She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Show me.”
She lifted the hem of her sundress. Underneath, she was naked, no panties, no bra.
“Good girl.” He leaned across the seats, cupping one hand behind her neck, the other slipping between her legs to finger her bare pussy. He kissed her, hard, feeling her melt, that telltale sign she had that she really was disengaging her brain and letting him fully take over.
He knew some people saw their size disparity and wondered how she managed to keep up with him. He was like a huge sequoia to her willowy twig.
Years of gymnastics training and teaching, and now teaching yoga, had given his wife a body of liquid, sculpted steel. She could probably put him under the table, by sheer stamina alone, if necessary.
He lifted his lips from hers. “Spread ’em,” he whispered.
She did, without hesitation, and he knew he had her. He slid two fingers deep inside her soaked pussy, curling them up and hitting that sweet spot inside her. With his thumb, he rubbed her clit. “Hold it,” he said. “Wait for it.”
She gasped, then her soft whine hardened his cock.
He slid the hand from behind her neck to the front of her throat, closing in, not restricting her breathing, but firmly, holding her pinned against the seat.
“Look at me,” he said.
Her eyelids fluttered open, struggling to stay that way as the pad of his thumb rubbed her clit.
“Say it.”
“I belong to Sir, mind, body, heart, soul, cunt, and ass. I serve Sir at His wishes, at his whim, whenever and wherever He demands. Everything I have and am belongs to Sir, to give to Him when He demands.”
He leaned in again, thumb moving faster, his fingers inside her cunt scissoring and pressing, massaging her pussy and pushing her toward her orgasm. Over their twenty-plus years together, he’d gotten her to the point he could make her come almost immediately.
When he made her say her oath, the one she said to him every night while kneeling next to his side of the bed, and every morning when she got up, it dropped her hard and deep into his control.
Which was a damn good thing, because at his age, and his weight, sometimes his little Mark didn’t always want to cooperate on command.
Tonight, it seemed, he did.
“After I rig you tonight,” he told her, “you’re going to get on your knees and beg to suck my cock. Understand?” She sometimes loved a little humiliation play in their dynamic. Mostly at home, in private, in bed, but she liked a little of it at the private parties, too. He never did it at the club, because he knew some people wouldn’t understand it.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Beg me now. Tell me how you’re going to ask.”
“Please let this slut suck her Master’s cock, Sir! I need to suck your cock, have it deep in my throat, swallow your cum—”
“Come.” He started fucking her pussy with his hand, slamming against her clit at the bottom of every stroke.
She barely managed to keep her eyes open, but from the way her pussy squeezed his fingers, he knew she’d made it. She had no reason to fake it with him. Yes, there were times over the years he hadn’t gotten her over, usually if she was tired or too distracted and not deep enough in subspace.
From years of training, once she started coming, she would keep coming until he stopped. He let her writhe in the seat for a few minutes, her pleading expression as she moaned her way through orgasm after orgasm making his cock throb.
Finally, he pulled his hand from her pussy and shoved his fingers into her mouth. Without hesitation she sucked on them, all the way to the knuckle, licking her juices off them.
Tomorrow, he would likely tie her up in the living room, facedown over the edge of the couch. That way, he could fuck her, then sit and have her suck him while a vibrator hummed in her pussy and kept her coming. Back and forth. He could hold back his own orgasm for an hour or longer doing that. And, it’d been a while since he’d done that to her. She usually fell into a happy, exhausted sleep following a session like that.
Then he could watch the rest of his hockey game while she happily napped.
He pulled his fingers from her mouth and kissed her before releasing his grip on her throat. He slid his fingers between her legs again, stroking her clit. “You got off easy that time. The next one you’re going to have to earn.” He started teasing her, working her up for a few minutes, knowing she was hornier than hell again and wanting release—
Before he pulled his hand away. She gasped, her expression glazed with sweet, sexy submission and quite a bit of horniness.
Brain disengagement…complete.
The last thing on June’s mind right now was Sonya’s poor life choices.
“Let’s get inside, my sweet little slut,” he said. That was a private term of endearment for her. He’d kill anyone who thought about touching her. She was a slut—only for him. And only because after twenty-plus years together, he knew how to keep her satisfied.
“Yes, Sir.”
Chapter Six
Derrick and Marcia didn’t get to many of the private parties. Not for lack of wanting to go, and they pretty much had a standing invitation for all of them.
They just didn’t have the time. If he wasn’t working at his vanilla job, he or Marcia needed to be at Venture. They’d finally gotten a couple of reliable volunteers who’d stuck around long enough to become part-time paid employees to man the office one or two Saturday nights a month. The nature of their club being what it was, he didn’t want just anyone counting the till and registering people. One of their former volunteers had let their friends in free, or discounted, behind his back. He hadn’t known about it until someone told him.
Then there was Lydia, who he’d done a favor by not banning her sooner, thinking she was just not suited to man the desk. He’d had several people complain about her lack of people skills, even though she’d seemed to have a lot of friends.
