Club Shadowlands (5 page)

“I know you are.” Master Z turned back to her, his brows together in a frown. “Did you actually read any of the rules that you signed?”

Jessica flushed, looked down. “Uh…no.”

“I’m sorry for that, and even sorrier that you will be punished for what you thought was a good deed.”

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Cherise Sinclair

Her mouth dropped open. Punished? “But --”

“A scene is planned in advance, Jessica, and much anticipated. Furthermore, each sub has what we call a safe word, a word to use if they get too frightened or the pain is past what they can stand. The safe word is never, never stop.”

Jessica licked dry lips. “You’re saying she didn’t really want to be saved? She -- but look at her back; she’s all red.”

The people outside the rope laughed. “If I picked up a whip and started hitting you with it, yes, that would be abuse, and it would hurt.” Master Z took the whip from her hand.

“However, when someone is aroused, within the context of a sexual moment, then the pain can heighten a person’s responses and pleasure. These two both enjoy this activity. Their enjoyment -- and the scene they’d planned -- has been destroyed by you.”

People who like being hurt. Okay, she’d seen that already. The club had rules -- rules were good -- and she’d screwed up big-time in this strange world. Time to apologize, extricate herself graceful y, and retreat.

Sitting in the entry looked more and more attractive, and she was going there right now, Master Z or no Master Z.

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Now released, the whipped woman joined the bully. The tiny woman’s whole body trembled, and the man put an arm around her, incongruously tender, considering the way he’d wielded that whip.

Jessica sucked in a breath, looked at her. “I’m very sorry. I thought you were being hurt, and well… Please forgive me.”

Master Z raised his eyebrows at the man.

“No, Z, I’m sorry. I can see this is a pet of yours, and she didn’t do it on purpose, but she screwed up our scene.” He kissed the top of the woman’s head. “Ruined the night for us.

We got club rules for this, and I want them enforced.”

“It is within your rights, Master Smith.” Master Z sighed and clasped Jessica’s wrist in one firm hand before continuing, “Here is my judgment. I will discipline, allowing you to participate. I will stop when I am satisfied both punishment and repentance have been achieved. Since she is a newcomer and not in the lifestyle, that must be taken into consideration for intensity and duration.”

Master Smith frowned, and then his face cleared. “Guess that’ll do.”

Sir turned, motioned to a barmaid, and pointed to the bench where the whipping had taken place. “Clean that, please.”

A spray bottle and paper towels came from a tiny shelf on the wall, and the barmaid quickly cleaned the bench.

What did he mean by punishment? Jessica’s gaze went from the bench to Master Z. She was getting a really bad feeling about this. “Listen, I apologized, and I’ll leave now.”

His grip didn’t loosen. “Jessica --”

“You are not going to whip me.” She tried to pull her arm away. “You can’t --”

She tried to punch him.

Smiling slightly, he caught her fist in one hard hand. When she yanked at her hand, he let go, stepped behind her, and pinned her arms to her sides.

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Cherise Sinclair

Lifting her, he placed her facing the bench.

“Not a whip,” he said mildly, as if he were continuing a conversation. She could feel his body all along hers, and despite the fear, she noticed.

As he pulled Jessica’s lush body tighter against him, Zachary could feel her reaction in both her body and her mind. Fear, yes. But arousal still lingered, which surprised him at first.

Then again, even a perfectly straight person would be turned on by the Shadowlands; for a submissive -- even a novice -- the activities in the room would be an erotic dreamland.

And had turned into a nightmare. He should never have let her in here, and guilt carved at his gut like a dull knife. But perhaps he could make this easier for her, not that she’d understand his actions or how arousal could change the quality of pain.

Keeping her pressed against him, he nuzzled her neck, breathing in her warm vanilla scent. She shivered.

“You aren’t ready for a whip,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, feeling how both fear and excitement heightened inside her. “I doubt you would ever enjoy that pain.”

Without decreasing the pressure over her arms, he moved his hands up to cup her breasts. If she weren’t attracted to him, weren’t aroused, this would be reprehensible behavior, but her nipples pebbled under his touch. Ignoring the crowd accumulating behind them, he focused on bringing the heat out in her. Her breasts were soft and round, heavy.

