Blessed Twice Page 3

  Chapter 4

  Alone figure glided through the bustling mob at the club.

  Flash from the strobes provided the only light in the dark interior.

  Thumping base accompanied each of her sure steps. Clad in leather pants, leather vest, leather gloves that reached to her biceps, and a leather mask, she blended in with most of the crowd. At this hour she was in the minority, still being dressed.

  Most had shed at least their tops, but others were barely clinging to even undergarments.

  Her pulse raced, a light sheen of sweat broke out under the leather. She’d be lucky to peel the pants off without a little pain tonight. But pain was good. Pain was a feeling she could handle.

  It didn’t require contemplation. It just was. Either she handled pain or it broke her. Easy choice.

  She glanced over at the bar, noting the throng of people waiting for a drink. She would go without tonight. She’d done it before. It wasn’t her purpose here. Scanning the crowd, she had a decision to make. The three in the corner, one in black lace, one in black leather, one in virtually nothing. One of them might do.

  “I’m yours to command,” a voice breathed in her ear.

  She shifted to the side to take in the owner of the voice.

  Layers of interlocking chain in tiny links draped across her chest.

  With each undulation of her body, ruby tipped nipples peeked through on too high to be real breasts. Skin tight leather shorts cupped a luscious ass and did nothing to hide the outline of her sex. Thighs to hold on to rubbed deliciously together as the woman stepped closer. A red satin mask that started below her eyes and rounded up over the top half of her head complimented the shock of black hair that ended just below her jaw.

  She was drawn to the woman’s plump mouth, the one that had spoken her desire so easily. So much that she almost didn’t see the hand coming up. “Don’t touch,” she ordered, stepping out of the pathway of the darting hand.

  The hand dropped in immediate obedience. “Yes, Mistress.” This one might do. The titles weren’t necessary, nor was any humiliation or pain, but the submission was. A satin collar cut into the woman’s long neck with tassels that hung down beneath the see-through links, stating clearly the willingness to be controlled. That was the most important factor with her choices.

  She didn’t play into all the other games or etiquette of this particular lifestyle, but she had to be able to control. Yes, this one would do.

  “You’ll wait for me in the purple wing. When I unlock the door, you’ll enter and take your place in the suspension harness.

  You’re going to wear a blindfold.” A shiver ran through the woman as her hazel eyes dilated with each demand. A gentle tug on the collar elicited a sharp gasp, giving away her excitement.

  “Go, now.”

  After paying for the use of a private room, she made her way into the dimly lit back hallway. Different noises met her there.

  The loud bumping beat of the music muffled considerably.

  Voices, cries, cracks, slaps, and moans emanated from behind the closed doors. The two viewing rooms up front provided a feast for the voyeurs in the hall. Men mostly, like on the other nights.

  Fewer women than men, a lot fewer. She didn’t stop to watch the men as they sought their pleasure. The sight would only serve to put an end to her evening. She wished it weren’t a mixed club, but this was too much of a niche segment to exclude one gender.

  “I’ve got a room, kitten,” a deep voice sounded from her left, causing her to falter. “You’ll be my playmate tonight.”

  “No,” she responded, not bothering to look at the man who’d issued the invitation. She hated that some men came to this club looking for something that wasn’t often offered. At a gay club, this man had no right to voice his desire to her.

  “You want to say yes.”

  “No, I don’t.” She turned and looked him in the eye. He was powerfully built, over a foot taller. He could hurt her if he wanted.

  Several seconds passed. His eyes scraped down her length, taking in her stance, the swell of her breasts, the absence of a collar at her throat. She could tell he liked her mask and hoped it meant that she would be willing to do whatever behind the afforded anonymity. She set her expression to tell him it didn’t.

  “Another time, kitten. I’m here every week.”

  “I’m not.” She took a step, then another, expecting him to try to keep her from leaving. Once out of reach, she flowed into her panther gait, sure, calm, steady, ready. Turning at the end of the hall, she spotted Red Satin in the middle of the women’s-only purple wing.

