The Submission of Alistair Ingram (2 page)

His
knees collided with the edge of a mattress and he felt his way on all fours
into the center of the bed. He couldn’t help the chuckle that rolled from his
throat, or the feeling that this was all part of an elaborate hoax. She’d
complete her dominatrix routine on him and pull his blindfold off, then he’d
realize she led him onto a bed on the stage and his friends would all be
watching and laughing their asses off at him.

The
bed lowered on both sides of his legs. Black Betty must be on her knees
straddling him. Then her fingers were working the knot out of his tie and
tugging it out from around his neck. “Take off your jacket,” she said, shoving
it back off his shoulders.

Alistair
shrugged out of his suit coat. “Can we get rid of the blindfold now?” It was
disorienting, and he wasn’t a fan of being sightless. Especially not in this
situation. He didn’t know or trust this woman and she was stripping him of his
clothing.

“No.”
Her fingers dug between the buttons of his shirt and before he knew it, she was
yanking it open, tearing the buttons off.

He
grabbed blindly for her wrists, but she twisted out of his grip. “You ruined my
shirt!”

A
metal bracelet clamped over his wrist. “No. No handcuffs.” He reached for his
blindfold, and she snapped the cuff around his other wrist. “I’m serious,” he
said, struggling with her to grasp the blindfold.

She
stayed silent, but he felt her fiddling with the handcuffs. Thank God, she was
unlocking them.

Without
warning, his arms were yanked upward, hard, by the cuffs. “Shit! What are you
doing?” He struggled to free his arms. She grabbed his chin and yanked down. A
cold, hard ball lodged in his mouth. He tried to yell, but it came out muddled.
His heart raced. Prickles of sweat broke out all over his body. Black Betty
buckled a strap around his head, securing the ball gag in his mouth in place.

Her
weight lowered onto his chest. He felt her breath tease his neck, his ear. “Now
you’re ready to play, Doll,” she whispered. “Behave yourself and this won’t
hurt too badly.”

Alistair
cursed, the gag muting his words. He bucked his hips trying to unseat her, but
only managed to make her laugh, a silky, smoky sound that put an ache in his
balls.

“Now
be still,” she said. “I don’t want to cut you.” Cold, sharp metal slid up his
stomach. The
sht, sht, sht
sound of scissors cutting fabric was
immediately followed by cool air hitting his bare flesh. She was cutting off
his undershirt.

The
scissors ran up his chest. Black Betty shoved his forehead back and snipped all
the way up to his neck. She made short work of cutting the arms and sides,
freeing him of all clothing from the waist up.

Then
she climbed off of him.

For
several long minutes, the room was silent. Alistair lay in absolute darkness,
goose-bumped skin covered with a sheen of sweat. Panic rolled through him in
sickening waves. His arms ached. His jaw ached. All he could hear was the loud,
heavy inhale and exhale of air through is nose.

Where
was she? What the fuck was she doing?

Another
minute or two went by and he focused on taking even, calming breaths, reminding
himself that this was his bachelor party. This woman was hired to give him a
good time, not to whip his ass into submission.

The
first notes of a song blared to life, filling the room.
Fiona Apple’s
Criminal
.
He hadn’t heard the song in a long time, but recognized the opening lyrics
right away.

A
thrill of excitement ran through him. This was more like it. A little music,
she’d climb back on top of him and grind her crotch against his. They’d both
get off and he’d be back to drinking and lighting up another cigar in no time.

Hot
breath tickled his cheek, made him jerk his head away, but her lips followed to
his ear. “I’ve been a bad, bad girl,” she whispered. “And you’re a bad boy who
needs broken.”

Something
blazing hot hit his chest and dripped down his side. “Fuck!” he yelled behind
the ball, the word coming out, “Unk!” He thrashed against the handcuffs, kicked
his feet out, tried to nudge the blindfold off against his shoulder.

Another
drop hit his chest. He groaned in pain. What the fuck was she doing to him?
Dripping hot wax on his chest? Fucking crazy bitch!

Then
she left him alone again, but not for long this time. She peeled the dried wax
from his chest, pulling hair out. He bit down on the ball and fisted his hands,
praying this nightmare would end soon.

Something
cold and slippery drizzled across the wax burns. It tingled then warmed. Her
fingers spread it across his skin, down his stomach to the waist band of his
pants. She rubbed her fingers in small circles around his nipples, then over
them, back and forth, torturously.

No
woman had every paid attention to his nipples. They were sensitive with the
numbing gel soothed onto them, and the experience was incredibly erotic. His
dick was getting hard with each stroke of her fingertip. The burning sensation
from the wax heightened the sensation, mixing pleasure with pain in a way he
would’ve never expected only moments ago.

To
his utter surprise, he craved more.

The Tables Turn

Alistair
moaned and thrust his hips into Black Betty.

This
wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying himself.

Well,
he was. That’s what she was paid to do. But…

Shit.

She
stood and unclipped his handcuffs from the chain over the bed. His arms fell
like dead weights, his hands pounding into his abs with a dull thud. She
unlocked the cuffs and tossed them on a side table. “We’re done here,” she
said, reaching behind his head to unbuckle the gag.

He
panted and worked his jaw back and forth before a smug smile stretched across
his lips. “We’re not done.” Alistair tugged the blindfold down around his neck
and gazed at Black Betty with dark, lust-struck eyes. “We’re nowhere near done.
We’re only getting started.”

A
nervous flutter rose in the pit of Black Betty’s stomach. She might look and
act tough, but in reality, she was five foot four, one hundred eighteen pounds
to his six foot something and probably one-eighty at least.

