Lyon on a Leash (5 page)

Her voice droned on as he berated himself for putting himself through this again, for wanting this so much.
Want
? He snorted at the tameness of the word. No. He
craved
being one with a Mistress. Nothing in the world compared to that feeling of having someone of your own. The one time in his adult life he had been utterly content were the two and a half years he served his former Mistress. There was something so mind-bogglingly beautiful in making her happy, belonging to her. Joy had filled him to the brim when she’d thanked him for a meal he’d prepared, or a massage, or when she’d released stress in the dungeon. He’d needed his Mistress, but she’d also needed him. He completed her. They’d been a team. The high he’d received while in her service was an addiction, and he was desperate to feel it again. The need to do so consumed him.

Still, if he didn’t get picked up this time, he wouldn’t put himself through this again. The auction had changed since he’d last participated. He wasn’t an exhibitionist and if the bar had changed, lowered in his opinion, and that was the new requirement, he couldn’t do it. He would keep seeking a Mistress, possibly try some other avenues, but this would be his last auction.

“Francis will take you now,” said Ada. Good luck, gents.”

Marcus looked up to find her watching him. He smiled and she nodded.

Michelle slapped him on the back. “Let’s do this.”

Sandy eyed him. “Are you sure you don’t want to change?”

There was no way Marcus could stand in a room half naked and speak coherent sentences. He simply wasn’t built that way. One thing his former Mistress had taught him was always to be honest with her and himself. His future Mistress deserved that as well.

“Nah, I’m good.” He winked at Michelle, who shook his head and walked down the hall.

Sandy looked up at him as they moved along, bringing up the rear. “I was just saying…because, well…you see the competition. Even Michelle’s showing her legs.”

“It’s not me, man. I can’t do that, not in public with a bunch of strangers.”

“What if your Mistress told you to do it?” Sandy growled.

Marcus shrugged. His former Mistress never would have, but who knew about his new one? “If she does, then I’d have to trust she had a good reason and go along with it. But…I don’t have a Mistress and I’m not comfortable walking around half naked in this type of event. Besides, I like that I’m in the minority. There’s only a few of us dressed up and that might work in my favor.” That thought had just come to him, and it made sense.

Sandy shrugged, but Marcus could tell he gave his words some thought. The sound of light jazz and raised voices from the reception room drew his attention. Some of the voices he recognized. He and Michelle weren’t the only ones who’d been here before; some of the Dommes were fairly regular at these events. Those were the ones he didn’t mind knowing, but didn’t want to end up in their stables. He functioned best in single-submissive relationships. Since his main objective was a life-long partnership, akin to marriage, sharing a Mistress held no appeal for him.

Still, it was good hearing Madame Bree’s voice. She was a kind-hearted, plus-sized Domme from Las Vegas who always purchased eye candy. From what he’d heard, those who returned to Vegas with her were used as appetizers to draw in female customers at her ranch. Some became dancers and others worked security. She paid top dollar at the auction for the best-looking men who would obey her every whim.

A year ago, Madame Bree, a voluptuous redhead, had told him he was too nice to make it in Vegas. At first, he’d thought she was feeding him a line. But from all he’d heard about her ranch, coupled with the fact she constantly replenished her stable, he believed he’d dodged a bullet. To this day, he appreciated her honesty and the kindness she always showed him.

He smiled and nodded to the Dommes who looked up at him.

A chill skittered down his back as he encountered the thoughtful gaze of Mistress Angel. Without question, she was beautiful, with long blond hair, bright blue eyes, a face and body that could belong to any Victoria’s Secret model. The shiny catsuit she wore had a plunging neckline revealing all but the peaks of her ample breasts. It hugged her hips like a seasoned lover and ended abruptly at the tops of high-heeled boots. Beneath her boot lay one of the auction submissives.

Marcus met her gaze. She smiled at him. He nodded. Mistress Angel was anything but. He was surprised she’d made the cut this year. Her beauty had lured many of the new subs into her web. Those, like him, who had been around a while, avoided her sharp tongue as much as possible. She had a reputation of being a sadistic bitch who specialized in excessive humiliation and degradation, most times in public. Rumor had it she chose if she’d honor safe words when she had a sub under the lash or locked in bondage.

The first time they’d met she told him that her sub was a possession, like her car, house, or clothes. She’d said she cared for them all, in a way, but they were expendable and should be updated regularly. He had told her they’d clash. He required honesty, honor, and respect. She’d frowned at him and stalked off.

He nodded respectfully. If she won him, he would honor the auction and serve her for the next twenty-four hours, but he would never be her submissive afterward. He strode to the side of the room where the refreshments were. Feeling her gaze on him, he gulped down his punch and then choked when it went down the wrong way.

“Are you okay?” A woman with a lilting voice asked as she slapped the middle of his back.

His face warmed. “I’m fine, thank you…” he looked at her name tag, “Mistress Em.” The top of her head reached his shoulder.

She nodded and turned away.

“May I serve you? Something to drink or eat perhaps?” he asked as soon as he could breathe. The gentle sway of her hips entreated him to get to know her better.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “Some punch and maybe something sweet.” She pursed her lips as though she could taste whatever he would bring her. “Surprise me.”

The gauzy beige, pink, and green print dress flowed around her knees as she moved slowly toward a table. Bangle bracelets went halfway up one of her arms. There were a few chains around her neck. Tinkling sounds accompanied her movements and he smiled.

Her demeanor, her attire, and her smile reminded him of a teacher he’d had in elementary school.
Ms. Barber
. Whenever the small woman crossed his mind she was inevitably accompanied with visions of Tinker Bell and fairy dust. She always seemed to float around the room and wore bangles on her arm and told whimsical stories that always had him on the edge of his seat. She had ignited his love for fantasy and science fiction. Twenty-some years later, his love for graphic design was the result.

