The Dom of My Dreams: A BDSM Novel (15 page)

***

“This
cannot
be the place!”

           
“Oh, but it is.”

           
Seton held out a hand and helped me out of the car as I cast a dubious glance at our meeting place.
 
It looked like an ordinary house.
 
There was a single wooden door with a welcome mat at front.
 
I would have thought nothing of it had it not been swamped by lights and guests.
 
Luxurious and sporty cars were parked near it, and several people dressed up in period costumes bustled into the house.

           
“One of my best friends owns this place,” Seton said.
 
“Don’t be fooled by the ordinary exterior.
 
This is an exclusive fetish club.
 
Only a small number of us are members.
 
The location and look of it don’t draw attention to the occasional traveler.”

           
Seton grabbed my elbow, linking my arm with his as we marched toward the entrance.
 
“You’re free to go,” he told George.
 
“I’ll call you when we’re ready to leave.
 
And you,” he said to me, “wear your mask.
 
You are to conceal your face throughout the evening.”

           
I donned the mask, adjusting it over my eyes.
 
Once my face was obscured I felt more comfortable.
 
Now I was invisible, unrecognizable.
 
Free.
 
It helped calm my racing heart to a more normal level.

           
“How come you’re not wearing a disguise,” I said, pointing to the round spectacles perched over his nose.
 
“Those don’t hide your face, you know.”

           
He glanced down at me as we stalked up the front steps to the house.
 
“I’m not in disguise.
 
I know the people who attend this club.
 
We only protect the privacy of our lady guests.”
 

           
And how many “lady guests” have you brought here?
 
I wanted to ask, but didn’t.
 
Having been put in my place in the car earlier, I promised myself that I would never pry into his personal life again.

           
Amusement touched his lips.
 
“Yes, I come here quite often with the women that I meet.”
 
He said it as if he’d read my mind.

           
I sighed and said nothing.
 
Maybe he did read minds.
 
That might explain how he knew so much about me.

           
“Only wealthy and important men attend these parties,” he confided.
 
“Doctors, lawyers, politicians, judges, you name it.”

           
I raised an eyebrow.
 
“Aren’t they afraid someone might spill the beans?”

           
“Not at all.
 
No one would dare breathe a word because in order to do it, they’d have to explain how they knew about it.”

           
“True.
 
But there are ways to get around that, you know.
 
Someone could send out an anonymous tip to a reporter or something.”

           
He shrugged.
 
“My friend would simply shut down the place if such a thing happened.
 
I don’t think the members would want that.”
 
He turned smiling eyes to me.
 
“Are you thinking of exposing me and the other gentlemen in this club?”

           
I laughed.
 
“Well—no.
 
I was just thinking—”

           
“You think too much,” he interrupted, frowning.
 
“That’s your problem.”

           
Seton opened the front door and ushered me in.
 
The foyer was dark and empty, a few small wall lamps cast a sort of mysterious glow across the long hallway.
 
Sounds of laugher and music drifted through the walls, and I knew that they were coming from the basement.
 

           
A cheerful-looking blond girl who didn’t look a day over twenty-one stood by an old wooden door near the kitchen.
 
She smiled at Seton and me through her bubble-gum pink mask, opening the door and waving us in like a spokesmodel on a game show.

           
“That’s Claire,” Seton whispered in my ear, indicating the girl.
 
With his thick English accent, he’d pronounced it
Clae-ah
.
 
“She’s the pet slave of a famous politician.
 
She’s probably misbehaved because he’s appointed her the duty of greeter.”
 
He grinned.
 
“So you’d better be good this evening or you’ll end up greeting guests at the door and missing out on all the fun.”

           
A steep flight of stairs led us down to the basement, dully illuminated by tiny lamps designed to look like gaslights.
 
Seton twined my arm tighter against his as I carefully moved down the steps.
 
It was so damn dark I could barely see my own shoes.

           
A few seconds later we emerged from the dusky shadows of the staircase and landed in a large, smoky room filled with round tables and guests.
 
After my eyes adjusted to the smoke and flickering light from the mock oil lamps, I gasped at the sight in front of me.
 

           
The place looked exactly like a turn-of-the-century saloon.
 
Men in dark suits and bowler hats were all over the place, and their female companions wore hooker outfits that were almost identical to mine.
 
All of the women, I was amazed to note, looked comfortable and relaxed, as if they’d been to this place many times before.
 
And maybe they had.

           
The sounds of amiable male chatter and laughter poured into my ears.
 
