Slave To Love (20 page)

“Answer the question, sub.” Dominina placed her hands on the table and glowered. “Do you want to be dominated by a woman?”

“It depends on the woman.” That answer came from an honest place. Taren turned to Sire Swift. “What is your favorite scene?”

He smiled. “Wax play. There’s something about seeing how a person reacts to a drop of hot wax on the skin. It’s amazing.”

Taren smiled. She turned to Macabre. “I have my decision.”

Macabre released a loud cackle. “Already? Tell us. Who stays and who goes?”

Taren looked at the duo before her. “I’d like Sire Swift to stay.”

“That means, Dominina Destruction, you have been—”

“You fucking bitch!” Dominina jumped to her feet. “No sub has ever dismissed me.” She started to come down to the end of the table to go after Taren until Sire Swift stopped her by snagging her around the waist.

“Let me go!” She tried pushing his arm off her.

“Is there security here?” Swift remained calm as he held onto the wild woman.

Two large men wearing all black came up to Dominina and grabbed her arms.

“Get your hands off me! I’m not finished here. You haven’t seen the last of me.” She spat toward Taren as the guards dragged her away.

Taren put her hand to her chest. “That was intense.” She looked at Macabre. “I have to do this seven more times?”

She nodded. “Are you up for the challenge?”

She looked down at her notes. The shaky writing clued her in how much her nerves had gotten to her. “I think so.”

Swift sauntered to the end of the table where Taren sat. He extended his hand. “Thank you for choosing me. I hope I’ll be the one you pick in the end.”

“Soneni!” Kitty scanned the immediate area until a young, petite, young African-American woman with an Afro puff on top of her head and a harried expression came into the room. Her small mouth and delicate features made her look like a doll baby.

“Yes?” Soneni exhaled and pulled her headset down to hang it around her neck.

“Make sure the ones Taren has chosen are taken back to the production room with the other contestants.”

Soneni nodded. “Sure.” She turned to Sire Swift. “Follow me, please.”

Taren smiled and shook his hand before he sauntered behind the young production assistant. She hoped the rest of the candidates acted like Sire Swift and not like Dominina Destruction.

“Bring in the next two,” Kitty proclaimed.

Taren’s heart started its pounding again. She leaned over to Macabre. “I don’t know about this.”

“You’ll be fine. Go with your gut. If they don’t like it, fuck them.” Macabre winked.

A tall African-American man with onyx skin that almost matched his black leather mask and a white man of equal height strolled in together. Both had on masks that came midway down their faces. The men stared at each other from across the table before simultaneously sitting down as though they had rehearsed their movements.

“Did you two plan that?” Taren asked. Her curiosity got the better of her.

The white one replied first. “No.”

“He’s intimidated by me.” The other man chuckled as he leaned back in his chair.

“Hardly.”

“Gentlemen,” Macabre began as she glared at the two of them. “Let’s not be rude. Start with introductions.” She pointed to the African-American man first.

“I’m known as Master Lock. I have been a Dominant for seventeen years.” He licked his lips and paused for effect. “I’m a sadist. I enjoy inflicting pain even more than I love hearing a sub or slave scream a safe word.” He sat up and leaned toward Taren. “Get with me, and you’ll be diving in the deep end.”

Taren wouldn’t be intimidated. Now that she knew security would help if anyone got too out of line, she felt a little at ease. Security wouldn’t help her with her decision.

“And you?” Macabre pointed to the other man.

“I’m Bruiser.” He gave Taren a nod.

Master Lock snickered. “I had a dog named Bruiser once.”

“Yeah?” Bruiser glared at Lock. “I want to thank you for securing my locker when I was in high school. What the hell kind of name is Master Lock? Why not call yourself Ever Ready? Or, better yet, Master Bates?”

“Men!” Macabre pounded her fist on the table, which made Taren jump. “Direct your attention to this woman here. In a few minutes, one of you will be leaving.”

“You’re right.” Bruiser returned his attention back to Taren. “I’ve been a Dom for ten years. I’ve studied from the best and have been made dungeon master at Club 4400.”

“Liar!” Lock bolted straight up in his seat.

