DangerousLust Read online

  Another tipping point. Another chance to turn back.

  I got out of the car. I wasn’t going to think about it, wasn’t going let my brain get in my way.

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “Would you like me to wait?”

  I paused but then shook my head. “No, thank you.”

  Standing outside the large white door inset with beveled glass panels, I listened to the Town Car pull away. My hand shook as I reached for the bell. Chimes sounded from inside the house. It seemed like an eternity before I saw something moving behind the glass.

  Master Clay looked as if he’d stepped out of a Marc Jacobs ad. He wore pale gray slacks and a blue button shirt. The collar was open, the cuffs folded back. In the fading sunlight his eyes seemed even more piercing under his heavy brows.

  “Leona, welcome to my home. Please come in.”

  I folded my arms over my belly and stepped into the foyer. The floor was white marble, the walls a pale cream and high above me was a blown-glass chandelier. There’d been an exhibit on glass art in LACMA when I first started, and I had a funny feeling that I’d seen the hanging artwork before.

  “Is that by Dale Chihuly?” I asked.

  Clay looked surprised. “It is. You know him?”

  “I like art.”

  “Ah Leona, you are a rare find. I purchased this piece just recently. Come with me.”

  He offered his arm, and this time I knew what to do.

  I tried to look around as we walked from room to room, but touching Clay made it hard to think, hard to focus.

  “Normally the front door is reserved for guests. Submissives park in the back and use a side door to access a section of my home that I’ve dedicated to the lifestyle.”

  I hesitated. “I can go back out.”

  “If I wanted that I would tell you. I’m merely giving you information.”

  We were in a library. Each of the walls was lined with bookcases, bookcases so tall that there was a ladder on a roller. I felt like Belle in the Beast’s castle. French doors opened to a patio lined with bougainvillea and set with wrought iron furniture.

  “Since you are not driving in you will exit through the library and then reenter the house. When you’re in my home I expect you to behave as a guest, and I will treat you as a guest in return. Once you enter the Marquis’ Quarters—my name for the playrooms—you will no longer be a guest but a submissive in the presence of a master.”

  I was shaking so much so that Master Clay turned to look at me. “It’s natural to be afraid, Leona.”

  I nodded jerkily.

  He opened the patio doors and let me out. We slipped between the bushes as he pointed at a door twenty feet from where we’d exited. While every room or door I’d seen so far was set with glass, this door was solid. There was a bell on the wall beside it.

  “Once you pass through that door you are mine. Do you understand?”

  I blew out a breath. “Probably not.”

  Clay smiled. “I have to appreciate the honesty. Is this something you still want to do? If not then I will call the driver back and you can go home.”

  “I want this.” It came out as more of a question than a statement, but at least I’d said it.

  “If you truly do, then all you have to do is walk through that door.”

  Clay released my arm.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, feeling very alone though he was only a foot away.

  “I will meet you inside.”

  Clay returned to the library, closing the French doors behind him.

  I stood there, huddled in the shadow of a house the likes of which I’d never been inside before. I wasn’t just in the deep end of the pool, I was in the ocean. I didn’t know if Clay was a shark or a life raft.

  I walked to the door, examining the plain exterior. There was no hint as to what I’d find on the other side. I wondered how many other women had stood here, wondered if they’d regretted walking through the portal.

  Hugging my purse against my stomach with one arm, I reached out and turned the doorknob.

  It wasn’t a dungeon. The walls weren’t stone draped with chains.

  It wasn’t an elegant library like the one I’d walked through. Too many photos of naughty schoolgirls bent over desks had made me think that spanking always took place in a library.

  It wasn’t a bedroom, for which I was grateful. I probably would have bolted if I’d seen a bed. I was as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. That was one of my grandma’s favorite expressions, and I’d never really understood it before now.

  The room on the other side of the door was a closet. There was a bar with hangers on it, a while wall of drawers and a bench in the center. There was a second door, this one solid cherry rather than painted white, across from me. The drawers were glossy wood and the area around the hanging bar seemed to be lined with cedar. This closet was probably worth as much as a car.