She could undoubtedly feel the warmth of his hands through the thin top.

She could feel the heat of him through her shirt as his thumbs rubbed her nipples, sending blazing sensations searing through her body.

“Stop it,” she hissed, squirming in his unyielding grasp. Her heart pounded with fear, yet she was all too aware of his hands on her, of how his larger body held her in place so Club Shadowlands

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easily. It was Sir who had her in his arms, Sir who made her feel safe, only there was no safety here.

She felt something close around her ankles. “Hey!”

The man and the whipped woman were kneeling on each side of her. She tried to kick at them and couldn’t move her legs. They’d strapped her ankles to the bench legs.

“Let me go, dammit. I didn’t agree to --”

“Actually, you did,” Sir murmured. “I have your signature. The penalties for interrupting a scene are spelled out in detail on the third page.”

“No way.” She tried to wrench free. “Damn you, let me go.”

He held her as easily as he would a puppy, his arms around her both comforting and terrifying.

“Master Smith, could you lower the front several inches, please?” Sir said. “And bring the entire bench up another foot.” Even as he spoke, he teased her breasts, rolling the nipples, stroking the undersides.

When he moved a hand down to press against her mound, a wave of heat rolled through her. She struggled harder, but she couldn’t move away from his attentions, and even her fear couldn’t quite suppress the sensations awakening in her. Or was her fear heightening them?

The table was adjusted.

“Jessica, bend over now,” Master Z said. She tightened her body to stay straight.

Damned if she’d help him in any way.

He gave a huff of laughter, moved one arm down to cross at her hips and bent with his chest against her back, forcing her down on the table. She struggled uselessly, panting with exertion. Pulling her arms out to the side, he flattened her chest right onto the bench.

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Cherise Sinclair

Two more snicks and she realized the ever-so-helpful pair had shackled her wrists to the bench legs. Her arms were pulled straight with no give, and she yanked at them uselessly. “No, dammit.”

Sir walked around the bench. Reaching under her, he arranged her breasts so they hung down on each side of the narrow bench top.

Jessica tried to move her legs, to raise her body from the bench, but she was restrained completely. Horror rushed through her as she realized, with the bench tilted head down, her bottom was sticking high in the air. She heaved in a panicked breath, yanked at the wrist straps.

“You bastard,” she jerked out. “You let me up, or I’ll sue you so bad. I --”

“Kitten,” he said, stroking her heated cheek. “No one ever does. Lawsuits make headlines, and no one wants to admit they’ve been here.”

Publicity? She choked, bitterness sour in her mouth. She couldn’t afford a scandal in her straitlaced accounting world. Her threat of a lawsuit was useless, and he knew it.

“I am sorry, little one. You’re going to have to submit and take your punishment.”

After stroking her hair, he walked over to the wall. She twisted her head, trying to keep him in sight. Her breath stopped. The flickering lights on the wall had concealed what hung there. Canes and whips and paddles and crops. A whimper escaped her, and she strained harder against the restraints.

She could hear people laugh as she struggled. Lots of people.

Hands behind his back, Sir took his time contemplating the devices, and her anguish grew. No, not the whip, you promised. Please not the horrible long, stiff cane. And then he picked up a round paddle the size of a person’s head.

“This seems to fit the need,” he said. He touched her cheek gently and said, no longer whispering, “Jessica, since you are new to this, I will make it easy. You have permission to Club Shadowlands

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scream, to cry, to swear and call names, to beg…even to stay silent. Anything you do will be acceptable for this period of time.”

“You jerk, don’t you tell me what I can do.” She was so angry, so frustrated, so terrified, she felt tears springing to her eyes.

“Jessica, I just did.”

He disappeared behind her, and try as she could, she couldn’t turn her head far enough to see him. The club members were ranged around the roped-off area, watching. Spectators at a live show. She hated them as much as she hated him.

Someone lifted her skirt and smiles appeared. Her teeth ground together as heat seared her face. She had on no underwear; all of her butt was up and naked in the air where everyone could see.

Sir’s voice. “Such a pretty little ass, don’t you think, Master Smith?”