Bruiser’s face, the part Taren could see, relaxed. He didn’t acknowledge Lock or his accusation.

“I’m well versed on many techniques including caning and electric play. I would like to make you experience new sensations.” He smiled. “I have absolutely no reason to lie.” He glared at Lock before settling back into his seat.

Or maybe Taren imagined that he smiled because the corners of his mouth naturally went up like he knew the punch line of every joke.

“Are you a sadist also?” Taren hovered her hand over her notepad.

Without pausing, Bruiser said, “Yes. I’m a hard Dom. I can be rough. But I listen.”

Taren turned to Lock. “What do you look for in a submissive?”

As though the conversation bored him, he sighed. “What do I want in a submissive? Someone who wants to be a slave.”

That response caused Taren to gasp. “I’m ready.” She looked at Bruiser. “I would like for you to stay.”

“Which means you want me to go, right?” Lock pulled his shirt sleeve from under his jacket. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Master Lock, Taren has made her decision.” Macabre pointed to the door.

In the doorway stood the two security guards, ready to handle another unruly Dominant if needed.

“Fine.” Master Lock stood. “It’s obvious from her first two choices that’s she’s only picking the white ones anyway.” He blew her a sarcastic kiss. “Good luck on your search.” He rubbed his hands down his lapels as he strolled out of the room.

Bruiser stood and sauntered to Taren.

“I picked you because you said you listen.” She wanted him to know his race had nothing to do with her decision.

He extended his hand. “Understood. I’ve never listened to anything that guy says anyway.”

As Bruiser waited for Soneni to show up before he left the room with her, Taren wondered if she should heed Lock’s words. She’d only picked two people out of four. Two couldn’t be called a trend. Now she sounded like Dori.

She wondered if she needed to pick a person of color, or even a woman. She hadn’t chosen one of those either. She glanced at Madame Macabre. If Taren had asked her for advice, she would have probably told her to follow her heart and listen to her instincts.

“Call in the next two.” Macabre tilted her head toward Taren. “Just think of us as being almost halfway there.”

Taren nodded. “Good.”

An African-American woman wearing a man’s suit strutted into the room. Although she didn’t wear makeup, the mask that only covered half her face and her curves gave her sex away.

The tall person who came after her wore a thin mask over his eyes, allowing Taren to see his gray hair. His full lips looked like he wanted a kiss, but they had a hitch at the corner like a snarl.

“I heard you let go the first black Domme you interviewed,” the woman said as she took her seat. “I hope I fare better than her.”

Oh, no.

Chapter Fourteen

Taren had already been on edge with this process. Now she felt pressure to make a decision based on perception rather than her feelings. She thought about the show’s ratings. Although Ananda and Kitty hadn’t said anything to her about the contestants she should pick, she wanted to do the right thing. She had to be a good girl.

“Please have a seat.” Macabre pointed to the chairs.

The woman went to the other side of the table but didn’t sit down. She glanced at the other contestant as though waiting for him to take a seat first. He didn’t pay any attention to her. He sat down while keeping his stare on Taren.

Before Macabre could ask them to introduce themselves, he spoke first.

“I’m God.”

Taren blinked and looked at Madame Macabre. Could this man be serious?

His steely blue stare made Taren feel like she’d bathed in ice water and currently had her feet in a bucket of it as well. She picked up her pen and started to write.

True God complex.
She underlined it three times.

“I know what you need.” His voice had a low husk that sounded appealing.

Taren didn’t like the words he said. Maybe if he’d kept his mouth closed, he would have been a contender. Then again, did she really want to pick another white contestant? Damn, did Eagan Morton have this problem when he did his show? Did he even think about race as he went through his contestants?

God held up his hand. “I rule with a firm hand. To me, discipline and play are one in the same. The more you hurt, the faster you’ll heal.”

Taren started to open her mouth to ask a question.

God held up his finger. “Don’t speak unless I instruct you to do so.”

“No, no, no.” Macabre shook her head. “You do not own her. She is allowed to ask questions.”

He glared at Macabre. Even through the mask, the expression came off as sinister. He balled his hand into a fist and sat back. Without acknowledging Taren’s request to ask a question, he continued to stare at her as though daring her to challenge his earlier directive.

