Second Time Lucky (Club Decadence Book 5) (23 page)

“It’s a recon mission, Mara. The risk is minimal. We stake out our target, gather information, take a few pictures, then I’m home safe and sound. Three days tops.”

“Promise?”

“I can’t predict the future, only promise that it’s a low risk mission and no cause for worry.” His eyes ran over her face, searching. “You’re sure there’s nothing you need to talk to me about?”

She wanted to, so badly, but if he saw those pictures, or worse, a video—she couldn’t risk it. She had to get the evidence and destroy it. If he found out she’d been lying to him all this time—it was unthinkable.

Ignoring the nagging seed of doubt in the back of her mind, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Making matters worse, she piled on another lie. “I’m sure, Sean. I better go before I get fired.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She huffed a little laugh, going to the chair to pick up her tote bag. “Go to the club and make sure everyone behaves. I’ll be home before you get back.”

“I’d rather you were with me, Mara, especially since I head out in the morning.”

“This is a one-time favor for a friend and the only time I’ve missed going with you since Decadence opened. Go hang with your friends.”

“Mm… hang is an interesting choice of words. Jonas installed suspension equipment in one of the theme rooms upstairs. That’s something we haven’t tried.” He hugged her close, his hands on her behind. “I’d like to immobilize you with rope, suspend you upside down, and fuck you until you’re screaming for mercy. How does that sound?”

“Like a head rush, but I’m game.”

“My sweet little sub, you know I wasn’t asking permission.”

“No, Master, you don’t need it. You always make sure I’m safe, not to mention leaving me feeling cherished and well satisfied with all of your kinky games.”

“Damn straight.” He swatted her ass lightly. “Okay, if you must go, then you better hop to it. Call me if you’re going to be late and make sure you walk with someone to your car when you leave. There has been an increase in criminal activity around the medical district lately.”

“Really, like what?” Her thoughts automatically went to Victor.

“Drugs mostly. I don’t want some junkie jumping you for drug money, so do as I say.”

“I learned my lesson in D.C. I’ll be careful and have an escort.”

“Good, because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chapter Fifteen

Standing before the full-length mirror, her upper lip curled in distaste. She felt as cheap as the image reflecting back at her. Not that she hadn’t worn leather fetish wear before, this however, was poor quality and black. Sean preferred pink or white and if he dressed her in leather, he added lace or rhinestones, feathers or faux fur somewhere, something feminine. This was harsh, severe, especially with the garish red wig cut blunt at the shoulders and into straight bangs. At least the bustier covered her breasts though the high cut back left her ass bare.

The outfit was all Victor’s doing, including the boots. The most Domme looking above the knee, lace up, chrome spike heeled, platform style boots she’d ever seen. Usually she was barefoot, a requirement for subs in the play areas at Decadence, she supposed if she fell and broke her neck on the 5 ½ inch finger bone heels, her suffering would be at an end and this blackmail nightmare would be over.

Perusing her get up disdainfully in the mirror, she homed in on her exposed pussy, defiance rose within her. She’d go along with his sick and twisted money making scheme this one time because she had no choice, but she wouldn’t do it with her pussy hanging out. To hell with what Victor, the bastard had to say about it.

Digging through her packed to the gills tote, she searched through the odds and ends until she found what she had stuffed in at the last minute. As an afterthought, really, and thank god she had. Like a goofy audience member on
Let’s Make a Deal
, she’d come prepared for almost every possibility. As proof, she pulled out a spare pair of black bikini panties.

Mara had no sooner tugged them into place before Victor barged in, without knocking. She spun to face him.

“Mm…
muy sexy
,” he said with a leering grin as he eyed her up and down. It swiftly morphed into a frown. “What’s with the panties? I didn’t give you those.”

“How many BDSM clubs have you been to?”

“A few, in D.C.”

“How many Dommes did you see walking around with their pussy on display outside a scene?” She raised a brow as he paused, obviously going through his catalog of kinky memories. “Exactly. You extorted me into this because I’m experienced. Subs go bare, Dommes do not unless they so choose. I choose not.”

