Naughty Bits Part III: Bound to Please (3 page)

Then Madison noted her only jewelry. The girl wore a steel collar with a small padlock threaded through the screw holes, and the heavy metal had abraded her skin.

She’d met collared subs who had a decorative collar, something that passed as jewelry in public. It gave them the personal pleasure of wearing a subtle statement of their Dom’s ownership. This one was overstated, a la Planet of the Apes, to look exactly like what it was. If worn by someone in Goth or punk garb, it might have blended better, but the woman wore plain jeans and a red knit shirt that hung on her sparse frame.

She could be here to steal, but since she was the only customer in the store, she had Madison’s full attention. If she was a shoplifter, she wasn’t a very sensible one.

Madison came out from behind the counter with her usual warm smile, though she suspected her gaze was sharper than usual. “Hi, I’m Madison. Can I help you?”

“Um . . . yeah. Yes.” The customer fingered one of the peignoirs. “This is so beautiful.”

“Yes, it is.” If the girl had more meat on her bones, it would look wonderful on her. Her eyes were focused, so she wasn’t using. At least not right now. “What’s your name?”

“Veronica.”

“Veronica, would you like some lemon cake? I baked it this morning.” She hoped she had some left. If not, she’d find her a pack of crackers.

“Uh, no. But thank you.” However, the girl’s eyes latched on to the direction Madison had pointed. Then they stayed there, studying the archway of the Dungeon Room. “I thought you were just a lingerie store.” Relief crossed her face, and her attention came back to Madison. “I’m not allowed to eat unless my Master says I can.”

So her trepidation might be about going into a store unaccepting of the BDSM lifestyle. It didn’t seem to abate, however. Though Veronica kept her gaze on Madison, it was as if she was being forced to look at her. She swallowed noisily.

“He sent me in here to . . . he told me to tell you . . . to ask . . . what’s the best outfit you sell for whores, because that’s what I am.”

Humiliation could be part of BDSM, if that was what a sub enjoyed, though the Dom or sub that pulled a third party into it without permission or forewarning was showing poor manners, at the least. Beyond that, Madison thought of how Troy had responded to her stern teasing this morning, with a blush and a bright, healthy light in his eyes. He was demonstrably eager to be back with his Mistress, even to try out the
cage
she’d had built for him. Compared to this poor thing in front of her, the difference was black and white.

“Let’s get you some cake,” Madison said firmly. “It will be a good way to talk about what you really want.”

She took her arm, but Veronica flinched. As she pulled away, the sleeve of her knit shirt shifted, giving Madison a glimpse of healing cuts, as well as bruising around the wrists. Perhaps from steel manacles that matched the uncomfortable weight and cut of the collar?

In the next blink, a red haze had covered Madison’s eyes. Though they’d had their differences on many things, on one thing she and Alice had never disagreed. They had no tolerance for abuse. As teenagers, they’d joined forces to kidnap more than one neglected dog from a terrible life on a short chain in a backyard. When they’d stumbled on two boys behind the school beating up a kid with Down Syndrome, Madison had hesitated, not sure whether they should go get help or do something to stop it. Then Alice jumped in and she joined her, the two of them beating the ever-loving crap out of the bullies.

Madison remembered later that same day of the time she’d put peroxide on an abrasion on her sister’s arm. The scrape had come from rolling around in the gravel, grappling with one of the boys. Alice would stand for Veronica without thought, making sure she was protected in whatever way necessary. Madison led with that feeling.

“Where is your Master?” She headed for the door, but this time it was Veronica who reached out, held her back.

“Please don’t,” she said plaintively. “If you get mad at him, he’ll get mad at me.”

“He’s abusing you.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m bad. I’m really bad. He has to punish me and make me do these things to remind me how bad I am.”

“No, he . . .”

“What’s taking so long?”

Alice’s spirit must have been influencing the music selection, because it was the first time Madison had heard “Ride of the Valkyries” fill the store when the door opened. It took over for the poignant “Somewhere in Time” Veronica’s arrival had set off.

