Cassiel, page 13
Tristan gives a curt nod but says nothing.
Aleah squeezes my hand, rises, and starts pacing, the globes of her firm ass moving seductively under the tight fabric covering them.
“From what I can gather, the house and grounds are lending me their power while I figure out mine. I have no idea what my powers are, and I have to discover them according to the prophecy. What I do know is that the angel of death, Nye, and now Queen Hera all say I’ve been in training for this role most of my life. Queen Hera reminded me of something just before she left that leads me to believe my powers have something to do with empathy and vulnerability,” she says.
As if on cue, Raphael chooses that moment to drift in and refresh her wine. “Perhaps Domina’s mates can lend some insight into your strengths. Sometimes loved ones see things in us we don’t see ourselves.”
Cass bristles, and Aleah throws him a warning glance. “Good point, Raphael. What is my superpower?”
“Command Brain, without a doubt,” I say.
“Babe, that’s not a superpower,” Aleah says. “I don’t think the ability to lean into uncomfortable conversations is a superpower.”
“I beg to differ.” Raphael’s tone is respectful, but there’s more to this caretaker than meets the eye. “Supreme Voice often referred to as Absolute Command, is one of the absolute divine powers.”
“So, if I have this power, what can I do?” Aleah’s in full skeptic mode now.
“If you have the divine power, you can use your voice to command and create anything and everything. Divine users can manifest their voice anywhere. Lesser users may be restricted to commanding their creations or living things. The strength of your power will be evidence of your divinity,” Raphael says.
“I don’t think so,” Aleah says. Tiny pulses of power travel through our connection as she paces. A wicked grin transforms her face. “I’ll prove it to you.” She turns and wiggles her index finger in the general direction of my crotch. “Tickle Troy’s balls.”
I have trouble repressing my reaction as a tingling sensation starts deep in my balls. It’s weak, but it’s definitely there. Godsdamn. I grab Aleah’s wrist. “Seriously, beauty? You choose tickling my balls for your first magical act?”
Aleah grins. “What were you expecting? Let me guess, that I’d solve world hunger or something equally lofty, right?” She gives me an exaggerated eye roll. “I think I’ll perfect my skill, first.”
She turns in Cass’s direction. “Cass, get a hard-on for me.” She stares at Cass’s crotch as the pulse of power leaves her.
Cass blocks it just in time, but not before I feel the twitch of his cock.
“Feel anything?”
“Not a thing.”
Cass’s blasé tone doesn’t fool me for a second. “Liar.”
“Fuck off.” From Cass.
Aleah turns to Tristan and does the finger thing. My beauty watches too many epic fantasy shows. “Tristan, please forgive me.”
This time, I feel the pulse of her power on an emotional level. Our connection tells me that Tristan feels her power to a lesser degree, probably because his wall is up, but I feel him push back.
“Whatever it is you’re trying to do isn’t working,” Tristan says.
She turns to Raphael. “Told you.”
“Perhaps we should keep trying,” the old man suggests. “Try thinking the words instead of speaking them.”
She turns to me. “Your turn.”
I stand and cross to her before she can react. “Grab your stuff. It’s time to go. You’ve got work to do.”
Raphael steps forward with a small vial. He pulls a cork from the top and hands the bottle to Aleah. “Drink this. It will cover random or inadvertent bursts of magic. However, any sustained bursts of power will break through the protection from this spell.”
Aleah takes a whiff of the bottle, wrinkles her nose, then downs the contents. “Ahhh. That stuff’s vile.”
She grabs her wine and downs it while Raphael hands each of us a pandemic mask. “You’ll need these to blend in with the natives.”
Although she halts the habitual action of pushing her glasses in place, it’s not before I see the tell. She’s nervous, excited, and ready to get this show on the road. She gives me a warm smile and lets her small hand drop to my forearm for several long, comforting moments. We take a moment. Then, I slap her ass, open a portal and step into the lobby of the Acquired Taste club.