Marcus looked at all the items on the table, the dishes artfully placed and garnished, and realized he had no clue what a lot of it was. Why couldn’t food just look like plain food? Out the corner of his eye, he saw Michelle holding a tray, and waved him over.

“What’s good on here?” Marcus pointed to the table and then shook his head. “No, she wants something sweet. What’s sweet and good?”

Michelle chuckled. “It’s all good.” He pointed to a few items. “But these are sweet.”

Marcus filled a plate with the items. “Do you know what they are?” he asked while filling a glass with punch.

“Of course. The company I work for catered this event.”

Stunned, Marcus stared, trying to gauge if he was serious or not. All he saw was pride shining from Michelle’s eyes. “That’s so cool, dude. If she asks, I’ll be sure to tell her you’re the chef.”

Michelle’s eyes widened. “Really? You’d do that?”

Marcus shrugged. “Yes. I won’t lie, but I will definitely give credit where it’s due.” He nodded and went to serve Mistress Em.

After placing the small plates and drinks in front of her, he stood slightly to the side. She took one of the small pastries, looked it over, and popped it in her mouth. The moan she made had him smiling. “This is damn good.” She ate another one. Marcus returned to the table and placed a few more on a plate for her. When he returned, he held the plate out for her in silence.

She never spoke but looked up at him in gratitude as she took another pastry from the plate. Marcus stood quietly beside her as she sampled all the delicacies he had served her. When she finished, she waved him to sit in the chair next to her.

“Thank you. That was really good. I have to find out what was in that sweet potato puff. It melted on my tongue.”

“One of the chefs is here; would you like me to bring him to you?” Marcus knew he was taking a risk bringing Michelle in the picture, but if Em was a foodie, as he suspected, Michelle would make her exceedingly happy.

She eyed him a moment and then her smile kicked up a notch. “I would appreciate that but I want you to return with him. I’d like to talk with you.”

Marcus rose and set off to find Michelle. The man hovered near the buffet table and was surprised by Marcus’ request.

“You like her?” Michelle asked in a dubious tone.

Marcus shrugged. He didn’t know enough about her to say one way or another. But she appeared to be nice. She had calm eyes and he liked that. “Possibly. She wants to discuss food with you, not ask you to marry her. Come on.” He turned and strode off, certain Michelle was behind him.

As they neared Mistress Em, Marcus noticed Ada walking into the room. Behind her was a fair-complexioned woman in a black dress with a block of red and white around the waist. It fit snugly around her hourglass figure and the vee neckline gave hints of large breasts. Reddish-brown curls brushed against her forehead and cheek. The rest fell down her back.

His dick twitched.

Even from this distance she affected him. She must be one of the young Dommes Ada had mentioned earlier. He introduced Michelle to Em, but watched the woman out the corner of his eye. She purposefully walked to a leather bucket chair and sat. Much to the collective dismay of the men in the room, she barely looked around. Rather, she opened a program and flipped through the pages, stopping a couple of times.

“Where are you from, Marcus?” Mistress Em asked, with mischief in her eyes.

His face warmed with the knowledge she’d known he hadn’t been paying attention. “Originally from Newark, but I’ve lived the past five years in Memphis, Tennessee, ma’am.”

“I know all submissives sign off that they are willing to relocate in order to participate in the auction, but how do you feel about that? Memphis is a large town with a lot of history.”

As a freelance graphic artist, most of his work was done on a computer and he could do that from anywhere. True, he was leery about moving too far from his support base but for the right woman, he’d do it in a heartbeat. “I have no problems with relocating, ma’am. But they changed the rules this time so it’s good to ask. Submissives can now disclose places where they aren’t willing to relocate and as long as it’s known up front, the submissive can still participate in the auction.”

“I didn’t know that, thanks for bringing me up to speed. I’ll make sure I ask that upfront. Do you see yourself as a service sub, pet, sex slave, knight? Tell me how you see yourself.”

Marcus smiled. He wondered why the organizers bothered to have submissives create profiles along with professionally made pictures if the Dommes never read them. Just as he opened his mouth to answer, Francis tapped him on the shoulder.

“Yes?” he asked respectfully.

“You have an interview request.”

Marcus was certain the old man’s eyes twinkled. “A what?” he asked to be sure.

“An interview request.”

Marcus looked at Mistress Em, who gazed thoughtfully at him. Michelle looked over his shoulder and Marcus followed his line of vision. There was only one Mistress doing formal interviews. His heart raced as he returned his attention back to Mistress Em. Face on fire with excitement, he was sure his skin flushed.

“May I be excused, ma’am?” His body pulsed with anticipation.

She nodded with a regal tilt of her head. “Of course. Good luck.”

He stood and followed Francis. The closer he got to the beautiful goddess, the faster his heart beat. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. His gaze slid to meet Ada’s. She gave him a thumbs-up. “Mistress Rose, may I present Marcus Lyon,” Francis intoned.

Large, expressive eyes with long, sooty lashes met his gaze. Full lips and a straight, button-tipped nose graced the oval canvas of her face. A light smattering of freckles danced across her nose. He was enthralled.

“Thank you, Francis.” Her gaze flicked to the older man and then returned to him. She smiled, displaying a small gap between her front teeth. His cock twitched again at the sexy sight. Her warm, genuine smile brightened her dark brown eyes and stole his breath. It told him she appreciated meeting him and that this was as important to her as to him. The beat of his heart did a marathon run. He would never forget this moment.

She waved to the chair. “Marcus, please sit.”

Vera strode into the room behind Ada. Instantly, heads turned. Men stared. She was sized up like a juicy rib-eye by both the men and the women in the room. Her face heated as she stood near the door.