KING (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (18 page)

~Chapter Fifteen~

“
You aren’t actually going to make me do this, are you?” Dalton grumbles as I’m scanning my thumb and waiting for the door to open.

“Have I ever said one thing and done another?” I look at him from the corner of my eye. “How could trust be maintained if I didn’t do what I said?”

“Can we at least do it in your room?” he barters, jaw ticking with nervousness.

I turn to Dalton
with a flirty smirk on my face. “You called me conniving and manipulative. You disrespected me and said you couldn’t trust me. You’re going to do this as an apology, but more so, to prove to me that you trust me. In doing so, I will be able to trust you. Do this in the main dungeon and I’ll tell you all my secrets.” I dangle the lure of total disclosure. I want no secrets between us. But right now, I want to be in the dungeon watching and being watched.

“No restraints,”
Dalton concedes but puts conditions on our play.

“We’ll see,” I say with a flash of my dimples. We’ll see, alright… I’m a master with bondage. There will be restraints.

“I want to watch for a minute. I can’t just go right into a scene.” Dalton’s voice quivers. He really is scared, and for some reason, I find it cute as hell. I’m eager to show him that there is nothing to fear, that he can emphatically trust me.

“I look forward to watching
our friends,” I murmur, taking Dalton’s hand to pull him into the dungeon.

“This is the first time I’ve been
in here since my punishment,” Dalton mumbles, getting lost in the past. His self-administered punishment was delivered at the end of Dexter’s whip. Dalton inadvertently leaked information to his mother while thinking he was helping the members of Restraint. Dalton was looking for a mole… and he found himself.

“Ah…” garbles out of my gaping mouth. My feet falter, causing Dalton to run into my shoulder.
My cock hardens in an instant, throbbing for release.

“What the
fu-” Dalton complains. “Seriously, Daniel?”

“What?”  I innocently murmur
, eyes locked on the scene before me.

“Why her?”
Jealousy makes Dalton sound bitchy. Jealousy means he wants me.

I ignore him for a moment, enjoying the slight curve of Regina’s
muscular back. “It’s not because it’s her,” I only partially lie. “There is something about a back that excites me- an arched back with a guy thrusting deep and hard from behind. It’s erotic as all hell,” I growl as my hand clenches my crotch. My heady moan doesn’t have the desired effect, it only annoys Dalton.

Regina is gorgeous, bent over a padded bench with Marcus riding her back.
Her pale, muscular body gleams with sweat. Her labored breath and mewls of pleasure are the sweetest sounds. I’m proud to be one of the few that has transformed her extraordinarily controlled demeanor into a writhing mass of moans.

My parental issues only run so deep. I’m not a complete perv
ert. Regina, mommy issues aside, has me a heartbeat from shooting in my pants. But Marcus does nothing for me. Objectively, I can look at Marc and know he’s one of the most gorgeous men I’ll ever see. That is, without a doubt, the best ass on the planet. Those corded muscles running up Marc’s thighs… the firm globes of his ass flexing with every thrust… nope, feeling nothing. The only thought I have is that Marcus needs to shift his hips into a sharper angle to give Regina the most pleasure. Looking at Marc is like looking at Jamie or Grandfather or Niel. He’s just another man in my life that I love, and nothing about him will ever flip my switch.

I
eye my boyfriend, trying to get a read on him. Dalton scowls back at me in disgust. He’s unaffected as well. Marcus
is
his sister’s father. The little pucker to Dalton’s lips screams that he’s grossed out watching. His discomfort amuses me to no end.

“They look gorgeous together,” I murmur, tilting my head to the side to get a better angle.

“I don’t want to watch them,” Dalton growls.

“Oh, yeah… why?”
I ask with false innocence.

“I hat
e that she does that to you,” Dalton spits, pointing at the tent I’ve pitched in my pants. Its little camper is frantically beating a drum inside that tent. Its beat is a countdown to a misfire. I shutter my eyes with my lashes, not wanting him to see the depth of my need. I can’t help that my wife drives me insane, even if he hates it.

