Though he was purposely being a total jerk, he was right to ask the question. “You’ll use a hand gesture,” she told him. She held up two fingers. “The peace sign. If the caning gets to be too much for you to tolerate, pussy boy, you wave those fingers around and I’ll stop the scene. Meanwhile, open your mouth like a good little sub. I’ve had enough of your bratty behavior.”

  She half expected him to refuse, in which case she was done, job or no job.

  But he opened his mouth, and she saw the first glimmer of sub-shine—a look that said, “Yes. Finally. That’s what I need.”

  She pushed the ball into his open mouth and moved back behind him to buckle it in place. Several people had gathered around them to watch, which she could have done without, but she turned her back on them, doing her best to ignore them. She was a pro now, and she would damn well act like it.

  Taking up the cane, she slowly but steadily increased the intensity of her stroke until she was again drawing lines with the rattan over his ass.

  Jared began to breathe hard through his nose, drool dripping to the mat at his feet. He twitched and jerked with each blow, but she kept careful watch on his hands, which were now balled into fists. He’d said he wanted welts, and she would oblige.

  The onlookers behind her, who had been murmuring quietly to each other, had fallen silent. Jared’s ass was now striped with a crisscross of short and long welts, and he was mewling steadily against his ball gag. Rowan sensed he was nearing his breaking point.

  “I’m going to give you five more, sub boy. You will count for me as best you can through the gag. Got it?”

  “Mmph,” he replied, his head bobbing a yes. Good, he was still with her. He could take more. He needed more.

  She let the cane fly, drawing a darker welt over his reddened skin.

  “Mmph,” he managed, the only sound his depressed tongue would permit him, but Rowan accepted it as a one.

  She struck him four more times, each as hard as the last, her eye always on his fisted hands. Her own skin tingled with sympathy and a dark desire to experience what she was giving him, even though she never could have taken that much—at least not yet.

  Finally, she lowered the cane. She was breathing hard, sweat pricking beneath her arms and on her upper lip.

  “Very, very nice job,” a deep, warm baritone said just behind her.

  Startled, she whirled around, her heart executing a loop-the-loop of joy, even while her brain took a second longer to catch up. “Damon,” she cried breathlessly. “What’re you doing here?”

  How long had he been standing there? He was dressed in black leather pants and an open leather vest, looking every bit the pro Dom. He grinned. “And hi to you, too, Mistress Marlena,” he said with a small laugh. He gave her an appraising look and whistled a low, appreciative whistle. “You almost make me want to submit to you. Holy smokes.”

  Rowan flushed, unable to wipe the broad grin from her face. “Seriously, I had no idea you might be here. How did you even get in?”

  Damon shrugged. “I finished the stakeout early and thought I’d surprise you. I’ve done some demo work for Amanda before, and she’s always extended me an open invitation to these parties, though this is the first one I’ve wanted to attend. I texted her and she was cool with it.”

  He lifted his chin toward Jared. “You might want to let him down?”

  “Oh, right! Oops,” Rowan said with a small laugh. Forcing her attention back to her sub, she unbuckled Jared’s ball gag and pulled the gooey thing away, dropping it to the mat. Then she released the clips that held his cuffs in place on the post.

  Jared stared at her with a glazed look, his mouth still hanging slack.

  Slightly alarmed, she leaned in close to him. “Jared? You okay?”

  His eyes fixed on her, he nodded slowly, a grin moving over his face, though there was no longer any trace of a sneer. “Yes, Mistress Marlena,” he sighed. “Thank you, Mistress,” he added, his tone almost reverent.

  He sank to his knees and lowered his head to the toe of her right boot. As he began to lick it, she looked over his head and grinned at Damon, who grinned back and lifted a thumb of approval.

  Rowan tapped Jared’s head. “That’s enough, boy. Get up and let’s see those welts. Let me put some arnica on them for your aftercare.”

  Jared rose to his feet, his bike shorts still around his thighs. Rowan kept her eyes on his face, ignoring his very obvious erection. He turned, allowing her a good view of his welted bottom.