Grabbing the “to do” list Victor had given her for the upcoming scene; she went over it once more. “There is nothing on this list that requires me to be bare. Your pervy client wants a ménage with a Domme and a docile female sub. I’ll give him what he asked for, nothing more and when we’re done, you give me the pictures. That’s our deal.”

“You have changed. I thought this role might be a stretch, but you’re a natural, or else you’ve become a very good actress. Are you sure you’re not the Dominatrix to your soldier boy? Maybe the panties are to hide your
cajones
because
you seemed to have grown a pair.”

He laughed at his own joke. It was so Victor.

“You disgust me. Can we get on with this before I lose my lunch? I’m barely controlling myself in your presence as it is.” She turned toward the mirror taking up the bright red lipstick Victor’s client requested. As she leaned in to apply a dramatic layer, he put his hand to her head and yanked, shocked when he came up with a handful of fake red hair. Mara wanted to laugh, yet managed to keep it at smirk. She regretted it the next second when he grabbed hold of her bun and jerked her head back brutally.

“I’m not liking this attitude,
puta
. I’m the one in charge here.”

She hissed at the pain in her scalp. “You get 20 percent up front and the rest after the scene is complete. How much will you get if your Domme doesn’t show up,
bastardo
?”

His hand twisted, making her eyes water. “You’d risk hubby finding out?”

“You’d risk your 10G’s?”

He scowled down at her for a long moment, then released her. “Touché. Besides, it’s twenty grand. The female sub is a client too.”

Her hands flew to her head and massaged her burning scalp. “Let me see the envelope before we start.”

“Aw,” his amusement restored, he also turned goading. “You don’t trust me to hold up my end of the bargain? I’m crushed,
hermosa
?”

“Aren’t you the one who taught me never to trust a man with a penis?” With an arched brow, her gaze slid to his crotch. “Is there something you want to tell me, Victor?”

“Bitch,” he spat.

“Simply preparing for my role.” Knowing she was pushing him, she held out her hand, hoping it wouldn’t tremble.

He scowled at her as he reached inside his breast pocket and placed the envelope in her outstretched palm.

She rifled through the stack of prints, negatives and the numerous old Polaroids. Thank the good Lord they weren’t current, or digital.

“How do I know they’re all here?”

“They aren’t.” He held up one more print. It featured her in a plain white schoolgirl skirt and knee socks. Her ass was bare as she rode a customer. His hands gripped her cheeks beneath the rucked up plaid skirt she wore and she could see… She jerked her gaze away, too late. The graphic image already imprinted on her brain. Her hair was in braids and brown like it was now. As she worked to get the customer off quickly—always her goal back then—her mouth was open and she was gasping for air no doubt. Unfortunately, in profile, it made her appear as if she was enjoying herself. Mara knew that wasn’t the case, she had never enjoyed any of it, not once in the three years she’d whored for Victor, but it was more damning evidence against her.

“You get this one after the John is satisfied and pays up, Mistress Tamara.”

Glaring at him, she walked to the bathroom where she’d left a book of matches. Setting a corner of the envelope on fire, she dropped it in the sink. As the celluloid melted and the photos turned to ash, she questioned her sanity. She should tell Victor to go fuck himself, plain as that and come clean with Sean. In a vision, she saw him understanding and defending her, then beating Victor’s ass for good measure.

Shaking herself mentally, she let the happy delusion fade. When had anything turned out in her favor? She couldn’t afford to be distracted by her conscience or a Pollyanna attitude. Besides, she’d been over it from all angles, side-to-side, top and bottom, inside and out. She’d been able to think of nothing else 24/7 for the past week. Every time she added it up, she came up with the same crappy answer. Give Victor what he wants and pray he goes away.

The wise sage in her head practically screamed at her to reconsider. She ignored it. She couldn’t tell Sean. As sure as she knew this was a rotten idea, she knew that telling him would be worse. She couldn’t bear to see the disgust on his beloved face when he realized who and what she really was, that a long line of nameless men had come before him. When the pictures were nothing more than a pile of residue in the sink, she turned to face Victor, signaling that she was ready.

* * * * *

“Please, Mistress, let me pleasure you with my tongue.”

