Going Deep (11 page)

Because of the
way he’d encouraged her to speak what was on her mind and accepted his part in
the misunderstanding, she progressed from resenting his promised punishment, to
accepting it—even liking it before it was through. She shook her head. The real
punishment had come from within herself. She’d disappointed him, and had he
been a less reasonable man, she wouldn’t have cared. But he wasn’t, and she did
care. Very much.

She’d learned
valuable lessons last night—lessons about clear communication, about being
open-minded, and accepting responsibility for one’s actions, and she’d learned
to trust him as her Master. The punishment he’d meted out had been just and
fair, based on the level of her misconduct.

She’d also
learned something about being blindfolded. Loss of sight heightened some of
senses—like touch and hearing, while obliterating others—namely, propriety.

Her skin flamed
remembering the things she’d done, and allowed a man, a practical stranger no
less, to do to her. The blindfold had rendered her vulnerable but, at the same
time, set her free. It blinded her to her inhibitions and took her to a place
in her mind where nothing else mattered but pleasure—hers and her Master’s.

She’d heard once
that punishment was a relative thing. If a person liked solitude, locking them
alone in a cell would accomplish nothing. In order to punish, you have to take
away something a person values. He had stripped away her dignity—a punishment
befitting her crime. But he’d tempered the harshness with pleasure.

Realization
slammed into her. She never wanted to disappoint this man again. But even if
she did, he would find a way to gently show her she’d let down herself, too.
And she had. Hadn’t she known all along she should clarify his instructions?
But she’d chosen not to in an effort to preserve her dignity. How embarrassing
to email him after their first meeting to ask if it was all right to
masturbate. He would know how much he’d affected her, and she didn’t want that.

He’d cut to the core
of her crime—her pride—and unequivocally demonstrated even that part of her belonged
to him. And he’d done it with understanding and compassion. His tender care of
her afterwards demonstrated that the offense had been forgotten.

Her Master was
an extraordinary man.

She ran her
finger across her lips, remembering how they’d stretched to accommodate his
cock, much like her pussy had stretched to accommodate the plastic beast
earlier. She couldn’t believe he’d accepted her gift, allowing her to ease his
need. Yes, her Master was an amazing man. She couldn’t wait to have his cock
again—in any way he wanted.

Her cell phone
rang, startling her out of her erotic memories and back into the real world. She
glanced at the caller ID. The senior editor—her boss—returning her call.

“Hi, George,”
she said. “Thanks for getting back to me so soon.”

“No problem. You
saw the email?”

“Yes, I did. I
want that story. You can’t let someone else have it.”

“I know you’re
passionate about the subject, that’s why I sent it to you before anyone else. I
want someone on this ASAP.”

 “I’m in,” she
said. “Someone has to put a stop to these athletes using steroids. Too many
kids look up to them as role models.” Cold, hard rage raced through her system.
“They don’t know how dangerous these drugs are.”

“Hey,” he said. “You
don’t have to convince me. I’m on your side.”

“I know. Sorry.
It’s just that I….” Memories flooded through her and her throat tightened.

“You’re a good
friend to keep after this,” he said. “Most people would have let it go a long
time ago.”

“I can’t. Danny
was like a brother to me. He did something stupid that cost him his life.
Exposing steroid use among elite athletes brings attention to the problem and
might convince another teenager of the danger. Save a life.”

“Preaching to
the choir here,” George said. “Take your time on this one. I think I might be
able to get you an interview with Martin McCree. I’ve got a call in to his
lawyer.”

“That would be
fabulous. Let me know. In the meantime, I’ll get started on the research right
away.” She paused and swallowed, “And thanks. I owe you one.”

This was the
story she’d been waiting for. It had been ten years since her cousin Danny
committed suicide. She had no doubt his abrupt withdrawal from steroids was to
blame. If only he’d never used them or, at the very least, had understood what
they really did to his body, maybe he would be alive today.

Excited to have
something to do besides obsess over the previous night, and anticipate tomorrow
night, she set to work on her new project.