She
knelt and picked up her whip. “We’re done when I say we’re done.” With a flick
of her wrist, the leather strap cracked against the mattress. “We’re done,
Doll.”

Alistair
grasped the end of the whip and wrapped it around his hand twice. “And I said
we’re not.” One hard yank and the whip was out of Black Betty’s hand and in his
control.

Panic
lurched up her throat like bile. The last man who stood before her with a
whip…well, that ended badly to put it mildly. “Put that down.” Her demand came
out with a hitch making it sound like a plea.

He
lifted his chin with a tilt of his head, appraising her. “I think you like it
this way best, don’t you Black Betty? You secretly want a man to be in charge,
to dominate you. I can see it in your eyes.”

What
he saw was fear, but she’d never—not ever in a million years—let anyone know
she was afraid of a man. Never again. Least of all Alistair Ingram.

What
choice did she have but to play along?

She
sauntered past him on shaky legs to the end of the bed and gripped the brass
footboard for dear life. “What will you do to me, Master Ingram?” she whispered
to hide the tremor in her voice.

He
tossed the whip aside and narrowed his eyes.

And
those eyes said it all. He didn’t need to speak. It was payback time.

Alistair
unbuckled his belt and tugged it through his belt loops. Folding it in half and
grasping it with both hands, he cracked it twice while striding toward her with
a predatory gleam in his eye. “Turn around and bend over,
Doll.
You’ve
been a naughty girl tonight.
”

She
glanced down at the pointy toes of her black boots and swallowed hard. There
was a time when spanking turned her on. The harder the better. But, that was a
long, long time ago.

His
finger lifted her chin. Amusement mingled with the lust on his face. He licked
his lips. “Bend. Over.”

She
inhaled jerky, shallow breaths.

This
would be fine.

This
wasn’t her ex-husband.

This
was Alistair Ingram. He wasn’t going to hurt her.

Black
Betty turned and bent over the footboard of the bed, lying her chest flat on
the mattress. Another crack of the belt made her jump and squeeze her eyes
shut. “With your hand. P-please. Not the belt.”

She
heard the buckle clatter onto the floor and her body relaxed a fraction.

“You’re
shaking.” Alistair’s hands rested on her shoulder blades for a moment, then
were gone.

She
opened her eyes and lifted her head to glance back at him. He stood with one
hand on his hip, the other shoved into his messy, sexy hair. His chest was
blotchy and red from the wax, and his suit pants hung low on his hips showing
off his muscular, v-lined abs. “You’re afraid,” he said. “I didn’t mean to
scare you. I thought you were into this shit.”

He
leaned forward and grasped the footboard on either side of her hips. “What the
hell are you doing here if you’re not into this?”

Black
Betty’s heart raced. She fought for the right words to say what she felt
without telling him too much. She wouldn’t reveal her soul to this man. “I-I
don’t…I’m not into being submissive.”

He
tightened his lips and shook his head before reaching out to take her hand and
helping her back onto her feet. “You’re playing a game here that I don’t know
the rules to. I’m sorry I scared you.”

What
did he mean he didn’t know the rules? Dolls & Doms was a private men’s
club. He was a member. What rules did he not understand? “Bullshit,” she spat,
striding across the room as fast as possible. “You know the rules. Every man
out there knows the rules.”

He
took two long steps toward her and placed both hands on his hips. “How many
times have you seen me here? Huh? How many? How many women have I had back in
one of these rooms? None. That’s how many. I was here one time. Watched some
chick strip, had a few drinks and left to hit the poker tables on The Strip.”
He threw a hand up in frustration. “This isn’t my scene.”

Alistair
held her eyes for a few seconds before storming around the room retrieving his
torn shirt, suit coat and belt. He didn’t bother putting them back on before
grabbing the doorknob and jerking the door open. “This was…something.” He
forced out a deep breath and stepped out into the hallway, out of sight.

Black
Betty clutched her stomach and fought the tears that burned in her eyes. This
had never happened to her. Never. She’d never had a man turn the tables on her.
They knew what they were getting and even if they didn’t, they endured her
torment.

But
Alistair…

Alistair
shook her to the core. A half-hour alone with him and he’d sought out her deepest,
darkest fear like some crazy heat-seeking missile launched to destroy her.

Fear
and Loathing

Alistair
stopped half way down the hallway and leaned against the wall. What the fuck
had just happened? He swiped a hand across his forehead before shoving his arms
into his torn shirt and tucking it into his pants in a futile attempt to keep
it closed over his chest.

He’d
never seen such fear in a woman’s eyes. He sure as hell had never caused it.

He
had to get out of there.

Music
from the main room thrummed under his skin as he approached the doorway back
into the club. Brad, his best man, was nowhere to be found. The few guys who
hadn’t found their way to a private room with one of the Dolls sat at a table
in the corner playing cards. Ten minutes ago, he would’ve joined them. Now he
just wanted to sneak out the back and have his driver take him to his hotel.

Alistair
made quick work of darting through another set of doors at the back of the room
and pushing through the exit to the gated back lot. The sleek, black limo sat
two steps from the outside exit, right where they’d left it. He yanked the back
door open and slid inside. “Hey!” he called to the rented driver. “Take me back
to the hotel.”

As
the driver started the engine, Alistair glanced out of the left side of the
limo. There she was, Black Betty, hoisting a black duffle bag into the trunk of
an older model Lexus sedan. She’d changed into loose, cut-off jean shorts, a
faded blue t-shirt and wore tennis shoes on her feet.

Damn,
she looked like a housewife on her way to the supermarket. So normal.
So…delicately female.