“Let’s find something more your speed.” I bite the inside of my cheek, choosing which of my friends
we would agree on watching.

I try to avoid Dexter and Syn teaching Katya the art of sadism. Three sadists and one Tobias- no way in hell am I dragging my masochist boy
friend near them… but Dalton has other ideas, and starts to wander in their direction.

“I
just want to watch for a minute,” Dalton says as he strides over. My choice is to either follow or let go of his hand. No choice in that, is there?

“Here?” Katya points at Toby’s pink ass cheeks.
You’d never believe that the man strapped to a St. Andrew’s cross is a recovering drug addict and the most submissive person I’ve ever met. Blond, blue-eyed, and young- he looks like a preppy frat boy who loves gritting his teeth as leather bites into his flesh.

“No,” Sy
n barks out. She’s never had much patience for Katya. I never understood it until now. I bet it has something to do with the fact that Kat’s husbands used to be Syn’s men. Yeah, that sounds about right… Katya is calm and cool-headed. She’s not a chatty, bubbly sort. I always thought Syn and Kat would get along. No such luck- poor Dexter.

“That is perfect,” Dexter praises, ignoring Syn’s penetrating glare. “J
ust a light flick of your wrist,” he says in instructor mode. “We don’t want to leave a mark.”

“Monica’s back,” Syn says as an example of Katya’s inability to judge the strength of her hits.
“Dexter’s back.”

“Syn, shut the fuck up,” Dexter
hisses at his jealous protégée. The bug up Syn’s ass is that Katya gives Dexter what she won’t- a protégée that is willing and eager to spread her legs after a session. It probably makes Syn mad that Kat is selfishly forgetting about her husbands.

The sharp crack of the whip has me flinching, but Tobias doesn’t even react. Dalton… I stare at the side of his face, but he’s too absorbed to notice. His lips are parted on a pant
, deep breaths moving his chest, and his track pants have finally tented. I hate the glazed over look in his eyes- pupils dilated until the irises disappear. Dalton’s pale skin is flushed a lovely aroused pink. I don’t do this for him- I can’t. I don’t have the stomach for violence, and he needs it.

I’m a cerebral Master. I trick the mind
into submitting on all levels. I love the art of bondage, and once bound, I verbally arouse my victim. I worry about our compatibility. We’ve only fucked. This will be the first time I work Dalton. Too bad he’s staring at Syn with eyes filled with pain and longing. Dalton sees Syn’s gift of pain as a salve for the agony that dwells deep inside the recesses of his mind.

“I’m going to nee
d Syn after we’re finished,” Dalton sheepishly mumbles. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Motherfucker!

“Oh, I don’t fucking think so,” I growl, grabbing Dalton’s arm and hauling his ass away. “You can talk to Syn on your own time. Right now is
my
time.”

“Daniel,” he breathlessly whimpers, struggling to free himself as I drag him to the station that appeals to me. “No
… no… no no no no no… noooo,” Dalton panics, flailing around, grabbing onto whatever he can get his hands on.

I ignore Dalton’s
struggles. This is a test of trust and he’s failing miserably. No one pays us any mind. What happens between a master and his switch is their business. We’re all family here; they know I mean Dalton no harm.

“Behave,” I dismiss Dalton’s
poor behavior as I yank him up the dais. “You’re overreacting. I’m not dragging you into hellfire,” I scoff.

I plunk Dalton
into one of the leather chairs in the bondage station I designed. The chair was one of mine from my personal room. A leather wingback chair with rings bolted into the frame to secure a panicking fool. I used to tie Niel into the damn thing as punishment. I snap a cuff around Dalton’s thin wrist and he immediately tests to see if he can escape, dragging the chair with him.

“Nice try,” I laugh
when he gets nowhere. The dumbfounded expression on his face is priceless. “It’s bolted to the floor.”

“
Non!” Dalton’s so incensed that he’s reverted to French. “Je vais vous tuer! Laissez-moi passer!”