* * *

Jason sang along
with the radio all the way to the stadium. He hummed in the locker room and
whistled in the dugout.

“Hey, man.”
Stevens slapped him on the back. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Yeah, I am,” he
said, realizing he meant it. For the first time since Stacey left him, he was
happy. Really. Truly. Happy. And he owed it to Carrie. She was everything he
wanted in a sub. Her body was a work of art, and her mind equal to it. She’d
surprised him with her anger. He chuckled to himself, remembering his anxiety
upon discovering she was unhappy with his decision to punish her.

She’d been
right. He hadn’t been clear, and he couldn’t blame her for that, but when he
pointed out the error of her ways, she’d accepted his punishment with a level
of submission that humbled him. And if he was any judge, she’d enjoyed it. He
couldn’t wait to be with her again. Tomorrow’s game was in the afternoon, so he’d
booked the Dungeon room for early evening, expecting to use it, and his sub,
into the wee hours of the morning.

But first, he needed
to get through two games. He was ready. His body was primed for action. It was
a feeling he was familiar with, but one that had been elusive this season.

He strode to the
plate with more confidence than he’d felt in weeks.

The first pitch
came in low and inside. Jason checked his swing and rolled his shoulders to
release the tension building there. Last season, pitchers worked hard to keep
him off base, and it was good to know a few still respected his ability,
despite his dismal showing so far this season. He stepped back into the batter’s
box. His next swing connected with leather, rocketing the ball foul down the
first base line.

God, it felt
good to connect again, to feel the sharp bite of energy when two moving masses
collided.

He loosened his
grip on the bat and repositioned his fingers, searching for the perfect grip.
Satisfied, he lifted the bat to his shoulder and focused on the pitcher’s hand.
His gaze narrowed to the slash of white showing between the pitcher’s fingers.
He tuned out everything. Nothing existed but the orb hurtling toward him. Four
hundred milliseconds to see the ball, calculate speed and trajectory, commit to
the swing, and follow through. His brain committed to action, and the bat
became an extension of his hands.

He shifted his
weight to his back foot then using the muscles in his legs, he lunged forward,
twisting first his shoulders then his upper torso, transferring energy from his
lower body to his arms to the bat. Simple physics. Point the knob of the bat
toward the target, and swing through.

Less than half a
second from pitch to impact.

The ball
collided with the bat in that elusive sweet spot where eight thousand pounds of
force literally crushed the ball before sending in the opposite direction at
nearly one hundred ten miles-per-hour.

No sting in his
hands. Just a pleasant vibration traveling along his arms, through his
shoulders, and down his spine. Every cell in his body responded to the
stimulus. Fireworks exploded in his mind. His heart raced. He didn’t need to
watch, but the miracle never ceased to amaze him. Jogging toward first base, he
tracked the ball until it fell into waiting hands in the right field bleachers.

A homerun.

As his foot
touched each base in turn, a calm certainty built inside him. He was back in
the game. All the doubts he’d harbored since the first pitch of the season vanished.
This was his year. Jason Holder was on top—in more ways than one. He crossed
home plate into a crowd of teammates gathered to celebrate with him. Over their
heads, he caught the gaze of his sister-in-law, Megan, in the stands. Bouncing
on her toes, she waved and blew him a kiss. Too bad his brother was stuck in
the bullpen and couldn’t share this moment with him. Jeff would make it up to
him later. Their lockers side-by-side, they always had time together before and
after the game.

Jason entered
the dugout. The team manager, Doyle Walker, clapped him on the shoulder. “Nice
shot,” he said. “Glad to see you’re back.”

“It’s good to be
back,” he said.
And good to have the team manager’s favor again,
he
added silently.

Doyle had been a
good friend to Jason and Jeff since he’d recruited them from the University of
Texas almost seven years ago. But his job was to win games, and a player not
pulling his weight had to go—friend or not. Today’s homerun, though not enough
to get him completely out of the woods, bought him time to prove himself.