21
TRISTAN
As soon as we all assemble in a dark corner of the sex club parking lot and shake off the transition, Cass says, “Listen up. Here’s the plan.”
“Oh no you don’t, Cass. This is my party, and I’ll do what I want. I’m gathering material for my article, and I need to be free to roam where the spirit takes me. Besides, that dreadful potion that Raphael gave me will cloak any bursts of magic that might break free from me, right?” Ali turns toward the club as if the subject is closed. The beginnings of an apoplectic fit rumble in Cass’s core. A little surprising since he claims to be immune to her. It appears Ali’s giving him grief too.
Cass turns to Troy. “Do something about this, would you? We’re walking into a potentially dangerous situation that calls for a defensive strategy. We need to—”
“We’ll be fine, Cass,” Troy cuts in. “We’ve already done reconnaissance, and we know the layout. I’m with Aleah on this one. I’ll be close, and you two will sense if anything’s wrong. Go enjoy yourself.”
Cass glowers at Troy, but there’s not much he can say. Troy is tough to argue with when he gets logical, and it seems that Ali swims in the same analysis loving pool. Cass would be no match for both of them.
“You make it sound as if we’re free to go play,” Cass says.
“Sure. Why not? What’s stopping you?” Troy sounds curious, as if trying to figure out a formula that doesn’t make sense. Troy can sense that Cass and I are disturbed. The longer he connects with us again after the twenty-five-year absence, the stronger the signal gets, but for now, it’s vague. From Troy’s perspective, Cass is a free agent. Hell, Troy probably thinks we both are. Fundamentally, Troy believes that people should do what they genuinely wish as long as it doesn’t hurt someone else. Comically, he struggles with the same perspective when it comes to Ali, despite his protests. But whatever’s going on with Cass is too entertaining for me to give that much thought now. And it’s a terrific distraction from thinking about my situation with Ali. There’s not much Cass can say in response to Troy’s question unless he wants these two to help him examine his feelings. Something we’re not very good at. We’re great at figuring out what other people are feeling; that’s our job. We hate looking at ourselves. That’s too much hard work.
Ali steps forward, concern written all over her lovely face. Too late. “What’s upsetting you so much?” she asks Cass.
Cass’s expression turns a shade darker. “Not a fucking thing. If you two figure you’ve got things under control, who am I to stop you? Let’s go, Tristan.” Cass stalks off in the direction of the club. I glance at Troy. Ali steps forward as if to touch me, and I step away, following Cass. I’m too vulnerable to let her touch me. Being near her tears at something inside me, and I’ve learned to protect myself from that kind of hurt. Block the pain.
I take out my phone, thankful for the strong signal. After sending the article to Daisy, I scroll through several text messages, most of them from her. I’ll have to connect with her in person very soon or jeopardize our working relationship, and I don’t want that whatever this new situation.
After we get through the entrance screening by presenting the confirmation numbers Ali got from her magazine, we sign the required rules and confidentiality forms. Cass stalks into the venue and leads me to the main play area. Troy and Ali follow a few minutes later, and I’m acutely aware of her presence. They stop just inside the entrance and look around the room, heads bent together, whispering. Troy is happy and at peace for the first time since our carefree childhood before losing our parents in the great war. Something fundamental within him has changed due to Ali’s love and care during our separation. I wrestle with a twinge of some emotion I can’t identify—jealousy? Envy? Longing? I turn off that tap. I don’t want to face what this awareness might reveal.
Impact play stations line the walls of the large room with the requisite fifteen feet between each station to allow room for onlookers. The roped-off stations include several spanking benches, three St. Andrew’s crosses, suspension rigs, raised circular tables with revolving tops. Two stations hold nothing but rubber mats. Once a scene is in play, patrons aren’t allowed inside the ropes.
