Micah's Calling (14 page)

Let the pain begin.

Trace's cock was already hard and standing straight out in
front of him, tight and solid.

A look passed between Micah and his mistress as she picked
up a second horse hair flogger and stepped behind Trace.

"Do you think you can take me, slave?" Micah said,
flicking the whip so that it cracked against the floor.

Trace licked his lips, eyeing the whip. It had been a long
time since someone had used one on him, and he had missed its delicious lick of
pain. Still, his heart was racing. This was Micah, for God's sake. Micah: the
vampire with a reputation for bringing submissives to their knees.

"Answer him!" His mistress struck his back in a
criss-cross pattern with the floggers.

He shook violently, swinging forward and grunting. His back
was already raw from earlier, and now it practically burned with pain.

Through gritted teeth, he said, "Yes. I can take
whatever you give me, sir."

Micah grinned, his eyes narrowing with satisfaction.
"I'm not so sure, slave." He cracked the whip twice more, obviously
getting a feel for it, studying its movement.

Trace licked his lips again, eager to feel what Micah could
give him.

The horse hair floggers sliced the air and bit into his hips
and ass, and he cried out. Micah seemed to delight in Trace's reaction as he
stepped back and cracked the whip toward him. The tip snapped in the air only
inches in front of Trace's chest, causing his eyes to bulge as a collective
gasp rose up from the crowd. Mostly likely, few of them had seen such expert
whip action.

Mistress Diamond and Micah fell into a rhythmic pattern.
First she flogged him, having traded in the horse hair floggers for a bamboo
rod, which she struck him with against the ass and the back of his legs. Before
Trace could recover from her lashing, Micah reared back and unleashed a wicked
flick of the whip. Back and forth they traded punishment, and with each crack
of the whip, the tip grew closer to striking his skin until finally…

Trace threw his head back and cried out as the tip licked
his left pec. A welt rose up almost immediately, and Trace thought he had died
and gone to Heaven.

If he hadn't been strung up by his wrists, he would have
fallen at Micah's feet and sworn submissive fealty for the rest of his life.
The urge to bow before him and beg him to be his master nearly overpowered his
thoughts, and tears of gratitude sprung to his eyes.

All from a single lashing of the whip.

But Trace didn't have much time to think about pledging
eternal service to Micah before the next round began with a strike of the
bamboo rod to his hamstrings, followed by another subtle, yet painful, kiss of
the whip across his right pec.

After another minute of blessed pain, his mistress finally
halted the action and lowered him to the floor.

"Don't think we're finished with you, slave," she
said, scratching his scalp with her nails as he fell to his knees in a
breathless, bruised heap, covered in sweat and eager to come.

As if reading his thoughts, Mistress Diamond knelt and
wrapped her hand around his cock. He groaned and issued her a pleading glance
as she squeezed hard then raked her nails up his shaft as he winced and growled
with frustration. He knew she wouldn't let him come, yet.

"Now, do as Master Micah tells you, slave, or I will be
very displeased." His mistress stood and sank into the shadows to the
side. She clearly didn't know that Trace already knew Micah.

Clearing his throat and gasping through another heavy pant,
Trace swung his eager, drunken gaze toward Micah, ready for more. Needing more.

Micah re-coiled the whip and set it back on the shelf,
grabbed a bundle of rope, then stepped forward, his eyes narrowing hard on
Trace's. Trace dutifully looked down, instinctively knowing not to look Micah
in the eye.

"That's right, slave. You haven't earned the right to
look at me." Micah drew near and leaned toward him until his mouth was
right beside Trace's ear. "Do not look at me unless I give you permission.
Do you understand?" He sounded like a drill sergeant.

Trace nodded. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Micah's voice commanded respect.

"Yes, sir."

Micah drew back. "Yes,
Master.
Now stand,
slave."

Trace bowed his head and corrected himself as he stood. "Yes,
Master."

Micah paced around him, and Trace could feel the other
male's eyes slicing through his soul. What did Micah think of him? Was he
disgusted? Angry? Did he feel betrayed that Trace had kept his submissive
status a secret? Would he refuse to speak to Trace after this?