He shelved his
helmet, using the after batting routine to savor the moment privately. It was
just one homerun, but he knew it was the first of many. He couldn’t really
pinpoint the change, but something had shifted inside him. He felt different,
more alive, more in charge of his life and body. Until that feeling had returned,
he hadn’t noticed it’d been was missing. Funny how a person could go through
each day without giving a thought to whether they were happy or not. Then—
Wham!
Happiness hit him like a fastball to the helmet, and his whole world had
shifted into focus.

 An image of
Carrie, naked and on her knees, flashed in his mind. She truly was a work of
art. A plan formed in his mind for the next time they were together. No
punishment, just pleasure. Lots and lots of pleasure. Yeah, life was good.

* * *

Carrie waited,
none too patiently, to be with him again. Her work had kept her busy the last
few days, but she’d found her mind wandering back to her first session with
Master, reliving it until her body ached with need and she was tempted to bring
the vibrator out. If all his punishments were like the one he’d dealt out the
other night, she would have to be a very bad girl. Remembering the
disappointment in his voice, she knew she never wanted to hear that tone again,
no matter what kind of punishment accompanied it.

She was proud to
be his sub and wanted him to be proud of her. So when the email arrived
instructing her to meet him at the Dungeon the following day, she jumped for
joy. He’d given no indication of what he had in mind, leaving her to dream up scenarios
of her own.

* * *

“Hello, angel.”

Her skin tingled
at the sound of his voice.

“How have you
been?”

He closed the curtains
over the two-way mirror, and she followed the sound of his footsteps across the
room.

“I’ve missed
you, Sir.”

His footsteps
halted in front of her. “What exactly did you miss about me?”

“I missed your
touch and your voice,” she said.
I want to see you
.

“My voice? You
like my voice?”

“Yes, Sir. Your
voice….” Couldn’t he see what his voice did to her? Her skin prickled in
another one of those damnable full-body blushes.

“Tell me, girl.
There’s nothing but honesty between us.”

She nodded, glad
for the blindfold. “Every time you speak, it’s like a touch. I feel it on my
skin, and it makes me horny.”

“Is that so?” A
smile tinged his words. “I’ll have to remember to speak to you often because I
want you horny.” He shifted something in his hands, and his knees cracked when
he squatted. “Are you horny now?” He flattened his palm over her stomach,
nearly singing her skin with his heat “Let me see.” His hand slid down to cup
her mound. “Spread for me,” he said, slipping his fingers between her legs when
she complied.

He flicked and
played in her damp heat, drawing a whimper from her.

 “You’re wet,”
he said, spearing his middle finger inside. “I’m pleased.”

She moved her
hips, seeking deeper contact.

“Be still,” he
warned, continuing to play between her legs. His voice, deep and confident
assured her, but his words…oh Lord, the combination of the two demolished her
self-control.

“Keep still.
Tonight I’m going to see and touch every inch of you. I’m going to mark you as
mine.” She struggled to control her body’s natural inclinations, closing her
teeth over her bottom lip to keep from begging for what she wanted. With his finger
still buried inside her, he leaned in close. “And when I’m through, if you’ve
been good,” he whispered in her ear, “you’ll get much more than a finger inside
you.”

A strangled
sound gurgled past her lips. Her inner muscles clamped his finger, and she came
in his hand. He pulled her to him, cradling her cheek against his solid chest.
He cupped her until the last muscle spasm eased, then slipped his finger from
her.

 He inhaled
deeply and let it out audibly. She dared to breathe, taking in the tangy scent
of her arousal mingling with the starch from his crisp shirt and the outdoorsy fragrance
she was beginning to associate with him.

“I love to smell
you on my hand,” he said, filling his lungs again.

If he would let
her, she would rub herself all over him.

“Open your
mouth.” He urged her bottom lip down with his index finger. “You taste so good.”
He inserted his wet middle finger into her mouth. “Taste yourself on me.”

She closed her
lips around his finger.