CHESSY dressed with extreme care, paying heed to the strict instructions Tate had given her. Several boxes had been delivered by courier earlier in the day and then Tate had called her from work and told her to be ready and waiting when he arrived home.
She pulled on the thigh-high stockings, luxuriating in the feel of the silk against her skin. Then she carefully unzipped the garment bag of a high-end, well-known designer and pulled out the strapless, beaded aquamarine sheath that shimmered and caught the light.
She eyed the dress dubiously because it looked small. And short. Like it would barely cover her ass. And Tate had been very explicit in his instructions not to wear underwear of any kind. The only things he wanted her to wear were the dress, the stockings, the shoes and the jewelry that had been delivered by the same courier service.
The collar, which she had not seen yet, would be placed somewhat ceremoniously around her neck by Tate right before they left for The House.
When she got to the shoes, her breath caught as she turned them experimentally in her hands, inspecting each angle of the beautiful stiletto heels. Between the dress, the jewelry and the shoes she felt like Cinderella going to an erotic ball. Somehow she didn’t imagine Prince Charming in the fairy tale tying Cinderella up and fucking her in the middle of the ballroom.
The thought made her laugh out loud and she shook her head at her silliness.
She slipped into the dress, wiggling in order to shimmy into it and pull it up over her full breasts. Thank goodness for the small panel of elastic that formed a V between her shoulder blades because the dress fit her like a glove, and stretching slightly made her breasts plump up and outward.
She eyed herself skeptically in the mirror as she began the task of taming her unruly hair since Tate wanted it down. But the more she stared at the woman looking back at her, the more satisfied she became with her appearance. She looked … beautiful. Sexy even. Would Tate find her so?
He had impeccable tastes as evidenced by the selections he’d chosen for her to wear tonight. The dress fit perfectly and if she had to guess, what she considered to be tight in the bust was actually the intentional fit of the dress, fashioned to enhance a woman’s cleavage. And the jewelry was to die for. She didn’t even want to know what it cost.
After arranging her hair to her satisfaction she traipsed back into the bedroom to put on the heels that she’d left on the ottoman in front of the comfy armchair Tate referred to as her reading nest.
She only had five minutes until Tate was scheduled to be home and he’d requested she be in the living room waiting for him so he could put the collar around her neck. She winced inwardly. She found the meaning behind a collar to be beautiful and symbolic of their relationship but she much preferred the term choker, or even simply the mark of his possession. Collars were for pets but she supposed that some Dominants considered their submissives to be pets in the fondest of manners. She’d even heard a man at The House in the past call his submissive “my pet” and it was obvious from his tone that it was an affectionate term of endearment. Not derisive or degrading in the least. But for her personally, it didn’t work. She much preferred Tate’s “my girl” when referring to her, which was probably juvenile at best but there was no accounting for tastes. It was what it was.
She settled on the edge of the couch to wait for Tate and within a few minutes the front door opened and he entered the living room, stopping when he got his first glimpse of her.
“Stand up,” he said huskily.
She complied, standing to her new, more impressive height thanks to the heels.
He didn’t say anything for the longest time. He simply drank in her appearance. The silence went on for so long that she began to wonder if she’d messed up or if perhaps she didn’t look as good as she thought.
Then he crossed the room and tipped up her chin, which was now a lot closer to his with her added height, and he slanted his mouth over hers. He kissed her hungrily, as if he were starving for her. All doubt fled when she felt the solid evidence of his arousal through his slacks.
When he pulled away, his eyes were blazing with lust. “You look magnificent,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “But you picked everything out so I’d say your taste is pretty darn impressive.”
“Baby, that dress would not make every woman look as sensational as you. It’s you. Not the dress. One hundred percent you.”
She smiled her pleasure at his sincere compliment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet drawstring bag with the name of a prominent jeweler monogrammed on the front.
“Sit down,” he said, a quiet command.
She sank onto the couch and he pulled out an intricately designed leather choker with aquamarine stones that matched her dress to perfection. She was awed by the obvious amount of time he’d devoted to pulling together her outfit for the evening. And even more impressed with the brief amount of time he’d had to work with in order to have it all ready on such short notice.
