Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (106 page)

I track Regina and Fate as they leave the club. I stick to the shadows as they walk to their car. I need to make sure they leave the premises safely. The outside of Restraint is as dangerous as the inside.
The line of patrons waiting to gain access to the club winds a full city block. Ez put the club within walking distance of his Edge Building and Stanton’s building. I hate that it’s so close to my peaceful home- I feel invaded.

The boys and Dexter are no longer in the club when I
reenter Restraint. My death-stare gets the clubbers out of my path. One look from me and they decide they aren’t badass enough to submit for a real dominant. I snort when one asshole drops to his knees when my eyes connect with his. I’d never leave the dungeon if I could. I hate the club side of Restraint- hate is too mild of a word. This setup disgusts me. It should be private, special, the bond between Master and submissive. Restraint sensationalizes the lifestyle.

By the time I get back to the dungeon, Ez and Cort are having a brawl in the middle of the large space. The men are identical in height, weight, and body build. They stand toe-to-toe, hoods covering their heads, as they scream into each other’s faces. Only the voices shouting from the mouth holes of the hoods lets me know who is who.

Restraint’s dungeon is as impersonal as the setup of the club. I prefer the rooms at the Brownstone. It’s more one-on-one. Unless you are a voyeur or want to be watched, which I don’t, then the big dungeon really isn’t where you’d want to be. Even Dexter spends most of his time in his private room or training us at the Brownstone. I would change the dungeon if I was allowed, but Ez is the most stubborn man on the planet.

People hear BDS
M and their minds immediately go to sex and bondage and depravity. It’s a large spectrum of needs that can be met in unconventional ways. It’s always about release: sexual orgasm, emotional release, the release of painful memories, the freedom to release your will to another person, and subspace.

The relationship between a Dominant and their submissive is a delicate balance built on trust, and that is why I hate how this club is run. Picking up a random stranger in the club, dragging them back into the dungeon, and then fucking them up is a recipe for disaster. No way would I ever want to touch a stranger in that manner, nor would I allow someone I know nothing about to tie my ass down and whip me. It’s ridiculous.

I watch the membership choose their victims and bring them back to the dungeon- it’s fake- a show. It’s a travesty of the lifestyle, and it makes me angry at Ez. Nowhere near as angry as Cort is at Ez at the moment. The pair is rolling around on the ground punching the shit out of each other. I don’t intervene. Give them five minutes and they will be fused at the lips and hips.

In the corner of the dungeon is the man I seek. Dexter has his favorite submissive trussed up and extended from the ceiling. Dexter and Heidi don’t have perfect symmetry, but it’s as close as they’ve found. The only difference is Heidi’s need for voyeurism and Dexter’s need for privacy
. It’s a big point of contention, but they negotiate and compromise.

Dexter doesn’t do large submissives. He is a small guy, too. That’s one of the reasons we get along so well. It’s hard to dominate someone who is a foot taller than you. Dexter’s female submissives are petite, and he prefers curvy. Heidi fits the bill: an inch or two taller than me with big hazel eyes and reddish blonde hair, she has the most scrumptious peachy skin that turns a gorgeous crimson when struck. Heidi is a fleshy girl, which makes her more fun to spank and fuck, according to Dexter. Yet another reason he and I don’t find the other sexually wanting. We could have a skirmish, but never a fuck.

Heidi’s hands are tied together and held above her head by a rope. The rope is attached to a hook in the ceiling. If Dexter isn’t using his whip, then he doesn’t use a cross, especially if his victim is a pretty, peach-toned woman. Dexter wants every bit of flesh available for his pleasure. Heidi likes pain, impact play, and then they like to fuck. 

Heidi’s
back is to me, but I know she senses my presence by the tightening of her muscles. I lightly rest my hand on her shoulder, putting her at ease. Even though I don’t reach five feet in height, my intense presence looms and intimidates the submissives. Heidi and I have a good rapport. Not sexual at all, since I’m not into females. She, however, is bisexual. Heidi is also the only submissive that I administer aftercare. She tells me she feels safe with me- that’s all I needed to hear.

