Breath on the Wind (8 page)

“Yes, Domina.”

Elmo gripped his arm and pulled him up, exhibiting a surprising amount of strength and steadying him when he staggered.  She spun him around, which unbalanced him again, and pushed him back so that he fell across the bed.  He was helpless, his cuffed wrists pinned by his own body weight.  Elmo discarded the paddle and retrieved the flogger.  She snapped it in light flicks over his twitching cock until he came, spurting jism over his stomach and chest as he yelled to the ceiling, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

He lay still for a while, unsure whether he was in his own body or even in his own mind.  Never, in thirty-eight years of life had he experienced an orgasm so intense without being buried in some hot, female orifice, and he couldn’t even swear to that.  Elmo gave him a moment to recover before helping him sit up so that she could unfasten the cuffs.  Chiz rubbed the feeling back into his arms as Elmo knelt on the bed behind him, massaging his shoulders and kneading out the knots in the muscles.

When he figured his legs would work, he stood.  He still felt dazed, but he was moving steadily enough as he reached for a t-shirt and wiped himself clean.  He paused with his back to the bed where Elmo was waiting in patient silence.  He didn’t understand what had happened; he needed to understand it.  He was fucking SAA of the Priests MC.  He’d been an Enforcer for years before that.  He was the person people feared.  He did the things that no one else would do.  He’d once tortured a man over three days using only a chisel, just to make a point after the clubhouse had been shot up.  He did not go to his knees for a woman.  He did not accept punishment from one.

Even as the residual lightning charges of pleasure in his cock reminded him how fucking good giving himself over to Elmo had been, his head demanded that he turn the tables back to where they ought to be. 

He turned suddenly.  Striking like a snake, he pushed Elmo back off her knees and grabbed her ankles, yanking until her hips were on the edge of the bed.  He dropped to his knees, ignoring her protesting yelps, and buried his face in her pussy, licking and sucking fiercely.  He hooked her knees over his shoulders, feeling the stiletto heels gouging into his back.  He didn’t care about the pain.  He gripped her thighs so tightly he knew she’d be bruised, making sure she couldn’t do anything more than writhe against his lips and tongue.

Chiz licked, sucked and bit until she was screaming begging him to make her come.  That was what he wanted, her at his mercy, incoherent with pleasure that he was responsible for.  Her juices flooded his mouth.  She tried to twist away, too sensitive for him to continue his assault, but he wasn’t going to let her get away that easily. 

He stood.  His fingers were still buried in the flesh of Elmo’s thighs.  He wrenched her hips up and off the bed and onto the solid length of his cock.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  It was so good.  So hot.  So fucking hot and wet.  Like silk set on fire.  And it was his for the taking.  He pumped his hips, hard and fast.  Part of him was beyond caring if he was hurting her or not, part of him registered that the sounds she was making were of tortured pleasure... and a tiny little sliver of his brain, the part that worked overtime to keep him alive, reminded him that he was naked inside her.

She was coming.  He could feel it.  Without the latex it was so much more intense, so powerful, so intimate.  He could feel the way her muscles rippled over his cock, clenching and pulsing.  It was so fucking good.  With a bestial yell that was sure to bring someone knocking on the door he jerked out of Elmo, almost brought to tears at the loss of the clenching silkiness.  He came, impossibly, almost as forcefully as before, painting creamy white streaks on the armor of her corset.

Spun and weak, Chiz collapsed heavily onto the bed next to Elmo.  They both noisily gulped air back into their lungs.

In an effort to retain the normality that he felt perilously close to losing, Chiz forced himself to find his cigarettes.  He deliberately ignored the tremble in his hands, and the sting in his ass, as he lit the smoke.  The first inhale was as restorative as holy water.  Feeling something like human, if not himself, he propped his back against the headboard of the bed and concentrated on blowing perfect smoke rings.

“Fuck me.”  Elmo’s voice was pleasingly hoarse.

“Just did, doll.”