Then he turned it over to the side that would lie against her throat and burned into the leather were the words “My Girl.”
Damn it, she would not cry. She’d shed far too many tears both in sadness and joy lately. She would not ruin the evening before it ever truly began.
“It’s beautiful, Tate,” she whispered.
“You truly like it?”
She was surprised at the vulnerability in his tone. She wouldn’t have ever imagined him worrying over her liking a gift from him. Anything he gave her was very precious to her. But the best gift of all was simply himself.
She leaned up just a bit to kiss him and then nipped playfully at his jaw. “I don’t like it. I love it.”
He smiled then, and perhaps it was her imagination, but his shoulders seem to relax as if in relief.
“My girl is playful tonight, I see. That’s good because I intend for us to play a lot. Let me change right quick and we’ll go.”
“I’ll be waiting,” she said.
AN hour later, Tate pulled up the winding driveway of The House that sat atop a gentle hill and looked down at grassy, green rolling landscapes. Everything about The House screamed wealth and privilege even though membership didn’t require either. However, Damon Roche, the owner of The House, was the epitome of wealth and class. And he was extremely discerning when it came to membership in his establishment.
Members were carefully vetted and background checks were required for all prospective members. In addition to the care Damon took in screening the members, there was careful attention to security. Even in the private rooms members could avail themselves of if they didn’t want to be in the public common room, security cameras were in place and the safety of the participants was monitored at all times. While the non-public rooms offered the illusion of privacy, in fact they were all under vigilant security surveillance for the safety of all parties involved.
Tate stopped the engine after pulling into a parking spot and then turned to look at Chessy. “Is my girl ready for her night to begin?”
“Oh yes,” she breathed.
He squeezed her hand and then opened his door. She knew the drill. She waited for him to come around and open her door. He leaned in, attaching a diamond-studded leash to the loop at the back of the collar and then held out his hand to assist her in getting out.
She stumbled at first when her heel caught a crack in the pavement and Tate immediately wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yes. Just caught my heel.”
He led her to the entry where a man in an expensive black suit had them sign in and Tate showed ID. It had been so long since they’d last gone to The House that Chessy didn’t recognize the new doorman. But then for all she knew he could have been working here for quite some time.
Tate curled his hand around the leash and rested his hand underneath her hair that hung to the middle of her back, not making it obvious she was leashed as he led her into the downstairs social room where people met and mingled and drank expensive wine and snacked on delicious hors d’oeuvres. It was also a place for hookups. Singles looking for a night of adventure or simply people wanting to visit with other like-minded individuals who shared the same kinks and sexual preferences.
“Would you like some wine?” Tate asked as they entered the room.
Chessy shook her head in response and drank in the occupants, studying the people in attendance with her usual fascination. One of her favorite activities when they’d previously visited The House was to play the guessing game and match proclivity to person even though she had no way of confirming her guesses. But it was fun.
In a way she was relieved that she didn’t recognize anyone in the room because then the inevitable question would arise as to why she and Tate hadn’t been in for so long. After several minutes of circling the spacious luxurious room, Tate guided her out the door. She knew that he’d made the rounds in the social room to, in his words, show her off. It had always been a point of pride with her that he found her beautiful, that he was proud to arrive with her on his arm and that he made his claim so publicly.
“Be careful on the stairs, baby,” he said when they mounted the first step. “I bought those shoes because I wanted to fuck you in them, but I damn sure don’t want you falling and breaking your neck.”
She laughed softly. “You’ll catch me, Tate. I never doubt that.”
He gathered her more closely into his side as they climbed the stairs together. But once they reached the top, he gently disentangled his hand from her hair and pulled the leash out so that it called attention to her collar. And his claim on her as her Dominant and she his submissive.
As soon as they walked through the entryway to the common room, the sights and sounds overwhelmed her. Even the scent of sex was heavy in the air. She did a quick scan of the room, looking for anyone she recognized, but all she saw were unfamiliar faces. Except for Damon Roche, who stood in the far corner, a glass of what was likely very expensive liquor in hand, conversing with another man.
