Breakfast in Stilettos (24 page)

I expected her to give us a little speech, but she just looked at us. I don’t know how she did it, but as she scanned our group, she made each of us feel as if she was focusing on us individually. When her eyes settled briefly on me, she raised an eyebrow and nodded, as though she approved. That felt good.

From where I was standing mid-pack, I was in a good position to survey the rest of the guests. There were maybe thirty of us in all. I saw Mr. Dobson, the nondescript and clearly submissive patient from the other day, standing at the edge with
a
gorgeous woman next to him. Her arm was hooked loosely around his waist, but her black eyes were on everyone else in the room. She just exuded sex appeal—big dark eyes, full lips, abundant cleavage. If this was Mr. Dobson’s wife, no wonder he had some issues. She looked ready and willing to take on anyone in the room. A tigress looking for lunch. I wondered what she saw in him. Her appeal was obvious.

But then I thought of what Frank had said, about not wanting to share. Clearly in order to be with this woman, you had to share her attention, at the very least.

I saw Zach come in from the foyer and mount a few steps to stand below Mistress Maven. When their eyes met, she nodded. He turned to us, giving his best perky smile. “The upstairs is now open.”

Mistress Maven took his hand and the two turned, heading back upstairs.

Pixie was still next to me and I leaned in. “What the heck is upstairs?”

She pulled me toward the stairs. “
Fun
is upstairs. That’s what.”

Ryan and Frank joined us as we ascended. The gathering followed.

The stairs took us into to an open area that was a replica of
the Salon
lined with six doors off to one side. Through each door you could see a stunning view of the city and bay. The open area featured a series of overstuffed couches and chairs, more or less in a semicircle, all facing a cleared area that looked suspiciously like a stage.

Pixie gave us the tour of each room. One door was closed, and I could only assume the Mistress was within. The other five rooms were painted in rich jewel colors—garnet red, emerald green, amethyst, gold topaz, and sapphire blue. Each was dimly lit and furnished with a bed or two, their wooden headboards ornately carved and trimmed with gold gilt. Each room contained a dark overstuffed captain’s chair, a side table, and an elegant armoire in the corner.

Nothing looked faintly dungeon-esque, but then I remembered that there was, in fact, a bottom floor; maybe that was where she kept the “equipment.” Nothing challenged me in any overtly sexual or fetish-like way, not yet, anyway.

Pixie ran ahead into the garnet room—the one farthest to the left. A faint red glow emanated from the doorway. We strolled behind, casually taking it all in. Pixie had already climbed up on the king-sized bed and was jumping around as though channeling a hippy flower child. Frank stood next to the captain’s chair by the window, staring out at the city. Striding purposefully to the armoire, Ryan pulled out a large black leather case and tossed it on the bed. Unzipping the industrial-weight zipper, he began rummaging through the contents, pulling out an array of toys—several sets of leather wrist cuffs, a flogger, a couple of paddles, a gag, vibrators of various sizes, and other odds and ends I didn’t recognize.

Just the sight of the vibrators made my cheeks heat up. I had a friend who was really into to them and gave them as gifts to her friends. I told her to never, ever give me one. I knew how narrow-minded I was being. I also knew I needed to get over it. I had heard that the results of said device were awesome.

Still, I averted my eyes and joined Frank at the window. He gripped my hand. “How are you doing?”

My discomfort must have shown. How was I doing? Feeling vulnerable. My impulse was to keep it to myself, but instead I told him. “You know how I like to ride horses?”

He nodded.

“Well, I feel the way I do when riding a new horse, especially a thoroughbred. You’re never sure what to expect. Having twelve hundred pounds of muscle and bone between your legs with a mind of its own is never something to take lightly. If a horse gets it into its head to go somewhere you don’t want to go, there’s nothing much you can do. The horse and rider rapport is an agreed upon relationship. And it takes time to organize that agreement. That’s how I feel right now. Unsure. Vulnerable. Hell, a little scared. But I really want to ride and am willing to do the work.”

He pulled me into an embrace. “I’m feeling pretty much the same.”

Ryan apparently was done setting out his toys. “
OK
, gang. Let’s organize.”

Frank and I sat on the bed so we could see what Ryan was up to. He could clearly write the adult version of
Toy Story
.

“Emily, I’ll be working a scene with Ms. Pixie, but I thought you could do table training with Frank. And for that, you’ll need these.” He set two sets of wrist cuffs and a blindfold in front of me; then he went back to his bag, picked out a short crop and added it to the pile. “You’ll also need your glass of wine, with wine in it.”

My wine glass was still half full, but he replenished it from Pixie’s glass and sat it on the table near the door. I really wished the glass was in reach.

He pointed to the cuffs. “You know how to use those things?”

I picked them up and eyed them dubiously. The wrist cuffs were stiff leather with small silver studs, but lined with soft black fleece. A double-ended snap connected the two cuffs together via a silver loop on each. I’d hobbled horses when I was a kid on the farm, but I’d never cuffed anyone. These looked as if they worked pretty much the same way. “I think I have the general idea.” I put one on Frank’s wrist, buckled it up, and then took it off to display my hobbling technique.

Ryan nodded. “Blindfold?”

It looked like a sleep mask with an elastic strap. “Just over eyes, right?” I slid it over Frank’s hood—black on black. “Can you see anything?”