“Silence!” She sent the lash flicking against his bare ass once more as he continued to pump into the writhing moaning woman bent over in front of him, her wrists bound to her ankles which were held wide, at least two feet apart by the spreader bar locked between them. “Your begging is becoming tiresome.”

Mara’s voice cut through his words like a knife. She figured the only way to get through this scene was to channel Mistress Anne, the toughest, sternest, most sought after Domme at Club Decadence. She had observed her often and employed her techniques tonight, repeating her phrases and mimicking the cadence as she acted out this scene.

Twice more she let the leather tawse fly, grimacing at the stripes it left on his ass. Having never been other than a receiver, she was tentative at first using his moans and sighs as a barometer to gauge the intensity. Pain and welts were what he’d requested. That the marks were by her hand made her rather sick, but who was she to judge his kink.

While she whipped him, she mentally checked off the agenda for the scene. Oral, check. Orgasm delay, check. Just when John (She didn’t know his name and didn’t want to. He was paying for sex like a John, so John he would be) seemed ready to come, she called a stop to it. Doggy style with restraints, a crop and a strap; three boxes checked.

It had come to her as she dressed. She was in control and as such could be the director, guiding John and his sub like actors in a play, making them perform all the sexual acts. If that was all she did, her mind could rationalize that she hadn’t cheated. She was fooling herself, but she had to come up with something or she’d lose it there on the spot.

“Mistress, please,” John called to her, “I’m going to come.”

“Don’t you dare. There is much left to be done before you’ve earned your pleasure.”

“Can I taste you, Mistress? I’ve been craving the taste of your pussy on my tongue.”

Impatiently, she flicked the lash across the man’s thighs. “Topping from the bottom will get you no rewards, slave boy.”

This she’d borrowed directly from Sean—except the slave boy part. Never would he have allowed such behavior from her. Still, pussy licking was on his to do list. Her eyes shifted to the sub, Shelby, who’d been in a difficult position far too long. She felt for the woman, knowing firsthand how uncomfortable extreme positions could be after a while.

“Release your girl and tie her to the bed. Spread eagle on her back.”

Obediently, they followed her commands. When Shelby was locked in four point restraints, Mara ordered John to crawl between her legs.

“You want to taste my pussy? You haven’t earned that gift. Show me what you’re worth, slave boy. Eat that cunt like a starving man. Make her scream, while I take great satisfaction in whipping your ass and balls.” She shuddered in revulsion yet checked off another requirement on his list—verbal humiliation.

The scene had dragged on for nearly two hours—John had quite an extensive list—and as she flicked the tawse across his ass while he went down on the sub, she reviewed what had yet to be done. They were doozies. Taking a strap-on in the mouth and up the ass at the pleasure of his Mistress—yeah, he’d actually written it that way—and the
coup de gras
, coming down his sub’s throat.

Damn! Whipping him was one thing, directing him to fuck another woman was another, but actually cramming the ten-inch cock down his throat or up his ass… She glared down at the fake dick bouncing heavily in front of her pelvis. As part of her Domme gear, she’d had it on since she entered the room. Until now, it had been for show. As the time approached to use it in the scene, it seemed more of a betrayal than anything did so far. Even without her girl parts being directly involved, this was too much like sex and she couldn’t bring herself to go there—ever.

Think Mara, think. How can you give him what he wants without actually doing it? She reviewed John’s requests in her mind lingering over “at the pleasure of his Mistress.” He hadn’t specified to be taken
by
his Mistress, merely
at
her pleasure. Semantics, sure, but she was running with it.

She paused to study the man. Fifty, by her guess and in decent shape, he’d been put through the ringer in the past one hundred plus minutes and was a bit winded and sweating considerably. She hadn’t let him come yet, so it was either from straining to maintain control or he was ready to give out. She had an idea.

“Are you ready to come for your Mistress, slave?”

“Fuck yes!”

His high-pitched cries sounded a bit like a squealing pig. If this weren’t so twisted, Mara would have laughed. Instead, she cracked the tawse across the cheeks of his red, rippling ass. He groaned at the pleasure-pain. He must have lunged forward because Shelby squealed in a good imitation of John behind her red ball gag.