Elmo reached, somewhat unsteadily, for his cigarette.  He passed it over.  She took two drags and handed it back for him to finish and then she climbed off the bed, careful not to make a mess of the bedclothes since she was still covered in semen.  He tried not to watch her as she teetered into the bathroom on those spike heels, but seeing her wobble on them reminded him that there was some skin missing on his back.  He wasn’t sorry about that.  Even if it scarred, it would be a hell of a story, heavily edited, but still a hell of story.

When she came out she was still wearing the corset and boots, but they were clean, and she had regained her composure.  She cast around for a few seconds, and Chiz wondered what the fuck she was looking for, until she found and pulled on the little shorts that she’d worn for all of five steps into the room.

He determinedly ignored the pang of disappointment.

As he ground the last of his cigarette out into the ashtray on the nightstand, Elmo retrieved and donned her boring yuppie coat.  He didn’t move, just let his eyes follow her, as he retrieved the toys and put them back into the grocery sack.

“You okay, doll?”  Where that question had come from, he had no idea, but it had slipped out all the same.

Elmo was patting the pockets of her coat.  He couldn’t figure out what she was looking for, but she spotted something by the door and headed in that direction.  She did whatever it was she was doing, then crossed the room back to where he was sitting on the bed.  He was in the process of lighting another cigarette and she had to wait until he’d finished the ritual.

“Here.”  She pressed a piece of paper into his hand.  “My address.  This place is giving me hives and it’s beginning to smell funky.  Don’t come by before ten.”

Chiz struggled to make sense of this new layer of confusion on top of a night of what-the-fuck.  By the time he’d gotten his brain onto one straight track, when he looked up, Elmo was gone.

Chapter Seven

A distracted dominatrix was not a good thing.  She needed to get her head back in the game, the game that she knew the rules of, not the one that she was currently making up as she went along with a stranger in a cheap motel room.

Andy was perched on one of the padded benches in the dungeon room, sipping her coffee, and trying to figure out what the fuck had possessed her to give Chiz her address.  True, the motel room was beginning to smell musky, and nothing about it was comfortable, but that was no reason to invite a stranger to her home, even if they had been fucking the living daylights out of each other for half a week.  She was just begging to be murdered in her sleep.

The best answer that she could come up with was that she felt that Chiz had made a big concession to her the night before.  He was not a natural submissive.  The muscles, the ink, the bruises, the gun – and the bike, she hadn’t missed that parked outside his room – added up to badass.  And in her experience, badasses were not subs.  Even choosing to call her Domina, rather than Mistress, told her something about him.  Domina did not convey the same sense of ownership that Mistress did; it was more of an acknowledgement of authority.  He’d gone along with the game, and had given her a lot of control, without knowing what the fuck he was doing, and she felt the need to repay that trust. 

Sitting in the dungeon room was reminding her of what she did, the role she played professionally, and that it was usually only professional.  Sensation play and a little paddling was one thing, but she didn’t normally break out the full Mistress of the Dark persona to do it in her personal life.  In fact, without a solid relationship and the trust that went hand in hand with that, she didn’t usually get down to any kink at all.  She knew better than most about the consequences when kinky shit went badly.

She still couldn’t figure out what had stopped her from telling Chiz that she knew exactly what she was doing with the toys and why.  She kept insisting to herself that it was she didn’t want to give too much of herself away, and she called herself out on that bullshit, because it made no sense if she directed him to the place that she lived.  That question was not going to be answered so easily.  “Hey, baby. I’m a professional dominatrix.”  There was nothing wrong with it, and yet she couldn’t see herself saying the words to Chiz.

She was interested, for her own sake, in exploring the internal conflict that he’d exhibited.  He wasn’t submissive, but there was no arguing that he’d enjoyed what they’d done.  She’d left him too quickly, really.  By her own code of ethics, she should have stayed to make sure that conflict didn’t become a dangerous post-scene crash.  But she hadn’t envisioned them sitting down to any sort of psychological discussion, and it had felt like he’d fucked his issues straight.  She clenched her crossed legs and squirmed on the bench at that memory.  This morning, she’d woken up to a collection of purple bruises on each hip, and more breath-stealing memories.

