Chapter 34

Monday, September 16th, 6:15pm

On the way to the dungeon, I was distracted by a call from my brother. He wanted to double‑check to make sure I was still cool with him moving in this week. Not only did I tell him I was cool with it, but I also offered some of my security team to help with the move, which he readily accepted. After that, Natalie called.

I debated answering. I wanted to talk to her, but considering what I was about to do, I wasn’t sure if she would be able to pick up on it. And despite our conversation about me continuing to see other people, I still felt weird talking to her right before going to do something that had the potential to be especially kinky.

Texting, though ... I could do texting.

I began typing: Hey. Can’t answer right now, but would love to see you.

That’s okay, she replied. I’m just driving home and thought I could use the opportunity to talk.

Then came an image. The phone was held at a high angle, giving me a shot of Natalie’s beautiful face, her big eyes staring up into the camera. The angle allowed for a decent amount of cleavage from her plunging neckline—provocative but tasteful.

I replied, I love it. It makes me want to go spelunking...

Spelunking?

Cave diving.

I know what it is, Natalie said. It’s just a five‑dollar word for talking about my breasts.

I’m slipping. You’re worth ten‑dollar words at least.

So flattering.

She sent me another picture—a simple selfie with her pretty, smiling face. It looked like she was driving. It was all so wholesome compared to my regular sex life, which was a breath of fresh air.

I smiled, enjoying the simplicity of this. When can I see you again?

It took her a few moments to answer. I’m busy tomorrow, but what about lunch on Wednesday?

Done ... and take the rest of the day off.

Marcus, I can’t do that!

I grinned and texted back: I’m your boss.

She didn’t respond for nearly a minute, and I started to think maybe I’d pushed her too far. She was a strong woman, and she had her limits.

Fuck. The concern that I’d screwed up intensified threefold.

Finally, she responded: That was hot.

Okay, so maybe I didn’t know her limits quite as well as I thought.

Wait till you see my performance review for you, I responded.

I started back down the hall, realizing that more time had passed than I’d thought, and I had people waiting on me.

I texted her: See you Wednesday?

Can’t wait, she responded.

I headed the rest of the way to the dungeon with mixed feelings—elation over my flirtation with Natalie, which was something I had wanted for so long. I was also feeling trepidation over what I was about to do.

Reaching the dungeon a few minutes later, I opened the door cautiously, bracing myself for what I might find.

I wasn’t disappointed. A veritable wet dream was set up in front of me.

Helen was there, dressed in her dominatrix finery. The collar I had given her went brilliantly with the black leather corset and matching leather skirt that stopped mid‑thigh. Black heels completed the ensemble. Her makeup matched—eyeliner much darker than usual, and black lipstick painted her perfect lips. Her hair lay about her shoulders in soft waves, contrasting with the harshness of everything else.

Erin stood next to her, wearing the same clothes I’d last seen her in—something vaguely secretarial. Only, the way she wore her outfits, they were always just on the verge of being inappropriate attire. Her black‑painted fingernails and deep purple lipstick were common traits that gave her the look of someone who belonged in a place like this. She’d removed her glasses and wrapped her hair around a pen, using it haphazardly to keep it all up in a loose bun.

Bobbi, on the other hand, was completely nude save for her own collar. Helen had her wrists bound behind her back as she straddled an A‑frame sawhorse. Its peak was blunted just enough to keep it from being dangerous, but the wood grain was smooth and soft, making it challenging to stay mounted on it without the pointed tip grinding into sensitive genetalia. Even from this distance, having just entered, I could tell that Bobbi was shaking with the strain on her legs. Squeezing them together for God knows how long to keep that wood from invading her slit must have been exhausting work.

I could really only see the back of her because she was facing a fourth person who had been made to stand in the middle of the room.

Carla Tanaka was bent over at a ninety‑degree angle, forced into that position by a pillory—her head and hands locked into place by a wooden structure that stood perpendicular to the ground. It made me wonder if I should have brought rotten fruit to throw at her.

She was fully dressed, but even though she was facing me as I began my slow approach, I couldn’t tell how she felt. It was impossible, given that she wore a mask over her eyes, a pair of headphones, and a ball gag secured between her jaws.

I hadn’t expected this.

As I approached her, I could see her fingers trembling and noticed the small muffled whimpers coming from her.

“Whose idea was this?” I asked, peering down at Carla. She didn’t seem to react to my question—I suspected she couldn’t hear.

“That would be mine,” Helen said. I detected a hint of smugness in her voice. Over the months I’d gotten to know Helen, I’d discovered that she could be quite proud of her imagination when it came to breaking women.

I started to look over at her, but Chloe caught my eye. She was sitting in an armchair, arms crossed over her chest and legs crossed at her ankles as she watched us in silence. She met my eyes with a sort of challenge in them, and I tried my best to hide an amused smile at seeing her here as some sort of spectator.

“I thought she might benefit from seeing some of our handiwork as well,” Helen said, drawing my attention back to her. She’d rested one arm lightly against Bobbi’s shoulder, adding a touch of weight, which probably made it much more difficult to maintain her position on the A‑frame. Helen lowered the hand dangling from Bobbi’s shoulder to her modest breast, her fingertips tracing over the angry red lines etched into Bobbi’s pale skin.

Bobbi’s nostrils flared as her legs clung to the sides of the A‑frame for dear life, but the look in her eyes could have cut diamond.

Only, it wasn’t directed at me or her beloved mistress. She was staring daggers at Carla, who whimpered beside me.

Turning my attention back to the guest of the hour, I noticed trails of tears on cheeks that had been prepared with blush and foundation. She’d freshened up for me.

“Does she have any idea where she is or who’s here right now?” I asked, circling the bound woman.

“No, sir,” Helen said, her tone more subservient to match where we were. “I made sure she could hear the kitten while I made her scream. That’s the only hint she’s received of where she might be.”

I shook my head, finishing my circuit around the pillory, pausing beside it to look at Helen in wonder. I hadn’t asked for any of that, and yet Helen had taken the initiative to really drive home the situation to our guest.

Reaching down, I ran my finger across Carla’s lips, collecting some of the drool that had slipped around the black ball gag in her mouth. I wiped it off on the bound woman’s cheek, eliciting a protest from her.

“Good girl,” I muttered to Helen, my gaze fixed on Tanaka’s wife. “Shall we begin?”

I reached out with one finger and slid a damp lock of hair off her forehead, tucking it into the high-quality earmuffs she was wearing. The first kiss of my fingers against her temple made her flinch, attempting to pull away from my touch. A small whimper escaped her.

Never, in all the time I’d known Carla, would I have pictured her like this—afraid ... trembling. Her fingers shook, and her breath came out in shallow stutters. I wondered if she’d ever been this scared in her life.

“What are you going to do to her?” Erin’s voice was tense.

Things like this excited my little assistant, but she didn’t share Helen’s enthusiasm for these darker pleasures. She was like a child dancing around the edges of the forbidden, but afraid she might be caught.

I glanced up at her, and sure enough, she watched—transfixed. The tip of her tongue darted across her lips. She was excited, but that excitement was tinged with nervousness.

“I’m only going to scare her a little,” I said. “We’ll see where that gets her. If that doesn’t work...”

I looked back down at the beauty in the stocks. “Well. We’ll cross that bridge.”

I slid my fingers under one side of the earmuffs and slipped them off her head. She groaned in relief as the subtle sounds she’d been deprived of met her ears.

Dropping to one knee so that my face was level with hers, I took her chin between my forefinger and thumb.

“Evening, Carla.”

My voice came out low—little more than a growl. She probably almost felt it as much as heard it. “Did you miss me?”