It wafted through the air, mingling with the strong scents of cigar smoke and aftershave.
 
Female servers hovered near the guests, wooden trays full of cigars and drinks hung from their necks.
 
Judging by the solemn looks that passed over their semi-covered faces, I’d say they were slaves who had disobeyed their masters and were now forced to work as servers.
 
My eyes widened when I saw the chains clasped over their ankles, linking their legs together.
 
Ick!
 
How could they walk like that?
 
No wonder they looked so miserable!

           
A muffled scream drifted up from somewhere inside the room, and I spun to the direction of the noise.

           
There was a small stage in the far corner of the saloon, mock oil lamps brightening the center.
 
A scantily-clad woman kneeled in front of a man, hands behind her back, no doubt bound together, a silken material covering her mouth.
 
She screamed through the gag as the man delivered merciless slaps across her breasts.
 

           
Shocked, I stared at the kneeling woman.
 
The expression on her face clearly reflected the erotic pleasure she was getting from the man’s apparent cruelty.
 
She cast occasional glances at the guests, checking to see if anyone was watching.
 
Our gazes met for a few heartbeats.
 
I turned away, shivering.
 
The air caught in my lungs for a second, making it difficult for me to breathe.

           
“You look like a child at a candy store,” Seton said to me.
 
I jumped at the sound of his voice as I turned wary eyes to him.
 
A faint smile touched his face.
 

           
My eyes traveled over to the stage.
 
“I—I’ve never been to a place like this.”

           
His smile widened.
 
“So I see.”

           
“David!
 
How’ve you been, mate?”

We whirled around at the cheerful Irish lilt that spoke behind us.
 
The pudgy, balding man was not much taller than I.
 
He had a round face and a reddish goatee.
 
His dark green frock coat looked like it barely fit.
 
The buttons looked ready to pop out at any second.
 
The overall effect made him look like a bloated leprechaun.
 

Seton gave the man a curt nod.
 
“How are things, Victor?”

“Fine, fine.
 
Taking some time off to unwind and have fun.
 
It can’t all be work, eh?”
 
His jubilant face turned to me, and the glint that passed over those small, piggy blue eyes of his made me wrap my arm tighter around Seton’s.
 
“And who is this little morsel?”

Seton glanced sideways at me, a pleased look flickering across his face.
 
“This is my new pet.
 
Beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Quite,” the man said, his gaze roving over my body in a way that made me very uncomfortable.
 
“I wish I could see her face, but the rest of her looks mighty fine.
 
May I?” he asked Seton, indicating my corset.

“By all means,” Seton said, voice amused.
 
“That’s what she’s here for.
 
Aren’t you, my pet?”

My heart accelerated.
 
They talked about me as if I was nothing more than an object that could be passed around from person to person, and I wasn’t sure I liked it.
 
Victor reached out and cupped my breasts through the corset, kneading them like two lumps of dough.
 
Drawing in a sharp breath, I jerked upright, and felt the heat creeping over my neck and cheeks.
 
I stepped away from the man’s touch, but Seton pulled me back.

I peered up at him through the mask, my body tensed with the effort of holding back apprehension.
 
“Seton, I really don’t—”

 
I stopped when I saw his expression change from the smooth, relaxed look of a man enjoying a show to obvious annoyance.
 
“What did you just call me?”

My mind spun with confusion for several heartbeats, then realization sank in.
 
“
Sir
, I—I’m not sure I like this.”

“You do like it.
 
You’re just not used to it.”
 
He bent his head to brush a gentle kiss across my lips.
 
“Come now, my pet.
 
Don’t disappoint me.”

The short, fat man continued to squeeze my breasts.
 
He wasn’t gentle, his touch clumsy and unskilled, and I had to fight the urge to run the hell away from this bizarre place.
 
I remembered my first tryst with Seton and all of the things that had transpired when I tried to do things my way.
 
Begging would get me nowhere.
 
My pleas would fall on deaf ears.
 
Anger would make things worse, and the outcome would be the same.
 
So, I just stood there, miserable, fighting to keep under control the bile that welled within me.

Suddenly, Seton’s hand encircled my elbow and pushed me away from Victor’s beefy hands.
 
He shot Seton a puzzled look.

“My pet is not enjoying this treatment,” Seton explained, voice neutral.
 
“And her pleasure is the only one that counts.
 
I’ll see you around, Vic.”

Victor opened his mouth to say something, but I’ll never know what, because Seton spun me over and marched me to a nearby bar.