And that was another concern.  He made her stupid.  He’d been naked inside her, and she hadn’t registered it as wrong.  It had been intense and amazing.  She hadn’t felt it in a long time, and she hadn’t realized that she’d missed it.  She didn’t need to worry about pregnancy, and she wasn’t worried about passing anything to him, she was clean, she had regular tests as part of her insurance package, but he could be walking around with fuck only knew what.  She’d already called her Ob/Gyn to make an appointment.

She sighed and hopped down.  She needed to rinse her cup out, and get ready for her next client.  She was booked to spend an hour verbally abusing a prominent city official in the school room.  She was dressed in a cheap skirt suit with a polyester blouse, complete with pussy-cat bow at the neck.  It was hideous, and she hated it, but the verbal chastisement culminated in corporal punishment with a ruler, and the guy never failed to orgasm while he was being beaten.  She was not going to spend money on an outfit when it needed to be washed regularly at high temperatures.

Just to make sure that her day was going to go from shit to abysmal, she had a meeting scheduled that afternoon with the same official, and a representative from the police department, about the First Church of Christ.  She’d had to practically beg and plead to get the meeting during the holiday season, and on a Saturday at that, but as far as she was concerned the matter was now urgent.  She’d tried to sit down for a civilized discussion with the Pastor of the Church once, but had walked out when he’d started sermonizing, and the name-calling had progressed from Jezebel to Whore of Babylon.  The fucker had a mullet.  No one with a mullet should ever be trusted to hold so much as a bank account, let alone the regard of fifty people with borderline personality disorders. 

It wasn’t often that her business crossed streams in this manner, but when it did, it made her uncomfortable.  She knew how to conduct herself, and would never give any sort of hint about the private dealings between her and a client, but not all clients were able to maintain the same level of professionalism.  Some were unable to meet her eyes, and made their discomfort evident by looking anywhere but at her.  The politician was one of the ones that got too familiar, as though they shared something far more personal than a business transaction.  The meeting was going to be very difficult, and Andy suspected it would also be fruitless.  If she was running a beauty salon it would be one thing, but a strip club and dungeon was entirely another.  Despite the fact she was a taxpaying, profitable employer, it was unlikely that anyone was going to go out of their way to help her.

At least she had a visit from Chiz to look forward to, if he turned up.  Andy felt like she was setting herself up for a fall by allowing anticipation to have any consideration in her thoughts at all, but she had a scene to set up on the expectation that he would accept her invitation.  She wanted to show her understanding of his surrender the previous night, and a straight-up fuck would not do.  If he didn’t turn up, well, then that would be the end of her visits to the motel.

Andy double checked that there was nothing out of place in the room before she left it.  Satisfied that everything was in order, she went to make her final preparations.  She met Emma in the corridor.  Emma was one of the dominatrices who worked at the club, and was evidently on her way to the medical room.  She was wearing a nurse’s uniform in a style that was a couple of decades old.  It consisted of a white dress, white tights and a little white cap pinned into her bronze hair, which looked to have been scraped back painfully tightly.  Some clients liked the porn star plastic outfits, others preferred more realism to their fantasies, but they all usually wanted something more authoritarian than scrubs.

“Hey, Emma.”

“Hey, Andy.”

Andy nodded at the enema kit that Emma was carrying.  “You’ve got Howard this morning?”

“Yep.  Just getting everything clean and set up.  He’s due in five.  You’ve got Rafe?”

“Yeah, he’s due soon, too.”

Emma paused before she asked, “Joe said you’ve got that meeting later today, the one about the Church?”

“Yep, for all the good it’ll do.”  Andy tried and failed to keep the resignation from her tone, but she was concerned by the way Emma seemed to be suddenly nervous.  Emma was a Top inside and out, ‘nervous’ was not a typical state for her.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just... I think one of them followed me to my car last night.  They weren’t hanging around outside the door like they usually do, which was odd enough.  It was dark, and I couldn’t see anything really, it was more a sense that someone was there, if you know what I mean?”

“Yeah I do.  You okay?”

Emma’s nerves seemed to be ebbing now that she’d shared her worries.  “I’m not thrilled, but I’m not hurt.  It’s beginning to feel like they’re making this very personal.  I don’t like it.”