  She glanced at Damon, who nodded his approval. “Nice job, Mistress Marlena. You must have had a good teacher,” he quipped.

  “The best,” she agreed. She smoothed the cooling gel over the welts and then pulled Jared’s shorts up and over his hips.

  He turned around to face her again. “Same time next Wednesday, Mistress?”

  Rowan managed to suppress her triumphant grin. “Yes, brat,” she said with a toss of her head. “As long as you behave.”

  “Me, next!”

  “No, me. I was here first.”

  Several of the men pushed forward for a turn at the whipping post with Mistress Marlena. She glanced helplessly at Damon. There was nothing she’d rather do more at that moment than leap into his strong arms and kiss his beautiful mouth. But she was on duty until midnight, and apparently this was her default scene station for the night.

  “Sorry,” she mouthed to Damon.

  “Hey, I get it,” Damon replied with a good-natured shrug. “I’ll find Amanda and say hi. And there’re some folks here I know. I’ll just mingle while you cane all those eager sub boys. You’ve definitely got the technique down.”

  He leaned toward her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Moving his head so his mouth was by her ear, he whispered, “When you’re done with them, it’s my turn to use the cane, sub girl.”

  A shiver of raw lust hurtled through Rowan’s body as she watched her sexy lover stride away. It was hard to shift her focus back to the guys waiting for her attention.

  Four of them had lined up in front of her. Jared had slipped away. She recognized Larry, one of her clients from earlier in the week, but the other three were strangers. Or no—they were potential clients, depending on how she did tonight.

  “I’ll decide who I cane first,” she said in her haughty Mistress tone. “All of you, get on your knees, backs straight, hands behind your head so I can see who’s worthy.”

  All four guys dropped at once to the ground, their expectant faces turned toward her.

  She paced slowly in front of them, tapping the cane against her thigh. “As you wait your turn, you will stay on your knees and keep quiet. You may rest your hands on your thighs while you wait. If you want to be caned by Mistress Marlena, you’ll have to bare your back and ass. If that’s a problem, you may leave now.”

  No one moved.

  She tapped Larry on the head with the tip of the cane as she consulted her mental files, hoping she remembered his preferred scene nickname correctly. “I’ll take you first, pain slut.”

  “Yes, Mistress! Thank you, Mistress.” Larry leaped to his feet. He wore only leather cowboy chaps with nothing underneath, so his bottom and back were already bare.

  “Do you want welts, boy?” she asked him as she tethered his wrists to the whipping post.

  “Oh, yes, please. I can take a lot more than that brat you just caned, Ma’am. You can make me bleed.”

  Rowan shook her head, though she kept her smile. “You know better than that, Larry. You’ll take what I give you.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Yes, Mistress.”

  Larry taken care of, she used a disinfectant wipe to clean the cane, and then turned to the other waiting men. “You’re next,” she said, pointing to one, who leaped up with a broad grin.

  One by one, she caned each of the men, welting their bottoms and the backs of their thighs, and receiving their grateful thanks at the end of the scene. It went very well with the first three, and she gained confidence with each mini-session.

  The last guy, Winston, was a tall, big-boned man somewhere in his forties, still muscular but moving toward fat. He had the high color and veiny nose of a heavy drinker. He yelped like a little puppy with each stroke of the cane, but kept asking for more.

  After about ten minutes, Rowan released him from the post. Just as she began to apply soothing salve to his welts, he turned around abruptly, knocking the tube from her hand in the process.

  As she straightened in confusion, he grabbed her breast with one hand while he cupped his crotch with the other. He leaned in close, and she could smell stale whiskey on his breath. “Let’s you and me take a private room, Mistress. That caning was just foreplay to get me in the mood. I’ll slip you an extra hundred to piss on my face, and another five to suck my dick.”

  Shocked, Rowan took an abrupt step back, so his hand fell away from her breast. Her initial impulse was to tell the asshole to fuck off, but she saw Amanda approaching from the corner of her eye, and reminded herself she was the pro here. She forced a smile, though her face felt stiff and her heart was racing.