  “Can we use a viewing room?” R.S. asked.

  She shook her head. This wasn’t about performing for others.

  “No one is going to see what we do.” She led her to an unoccupied private room. Before opening the door, she said,

  “Your word is ‘inveigle’. Say it.”

  Hazel eyes stared through the holes in the red satin. Those swollen lips puckered at first. “Inveigle.” She twisted the doorknob and led them inside. “Good. Strip off the shorts, leave the chains, get in the harness.” When the woman hesitated, she grabbed the lead on her collar and tugged again. “You know your word?”

  The hazel eyes closed briefly before opening and locking on with a nod. With a seductive motion, R.S. turned and began a slow shimmy to shed her leather shorts. The globes of her buttocks beckoned as she bent forward to step out of them. Shiny red pumps stayed on her feet, but the shorts were tossed onto the whipping board.

  While she appreciated the beauty, the sight did nothing to excite her. She wasn’t like the other women in this club who would flush with lust at this display. “Get in the harness.”

  “Touch me, please.” R.S. glanced over her shoulder as she spoke.

  “Later.” She watched as the red pumps swiveled, allowing her a peek of the artful grooming that partially covered the woman’s mound. A wax job. So, Red Satin wasn’t a stranger to pain either.

  R.S. slid her luscious thighs through the hanging apparatus, swaying back first, then to within reach. A silk scarf was dangled in front of her face. One last look of the hazel eyes before the scarf blinded them. Taking stock of the various toys, she chose a flogger and a set of clamps. When she returned to the swing, she looped a silk tie around the woman’s right wrist, fastening it to the swing hold.

  “What? No, I want to be able to touch you.” R.S. folded her left wrist in against her chest before it could be secured.

  “No. Grip the swing.”

  “Please, let me touch you.” R.S. clearly knew what she preferred, what excited her, but she also knew her role here.

  “No. Hand up.” The order was sharp, uncompromising.

  The hand moved slowly but finally went back to gripping the other swing hold. A few loops of the silk rendered it immobile.

  Completely unable to do anything she didn’t want her to do.

  Boundaries set.

  “Do you know your word?” she asked the bound, blindfolded woman.

  A tremor began; her legs, now spread apart, twitched as a deep breath sounded. “Inveigle.” Nothing more than a whisper made it through.

  She picked up the clamps and moved between the tempting legs. Her leather-clad thighs easily avoided brushing against the woman’s wide spread legs. Another tremor ran through the body before her. With a gloved hand, she brushed the layers of chain from one of those too perfect breasts. Yes, they were fake. Didn’t matter. With care, she fastened one of the clamps on the erect ruby nipple. A loud hiss sounded, telling her how much R.S. liked it. She placed the free clamp on the other nipple then let her gloved fingers slide down the chain to the exact center and tugged.

  “Oh God, yeah! Tug, Mistress.” A sudden musky aroma filled the space between them. Even without the exclamation, there was no better indicator of her readiness.

  Stepping back, she reached for the flogger. Softly at first, she swept the flogger to tickle its leather tendrils against the
clamped breasts. The first landing of leather on skin elicited a sharp moan and unconscious arch of her body for more. Five more strokes, a little less gentle, testing her breakpoint before she moved lower.

  She made her wait, and whimpers turned to pleas. When the flogger’s tendrils connected with the wet, plump flesh of her center, the cry of pleasure could be heard at the far end of the hallway. It only took six strokes before the woman exploded in a loud, shaking orgasm.

  “Fuck, yes! I’ve never come that hard.” Red Satin tilted her head up to where she imagined her to be standing. Her breathing was labored, body lax in the swing.

  “You’ll do it again.” She stepped back and spun the harness swing, adjusting the pulleys to tilt the woman forward. The flogger landed on her flushed back, once, twice, again before she angled it and flipped upward.