This had to be Veronica’s Master. Wearing khakis and golf shirt, he was tall and husky, with the cocky look the football coach at her high school had possessed. Not always a bad trait in that profession, but arrogance could pave the road to indifferent cruelty. He was about twenty years older than Veronica. At his pointed tone, the girl cringed and tried to scurry toward him, but Madison snagged her arm, taking a firmer hold this time while trying not to aggravate the bruises beneath her grip.

“We were discussing what you wanted her to buy,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Sorry,” he said. He’d registered her tone, his own saying he wasn’t sorry at all. He gave her an easy, feral smile. “It’s just a game we’re playing. I thought this kind of store, you’d be used to it.”

“Role playing and fantasies are part of what this store is about, yes,” Madison said evenly. “Not abuse and malnourishment.”

His eyes narrowed. “You better get your hand off my slave.”

“You better join the current century and realize she doesn’t belong to anyone but herself.”

Veronica was shaking. Madison tucked her further behind her. “Get the hell out of my store, before I call the cops.”

“She’ll be home by supper time.”

“That will be her choice. You won’t be around to help her make it.”

“Sanctimonious bitch. I don’t have any problems teaching you both a lesson. You’re all by yourself in here.” He took a step into the store and Madison took a step back, already thinking about the .38 Alice kept under the counter. Unfortunately, he took it as a fearful retreat, not a calculated one. Light kindled in his eyes.

“How about we teach you a lesson instead?”

She bit back a sigh of relief, glancing over her shoulder to see Logan step out from behind her storeroom curtain, Troy on his heels. The two of them shifted apart, shoulder to shoulder, and she saw nothing submissive about Troy now. His eyes were cool flint. A direct contrast to Logan’s, which held hellfire.

“You heard her,” he said, taking another step forward. “Get out of her store. Now. And don’t come back.”

Logan’s expression left no doubt what would happen if he didn’t listen. Madison remembered how dangerous he’d appeared when making erotic threats to Troy, but the difference between sensual intimidation and genuine menace was dangerously clear. Clear enough to penetrate the thick head of the man in the doorway. With a sneer, he turned and left, giving the door a kick that could have broken the glass, if he hadn’t missed and hit the frame.

“I really should go with him,” the girl quavered. “He’s my Master.”

“No, he’s not.” Logan’s tone was everything a Master’s should be. Authoritative, assured, decisive. Protective. It drew Veronica’s attention to him like a magnet. Madison’s, too, for that matter. She wanted to kiss him, right then and there.

“He doesn’t know the first thing about being a Dom. We’re going to get you a meal, take you to a place that will help you figure things out. If you still want to go to him after that, one of us will take you. But you’ll give it twenty-four hours. Understand?”

The question was obviously rhetorical. Logan could dial up that Dominant attitude full force, and it had the desired effect on Veronica, underscored by her next stammered words.

“Y-yes sir.”

His jaw eased, but not the fury in his gaze. Still, he touched the girl gently, guiding her to Troy, who exercised his usual calming presence to shepherd her behind the curtain and into their adjoining storeroom. When Logan turned his attention to Madison, she realized she was shaking herself, but it wasn’t fear. His touch, hands closing on her upper arms, helped calm her.

“You all right?”

“I’d be better if I could blow up his Lincoln Continental with him in it. You don’t have any explosives in your store, do you?”

The spirited response eased some of the fire in his visage. Realizing some of that had been on her behalf, a territorial male’s desire to protect her, gave her a flutter.

“It’s never supposed to be like that,” he said, turning his attention to the street, where the Continental was leaving its parking place, the tires squealing as the owner vented his frustration on his exit. “You do know that, don’t you, Madison?”

He wasn’t looking at her, but she sensed how significant the question was to him, how vital her answer. When his gaze shifted to her, what she saw there confirmed it.

“Right before Veronica got here, I was thinking about the pain session and being a little afraid,” she admitted. She lifted her hands to his face before he could say anything to that. “Now I know I picked the right Dom to show me the ropes, so to speak.”

He blinked, covered her hands with his own, a light hold on her wrists. “So you’ve decided.”

“You know I have.” She took a breath, looked toward her back room. “Will she go back to him?”