“May I borrow your Master for a few minutes,” I politely ask Heidi before they begin their session. “I can call Kayla over to chat with you while you wait.” I don’t like leaving Heidi hanging, literally.

“Thank you, Syn,” she bashfully says. I actually know Heidi in real life. She is a nurse to my paramedic. We’ve met a few times when I’ve brought patients into the emergency room. Heidi’s a good girl. She knows the difference between IRL and Restraint.

Kayla Cummings is Ez’s submissive
, who is staring at her masters with an amused expression on her pretty face- her masters are rolling around the floor sucking the lips off the other. Ez brought Kayla in to entertain Aaron. After a few intense conversations where Ez showed me his communications with Katya Waters, I realized that Kayla was also for Katya’s entertainment.

Kayla
is also Dexter’s perfect victim. If she liked pain, that is. Kayla likes dominated and restrained, but she doesn’t like any pain at all. She is Dexter’s preference, petite and soft with big blue eyes and wavy blonde hair. Heidi and Kayla really enjoy each other- best friends that would like more, but Ez doesn’t share without permission.

“Kayla, can you please keep Heidi occupied for a few moments?”

“Yes, Mistress Syn,” Kayla says, keeping her eyes trained on the floor.

“Master Syn,” I correct her. “I prefer the masculine
version.”

“My apologies, Master Syn,” Kayla’s voice warbles in fear.

“No need to apologize, Kayla. You can’t know what you haven’t been taught. Ladies,” I say in parting.

Dexter glares at me when I tug on his forearm. He was already getting in the headspace to seek his release. It’s not so much sexual for a sadist
, as it is a feeling of overwhelming power that fills you to bursting, and the pressure doesn’t release until your victim climaxes. It’s a very bad idea to interrupt a Dominant once they start.

“I need to talk to you privately for a moment, before you begin,” I ask Dexter, rather than order. No one orders Dexter- ever.

“What’s the rush? You know better than to interrupt me once I start,” he growls deep within his chest, with his amber eyes glaring daggers at me.

“I would like to go home,” I softly answer his question. “I do have a life outside of Restraint. That’s what I was going to confide in you. I think it’s time for me to fess up.”

My admission catches Dexter by surprise. He walks over to the wall and leans on it like he owns this bit of space. His signature arms crossed over his well-formed chest and the
get to explaining
stare have me spewing my guts.

“First, I need you to make sure that Marcus learns about Regina Regal showing up tonight. I think he should train her. It wouldn’t be a good idea for her to be with Cortez and me. We’re all you can handle as it is.”

“I agree with that,” Dexter groans. “I’m at the end of my rope with that fuck. Look at them,” Dexter points to Cortez dry humping Ez into the slate flooring.

“Get a room,” I shout at them, “before I spray you with water.”

Dexter’s snort manages to sound eloquent instead of sarcastic- strange. “You said ‘first’, what is second?”

“Do you know my name?” I reluctantly ask.

“Yeah, Cynthia Brooks,” Dexter says, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“
This is in confidence, and I trust you as my mentor never to speak of this,” I warn. “I’m a very private person. I don’t want anyone at Restraint to know who I am. I want my real life separate from the lifestyle. Dexter, I have a life, a very good life, and I don’t want to fuck it up. My profession wouldn’t look kindly on me being in the lifestyle.”

“I’m an IRS agent, but I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks,” Dexter goes caveman on me.

“I changed my name because there is a stigma attached. That woman that came with Regina Regal tonight, her name is Fate Simpson.”

“Ah,” Dexter purrs, his eyes lighting with amber fire, as if he is envisioning a scene, spotlighting my sister in his mind. “She is gorgeous and so decadent.”

“Dexter, you are never to touch her,” I hiss.

“Why not? You have no right to get into my private shit,” Dexter snarls.

“My birth name is Faith Simpson, and Fate is my sister. Fate is
my
private shit, Dex. Please, never touch her,” I appeal to his sense of honor.