  “It’s too much,” the woman pleaded as the leather petals lightly swept against her swollen flesh. “Please, please too much.” One word would stop this if R.S. really meant it, but that word never came.

  She wished she could feel that. To be strung out from pleasure, to think she couldn’t handle any more. The envy stung, but she wouldn’t allow the tightness in her chest to force her arm motion harder. Now rhythmically stroking the flogger in an upward motion, she reached a hand out and forced herself to make contact with the woman’s back. She slid a gloved hand up the ridges of her spine. The muscles of her back flexed under the path of her hand, counteracting the undulations of her hips toward each brush of the flogger. She moved her hand under the doubled over body to grip the chain of the nipple clamps.

  Alternating between tugging on the clamps and swatting her now weeping center, she guessed that the woman had no idea how much she begged for this to continue, demanding harder and faster treatment, crying for another release.

  “Please, let me come. Please, let me come,” Red Satin repeated over and over until her hips bucked and a flush spread over her back. Without waiting for the sought after permission, her head threw back as she roared in climax, jerking against the harness, swaying wildly in every direction. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” The repetition this time was uttered in a voice raw from overuse.

  As was custom, she set the flogger to the side of the toy cabinet. A sign to the staff that it would need to be cleaned before someone else renting the room could use it. She adjusted the pulleys on the swing and brought the woman into a seated position. Heavy breaths still pumped through the trembling body.

  “Please, let me touch you,” those tempting lips asked.

  “No.”

  “A kiss, please?”

  “No.”

  “I can make you feel good.”

  She wished she could allow that. “You just did.”

  “One kiss?”

  She brought her face toward those plump lips as she worked to undo the tie at her wrist. When their lips were inches apart, she whispered, “No.” Swiftly she backed away, leaving the woman to get out of the other tie, blindfold, and harness by herself.

  Stalking down the hallway, she entered the club, overheated and aching from want. These patrons knew just what they wanted, what made them feel good, reach ecstasy. Once, just once, she wanted what seemed so easy for them.

  Passing through to step out into the open air, she felt her heart rate slow considerably and her body temperature drop. Deep breaths, in, out, in, out. Gain control.

  She didn’t want to be like this. She didn’t need to be like this.

  But like pain, she just was.

  Chapter 5

  He’d been chattering for forty-five minutes straight, filling the car’s silence as we made our way home from Dulles Airport.

  My boy. Away from me for over a week, I’d missed him more than I ever thought possible. I’d never wanted a child, never even thought about having one. But Megan had, which I’d found surprising when she finally admitted it to me. She didn’t seem the type, but who was I to deny something she wanted so much?

  When she had our boy, Caleb, her light became my light, her desire to be a mother became my desire. Ten years into it, I was still struggling to stay afloat in this tsunami called motherhood, but it was worth every powerful stroke.

  “Wow-wee!” Caleb exclaimed when we walked through the front door of our house. After a week, I’d grown used to the sight of the uncluttered, currently spotless living space. Now, I was studying it again for the first time through his eyes. “What happened, Mom? Did a reverse tornado come through here?” I giggled with him. I wondered how long until my little boy no longer wanted to kid around and giggle with his mom. “I did my Tasmanian Devil routine.”

  “All by yourself?” His earnest gold-brown eyes looked up at me. Despite being his adoptive mother, he had my eyes. Megan had chosen a donor with my eye color, hoping that he’d get something that was uniquely mine. His hair had started out as pale as hers, but now the blond was beginning to darken, although not quite to my wheat blond shade. Nearly every other feature was hers, a living reminder of her beauty.

  “Yep.”

  “You shoulda waited. I coulda helped.” He set his hands on his hips. His little body was fighting with proportions right now, a longer torso than legs, feet that said he’d grow much taller than me, and sharp features on a face that would become as attractive as everyone else in Meg’s family tree.

  “I’m so glad you said that because it’s going to take both of us to keep this place organized.” I stretched an arm around his shoulders and pulled him to me. “We’re making a few changes, bucko. Think you can handle it?”