Not that she was a problem anymore. She’d been banned from the club for life now. He’d had enough of her drama.
He’d known John Gilomen for several years, almost as long as he’d known Askel. John had quietly helped out here and there at the club, with electrical and other issues, but he couldn’t volunteer in the office, behind the desk. Not with his job. John had to restrict his activities to what didn’t put him out in the public eye.
Setting out to open a private BDSM club hadn’t been on Derrick’s radar. But after their small group kept running out of places to have their private parties—other than at their own homes, which wasn’t always practical—he’d decided to take action.
It’d taken him six months of research and planning. Fortuitously, Kel had bought the industrial warehouse complex just east of I-75 and had a vacancy. The zoning and location were perfect. No residential neighbors, no churches, no schools, no bars.
After talks with his attorney, who pored over the zoning ordinances and local laws for him, Derrick went to talk with both the sheriff’s office, since the location lay in unincorporated Sarasota County, and the head of zoning. As long as they didn’t allow penetrative sex or alcohol, and he had all the required business licenses for a private membership club, he’d be legal.
Their first six months after opening, Derrick damn well knew undercover cops had visited them. One of them even became a member himself and started bringing his wife.
After that, once they realized he was running a legit business, and strictly enforced the rules that kept them well within the law, they left him alone. Most of the headline stories about sex clubs being shut down occurred when people got stupid and greedy and allowed alcohol without the proper license, especially if they took money, which put them into the realm of running an illegal bottle club.
He didn’t.
Even when Shayla first came around and wrote her series of articles, it helped grow their membership. Occasionally he received nasty e-mails or anonymous postal mail, frequently religious in bent.
H
e either deleted or shredded them without concern. The complex was private property. The one and only time a religious group had tried to protest, Kel, as the property owner, had them all arrested for trespassing.
And prosecuted.
That spawned another newspaper article, where Derrick had proudly boasted about the increased attention sending their attendance and membership soaring once more. He’d even thanked the group of protestors for helping spread the word about their club.
Hadn’t hurt that the reporter was a friend of Derrick’s.
Once the protesters realized that had backfired on them and they had no other recourse, they left the club alone, hoping it would fade out of existence without any more inadvertent advertising on their part.
They hadn’t. Venture was a self-supporting business. It didn’t make a massive profit every year. In fact, there were some years early on where the break-even margin was less than a thousand dollars.
But it did what Derrick had hoped it would. It had given himself and his friends a safe place to play and educate others without having to open their homes to strangers to do so. They held classes and other events, broadening minds and helping people figure out who they were. A kinky community center.
That was worth every penny, even of his own money.
They sought out John and Abbey when they arrived, Marcia adding their potluck contribution to the food table on the lanai while Derrick found a place for their bags.
Off on the other side of the pool, it looked like two couples were getting their rigging started already.
Then there were Max, Sean, and Cali. He wasn’t sure what Max had planned for the night, but Cali already wore an ornate chest harness. Which Max was working on while Sean, naked, on his knees and with his arms bound together behind him with two wrist-to-elbow rope gauntlets, licked her pussy.
As Derrick and Marcia chatted with Tony and Shayla, Max paused, unzipped, grabbed Sean’s hair, and started fucking his mouth.
Marcia watched them. “Now there’s something you can’t see at the club,” she joked.
Max had hold of Sean’s head, pumping his cock deep into his partner’s mouth while he kissed Cali.
“They mix things up even more than Abbey and John,” Tony said, also watching. “I’ve given up trying to figure them out. Not that it matters. They always seem to have fun. And it brings an unpredictable energy to a party. In a good way.”
“Yeah,” Shayla said, sounding amused. “What’s not to like about watching a hot guy sucking another hot guy’s cock?”
Tony swatted Shayla’s ass. “Don’t get any ideas, pet. I’m not bi.”
She snuggled closer to him. “I didn’t say I wanted you to do that, Sir. I just said it’s fun to watch.”
“That’s fine.”
She looked up at her husband. “Besides, you’ve already shown me what it’s like to have all my holes stuffed at once. I couldn’t handle a second man. Your stunt cocks are too much for me to handle sometimes.”
“Stunt cocks?” Derrick asked.
“My nickname for some of the toys,” Tony said. “I have no problem breaking out the stunt cocks. They never get soft, and I can pick any shape or size I want to use on her.”
“We have some of those,” Marcia said. “I like that term. Stunt cocks.”
Derrick met her gaze, smiling. “I have some of them with me tonight,” he said. “I’ll make sure to stuff you while I’m tying you.”
Her eyes widened, but the smile didn’t fall from her lips. “Yes, Sir,” she said.
“Good girl.”
Chapter Seven
Abbey couldn’t believe the turnout for the party. Nearly everyone who’d RSVP’d as a yes or a maybe had come. It made for great energy, and everyone was having fun with the rigging contest, their friends laughing and talking and playing.