“Very nice.”

Master Z massaged her buttocks, slowly, gently. He ran his fingers over her bared skin, his touch sensual, growing increasingly intimate as he traced the crease between her buttocks and thighs. Her awareness narrowed to just his touch, and then she gasped as his fingers stroked between her legs, sliding in the wetness there until need slid into her body like hot air through an opened window.

And he moved away, leaving her throbbing.

“I’m not setting a specific number.” Master Z’s voice. “I will say when to stop.”

And something hit her bottom with a horrendous slap. Her legs jerked, and pain seared her skin, shocking pain. She ripped at the restraints as she frantically -- wham! The burn shot down to her toes. She closed her mouth over the cry; she wouldn’t yell or cry, see if she --

wham! Her bottom was on fire. Another blow, then another, each one raising her to her toes, her body arching on the bench.

And then it stopped. Trying not to cry, she rested her forehead on the leather.

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Cherise Sinclair

“As the offended parties, please take three strokes apiece,” Master Z said, his voice as courteous as if he’d been a fancy waiter.

Jessica shook her head frantically. No more. Tears leaked from her eyes, turning Master Z into a blur as he crouched next to her.

“It will hurt less if you can relax,” he murmured, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Please --”

“You can take more.” He reached under the table, cupped her dangling breast. “You will take more.” He nodded at someone and wham!

A cry escaped her this time. Wham! Wham! It hurt so bad, and she sobbed.

With one hand, Sir stroked her back; the other hand held her breast in an intimate grip. His fingers on her nipple -- even through the pain she could feel his touch -- created the strangest feelings inside her.

Wham. Just one buttock. Another blow on the other. And one smack across her upper thighs that made her scream.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, looking at Sir, trying to get him to believe her. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble; I didn’t.”

His eyes softened. “I know, little one.” He stood, walked toward the end of the table out of her sight. She whimpered. What was he going to do? No more, please, please, please.

Something touched her bottom, and she cried out more in fear than pain.

“Pink and tender. Poor kitten,” Sir said. His hands caressed her bottom, painful and yet almost exciting. The feeling of need edged back. “Release her. Punishment’s over.”

A few people in the crowd groaned in disappointment but stopped suddenly as if their complaints had been cut off. The other master and his sub unstrapped her hands; someone undid her legs. Sir grasped her around the waist, lifted her to her feet, and held her steady until she found her balance. Her face was wet, and she wiped tears from her cheeks. Her insides seemed to be shaking harder than her legs.

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“This time, deliver your apology on your knees, Jessica,” Sir instructed.

Only his hand under her arm kept her from falling over as she clumsily knelt. She looked up at Master Smith and his slave. “I’m so, so sorry I interrupted. And that I didn’t read the rules.” Trembles made her voice shake. What if it wasn’t good enough? What if --

Master Smith snorted a laugh. “Sounds repentant to me, Master Z. Apology accepted.”

“Are you satisfied, Wendy?” Master Z asked.

The little brunette nodded. “Yes, Sir.” Her eyes met Jessica’s with a hint of sympathy.

Jessica let her head drop forward in relief. It was over. Her thighs were quivering so hard she wanted to just crumple onto the floor. Tears still dripped down her cheeks.

She felt so lost.

And then Sir bent and effortlessly lifted her into his arms. Head spinning like a tilt-o-whirl ride, she clutched his jacket.

“Shhh, kitten, you’re all right,” he murmured, and something inside her relaxed. She felt his lips in her hair and knew she was safe.

Zachary found an empty couch in the middle of the floor and settled into it, keeping her firmly in his arms. Guilt was a hard lump in his guts. Never had a kind gesture gone so wrong. He should have made her stay out in the cold entry with Ben, should never have let her into the club.

Dammit, even with her being aroused, there had been no evading the pain or the shock of being spanked.

He gentled his arms around her, settling her head against his chest. “All finished, little one.”

She buried her head in his shoulder, choking back her sobs in a way that broke his heart. He could feel her trying to wall up her distress, but between Dom and sub, there should be no walls. She didn’t know that yet and wouldn’t for a time, even if she wanted to 40