  He swiveled his head around to take in the orderly contents of the first floor. Not one of his toys, games, sweatshirts, balls or anything else he usually left around the house was in sight.

  “Mm’guess.”

  “That’s the hip, cool, happening way of saying ‘yes,’ right?” I ruffled my fingers through his newly cut hair. My mother never let him leave Vermont without a trim. I wondered how many new clothes I’d find in his bag when we unpacked it. Both his grandmothers loved shopping, and since we’d celebrated his tenth birthday while on vacation, I guessed he might not have any of his old clothes left in the duffle.

  “Moawmm,” he whined, stepping out of my grasp.

  “Let’s head upstairs. I want to show you what I mean.” We trudged up the staircase together, and he burst through the door marked Welcome to Caleb’s, Abandon All Hope. We’d put up the sign as soon as he realized that having a professor for a mother would warp him for life.

  “Holy moley.” His room was as spotless and organized as the rest of the house. “Hey, what’s this?” He raced to the new cabinet that looked like four boxy gym lockers in bright colors. His games, toys, and sports equipment were stored inside. “Cool.” He rushed to his closet where all that used to be crammed in. “So much room.”

  “Amazing isn’t it? And here’s the deal, I don’t expect your room to stay this clean, but clothes don’t belong on the floor. If they’re clean they go back in the closet or your dresser. If not, the hamper. Any food you bring up here gets eaten. Any plates or glasses get put back in the kitchen. The dishwasher from now on, not the sink.”

  He whipped his head around and stared wide-eyed at me.

  “You’re back,” he said softly then launched himself into my arms to hug me tightly.

  When his lips grazed my cheek, I felt the weight of tears in my eyes. “Caleb, what did you mean?”

  “Nuthin’,” he mumbled into my neck.

  I pulled his torso away and made him look at me. “Please, tell me.”

  “You used to make me clean my room. You used to make me help set the table and take out the trash. You never let me drop my clothes on the floor or keep my toys sitting around.” The words pressed heavily on my chest, making it a little difficult to breathe. “Mommy did,” I prompted. Megan had always been too lenient with him. It was one of our few points of contention.

  “Yeah, Mommy did. You always said if I had arms that worked, I should use
them.”

  “I can’t believe you remember that.” I hadn’t said it in three years. I hardly remembered it. I’d taken on the more indulgent role after her death because he missed her so much. He didn’t need to deal with the disciplinarian in the family.

  “I’m like an elephant,” he boasted a comparison that Meg would always say in the middle of story time whenever he’d start mouthing the words along with her.

  I tipped him back to where he almost lost balance. His arms clung to my neck as we came upright to a shriek of surprised laughter. “In a few years, you’re going to be so big you’ll probably weigh as much as an elephant.”

  “No way, Mom.”

  “Yes way, son.” I rubbed noses with him and gave him a loud kiss on his baby soft cheek. “A horse at least. So, do we have a deal?”

  “What do I get out of it?” The suspicious glint in his eye tugged another smile from me.

  “Hmm, you can find your stuff quicker?” He shook his head.

  “Your clothes don’t smell because they haven’t been sitting under piles of other dirty clothes?” He giggled and shook his head. “A roof over your head and food to eat?” I started tickling his wiggly body until he grew breathless and dropped his legs to jump back to the ground. “My undying love?”

  He sighed dramatically. “Ohhkaay.”

  “Very gracious of you, bucko.” We left his room and headed out into the hallway toward the stairs.

  “Hey, what’s my desk doing out here?” He stood in the open loft area at the top of the stairs once filled with a treadmill that I never used and yet more bookcases with books that I hadn’t looked at in years.

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you this part.” I smiled down at him as he tugged on my arm to get me to spill my secret plan. “You keep up your end of the deal and we’ll get a TV, a coupla beanbags, a dart board, maybe even your own computer. Turn this space into your study/hangout place. Sound good?”