Andy couldn’t disagree.  “Me either.  I’ll do my best with the suits later.  It was getting out of hand before, but this is too much.  I’ll speak to Shane and Joe about walking people to their cars when it’s late, and we can try and arrange something with the girls downstairs so people can walk in groups if they’d prefer.”  Andy put her hand on Emma’s elbow.  “Look, I don’t want to lose you here, but I’ll understand if you want to find someplace else.  I don’t want you feeling intimidated about coming to work.”

Emma laughed, her characteristic confidence shining through. “Oh no, the bastards aren’t going to chase me away that easily.  I love doing this.  And besides, I have kids to put through college.”

“Okay.”  Andy nodded gratefully, “but I mean it, Em.  I don’t want anyone who works here feeling like they can’t do what’s best for them.”

It was Emma’s turn to lay a reassuring hand on Andy’s arm.  She had to juggle the enema equipment to do it.  “Don’t worry, I don’t.”  She had to take her hand back to catch the rubber pouch, and all the hoses and attachments, before they fell to the floor.  “I better go.  Howard’ll be here any minute.”

“Okay. Catch you later.”  Andy opened the door to the medical room for Emma to save her from having to free up a hand again.

Emma nodded her thanks, and disappeared to set up her scene.

Andy wasn’t at all happy to hear that the church members might be escalating their program of harassment.  That was not good, not good at all.  The whole thing had needed nipping in the bud months ago.  Now it all needed to fucking stop before someone got hurt, or before she went out of business, having lost all her clients, or all her employees, or both.

At least her frustrations had some use.  By the time she’d finished with Rafe, her skirt needed washing again, and she had one very satisfied client.

When it came to the time to make her way to her meeting, Andy left by the front door so that she could speak with Shane, the bouncer that shared duties with Josiah.  The man was intimidation personified, and Andy suspected that his presence this day was the reason that there were no church protestors at her door.  He was seven foot and three hundred pounds of inked muscle.  The Congregation from Hell seemed to have some respect for Shane, which was probably due to his size, but might also have been due to his skin color.  The prayer nuts were racist as well as piously insane.

She’d already spoken to Jackie about encouraging everyone who worked at the club to escort each other to their vehicles, and to carpool wherever possible.  She outlined the same concept to Shane, with the request that he accompany anyone who was on their own if they asked.

“Sure, boss lady.  No problem.  You want me to walk you to your car now?” 

The street was quiet.  It looked like they were out of customers as well as crazies.  “Thank you, but no.  It’s daylight.  I think I’ll be okay.”

Shane rubbed smoothed his massive paw of a hand over the folded bandana that he always wore wrapped around his forehead, and combed his fingers through his long red-brown ponytail.  It was a gesture that Andy recognized as the closest thing to uncomfortable that Shane ever got.  “Alright, but keep your phone handy.  I don’t like these twitchy sons of bitches, not one bit.”

“Will do, Shane.  Let me know if we have any problems.”

“Sure thing, boss lady.”

Andy turned and headed down the street to her car.  It wasn’t an ideal solution.  The ideal solution would be the eviction of the church or the imprisonment of every last one of the members, but it was as much as she could do for now.

The meeting went about as badly as she had expected it to.  Even with the new information about Emma possibly being followed away from the club, Detective John Hill made it very clear that the police’s hands were tied until the Church actually did something that could be prosecuted.  At the present time, they were only exercising their right to free speech, and there was no evidence against them.  She hadn’t been able to press charges against anyone when her car had been vandalized because there was no evidence to hold a member of the Church responsible. 

The city official, who had fucking winked at her when he’d sat down, had made lots of placating comments about not wanting to lose such a well-established business that employed many people, but had circled around to the point that the Church paid its taxes on their building, too, and that on paper, they were ideal tenants.  Andy got the distinct impression that she was being humored in being granted the meeting in the first place.  She could almost imagine the telephone conversation
‘just half an hour of your time, she’ll feel like she’s being listened to, and then the whining bitch will fuck off.’