  I closed the door and waited. When Clay didn’t appear I started to relax. Setting my purse down I walked around looking at everything, though there wasn’t much to see. The only thing I discovered was that there were small gold plates engraved with numbers on the drawers.

  The interior door opened. I spun to face it, and my heartbeat, which had slowed, now sped up once again.

  “Leona.”

  Clay—Master Clay—looked the same, except that he’d rolled up his sleeves. It wasn’t until he took a step into the closet that I noticed the crop he held in his right hand.

  I gasped and took a step back. My shoulders hit the drawers.

  “Leona, I’d like you to take two deep breaths.”

  Calm radiated from him, easing my fear. Or maybe it was his aura of command that I was responding to.

  I took one breath, then a second. Clay nodded.

  “This is, as you may have guessed, a dressing room. This is the place where you will let go of the outside world and give in to your submission.”

  I nodded.

  “Out loud, please.”

  “I understand…I understand, Master Clay.”

  “Good. You’ve been assigned drawer number seven. When you enter this room you will remove your clothing. For now you’re allowed to keep you undergarments, but in the future I will expect you to be fully nude once you enter.”

  “Yes, Master Clay.”

  “Did you bring the checklist?”

  “I did. And my doctor’s note.” I pulled the folded papers from my purse and held them out. Clay waited a moment, forcing me to stand there with my arm outstretched before he took them.

  “I’ll leave you to change. When you’re ready, come out. As promised you’ll find more appropriate undergarments in your drawer. A gift welcoming you to the world of BDSM.”

  Clay started to exit but stopped and looked back.

  “Leona, once you enter the Marquis’ Quarters you will keep you gaze lowered. Do not speak unless spoken to, and be prepared to be physically examined.”

  With that he closed the door, leaving me alone teetering between terror and desire.

  The black lace camisole and thong were the nicest garments I’d ever worn. The lace was soft, which I hadn’t expected. I was used to lace being itchy, but this wasn’t. That probably meant it was expensive. The thong was lined with thick silk and fastened on the sides with ribbons. I bit my lip as I tied it in place, making sure the loops of the bows were even. It was easy to imagine Master Clay untying it and the thought made me wet. The cami was tight across my breasts but loose around my belly. The lace was thicker on the bra-like cups, hiding my nipples.

  Once I was dressed I tucked all my clothes, along with my purse and shoes, in the drawer he’d assigned me. The last thing I did was to apply another coat of lip gloss.

  I wasn’t nearly as nervous now as I had been before, and my hand was steady when I opened the door into the “Marquis’ Quarters”.

  The eager self-assurance melted away as I saw what was on the other side.

&nbs
p; The room was low ceilinged and dark, with wood floors and paneling on most of the walls. Spotlights in the ceiling shone on several areas, leaving the rest of the room in shadow.

  A large X waited in the center of the room—a St. Andrew’s Cross. Mounted on the wall near it was a metal grid. Chains dangled from the grid, glinting in the bright light.

  There were two straight-backed wood chairs, one slightly larger than the other, set against the wall. A wood post drenched in light could have been mistaken for a structural support if it weren’t for the straps wrapped around it.

  There was a deep cabinet on the wall just inside the door, blocking my view of the right side of the room. I took two small steps and saw a lovely seating area. Plush couches were arranged in a square around a raised platform.

  I imagined myself up there on display for whoever was seated on the couches and shivered. Large trunks were placed against the backs of the couches, acting as console tables. Artwork and books rested there, making the room a strange mix of elegantly staged sitting room and sex dungeon.

  The cabinet beside the door was one of three along that wall. The center one had glass upper doors. The interior was lit, showing off what I thought were glass sculptures. After a moment I realized they were glass plugs and dildos. My pussy clenched and my nipples pebbled under the lace. I swept my gaze across the room, this time seeing other things hiding in the shadows. What I didn’t see was Master Clay.