Several patrons line up in front of a woman dressed in Goth garb and wearing a mask adorned with a large lipstick-lined open mouth sucking a cock. She sits at a table near the entrance with a large flip chart beside her where she records names on an appointment sheet marked off in forty-five-minute increments. Until play begins, we’re free to wander and check out the equipment as long as we didn’t touch anything without permission. Troy and Cass’s reconnaissance allows Troy to act as a tour guide, and he points out a few of the stations. Ali asks a few questions before approaching the scene sign-up monitor. After a minute or so of animated conversation, she nods and moves away.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t completely shut down the sense of her presence. I can’t stop comparing her to the women swarming this club despite the pandemic. As usual, many patrons, males and females alike, eye me up and down, assessing how to get a piece of this tasty morsel. Not one of them raises even a remote flicker of interest from my libido, and I ignore the looks.
I follow Cass around as he checks out the stations, uncharacteristically undecided about where he wants to start tonight’s play. After several minutes of trying to convince myself I’m not interested in what Ali’s doing, I realize I’m going about this all wrong. Ali had stomped on my heart in a way I hadn’t expected. We’d shared that moment when I’d lain my soul bare in a way I hadn’t done with another being, not even my brothers. I’d trusted her with my deepest secret, and she’d betrayed my trust.
Maybe Cass is right. Maybe she’s here with some ulterior motive. If that’s the case, then I’d be better to stay close and try to figure out what she’s up to. Ignoring that annoying voice inside me that’s jumping up and down, waving red flags about what possible motive Ali might have, I make my way over to the spanking bench. Ali is having an animated discussion with a Domme while pointing to the purple-assed sub strapped to the bench. As I edge closer, I hear her say, “I’m researching for a series of articles on the lifestyle. May I ask your sub a couple of questions?”
The Domme nods while she rubs and squeezes her sub’s ass. Ali moves to the head of the bench and crouches down beside the sub, a large woman with tears running down her face. “May I ask you about your experience?” Ali’s voice is low, respectful, and she’s sexy as hell as her ass cheeks push out of that damned jumpsuit. I’d have much preferred her wearing those sweats she’s so fond of, although pretty much anything she wears is a distraction. Stop wanting her!
The sub turns her head and waits for her Domme’s nod of approval before looking back at Ali and nodding.
“Do you like pain?” Ali asks. Talk about cutting to the chase. Both the Domme and sub seem surprised by the blunt question. Ali, like any good interviewer, watches her closely and waits for her answer. Troy wanders around the space looking at the display of spanking implements, but I can’t take my eyes off Ali.
The sub shakes her head in response to Ali’s question. Ali cocks her head for a moment, then asks, “Why do you like being spanked?”
“It pleases my mistress,” the sub replies. “She knows what’s best for me.”
I don’t need our connection to know what’s going on in Ali’s head as the sub makes this pronouncement. I’ve known her long enough to know that she doesn’t understand why someone would want to give away control. She isn’t judging. The concept is so far from her values, and she struggles to get her head around it. After a few moments, she thanks the sub and moves on. After questioning a few patrons setting up impact stations, we approach a group that’s gathered waiting for a scene to start. There’s a low buzz of gossip, and a weird vibe comes from the men with the frequent mention of someone called BallBurn. I follow Ali and Troy as she works her way into the crowd. She stops in front of a large man with massive forearms crossed over an equally massive chest.
“Hi. Remember me? We met at…” Ali waves her hands in the air, careful not to mention any names. The man unfolds those arms, biceps popping all over the place as he lifts her into the air.
“Of course I remember you, sweetheart. Good to see you. I was wondering if we’d cross paths again. Are you here to play tonight? I’d love to spank that ass of yours.” The man continues to hold her about a foot off the ground. It’s evident as they talk that they’ve only met once before at an event in Canada when she researched submissives. Troy looks on in amusement as he watches her. I sidle up beside him as Ali gets the guy named Art to put her down and asks him to explain the upcoming scene with this BallBurn—a masochist who gets off on challenging women to kick him in the balls. Not my kink and mild compared to what I’ve seen as a sex angel, but Ali is fascinated by what would motivate a man “to invite pain men describe as horrific” solicits opinions from Art and his buddies.