  “You know better than that, Winston. I think you’re a little confused right now. You can probably find what you’re looking for on the street in Times Square, but not at a Serpent’s Den play party.” She gave him a sharp smack on his welted ass. “Now scoot your butt on out of here. You had your turn.”

  A look of ugly rage twisted his features, but in an instant it was gone, replaced by a smarmy smile. “Lighten up, will ya? I was just joking with you.” Amanda was now beside them. He glanced at her, adding, “Great party, Amanda,” before lumbering away.

  Amanda looked at Rowan, her eyes narrowed. “Everything okay over here? You look upset. Did Winston give you a hard time?”

  “Oh, no, he,” Rowan began, but then she changed her mind. Amanda should know what had just gone down. The guy was a bully dressed in sub clothing. “Well, yes actually.” She told Amanda what had happened.

  Amanda pursed her lips with obvious disapproval. “It’s not the first time Winston has misbehaved. He’s a very successful real estate guy who thinks if he throws enough money around that the rules don’t apply to him. Mistress Ava and Mistress Pain can handle him, but nobody else likes to work with him. I wouldn’t have invited him to the party at all, but we’re involved in some very lucrative real estate deals together, and it’s hard for me to say no.”

  She clapped her hands in that way Rowan was coming to learn meant a topic change. “At any rate, I came over to compliment you on your first play party. Jared has completely changed his tune and can’t stop singing your praises, and I was watching you with some of these sub boys. I’m very pleased.”

  Rowan flushed with pleasure at the praise. “Thank you, Amanda.”

  Amanda leaned closer, a conspiratorial look moving over her face. “I had no idea you and Damon King were acquainted, but I’m guessing from the little he said that you two are more than friends. He asked if you could use one of the private rooms after the party, which is no problem, of course. But I just have to ask, is Master King actually a closet sub?” She trilled a peal of laughter. “How absolutely marvelous.”

  Rowan was saved from answering, because Damon appeared at the moment. “Great party, Amanda. Thanks for letting me crash it.”

  “Not at all, Damon. You know you’re always welcome.” Her eyes flashed with amusement. “I was just saying—”

  All at once, a chime sounded loudly through the wall speakers, startling Rowan and interrupting Amanda midsentence. She turned toward the sound. “How time flies.” She clapped her hands and said in a loud, bright voice to the room at large, “Thank you all so much for coming. Please wrap up your scenes, as the dungeon will be closing in fifteen minutes.” She turned back to Rowan and Damon. “Let’s thank our guests, Mistress Marlena, and then you can take your boy back to a private room.” She winked at Rowan, and then glided gracefully away.

  Damon looked at Rowan, his eyebrows raised. “Your boy?”

  Rowan laughed. “She’s got you pegged, Damon. Your secret’s out.”

  Chapter 11

  October segued into November, and the crisp, blue autumn skies turned to dreary, gunmetal gray. Rowan ducked her head and walked faster as it started to rain, narrowly avoiding an umbrella that opened suddenly above the woman moving quickly alongside her on the busy Manhattan street.

  Jen was already seated at a table in the small Indian restaurant when Rowan entered, pushing her damp hair from her face. The small, narrow space was redolent with the aroma of cumin, curry and jasmine rice, and Rowan’s stomach growled in anticipation of their lunch.

  They both ordered the chicken curry lunch special with raita on the side, along with glasses of spiced iced tea. As they nibbled papadum crackers while waiting for their meal, Jen updated Rowan on her latest fight and makeup with Mike, and held out her wrist to show off the beautiful diamond tennis bracelet he’d given her by way of apology.

  The food arrived, and they were silent for a few minutes as they ate. Setting down her fork, Jen asked, “So what’s the latest with Mr. King? I hardly ever see you anymore in the evenings since you’ve hooked up with that dark, handsome Dom of yours.”

  Rowan felt her cheeks color a little, aware she hadn’t shared with Jen as much as she usually did when she got involved with someone new. In the past, she’d always shared every detail about every guy she ever dated, eager to dissect all aspects of the relationship with her best friend. But what she had with Damon was different. It felt more precious—more special, and not something to be trotted out like a new outfit for examination and scrutiny. He was more than her boyfriend or lover. He was her Master, and the admission of this, even if only to herself, thrilled her to her bones.