It was unusual for him to be at The House these days and especially without his wife. Though he still oversaw the running and operation of The House, since his marriage he’d devoted most of his free time to his wife, Serena, and Dash had mentioned that Damon and Serena now had a daughter.
Damon glanced up as if sensing her scrutiny and nodded his head in acknowledgment of both her and Tate. Then he said something to the man beside him before excusing himself to cross the room to where Chessy and Tate stood.
“It’s good to see you both,” Damon said warmly. He leaned in and kissed Chessy on the cheek and then shook Tate’s hand. “James is waiting by the bench. Everything you requested is available. I hope you both enjoy yourselves tonight.”
Ever the consummate host, Damon escorted them to the far corner of the room, where a tall, attractive dark-haired man stood in casual jeans and polo shirt. Butterflies danced through Chessy’s stomach when the man lifted a chin in greeting as the group approached.
So this was James. The man Tate had chosen for her tonight. She was careful not to offer Tate disrespect by being too open with her admiration, but her husband had indeed chosen well. James was broad-shouldered and muscled, his arms bulging at the short sleeves of the shirt he wore and his expression was one of complete dominance. And yet he was ceding control to Tate, acting as an extension of him for tonight.
They’d certainly done this before, but none of the other men Tate had ever chosen seemed this … Dominant. James didn’t appear to her to be a man who so easily gave up power to another man. A shiver worked its way up her spine as she studied him further. Trepidation squeezed her chest before she admonished herself for entertaining such apprehension. Tate would never put her in a position where she would be overwhelmed or hurt.
“James, good to see you again.” Tate ceremoniously handed over the leash to the other man. “This is my beautiful submissive, Chessy. She is yours for the evening to do with as I dictate,” he said formally. “Her safe word is ‘rain.’ You are to take absolute care in your handling of her. Her mouth is mine and mine alone. I expect you to treat her with utmost respect.”
James looked impatient with Tate’s instructions, his eyes glittering as his gaze swept hungrily over Chessy. It was as though he wanted to dispense with the niceties and get straight to the action.
James lifted one of Chessy’s hands and whispered a kiss over the top of her knuckles. “It will be my honor to bring you pleasure while your husband watches.”
She shivered again, the quivering sensation in her belly increasing. Why was she so nervous? This was not new to her even if it had been a while since they’d last indulged. Perhaps it was because she wanted so much for the evening to be perfect and for her and Tate to further solidify their recommitment to one another.
Tate took the hand not held by James, and for a moment she was suspended between the two men, one her husband, the other her Dominant for the evening. Tate gave her hand an encouraging squeeze but didn’t put to voice any of the things she saw in his eyes.
“The others will remain on the periphery,” Tate said in a low voice. “When and only when it is time for them to participate will you see them. Enjoy my gift to you, my girl. I know I certainly will enjoy every moment.”
Then he turned his attention to James. Chessy blinked because Damon had discreetly removed himself from the trio and she hadn’t even seen him leave.
“Undress her slowly,” Tate ordered. “And then prepare her as I already instructed you.”
The command in Tate’s voice sent a delicate shiver of delight cascading over her flesh. Her fingers curled into fists so her trembling wouldn’t be noticeable. Equal parts nervousness and anticipation vied for control.
James tugged firmly at her leash, pulling her away from Tate and closer to himself. Tate took a step back but kept a watchful eye on Chessy as James slowly began to divest her of her clothing.
“Very nice,” James murmured when he was down to just her stockings and stilettos.
He ran his hand over the swell of her behind and then grew bolder, sliding his palm underneath one breast. He brushed over the nipple with his thumb and it puckered in reaction, hardening to a point.
Her breath caught and then she let out a gasp when he lowered his head to her breast and sucked the nipple wetly into his mouth.
“Delicious,” he murmured. “You taste every bit as good as you look.”
Heat scorched over her skin and she lifted her gaze to find Tate, only focused on him even though another man was pleasuring her in his stead.
Her action brought immediate reprimand from James. He yanked on the leash, forcing her gaze back to him. His eyes glittered in irritation.
“I am your master tonight. He is only an observer. You are to look only at me and obey my commands.”