She even had time to check on George a couple of times. As she’d suspected, no one messed with his enclosure or even disturbed him. Every time she looked, he was still almost completely buried in the substrate in his warm tortoise house.
They’d had a couple of cold snaps through the winter where she’d brought him inside, hating to disturb his routine like that. He loved Tortoise Town, able to freely graze and wander, sunning himself when he felt like it. John had outdone himself with the expansions and improvements to it.
Yes, Abbey knew looking back on it all that he’d done it both as a way to avoid dealing with his own grief over the death of his friend, but also as a way to hopefully keep her anchored there and not wanting to leave.
And as they’d grown closer, and then how he’d taken care of her both after her back surgery, and then the emergency surgery to correct the complications that arose, he’d proven to her with every action how he felt about her.
No way would she ever leave John. She’d found her soul mate, the mirror image of herself in many ways. Now that she had him in her life, she felt thankful for everything she’d been through before, because she could appreciate him all the more for it. Part of her wished she’d just asked if they could get married instead of the collaring ceremony they’d had. Now it would be several months more until their wedding, on the one-year anniversary of their mutual collaring.
Maybe we could just elope.
But she wanted her friends there for the service when they did it. Her adopted family, closer than her biological kin. Whom she loved, even if she wanted to strangle them half of the time. What did it say about her that she was the kinky one in the family—not that any of them knew that—and she was apparently the most well-adjusted?
She’d already planned to tell her family they’d eloped once they broke the news to them. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her family, because she did.
She just loved it even more when she wasn’t with them. She was honestly surprised she hadn’t ripped out all her hair while her mom was in the hospital. Her father, bless him, had acrimoniously divorced her mom years ago, and had done what Abbey assumed he thought was his fatherly duty to try to help out through everything.
In return, it stressed her out even more. She didn’t have the heart to tell him to butt out, either. She knew he was trying, in his own way, and her brother and sister had welcomed having him around for emotional support.
Even her mom, weirdly, hadn’t fought with him. The two of them just fought with everyone else.
It could have been a lot worse. Abbey might have had to move her mom in with them temporarily.
Yikes.
Between her parents’ divorce, and then her brother and sister both going through nasty divorces, Abbey had eschewed marriage for entirely practical reasons.
Reasons that totally dissolved when she looked at John.
Tonight she noticed he seemed a little on edge about something. Beyond what she’d attribute to having a houseful of guests. Every time she glanced around, she caught him watching her.
Odd.
Maybe he was waiting for a sign from her to play. She didn’t want to disappoint him, but she wasn’t sure she had the energy for a full-on Ma’am scene, and wasn’t sure she emotionally wanted Sir to come out and Top her tonight.
In front of everyone, at least.
She’d give it a little longer and then talk with him, ask him what he wanted to do. Maybe he’d settle the question for her one way or another and take it right out of her hands.
* * * *
As the evening wore on and everyone worked their way through dinner, most of the women who’d remained in their street clothes for the dining portion of their night either changed, or got naked.
John had decided to wait Abbey out, sensing her energy fluctuating and knowing he could easily flip and keep her in submissive mode for the evening.
But he wasn’t sure if that’s what she wanted.
Ergo, he waited.
They’d discussed entering the rigging contest and then decided not to. They wanted to play, and it was their house, so they didn’t feel right being totally unavailable to all the
ir guests that evening. They could always hold off on playing until later, after they were alone, if necessary.
John bided his time. Abbey was so busy talking with friends and watching people rigging and playing that he almost didn’t have the heart to interrupt her. He’d opted for a pair of baggy, comfortable shorts and a T-shirt tonight. Nothing fancy, but at least he was able to keep the ring on him, in his pocket.
He was in the kitchen and washing some silverware when Abbey snuck in behind him and grabbed his earlobe, pulling his head down.
It took sheer force of will to fight the willing slide toward subspace. That had become a reliable trigger for her to use on him, grabbing his earlobe. Something about the gesture just nailed him deep in his soul.
“Who’s my good boy?” she whispered.
“I am, Ma’am.” Dammit.
Abbey had him, and he knew it. He only hoped Tilly was paying attention, or he’d be able to slip her the ring to hold for him, or something.
She snapped her fingers and pointed at the floor.
His knees folded, dropping him in front of Abbey, his forehead resting on the tops of her feet.
I should have flipped her while I had the chance.
“Such a gooood boy.” He felt her buckling the play collar she’d bought him around his neck.
Fuck.
Plan B, it was.
She tugged on the leash. “Come.” As he got up off the floor to follow her out of the kitchen, he reached into his pocket, snagged the ring, and stuck it in his mouth.
He wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but when she led him out to the living room, he had a pretty damn good idea. She’d prepared a couple of things on one of the portable spanking benches set up in there.
“Get naked,” she ordered, her green eyes sparkling.
He stripped the T-shirt off and dropped the shorts, leaving him naked. He’d gone commando. Hell, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was hosting, he would have run around naked all night.
“Gooood boy,” she cooed again, looking up at him. She snapped her fingers and pointed at the bench.