  She had come to understand and embrace her deep-seated need for erotic suffering and submission to her masterful lover. She had learned to handle the cane, paddle and single tail with as much grace and joy as the flogger, and took enormous pride in the secret marks and welts hidden beneath her leather and latex outfits at work.

  Each morning before she dressed, Rowan would lie over the end of the bed, her ass bare. She would wait, letting her mind empty, until her Master approached. Damon would mark her in some way—usually just a single stroke with the whip or the cane—to remind her all day of her place as his sensual property. Far from feeling objectified, she adored the symbolic claiming, which reminded her she was cherished and loved.

  Though she was becoming better trained with each passing day, there was still that moment of anticipatory fear just before the cane or lash came down. But a split second after the sudden strike of erotic pain came the almost instantaneous rush of dark, delicious pleasure and pride.

  She would rise and turn to her Master, her ass stinging, her heart soaring, and lift her face to his. He would take her head in his hands and kiss her, and nothing but that moment mattered.

  “You have that goofy face on again,” Jen said accusingly, though she was grinning.

  “What?” Rowan said, yanked from her reverie. “No, I don’t. What face?”

  Jen laughed. “I can always tell when you’re thinking lovey dovey thoughts about him. Your face gets all dreamy and goofy. You’ve got it bad, girl. Admit it. This guy is the one.”

  Rowan grinned and shrugged in capitulation. “Yeah. I think he just might be. That’s crazy, right? We’ve only been together for a few months, but I feel like I’ve known him all my life.”

  “It’s not crazy. It’s super romantic. I’m totally jealous.” Jen stroked the tiny diamonds that circled her wrist. “Mike is a great guy, but sometimes I think we just get off on the conflict and great makeup sex after.”

  Rowan, who had always believed this about the pair, held her tongue.

  Jenny looked up at Rowan, a hopeful expression on her face. “Hey, maybe we just need to spice it up—add a few whips and chains like you and Damon. When are you going to invite Mike and me over for a session in his dungeon? Maybe the two of you can give us a demo in how it’s done. Though I can’t imagine submitting to Mike about anything.” She laughed. “Maybe I could be the Mistress and he could be the sub boy.”

  Rowan grinned, trying to imagine Jen’s six-four, two hundred fifty pound boyfriend on his knees before diminutive Jen. But hey, why not? “You never know,” she teased back. “Maybe it’s exactly what he needs.”

  The busboy cleared away their plates, the waitress right behind him with their dessert. She set the small bowls of kheer in front of them, Rowan’s favorite part of the meal. As she tucked into the creamy, flavorful rice pudding, Jen said, “So, you haven’t said anything lately about the crazy sessions with your clients. How’s all that going, anyway? Think you’ll make this a permanent career change?”

  Rowan frowned. “It’s funny you ask that, because I’ve really started thinking about it lately. I know it’s a great gig, and I’m making good money. I actually paid off all my credit cards for the first time in my life, and I’m even starting to save a little bit. I have all the clients I can handle, and then some, but it’s”—she paused, trying to think how to phrase it—“it’s work, you know?”

  “Well, duh,” Jen retorted. “That’s why you get paid for it.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s just—well, remember when I first started at W&N? I was so excited. Every day was like this incredible rollercoaster challenge. I could spend twelve hours at work and barely notice. Even when things started to get sucky when Mr. Franklin took over, I still loved the actual job itself. It was, I don’t know, this probably sounds corny, but it was my calling.” Tears of frustration filled her eyes at the thought she’d never have that chance again. She blinked them away and tried to smile. “I know I sound ungrateful. This job at Serpent’s Den was a godsend. I never would have called Ben if it hadn’t been for you.”

  Jen put her hand comfortingly on Rowan’s arm. “And you met Damon King. You never would’ve met him if you’d stayed at W&N.”

  Rowan smiled. “You’re right about that.”

 

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