  There were two other wood doors beyond the seating area, and after a moment I decided that was where he must have disappeared to. I closed the door to the dressing room and waited. I wasn’t sure what to do. I’d read all about different positions submissives should take while waiting, but I had no idea which position Master Clay wanted me in.

  I settled on spreading my feet to shoulder width as if I were doing squats in the gym. I rested my hands behind my back, hooking my index fingers together. After one last look around the room I lowered my eyes, staring at the bottom of the St. Andrew’s Cross.

  A door opened. Footsteps approached, tapping over the glossy wood floor.

  I started to tremble the closer Master Clay got. I closed my eyes and swallowed. When the footsteps stopped I opened my eyes, keeping my gaze focused on the floor.

  Master Clay grabbed my chin, forcing my head up. For a moment my gaze snapped to his before I remembered the order and lowered my lashes, looking down even though he was tipping my chin up.

  He turned my head from side to side, examining me. It was disconcerting. When he released my jaw his hand fell to the straps of the camisole. Flicking them off my shoulders, he grabbed the top and jerked it down. The lace abraded my nipples and I gasped as my breasts popped free.

  In the next breath he was fondling me. Cupping each breast in turn, he weighed them in his hands, then flicked my nipples with his thumbs. He drew his hand back and slapped my right breast, just enough to cause a little sting. I bit my lip—it was both frightening and arousing. My arm and leg muscles were tight from the tension of holding still. The urge to respond to his touches with ones of my own was strong. As was the urge to run. I barely knew this man yet he was touching me as if he owned me.

  Because he did.

  That thought sent a fresh wave of arousal thrumming through me and I found myself relaxing.

  “Good girl. Let go. You need only do what I order you to do. Anything else is irrelevant.”

  He tugged the camisole up, sliding the straps back up my arms. Fisting a hand in my hair, he pulled my head back, forcing my gaze to the ceiling and my back to arch, my shoulders moving down toward the floor. He pulled until I worried I would fall, until I knew that if he released me I would lose my balance.

  “Let go. You’re mine.” He barked the words, his will almost a physical thing, like the heat from a fire.

  Muscle by muscle I relaxed, trusting him to hold me up.

  “Good girl,” he repeated. His free hand dipped between my legs, rubbing the thong against my pussy just as he had when we first met. This time I tensed for a different reason.

  He tugged the ties, just as I’d imagined, and the thong fell away. For a moment it clung to my wet pussy, but with a flick of his wrists it was gone, leaving my pussy and ass naked and exposed.

  Two fingers fondled my pussy lips. He pinched and stroked them, touching only the outer lips, not venturing in to my wet core, not caressing my clit, which was swollen with need.

  “You’re very wet. Highly aroused, yet I know you’re scared.”

  He raised my head until I was standing straight. I focused on breathing as I stared at the shiny chains dangling from the metal grid on the wall. As long as I focused I could stay in control of my reactions.

  Master Clay tugged my wrist until I unlinked my fingers, my hands falling to my sides. He jerked the cami down around my waist. I shivered standing before him naked except for the scrap of lace bunched around my hips. Master Clay slapped my ass, hard enough to have me taking a half step forward.

  “Remove it.”

  I pushed the lace over my hips, letting it pool around my feet.

  Strong hands kneaded my ass, the fingers sliding between the cheeks, just brushing my anus.

  I let out a little squeak of alarm. His fingers stilled.

  “I will use all your orifices, Leona.”

  “Yes, Master Clay.” I hoped I didn’t sound as scared as I felt.

  “On your checklist you indicated anal sex and anal play as something you were willing to try, but not something you’re excited about.”

  “Yes, Master Clay.”

  “Why?”

  “I…I have never done that before. It sounds painful and…and gross.”

  He didn’t respond. I heard rather than saw him walk away. Maybe that was the wrong answer. Twin bolts of fear and relief spiked through me. Relief?