“Dalton,” I murmur,
gently running my hands down his small arms to still him. “I’m not letting you go,” I calmly say, trying to hide my amusement.

“
Pourquoi?” Dalton’s eyes are huge green orbs of confusion and fear. His gorgeous lips invitingly quiver. I fear he’d bite me if I tried for a smooch.

Jesus, I jus
t want to roll all over him. Dalton’s creamy cheeks are blushing pink from anger and fear. If he’d just calm down, this could be an enlightening experience for the both of us.

“
You ask why.” I crouch down next to him so we’re eye-level. “You just screamed that you wanted to kill me. I can’t let you go now. I don’t want to die.” My voice is serious, sad, and total bullshit. “Don’t you trust me?” I pout.

“Oui,” Dalton
immediately replies, but his tone is telling. He doesn’t totally trust me. This will never work if he doesn’t.

“I will admit that I overreacted if you do,” I compromise. “I wanted this to be about you and me
, and there you were… trying to hook up with Syn. That was very rude,” I chastise.

“Je m’excuse,”
he mumbles, his expression filled with hope. Dalton thinks if he apologizes I’ll let him go. Dalton’s eyes are glistening with tears and he’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

I’
m being a bastard. I know it. Dalton knows it. Everyone in the dungeon knows it, especially since they stopped their scenes to watch. The benches surrounding the bondage station are filled to capacity. I feel their questioning eyes. They’ve yet to meet the real Dalton. He’s shown them glimpses, but the shuddering boy is the real one. I just hope Devlin gives me enough time to prove my point before he rushes up here and kicks my ass.

“I know you’re upset, but I need you to do something for me. You need to choose. Last night I made a choice, at the Brownstone I made a choice. I asked Regina for a divorce for you, remember? And then I chose a partnership over sex. I chose you both times. Are you following along?”

“Yes,” Dalton answers in English and I smile. The fog of terror is abating.

“Good,” I praise. “You need to choose between me and your fear. You need to trust that I won’t hurt you.”

“I don’t want to be restrained,” Dalton petulantly says, jutting his chin up. Green eyes defiantly stare at me through a fall of midnight black hair.

“Want in one hand, shit in the other,” I smirk. “You need to deal with this, because anything could happen and I don’t want you to freeze. But the real reason I’m doing this is because I want you to prove
that you trust me, so I can trust you. Can you do that for me?” I coax.

“Are you sure you’re not doing this just because it’s w
hat you do. Are you manipulating me again?” Dalton angrily hisses and it gets my hackles up.

“Keep that shit up and I won’t be polite. You walked away fro
m me to ask a woman to beat you. But here you are, worried that I’ll hurt you when you know I don’t do violence. Does this make sense to you? It makes me think you value your fears over your boyfriend. I need you to trust me.”

“I do,” Dalton
growls.

“That wasn’t very convincing, but it’s a start. I’m going to unhook you. I wouldn’t run if I were you,” I warn. “See our audience? The majority have known me since birth. They will drag you
r ass back up here en masse.”

A heartbeat after the cuff is
unclasped, Dalton hops up from the chair as if his ass is on fire. He doesn’t run because we’re completely encircled by the members. Dalton’s smart enough to know he’d get nowhere.

“I promise that I will not bind your limbs
to your body. You will have total mobility. Take a deep breath,” I whisper to Dalton. When he draws in a lungful of air, I join him, and then we exhale together. We breathe together with our eyes locked. I will Dalton to give himself over to me.

My f
ingers teasingly skate under Dalton’s thermal shirt. He shivers for me and sighs, but his panic returns the second I try to lift his shirt.

“No,” Dalton
whimpers.

“Yes,” softly flows from my lips as I remove his shirts.
“Why not?”

“Gee, I don’t kno
w. What do you think, Daniel? Maybe I’m embarrassed by my bony body or the scars or the tattoos. Pick any one and you’d be right,” Dalton snidely snarls.