He shook his head. “Not that I could see all that well to begin with.”

I flipped off the blindfold and set it with the cuffs. I knew what to do with the crop. “So he is my table?”

Ryan nodded and motioned me to follow him. “Pixie, you and Frank stay here for a moment. We’ll be right back.” He led the way back to the middle of the room. More people had made their way upstairs and were sitting on the couches and chairs, drinking wine and conversing in low voices.

He pointed to a large padded footstool, speaking in a hoarse whisper. “Pixie and I will be here.” He moved the footstool into the very middle of the couches—center stage—and pushed a captain’s chair to one side, a little upstage from the footstool. “You can sit here.”

He looked at the arrangement. “I’m thinking that you and Frank should start. Cuff him up, blindfold him and then have him hold your wine glass. Do a bit of teasing, etc. Then I’ll start with Pixie. You leave Frank to stew in his statue way, holding your wine on outstretched palms. He likes that. And punish him if he messes up. Does that work for you?”

At least there was no white rug if he spilled. The floors were a rich brown hardwood. “I think so.” It didn’t sound very difficult. Dom 101 training. I suppressed a smile.

“We can swap back and forth. Sometimes I’ll let Pixie stew as well.” He looked at his watch. “Oh and keep an eye on Frank. If he gets tired or starts to shake, make him get on all fours and put the wine on his back. You might want to try that anyway.” He looked around and found an ornate sofa table against one wall. He picked it up with ease and set it within easy reach of the footstool. Then he motioned me back to the bedroom.

Good god
, I just kept following him around and doing his bidding like I was a puppy. Here is Master Rhys and his Dom-ette. But a girl had to learn somewhere. And this was free advice.

Frank and Pixie were handling the toys when we got back into the room. Ryan reclaimed the collection and shook his finger at Pixie. “Naughty girl. No touching.” She smiled demurely, but there was challenge in her eyes. It occurred to me that she wouldn’t be a good person to have mad at you. I sensed a touch of wildcat under that cheery exterior.

Ryan took a look at Frank. “Take that bow off. It will get in the way.”

I hated being bossed around but I held my tongue. It was intriguing that someone would not only
like
to be bossed around, but would pay for it. Is that what Frank wanted? I wouldn’t really know until we finally had our conversation.

Ryan glanced at the makeshift stage. “Looks like everybody is upstairs. Let’s go.” Without waiting for us, he walked out, the toys under his arm.

Pixie followed immediately behind. I picked up the cuffs, blindfold and crop that lay on the bed and gave Frank my best “What
are
we doing?” look.

He pulled me into an embrace. “Listen, the worst that can happen is I’ll spill the wine and break the glass. But then you can spank me. How bad can that be?” He nuzzled my neck and I realized this was true.

Mostly. I was still really nervous. But I swallowed hard and led him out of the room. As we walked to center stage, the door to Mistress Maven’s room opened, and she and Zach stepped out. She led him to a couch mid-way in the semicircle, where he sat on the floor in front of her. She fingered his hair. I had absolutely no idea what their relationship was, but they both seemed pleased, relaxed and ready for the show.

On the table he’d lugged over, Ryan set out a variety of paddles, a whip, and a thin cane. Everything was precisely placed. Clearly Ryan was a bit obsessive-compulsive. He nodded to me and indicated that I should just get on with it. There was no introduction.

I moved to my assigned chair and scoped out the best table minion location. We’d be behind Ryan and Pixie once they got rolling, so only Frank would be visible when I sat down. I wanted him where the audience could best see him.

I was conscious that all eyes were on me. It was time to begin.

I froze.

A huge rush of emotion came over me. Childhood images flashed like strobelights.
The cruel
way my
stepdad tie
d
up my horses.
Knowing
there was nothing I could do about it.
I looked at the wrist cuffs that Ryan had given me and, for a moment, I felt overwhelmed by those out of control moments that surfaced.

My hands were shaking.

Rage surged up my legs and arms, rushing to my throat until all I could do was yell.

“
I
’
m
in control now!”

The entire crowed jerked and then hooted enthusiastically.

I had to get over the past. And why not. It
was
the past. This was for fun.

I remembered Pixie’s stories and I finally had a sense of how she felt. I could do this.

I stomped those Scarlet Girls in a circle around Frank, running my hands lightly over his body. “You are
mine
. Say it.”

Frank responded instantly. “I’m yours, Ma’am.”

I smacked him with my crop on his thigh. “That’s Mistress Em to you.”

“Yes, Mistress Em.”

I put the crop in my teeth and dropped one set of cuffs as I fastened the others around Frank’s wrists. The rage was turning into a powerful sense of self confidence. Of sexual determination. Then I picked up the other set of cuffs and strapped them onto his ankles. The short metal snap in between made it next to impossible for him to walk.

I circled him again, slowly. “You can no longer hide your face from me. I want to see it. I want everyone to see your face, so nothing is hidden.” His hood was barely tucked into his body suit, so I tugged it loose and lifted it off his head.

The audience murmured in appreciation. I reached up and held his face with my hands, turning it from one side to the other for people to see. “Look how handsome you are.”

I stood in front of him and looked straight into his gorgeous honey-brown eyes. I gave him my most powerful Domme expression, trying to peer into his soul. And strangely enough, I
saw
him. Deep in those eyes I saw that man I loved, and he wanted what was coming.