Instead Taren turned to the woman. “What’s your name?”

The woman chuckled as she glanced at God. “Mistress Night. I’ve been in the lifestyle for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I was telling other children what to do on the playground.” She coughed a little before continuing. “I have endurance in the dungeon. I like playing for hours. I’ve only had slaves. It would be interesting to collar a submissive. A little give and take might be fun.”

“It’s restrictive,” God interjected. “Don’t question me. Don’t doubt my intentions. Do as I say. Always.”

Taren turned her attention to Mistress Night. “Anything else you want to say?”

She smiled and shook her head slowly. “I think he’s said enough. I admit that I’m rough, but I’m not crazy.”

Taren placed her pen on her notepad. “Mistress Night, I choose you.”

God didn’t wait to hear Macabre address to him. He stood. “This was a colossal waste of my fucking time.” Then he pointed to Taren. “Enjoy mediocrity.” He stormed from the room.

Mistress Night approached Taren. As she had done with the other two Doms, she put her hand out to shake Night’s hand.

“Stand up.” Night jutted her thumb upward.

Taren waited a beat before she rose to her feet. When she stood, she realized Mistress Night had to be about Taren’s height if Taren didn’t have on her skyscraper heels.

“Don’t look at me.”

“Mistress, you haven’t collared her yet.” Macabre braced her hands on the table like she wanted to stand as well.

Without acknowledging Macabre, Night stared at Taren. “Until you are collared and you are told what the proper greeting is, you stand for a Dominant, understand?”

Taren nodded.

“Speak,” Night barked.

“Yes.” She glanced at Macabre. “Uh, yes, ma’am.”

“Better.” Without shaking Taren’s hand, she walked away.

Taren flopped down in her seat.

“You’re doing great.” Kitty clapped. “The drama is so cool on camera.”

Cool. Not the word Taren would have used. “Are they all going to be like this?”

“What did you expect? Romper Room? You’re looking for a Dom or Domme. Get that in your head.” Macabre tapped her finger against Taren’s temple.

The next two contestants walked into the room.

“Damn.”

Taren didn’t mean to make her thoughts audible. Since both men wore similar black leather masks that only covered their eyes, she recognized the first man as being African American. The second man had a tan complexion. He could have been a light-skinned black man or Hispanic. Once he stared at her, she noticed the slight tilt at the corners of his eyes. She assumed he had to be Asian.

Both men stood at the same height. Their stature and race didn’t have her cursing. She noticed through their black suits that they carried muscular physiques. She could only imagine what they would look like out of them.

Taren shook her head. She shouldn’t think that way. Submissives didn’t fall for their Doms. Plus she still needed to figure out her messy situation with Jace…Jace…hell, what was his last name? She knew him as Christian Jace thanks to their trip to the club.

The memories of that place had her rubbing her legs together like a praying mantis to stimulate the ache in her core.

“Please, gentlemen, have a seat.” Macabre pointed to the chairs.

Each man sat down.

Without prompting, the African-American man wearing a fedora spoke first. “I’ll start. Call me Mr. Punisher.” He paused as though waiting for Taren to speak.

“Um, hi, Mr. Punisher.” She cleared her throat. “My name is Taren.”

“For now.” Though the words he spoke sounded ominous, he smiled and showed off a deep set of dimples. “If you were mine, I would rename you.” He regarded her for a moment. “Ladybug. That’s what I would call you.” He licked his full lips and nodded. Then Punisher sat back.

“I go by Sire Ball.” The other man placed his hand on the table. “I’ve been in the lifestyle for many years, but for each new slave or submissive I’m with, it always feels like it’s the first time.” His voice had a soothing tone.

“What’s your favorite type of play?” Taren started writing notes in her book. When she noticed that he didn’t speak, she stopped and looked at him.

“I enjoy hypnosis,” he finally said once she connected her gaze to his.

“Really?” Taren had read about it in her BDSM book, but never thought she would meet someone who could do it. She looked over at Punisher. “Is there anything you like doing?”

“I like doing whatever makes a woman scream.” His smile quickly transformed into a snarl.