“You have my word,” Dexter says, putting his fist over his heart. He holds my gaze for a moment, a serious expression on his face. “And no one else will touch her. Now, go home.”  

“Yes, Master,” I say in parting. I step over the mating Ezes on my way to the exit. Not able to deal with the crowd in the roaring club, I take the side exit.

Halfway on my walk home, a comforting presence warms my side. Seconds later, fingers lace with mine. Wil and I walk home hand-in-hand. I’d meant what I said to Dexter- I have a very good life, and I never want to fuck it up.

~Chapter Ninety-Four~

My stomach
is doing summersaults, and I have no idea why I’m so nervous.

Marcus formally invited me over to the Brownstone this evening. That is what made me nervous.
Marcus plus formal, equals scary. When I got here, I found the rest of the Masters of Restraint: Marcus, Dexter, Ezra, and Cortez. No Whitt, which I found off-putting.

In the center of the impact room, a card table was set up with five chairs circling it. A poker set was on top, already set out for a night of fun and games. A buffet of pizza, wings, beer, and hard liquor sat nearby.

The evening started out as expected: Cort and Ez bantering back and forth, Cort and I trading insults, and Marc and Dexter watching us like we are fucking retarded. And now… it’s getting interesting.

“I call your two-fifty and raise you five hundred,” I slide my chips into the pot. We’re playing Texas Hold ‘Em, and I have a full house, queens over nines
… and we’re playing with real cash.

“I’m out
- too rich for my blood. I have a shit hand, anyway,” Dexter says, tossing his cards into the pot, with Marcus quickly following suit. “This reminds me of Ezra’s initiation into Masterdom… and mine.”

“Be happy you didn’t have to witness mine,” Marc says, a full-bodied shiver wracks him.

“Story time,” Cort salaciously purrs, flirting with Marc in front of Ez. After a night of watching Cort bat his gorgeous eyelashes at Marcus, I kick the charming fucker in the shin beneath the table. Instead of stopping his antics, he leans over to Marc and rests his cheek on the man’s shoulder. All the while, he surreptitiously flips me off.

I mouth,
fuck you, too
.

“
Guys, fold,” Marcus orders the Ezes. “Syn kicked our asses.”

“I’m not hard up for money, we can play it out,” I grumble, wanting the challenge.

“You won, fair and square,” Marc replies. “Besides, I can’t play storyteller if we’re still playing poker. Syn, collect your winnings. Boys, pick up the table. Dexter, fetch us some on the rocks glasses and bring back a bottle of
Dalmore
. We’re celebrating.”

I count my winnings as everyone does as they were ordered.
Not a bad haul for the night- twelve grand and some change. It pays to play poker with people that think that’s pocket change. What to buy, what to buy…

I swirl my single malt around in its glass, scared to drink it. I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. A drink or two and I’m buzzing like an insect. I take an experimental sip, checking to see if their
smooth and velvety
was utter bullshit.

I hack up a lung. Coughing, I choke out, “cocksucking liars- it’s like breathing fire.”

“Only three people at this table are cocksuckers, and you’re one of them,” Dexter taunts me. “And I am not.” 

“It’s just an expression,” I mutter, red-faced from coughing.

“An idea is born,” Marcus begins. The evil glint in his amber eyes makes me want to piss my pants. “I was trained in Las Vegas, at a club called Kink. My master’s name is Olivia.” Ez, Cort, and I share a look. We know Olivia Fontaine very well, a fact Marc doesn’t know.

“
There were six of us that trained beneath Olivia- four guys and two girls. You earned your right to train every session. You were only allowed three massive screw ups, and then you got booted. We didn’t realize we were being evaluated for later. Our Master called us into her dungeon one evening. After a series of challenges, where we were scored based on dominance and proficiency by the area’s Masters, we were inducted into The BDSM Lifestyle Authority as Masters of BDSM. It is a huge honor, one I am bestowing upon you this evening.”

“Wow,” I say in awe. “I just thought we were learning to learn. I didn’t realize this was an official organization with a title.”