"Come here." Micah snapped his fingers and pointed
to the floor beside him a few feet away.

Trace complied and stepped toward him.

"Put your hands behind your back."

Again, he did as he was told.

Micah stepped around him and began binding his wrists,
wrapping and knotting the rope around his body, hips, arms, legs, and finally
his ankles until Trace was bound so securely he couldn't move.

Fuck, Micah was good. He'd been bound before, but not so
expertly and so swiftly.

Suddenly, Micah gripped the rope around his wrists and
yanked him back. Unable to move his feet to catch himself, Trace freefell
backward.
Shit!
He cried out, just knowing he was going to crack his
skull on the concrete.

At the last second, Micah caught him and placed him gently
on the floor.

Mindfuck much!

"Silence, slave." Micah leaned over him and the
barest hint of a smile quirked his lips as if he was enjoying himself a bit too
much.

"Did I give you permission to look at me, slave?"

Trace quickly averted his gaze. "No, sir —
Master!
"

Mistress Diamond stood at the side, smiling proudly. Of him
or Micah? That was the question.

Meanwhile, Trace's dick was having all kinds of fun,
sticking out like a third leg, only shorter. But the damn thing sure was trying
like hell to make him a tripod.

Fuck, this concrete floor was cold.

Micah walked back to the Mistress's toys and poked around
for a second then turned back, holding a violet wand.

Fuck me.

Micah tsked. "If you refuse to obey me, slave, I'll
have to force you not to look at me."

A few seconds later, Micah was covering his eyes with a
soft, black blindfold.

"Try looking at me now, slave."

The violet wand struck his chest, and Trace jerked. And
again. Pause. And again. Another pause, then ZAP! as the wand tapped lower on
his torso, then his hip. Trace grunted louder with each touch of the wand, his
teeth clenched, his arms and legs straining against the rope as he squirmed and
slithered on the floor, trying to get away from the electrical current. But
Micah was relentless, taking him to the brink. When Trace cried out, Micah
finally stopped.

Trace heard him walk away, then he heard him whisper
something to Mistress Diamond.

"His safe word?" she said. "Red."

"Red." Micah's voice sounded contemplative.
"Okay."

Footsteps came back toward him and he felt Micah's warmth.

"Do you know your safe word, slave?"

"Yes." Trace panted heavily, the pain of the wand
an echo for the moment, but his muscles hadn't yet released from the most
recent onslaught.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Master."

"What is it?"

"Red, Master."

"Good." Micah paused. "Are you afraid to use
it?"

Trace hesitated. He had rarely used his safe word. What the
hell was Micah getting at? "No, Master."

"Good."

And then Micah was gone again. But only for a moment. Then
he was back.

"I've got a knife in my hand, slave." Micah's
voice dropped to a low hiss, a malicious timbre. "Feel it?"

Trace felt cold, flat metal against his chest. Holy fuck!
What was Micah doing? Trace had never engaged in knife play. Hard to believe
that in all his years as a sub, no master or mistress had used a knife on him.

"Do you feel it, slave?" Micah's voice sounded
irritated.

"Yes, Master."

"It's a very sharp blade, slave. From my personal
collection. And I can assure you, I keep my knives razor sharp. Do you
understand?"

Trace swallowed as the cold metal caressed his chest in his
world of darkness. He wished he could see. And he knew Micah wasn't lying.
Trace had seen his knives. Trace knew how lethal they were.

"Yes, Master."

Abruptly, the knife was gone, and a second later the edge
pressed into his throat.

Jesus!

"Now, if you move, you will be cut," Micah said,
holding the knife steadily against his Adam's apple. "Do you
understand?"

"Y-Yes, Master."

Fuck, fuck, fuck!
What was Micah doing? What was
about to happen? Panic crept into his muscles, but he was helpless. Utterly
helpless, bound as he was.

The violet wand crackled once more, zapping his thigh. Trace
clenched, but didn't move, feeling the pressure of the knife.

Relax, Trace. Relax.

