The Darker Side of Pleasure (21 page)

Cassandra was made to kneel on the floor of the car next to Mistress Delphine’s boy, while she and Master Robert talked quietly among themselves. She didn’t even try to listen. Her body thrummed with excitement as she wondered what might happen tonight. If Marcus would be there. A surge of panic moved through her when she realized he might not be. She took in deep, gulping breaths, trying to calm herself. She was wet with anticipation already.

The ride seemed brief, she’d been so caught up in her own thoughts. The door of the car opened and cool night air rushed in, bringing her out of her daze.

“Come, sit up, Cassandra.”

Master Robert’s hands on her waist, then Mistress Delphine’s slave boy was helping her to step from the car. Cold pavement beneath her bare feet. She had a quick impression of a very large house—it could only be called a mansion, something of this size—with a wide, sweeping staircase punctuated by white columns. She didn’t dare look up to see more, just followed the guiding hands at her waist to the top of the stairs.

There Master Robert told her, “On your knees now, yes, you know how this is done.”

She sank down behind him instantly, suddenly very much aware of the collar around her neck, Mistress Delphine’s slave boy beside her. The air here was different, less moist, and there was no smell of ocean in it. Here it was all new-cut grass and that unique scent of old mortar, like the sidewalks of her childhood in Connecticut after a summer rain.

She dared to glance up for a moment as two uniformed servants opened a pair of heavy doors. She followed Master Robert’s feet inside, onto a white marble floor. Then his hand on the back of her neck, just that familiar bit of pressure.

“You may look up now, Cassandra. I want you to see this place. To see the grandeur of it. To see the fantasy we are about to walk into.”

She did as he asked. They appeared to be in some sort of anteroom. Another pair of enormous doors were in front of them, and these doors were flanked on either side by what she at first took to be statues. But after a moment she realized these were people, slaves like herself. Well, perhaps more so. There was a man on one side, a woman on the other, each in a tall niche. And they were entirely naked, except for the heavy, gleaming chrome manacles at their wrists and ankles and a fine silvery-white powder all over their skin. They were chained to bolts in the niches with arms and legs spread wide. Both of them had their heads bowed. She wanted to see their faces, they were so beautiful in their silent poses. In their stillness. Just like the statues she and Marcus had talked about. For some reason she couldn’t explain, tears stung her eyes.

And just as suddenly, fear pierced her heart. What kind of place was this? What would happen to her here? She could not be chained to a wall and left all night, as these two had been! Too awful, to be objectified to the point of being a part of the architecture.

But isn’t that exactly what you wanted?

No. Well, perhaps, but not to this extent. No, she had never, ever imagined anything like this.

But wasn’t that the attraction of it all? The mystery that both terrified and intrigued her. And confused her. She hardly knew what to think.

She glanced out of the corner of her eye and focused her gaze on Master Robert’s black wool pant leg. He would take care of everything, she silently reminded herself. She wouldn’t have to think.

Her neck muscles loosened and she pulled in a deep breath.

The pair of heavy, white-painted doors between the lovely, bound slaves were pulled back and Master Robert’s hand on her neck told her to crawl through them, to the other side. A brief moment of panic shook her, then she went through, eyes focused on her Master’s Italian loafers.

Sound surrounded her, infused her senses. People talking, laughing. The tinkle of ice in glasses, the scent of expensive perfume. Exactly like a cocktail party, except for the occasional moan or the lash of a whip. The contrast was almost shocking, the formal setting and the sounds and the knowledge of what was happening here. She didn’t really want to look up, to see it all, yet she couldn’t help herself.

Her jaw almost dropped as she tried to take it all in. The place was indeed the mansion it had appeared to be from the outside. The ceilings were vaulted, so high she couldn’t lift her chin enough to see where they ended. The room they were in was some sort of ballroom, or grand salon: enormous, surrounded by tall windows on either side draped in heavy gold brocade, closed against the night. The rows of windows were punctuated here and there by large paintings, gorgeously depicted erotic pieces done in a classical style. She had never before seen oil paintings of this quality showing this sort of subject matter.

But the people in the room were even more interesting.

Everywhere she turned were gorgeously dressed Doms and Dommes, many in leather, mostly in black, as the dominants so often were, but some of the women in particular were dressed in beautiful evening gowns in brilliant jewel tones. Many had whips and floggers and other implements of torture in their hands or hanging from their belts. And everywhere, naked and collared slaves followed them about on hands and knees, some on their knees with hands bound behind their backs. The slaves were so beautiful, all of them. Or perhaps they only appeared to be. The state of their submission was beautiful to her in itself. Beautiful and shocking, to see so many gathered in one place.

And she was one of them.

Oh, yes; she was hardly a simple spectator here.

Pressure on the back of her neck again and she realized she had stopped in the middle of the floor to gawk. She followed Master Robert’s feet to a corner of the room, where he and Mistress Delphine settled on a long, low couch done in deep red velvet.

“Kneel here, at my feet, Cassandra.”

She did so, wishing she could lean into his leg, wanting the reassuring warmth of him against her skin. But she knew better.

A naked young girl approached and took drink orders from the Masters. They seemed content to sit and talk among themselves for the moment, and she used the opportunity to look more at this strange and exotic place Master Robert had taken her to.