“Does she accost people like this often?” I ask.
“All the time,” Troy says. “You’ll get used to it. She’s got an inquiring brain. You haven’t lived until you’ve witnessed her cougar attacks. She randomly picks hunks and talks to them about whether they realize they could be a model for GQ Magazine or a hero in a romance novel. Their stunned reactions give her fodder for the blog she writes called Cougar Chronicles.”
“Don’t you worry about her putting herself in danger?”
“Sometimes,” Troy admits, “but I’ve learned she has excellent intuition about whether there’s any threat to her. She’s not susceptible to false flattery, and her radar is high tonight. As is mine. With Ali, I remain vigilant in the background and hope for the best.”
“Sounds like one hell of a way to live,” I say.
“I’m never bored,” Troy says as BallBurn steps onto a large rubber mat signaling the scene is about to start. Dressed as if he’s a gladiator with leather straps crisscrossed over his chest and a loincloth, he stands, legs spread shoulder-width apart. Conversation stills, and the group takes a collective breath as a tall, willowy blond woman wearing a sleeveless vinyl suit joins him in the ring.
“That’s Eden.”
“She’ll take him down.”
A barefooted Eden slinks to BallBurn with long, exaggerated steps, circling him while watching him with the eyes of a predator. She stops in front of him and tosses back a long ponytail before mirroring his stance. “How much are we looking for tonight?”
“Give me the full treatment,” BallBurn says.
Eden links her fingers and stretches her arms before taking a few steps back and bracing her feet on the mat. She follows a couple of running steps with a sharp kick to BallBurn’s testicles. The balls of every guy in the group collectively contract as Eden’s shinbone connects with his package. He barely winces and shrugs, grinning at Eden. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Ali’s watches open-mouthed as Eden repeatedly batters his balls with her shin. Ten or twelve kicks later, the blunt force still hasn’t brought him to his knees. BallBurn openly taunts Eden as she circles him once again. “Looks like you’re not woman enough to bring me down.”
“Be careful what you’re asking for.” Eden does another lap around him.
“Bring it on,” BallBurn says.
The guys around me hum in horror as Eden flexes and points her feet before resuming her battle stance. Every one of us holds our breath as she hauls off and kicks him in the balls. Hard. The sharp force from her foot drops him to his knees. The pain reverberating through him almost brings me to mine. I focus on BallBurn’s emotional output. He’s content on many levels. He can engage in rough play freely without judgment, and he’s experiencing a high similar to of athletes when they push their bodies to the limit.
“What does he get out of this?” Ali asks.
“It’s the sudden rush of pain that turns him on,” Troy says. “Some people need serious pain for sexual excitement.”
Baffled, Ali shakes her head and maneuvers out of the small crowd. When she steps into clear space, she stops, looking around until she spies a Domme flogging a naked man strapped to a St. Andrew’s cross. Ali steps close to the rope barrier and watches with fascination as the woman uses one then two floggers to work over the slave. Using muscular arms, the Domme lifts the man’s semi-erect cock and flogs his balls with gusto. The harder the Domme whips, the harder the slave gets. By the end of the scene, he’s sporting a raging boner. Ali makes a few notes and walks away while the Domme administers aftercare, massaging the slave’s swollen balls. Not my scene, but lots get off on it. Clearly, Ali’s baffled, but she remains curious.
Troy and I trail behind her as she pauses briefly to watch several patrons scattered around a raised, revolving circular table bearing a naked woman on all fours. Laughter and quiet cheers greet us as they treat the woman to a birthday spanking game.
“It all seems like a lot of performance art,” Ali says to Troy. “It’s not about sex.” She seems mystified by this discovery.