The violent wand hit him again, higher. Then again on his
hip after a short pause. And again an inch higher up.

The pain was near excruciating, but he couldn't move. If he
moved, the knife would slice into his throat.

Zap! Zap!

Micah was relentless with the wand, pushing him closer and
closer to the edge of sanity. The knife, the wand, the pain, the fear, the
panic!

Zap!

Holy Mother of God! He couldn't take much more. Micah needed
to stop. He needed to give Trace a break, for God's sake!

The wand crackled his skin again, near his cock.

And still Trace remained still. Every muscle in his body was
clenched and quivering for movement, but Trace denied his natural impulse to
cry out and escape the pain.

Zap!

The wand struck his cock, and that was it. Trace was about
to lose consciousness.

"Red!" He hated using his safe word. This hadn't
been the first time he had done so, but he had never used it so soon in a
scene. Never. And within minutes, Micah had taken him to the edge.

Immediately, the knife was withdrawn from his neck and the
violet wand stopped zapping him. The blindfold was removed and Trace blinked up
in horror at Micah, who was simply smiling down at him.

Then he held up a credit card. "Not a knife." He
said. "American Express."

He looked down and saw the knife on the floor. "You
mean…?"

"Mindfuck. I never had the knife at your neck. It was
my credit card."

Trace glanced at the onlookers. Many looked as flabbergasted
as he felt. When he hazarded a look toward his mistress, she seemed awestruck.
Probably because she was shocked he had used his safe word.

Granted, part of the reason he felt he needed to stop the
scene was because he wasn't sure what Micah was capable of. Knowing his
reputation and experiencing his abilities first-hand were two very separate
things, and there had been too many unknowns at work here tonight for him to
continue on. But Damn! Micah was good.

Fuck me! That was hot.

As Micah quickly untied him, Trace looked down. His cock was
positively straining for release. But this scene was over. He'd used his safe
word. He wasn't coming tonight…well, at least not out here in front of the
crowd.

The audience that had gathered began murmuring, and several
leaned in to compliment Micah before wandering off. Sam stood in the back
hugging herself, concern on her face.

"Diamond, can I have a moment with him? Alone
somewhere?" Micah said to Mistress Diamond. "I want to make sure he's
okay."

"Of course."

A good dom always tended to his or her submissive after a
scene. But Trace had a feeling Micah also wanted to talk to him on a more
personal level about what had just gone down.

Micah helped him up and turned toward Sam. "Sam, join
us?"

Sam pressed the fingers of her right hand to her throat as
her left arm hugged her waist, but she immediately nodded.

With his mistress in front of him and Micah and Sam behind,
they slipped into the back room where he had stashed his clothes along with his
mistress's things.

"Here you go," Diamond said. "I'll be back in
the playroom cleaning up." She left and closed the door, leaving the three
of them in silence.

For a couple of minutes, no one said a word, and then Micah
shut off the light and nodded toward his boner.

"You need to take care of that?"

Trace immediately glanced toward Sam, who modestly looked
away, trying to give him the impression she hadn't been staring. Nothing like
pointing out the pink, polka-dotted elephant in the room to draw everyone's
attention to it. He looked down at his hard-as-a-rock cock and nodded, feeling
his face heat as he glanced once more toward Sam before looking back at Micah.

"In front of Sam?" he said.

Micah turned and looked at his mate. "Do you mind,
baby? He needs this."

She fluttered her hand toward them and shrugged, tightening
her hold around her waist with her other arm as her gaze met his. "I'm
fine. Go ahead."

Micah turned back toward Trace, his dark eyes soft with
patience and understanding. "Anything I can do to help?"

"You did enough back there, don't you think?"
Trace didn't mean it maliciously. If anything, he was grateful for what Micah
had done. That had been the absolute best scene he'd had in years. Fucking
hell, he was on the verge of coming just thinking about it.

Trace gave Sam one last glance before turning his back to
her and wrapping his hand around his shaft. He needed to come. His balls were
hard as stones and aching.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Micah lean back against
the wall as he combed his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, well…."