“Maybe. It’s not the first time a criminal sadist has used our world to cover his sickness. Most Doms have a sadistic side, but it’s one they use for mutual pleasure, for them and their subs. Unfortunately, a woman with low self-esteem like that will fall into the wrong kind of Dom’s lap like candy. But we’ll do our best to make sure she doesn’t end up there again.”

“How did you know I had a problem?” she asked.

“The security cameras in my store include the entrances and exits to yours. We watch out for our neighbors, and the situation gave me a wrong feeling. I came through the back so if it wasn’t anything, I could leave without interrupting you. Troy insisted on coming, too. He’s become quite fond of you.” Stroking a wisp of hair from her brow, he tapped the librarian glasses lightly. “That makes two of us.”

“Well, that’s good, because I was going to trade on your affections to draft you and Troy for a fashion show I’m planning. I need some handsome escorts for the models, and someone to show off the male outfits. You know, pirate outfits, the studded leather harnesses and thongs . . .”

“Uh-huh.” He snorted. “Good luck with that. That’s my cue to get back to my store, talk to Veronica about where she’ll be staying tonight.”

“And that will be?”

“There’s a shelter in the area. It’s run by a woman who’s been in the lifestyle. Becky was with an asshole like that for three years too long. She handles not only the standard abuse cases, but those that get outed by the BDSM community. We take care of our own there, too. A guy like that gives us all a bad name.”

That fierce light flickered again. While she’d wanted to blow up his car, it was obvious he would have preferred to beat Veronica’s Master to a pulp with his fists. Logan was a very hands-on type of male, after all.

“If I can convince Veronica to stay there a night,” he continued, “long enough to find out there are better, healthier ways to exercise submissive tendencies—and determine if she actually has them, rather than just being a woman with a bad self-image—things will be more in our favor that she’ll stay another day, and another, and get her life back on track.”

“Would it be okay if I stopped in and visited her tonight?”

He squeezed her hand. “You’ve got a good heart. I’ll ask Becky. The location of the shelter is secret, for obvious reasons, but I know she won’t object to you coming as long as she feels it’s the right time. She’ll likely want to spend the first few hours just feeding her and doing some one-on-one work. But after that, I expect it would be good for Veronica to talk to as many women as possible who know how it’s really supposed to work.”

She liked that he included her in that number, and was kind of amazed at her personal pride and ownership of that.
I am a submissive.
“Whatever Becky and you think is best. Anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

He bent forward, dropping an unexpected kiss to her forehead. Then he slid an arm around her, held her closer. “I’m glad you’re all right. But next time anyone gives you wrong vibes, you get your pretty ass back behind your counter and have that gun within reach.”

“You know about the gun?”

“Yep. Alice would go to the range with me sometimes to stay in practice. I gave her a few tips to improve her aim.” He leaned back, gave her a sharp look. “You know how to use one?”

“Yep. Our daddy taught us both when we were kids. I haven’t used one in awhile, but he said I was a natural. We’ll go to the range sometime and I’ll smoke
your
pretty ass on target rounds.”

He grinned at that. Leaning down again, he put his mouth on hers. It was reassuring and promising, all at once. Her toes curled in her shoes as he slid his fingertips into her hair, his other arm banding around her waist to hold her even more securely to him. When he lifted his head, she saw a rare instance of sheepishness in his gaze.

“Sorry. I needed that.”

“Anything I can do to help,” she repeated, a little breathlessly this time. “You know, I still wonder if that whole ‘pain-can-help-heal-and-deal-with-guilt’ thing is just an excuse to spank me.”

The set of his jaw eased, his lips curving. “I have half a mind to do it right now, purely for my own enjoyment.”

“See? I knew it was more than a selfless desire to help me.”

He sobered. “Madison, you’re joking about it, but I want to say it. Remember what I told you from the beginning. There is absolutely
nothing
more important to a Dominant than the care of his or her sub. We might use pain for mutual pleasure, and that mutual pleasure may not be how other people define it. But what he’s doing to her, manipulating her emotions, taking advantage of her weaknesses, that’s so far from what BDSM is supposed to be about, it’s like a dirty cop versus a good one. There is no comparison, even if they look the same at times. You understand that, right?”