  I heard drawers opening and closing. Master Clay returned holding a fist full of straps.

  “Wrists.”

  I held out my arms, curling my fingers around my thumbs so the trembling wouldn’t be so obvious. One at a time Master Clay wrapped simple leather cuffs around my wrists. They buckled closed and had D-rings embedded in them.

  “Raise your arms. Hold them straight out at your side. Higher. Good.”

  Next was a belt, about as wide as my palm. It too was leather, and very stiff. I heard it creak as Master Clay manipulated it.

  “This is a posture belt. It makes slouching or bending uncomfortable.” He settled it around my waist—my natural waist, higher up on my belly than I would have thought.

  “It’s heavy.” The words popped from my mouth before I could stop them. I caught my breath in fear—I’d spoken without permission.

  “That’s fine, Leona. I expect that the newness of these experiences will inspire responses from you. This first time I will not punish you for speaking, though I do expect you to be as silent as possible.”

  I shuddered in relief. “Thank you, Master Clay.”

  “Do you know what this is?” He held up the final thing he’d brought over. It too was black leather, but was narrower than either the cuffs or the belt.

  “Is it a collar?”

  “Yes. It is.” He stroked my neck with the back of one finger. “Do you know what it means when a submissive is collared?”

  “It means the Master who collared her owns her, permanently.”

  “Yes…and no. It means that the submissive has given over control of her body and mind to the Dom. If he chooses to share her that is his right.” Master Clay’s hand drifted to my breast. He flicked my nipple then pinched it, hard. “If he chooses to give her away that is his right.” He raised his hand, pulling me up by my nipple.

  I rose onto my toes. It hurt—far more than I’d expected—and yet I was aroused. I dug my fingers into my thighs to stop myself from pushing him away.

  “Does this hurt?”

  “Yes, Master Clay.”

  “And do I know that it hurts you? Do you think my causing you pain is an
accident?”

  “No, Master Clay. I think you know it hurts.” I spoke quickly, trying not to take a deep breath.

  “That means that right now I want to hurt you. I want you to feel pain.”

  “Yes, Master Clay.” The words wavered and I had the horrible feeling that I was about to cry.

  His free hand forced its way between my legs. The movement was rough and demanding. Two fingers dug into my pussy, sliding roughly over my clit before forcing their way up into my body. Quick as a lightning strike, pain morphed to not just pleasure but a dark enjoyment. Yes, he was hurting me. It was forbidden—men should never hurt women—and yet Master Clay abused my breast with impunity. It was as if the laws didn’t apply to him.

  When his thumb rubbed my clit while his fingers were buried in me my whole belly clenched. It was a deep, throbbing pleasure—as if everything else I’d ever felt was the waves breaking on the shore and this was the deep darkness a mile under the surface of the ocean.

  “Do you feel that?”

  “Yes, Master, yes.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Each word was a struggle. I was caught between my desire to egg him on, to have him do something else, something more, and my desire for him to stop toying with me and throw me down and fuck me.

  “I think it’s time I have a proper look at you.” Master Clay withdrew his fingers from my pussy. “Over to the St. Andrew’s.”

  He let go, and I hissed as a fresh wave of pain shot through my nipple. I watched as it went from white to angry red.

  “Leona, now.”

  He spanked me, two hard swats.

  I had to clench my teeth to keep from saying something. Frustration that he’d made me feel something so intense yet not brought me to orgasm was burning inside me.

  Stepping out of the discarded camisole, I made my way over to the St. Andrew’s Cross. With each step I took the frustration melted away under a fresh onslaught of anticipation.

  Chapter Three

  The closer I got, the slower my steps. The St. Andrew’s Cross was more complex than I’d first thought. The main body was a large “X” shape. Each arm was a foot wide and covered in black leather with straps spaced evenly along it. There were small steps attached to the bottoms of the lower legs and the whole thing was mounted to a large black box on the floor.