her chest. She felt dizzy with fear and if she hadn’t been held up by the cuffs, she would have fallen. She tried to scream again but only managed to gurgle. Surely if he understood her terror was genuine, he would let her down. He would stop this crazy, terrifying game.

Safe, sane and consensual.
Weren’t those the bywords everyone in the scene lived by? What was happening? How could this asshole not be getting it? She had to try again. “Get this thing off me! Let me down! Buyout, buyout, buyout!” she cried behind the gag, but all that came out was, “Mmmph mmph grggl mmph!”

“Shh, you don’t need to play these games with me. I get it—you’re the damsel in distress, but I don’t really go for role-play. Anyway, I can see right through you. Just go with it, love. You know what they say”—again the unpleasant laugh—“if you can’t fight it, you might as well lie back and enjoy it.”

Outraged, Zoë jerked in her chains, but to no avail. She jumped when she felt the light, stinging tap of what must be the cane against her ass. It flew rapidly over her skin and she could hear its clicking, pattering sound moving in syncopated rhythm against the pounding of her heart.

As new as she was to the scene, Zoë knew what was happening was wrong. She also understood there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

Okay, okay. Just get through this. You can do this. You can deal. He isn’t really hurting you. It’s some kind of fucked up mind game, but you can handle it. Breathe. Relax. Flow with it. Harness and use the fear, like Dylan taught you.

“That’s better,” Master Cameron said soothingly. “I can feel you relaxing. I told you it would be fine if you just go with it. Much better. I think I’ll just lock that door to assure our privacy, hmm?”

Zoë shook her head violently, to no avail. She heard the sound of a lock being turned, and then the clomp of his boots as he returned to her. There was a sudden, whooshing sound and then a searing shock of pain sliced its way through her senses.

“Fuck!” she screamed against the gag, though it came out more as a phlegmy
ugglh
. “Buyout! Buyout!” she gargled again, though she no longer held out any hope he would pay attention, or care.

Another slice of pain cut its away across her ass, followed by yet another on the backs of her thighs. She twisted and jerked in her effort to get away from the cane, and as she moved one of her shoes fell off, leaving her off-balance and forced to stand on tiptoe with one foot.

Suddenly Zoë remembered the universal safeword sign Dylan had taught her, and she began to clench and unclench her fists furiously above the cuffs, while still struggling to form her safeword with her tongue pressed far back in her mouth.

“Give in to it, love,” Master Cameron crooned behind her. “You’ll never fly if you don’t spread your wings.”

The cane continued to whoosh and strike, each cut leaving a fiery line of pain on Zoë’s flesh. Again and again she continued to clench and unclench her fists. Tears were wetting the satin blindfold, and her nose was running, the snot mingling with the drool dripping down her chin. Fear, pain and rage bloomed like an atomic mushroom in her gut, and still the cane came down again, and again, and again.

Finally Zoë sagged in her cuffs, trying to swallow the saliva pooling in her mouth, praying the nightmare would end soon.

“That’s it,” the monster behind her urged. “You’re nearly there. I can feel it.”

Suddenly Zoë’s ears pricked to a sound from across the room. She processed it through her muddled brain, and realized it was the doorknob jiggling. “Mmph!” she cried out desperately.

“Shit,” Master Cameron muttered behind her.

“Open the door,” a deep, masculine voice called from the other side of the door. “Now.”

There was the sound of a key turning, and then the door opening. Zoë heard raised voices, Master Cameron’s in protest, another man with anger, and then Jill’s voice rising in a wail. “Zoë!”

Relief hurtled through Zoë’s consciousness and at the same time the tight grip she’d been keeping on her sanity ebbed away. Sudden bursts of white light mushroomed behind her eyelids, and all sound in the room was drowned out by a persistent ringing in her ears. The world tilted on its axis, and Zoë slid down, down and down into a deep, dark and silent place.

Buyout. Buyout. Buyout!

Zoë’s eyes flew open, the word still echoing in her ears. Blue eyes were peering into her face. For several seconds she stared into those eyes with zero recognition. She had no idea where she was or what was happening.

The eyes moved back so Zoë could focus on the face, which broke into a smile of relief. It was Jill Sutton. “Oh, thank god. She’s coming out of it. Are you okay, honey? You gave us quite a scare.”

Zoë lay on her stomach, her head cradled in her arms. She lifted her head to see Jill sitting beside her. Something touched Zoë’s back and she twisted around to see a man holding a tube of something in one hand. He had a stethoscope around his neck, which looked incongruous against his black leather vest. Zoë shifted her gaze back to Jill in confusion. “What? Who?”

“It’s okay, honey.” Jill patted her soothingly. “Michael is a medical doctor. He’s just making sure you’re all right.”

Zoë wrinkled her forehead as she tried to concentrate through a fog of confusion. Why was she lying on this bed surrounded by these people? How had she come to be here? A feeling of terrible danger clung to her senses like the sticky mesh of a spider’s web, and yet Jill was smiling at her, her expression calm and reassuring.

A firm hand pressed at her shoulder, pushing her gently back to the mattress. “Lie still a moment longer, please, Zoë.” Michael’s voice was deep, his tone kind. “You fainted and were out for several minutes. It might take a few moments to orient yourself. Take it easy. Just rest while I finish treating your back.”

“My back? What happened…” Zoë trailed off, memory suddenly returning in a gush, the whole horrible scene with Master Cameron dumping into her mind like a bucket of sewage. “Oh,” she whispered. “Oh my god.”

Michael continued applying salve to her back, his touch soothing the fiery sting of welts that had come awake along with her return to consciousness. He patted her shoulder. “There, now. There is some bleeding where he broke the skin, but I don’t think there will be any scarring. Do you think you can sit up now?”

Zoë nodded. Michael and Jill both reached supportively for her as she struggled into an upright position. Jill draped a silk kimono-type robe over Zoë’s shoulders and helped her slip her arms into it. Though the sense of imminent danger had dissipated, as Zoë wrapped the garment around herself, she realized her hands were shaking.

Michael handed her a bottle of water, which she accepted with thanks. The cool water was refreshing, and her mind began to clear as the doctor did a quick check of her vital signs and questioned her as to her physical and mental state of mind.

Finally satisfied, he turned to Jill. “Okay, she’s going to be fine after a little decompression and debriefing. I’ll leave her in your capable hands.” He frowned as he added, “I want to go see what’s up with
Master
Cameron. He’s got a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

Michael left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Zoë realized there were two more people in the room. Betty was sitting in wingback chair opposite the sofa. She leaned forward. “That was a bad scene that prick put you through,” she said darkly.

Angela sat on the carpet beside the daybed, leaning against it. She reached up and touched Zoë’s knee, shaking her head in sympathetic agreement.

Zoë realized she was trembling, and she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks with surprise. “I don’t cry,” she announced, aware she was telling herself more than these three women who were all staring at her so intently. “I haven’t cried since I was five years old.”

Jill put her arms around Zoë and murmured softly, “It’s okay, baby. Everyone cries.”

Something cracked in Zoë’s chest at these words, and the floodgates opened. She buried her face helplessly in Jill’s warm, strong embrace. “It’s okay, baby,” Jill crooned again. “It’s all okay. Crying is good. Let it out. Let it go.” She stroked Zoë’s hair. Ugly, noisy sobs wracked her body, yanked from somewhere deep inside. Zoë felt as if sorrow was being dredged from deep in her bones.

Her tears finally spent, she lifted her head, exhausted but oddly peaceful. She took the handful of tissues Jill held out to her and wiped her face, finally turning to the others with an embarrassed smile. “You guys must think I’m such a baby.”