She let her gaze wander past the crowd, to the darker corners of the room, and saw finally the equipment placed at intervals here and there. Padded spanking benches of different designs were scattered among the large St. Andrew’s crosses she had seen in books: tall X’s made of wood with eye hooks to which a submissive might be bound at wrists and ankles. Several already were, splayed out for their Masters to torture.

In one area was gathered a group of slaves, all kneeling on the floor and wearing the most unusual masks. Some were in the form of horses, some were the faces of dogs. The masks, which came over the slaves’ heads like hoods, were somewhat primitive and gilded in gold paint, like the masks common during the Renaissance in Venice. Those who wore the dog masks were all collared and leashed. One was being made to drink from a bowl on the floor while the Masters looked on, laughing and pinching the puppy-boy, prodding him with the tip of their crops. He had an absolutely bursting erection.

One horse-masked slave girl was hoisted onto a long wooden table, which was intricately carved and more heavily gilded than the masks. A large man held her head while a woman fit a bit into her exposed mouth and covered the mask with a leather bridle. The man settled a small pony saddle on the girl’s back, buckled it around her waist.

Cassandra shivered, half in excitement, half in dread. Would this humiliation be forced on her? She didn’t think she could bear it. Yet at the same time, her sex grew inexplicably damp. She liked to watch these others endure this torture.

Master Robert leaned down and whispered into her ear, “I see you looking at the pony girl. Perhaps we should fit you with a saddle, a bit. And of course with a tail.”

Her eyes went immediately to the rounded buttocks of the girl wearing the saddle. A long tail of horsehair protruded from between her smooth cheeks. She understood instantly how the tail was mounted there. She trembled all over.

Master Robert put a hand on the back of her neck, calming her, even as he chuckled softly at her obvious discomfort. “Don’t worry, girl, I have other plans for you tonight. Come, follow me.” Then, turning to Mistress Delphine, he said, “I’ll see you later in the evening. Enjoy.”

He snapped his fingers and again Cassandra kept her eyes on his feet as he moved across the room. Where would he take her now? What other evil scenarios had this group of sophisticated sadists thought up? But even as she had the thought, she felt that soft, slippery sensation of her mind moving out of focus. Or not out of focus so much as very focused on whatever was most immediate, yet blurry around the edges. At this moment, the only things that mattered, really, were following Master Robert’s feet, obeying him, pleasing him. And of course the question of whether Marcus would be here tonight, of how long she would have to wait to see him. And even as she crawled across the floor, had these thoughts, she understood on some deep level that simply being in this place was doing incredible things to her head.

Over the marble floor and down a long hallway, her knees moved quickly across a series of Persian rugs. She didn’t dare look even to the side. She didn’t need to know what was there, other than whatever Master Robert chose to show her.

Finally he guided her to the right and through a doorway.

“Up, Cassandra.”

She lifted her head, taking in the room. Still large, although nothing like the scale of the grand salon they had just left, it was dimly lit by enormous, ornate chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. But she could see more tall, brocade-draped windows. The only other thing in the room was an enormous structure made of heavily carved and gilded wood. It was a beautifully made frame with complicated crossbars and posts, perhaps seven or eight feet high. Golden hooks protruded here and there and lengths of silky golden cord were strung between posts, in places in a complicated, weblike manner. Some of the bars at waist height were padded and covered in a deep black velvet. At one end was what appeared to be a long table, done in the same black velvet.

And standing in the middle of this elegant and wicked structure was her dark stranger, a stranger no more.

Marcus.

CHAPTER SEVEN

H
E WAS DRESSED IN BLACK LEATHER PANTS, A
white shirt with billowing sleeves, heavy black boots; what Cassandra thought of as classic BDSM pirate drag. One arm was held overhead, gripping a crossbar. The other held a long riding crop, which he was tapping in a slow rhythm against his leg.

Her mouth went dry, her sex went wet, and she was filled with longing, confusion, and a stab of lust so strong she knew if she’d been standing she would have fallen to the floor.

The big, black boots in particular really did something to her. She wanted to kiss them, to touch them. They were commanding in and of themselves, those boots. She looked up, into his face, even though she knew better. He was smiling just a little. His teeth were gorgeous, white and strong. His mouth was pure sex, lush and pink yet thoroughly masculine. His eyes were perfectly dark. She looked away, casting her gaze to the floor.

“Good evening, Marcus.” Master Robert’s voice appeared to boom out across the nearly empty room.

“Good evening, Uncle.”

God, his voice was dark and smooth, like honey, like smoke over molasses. The tone of it made her nipples go hard.

She would die if he didn’t touch her tonight. If all he did was watch as Master Robert played her.

“Delivery, as promised.”

“Thank you, Uncle.”

It was said too quickly for her to think about what those words meant. Movement in the room, then those big, black boots right in front of her. A hand under her chin—oh, God,
his
hand!—forcing her gaze upward, until she couldn’t help but look into those bottomless eyes. His gaze was steady, concentrated.

“Tonight, Cassandra, you are mine to do with as I wish. Are you ready?”

She opened her mouth to answer. Nothing came out.

He slapped her lips with his fingertips. It didn’t hurt much; it was just hard enough to wake her up. And just enough to make her insides go soft and molten, that little hurting tap of his fingers and his commanding intent.

Where had the man gone who had spoken to her so civilly on the phone? But it didn’t matter, really. She knew that was a part of him, and so was this commanding Dominant. It was the combination that had drawn her in completely, that made her heart surge as much as her sex.