She started to launch an immediate protest because that wasn’t the case. No one but Tate would ever be called her master, and it was a silly term anyway. It wasn’t a word that she or Tate ever used. But something in James’s eyes halted her objection. She shivered and wanted to look to Tate for reassurance, to gain his reaction to James’s forceful dictate, but she didn’t dare look away from him again.
James ran his palm lightly over her jaw and then turned her body so her back was to Tate, effectively preventing her from the temptation of seeking her husband’s guidance. It confused her that Tate was allowing this man such leeway.
James positioned her over the bench that had an inverted, padded cutout that would cradle her abdomen. Then he stretched her arms outward, tying one wrist to one of the two posts situated in front of the bench. After securing one, he then secured her other wrist so she was stretched over the bench, her ass in the air, both arms tied tightly enough that there was no give when she tested the strength of the bonds.
James disappeared from her view and then she felt leather straps circle her ankles, securing them to the legs of the bench. She was spread wide, her most vulnerable areas accessible.
“Start with the leather flogger,” Tate directed.
She took immediate comfort in hearing her husband’s voice and her early apprehension eased and melted away as Tate took control of the situation. She relaxed, mentally preparing herself for the first kiss of fire.
“Administer ten blows, spread out so her flesh is evenly marked and colored,” Tate continued. “When you are finished, offer her the appropriate praise and then bring her close to orgasm with your hands and mouth. Then switch to the leather strap and mark her ass so that when you fuck her ass the flesh will have been scorched by fire. As I said, her mouth is mine, and I’ll fuck it while you fuck her ass. She doesn’t come again until she’s been flogged, untied and is being held down by the men waiting.”
She closed her eyes as his words flashed like wildfire through her mind. She was bombarded by a host of decadent, sinful images, and already she could feel her body climbing to orgasm and they hadn’t even yet begun.
A gasp exploded from her when the first lash landed across her ass. She’d been so absorbed in the dreamy fantasy Tate was describing that she hadn’t braced herself for the first blow.
Her eyes flew open and yet she could see neither man, not James nor her husband. Only the wall stared back at her. She was positioned facing away from the rest of the entire room. For all she knew everyone was observing her flogging. That didn’t bother her. She’d long since gotten over any shyness when it came to being naked in front of strangers. But she didn’t like not being able to see Tate. She knew he was there, but he wasn’t in her line of sight.
She wanted to see the approval and pride in his eyes. She wanted to be able to lock gazes with him and share the intensely personal connection between them. To forget that anyone other than the two of them existed, even if another man was charged with her submission.
Her jaw clenched and she winced when another blow rained down on her. James wasn’t as careful as Tate was in the administration of his lashes. There was something undisciplined about James’s flogging, almost as if he lacked the proper experience for the job. Or perhaps he was merely a sadist who only cared for his pleasure and didn’t concern himself with the delicate line between pain and pleasure for her.
There were no words of praise or approval from James as Tate had demanded. Nor did James offer her the pleasure Tate had instructed him to. Where the hell was Tate? Why wasn’t he admonishing James for not heeding Tate’s dictates?
There was no break between the flogger and the leather strap. Fire spread rapidly over her skin and she bit into her lip to prevent the cry of pain. This was no longer about pleasure. Certainly not hers at least.
And then she felt an insistent prodding at her anal opening and she realized James was trying to force his way in without the aid of lubricant. This was not the way Tate had told him to do things. Why wasn’t Tate putting a stop to it?
“Relax, damn it,” James growled, his fingers digging into her hips. She was certain she’d wear bruises from his grasp. “You’re going to get fucked and it’s up to you whether this is easy or hard.”
She cried out, shocked that he’d persist and that Tate had nothing to say. And then, as if to punish her for her resistance, James cracked the strap down over her shoulder blades as he thrust more forcefully into her reluctant body.
Tears ran down her cheeks and sobs welled from her throat. “No! Stop! I don’t want this,” she said in a garbled tone.
Her safe word. God, what was it? Her mind was a chaotic mess of fear and pain.
“Rain,” she croaked out. “Rain!”