He increased his grip on her buttock, making her mewl. She gasped into his mouth as his thigh insinuated itself between her legs, pressed against her wet heat. It also pushed her back farther, so her ass was hanging over the edge of that wall. He pulled up the bottom of her sheath dress, catching the thin ribbon of her thong in his clever fingers. He moved both out of the way an instant before two well-placed jets of water surged up from the fountain pool, hitting her clit and anus with insistent pressure. The water was cool enough to be a shock, warm enough to make her squirm against it, creating friction. Now she understood why he’d placed her exactly where he had.

“Be still,” he warned her, those eyes close, the mouth gone from sensual to stern and uncompromising. Though he hadn’t touched her mask, it felt stripped away, his gaze boring into hers. “You going to keep trying to run things, Sergeant?” A girl from her usual club had told her there were two types of Dominants: the mechanical and the psychological. The good ones mix it, you know. The setting, the toys, the mind games. But the really psychological Doms, they’re rare. I’ve met one or two, and girl, they’re the scariest and most tempting of all. They seem like they know everything about you from the get-go, and they don’t need to do a single thing to have you licking their boots.

She wasn’t sure she was into boot licking, but that wasn’t what her girlfriend had meant anyhow. It meant something way more than that. She had a feeling she was confronting it at close-quarters distance. Actually, make that point-blank.

He’d told her to be still, but those water jets made it impossible. Her body had to jitter and squirm in response.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she gasped. “I can’t.”

“Like I thought. A discipline problem.” He lifted her away from the jets and, with that same effortless strength, flipped her over. Now he was sitting on the wall and she was on his lap, her wet, glistening bottom perched high. She couldn’t help herself. She gripped the tough denim over his calf and put her mouth on him, biting into the fabric. God, he smelled edible. A man with money and good grooming knew how to seduce a woman’s nose with the right aftershave and soap, keeping the earthy scent of male as the perfect complement to the mix.

“Five feet and a hundred pounds of trouble.”

A hundred fifteen, but who was arguing? Most of that fifteen was in her ass and tits. No man Dana knew had ever complained about that.

“Lift your arms straight out in front of you.”

Not an easy feat when you were folded over a man’s thighs, but she locked her stomach muscles and that shapely ass to comply, and earned a noticeable twitch from the iron bar of his cock, pressed hard against her belly as an incentive. Blessing every agonizing workout where she’d pushed herself on strength training, she threw in a not-so-subtle rub against him.

He smacked her ass, and it wasn’t some passing swat. Holy God, the man had some power behind that arm. The wobble of her buttock in response rocked up her spine.

“You’re going to piss me off, little girl, and that’s not something you want to do. You haven’t chosen a Master who can be led around by his cock tonight.” Uncertainty and indignation flooded her. She didn’t do that. She was looking for a Master who would take the reins. It wasn’t her fault most of them didn’t.

He reached down, making her realize there were compartments in the fountain wall.

Because of her position, she couldn’t see, but after the sound of a hydraulic door closing, he straightened. While she suspected he could hold her with perfect balance, he shifted so she rocked, caught off guard, and had to grab at him again.

“Arms out, soldier,” he barked, and gave her a matching hand-print on the opposite cheek.

“I was falling, sir.”

He put his hand on the back of her neck, exerting enough pressure that she had to strain to keep her upper body up and arms out as he’d demanded. This was bringing back some harrowing memories of Basic Combat Training. But Basic was about breaking the person down, remaking and retraining them, wasn’t it? She swallowed.

Leaning down so his breath was against her ear, he had that implacable hand suddenly caress her nape in a way that sent nerves yearning toward his touch. “If you’re falling, trust me to catch you, Sergeant.”

Before she could respond to that, he’d straightened and clasped her wrists. He’d retrieved gauntlets with lacings, so he could tie her arms together, wrists to elbows. As he worked the fabric down over her forearms and then began to thread and draw the lacings tight, her stomach and ass muscles quivered. The lifted position was becoming excruciating.

But he’d ordered her to do it, and damn it, she’d do it.

His dog tags plinked against her back. The cool metal against her flesh was in contrast to the burning in her stomach and shoulder muscles, the ache in her neck. He was taking his damn time, even though he never faltered, weaving those two gauntlets with smooth precision. Every time he pulled a section taut, the increased restraint coiled up the need in her pussy the same way.

“You like that, don’t you, sweetheart? What would you think of a full corset, one of those cruel hourglass makers that robs you of breath and puts your pretty tits on high display, drawing a Master’s gaze to your accessible ass?”

She shuddered, thinking of how deliciously restrictive it would be. How did he know she’d fantasized about that? She had a couple, but Masters had unlaced her out of them, never into them. Not as if she was their possession, a gift they prepared for themselves.

When she’d fantasized about it, she’d also fantasized about a Master like this one appeared to be.

“Yeah, you like that idea, I can tell. I like a corset on my slave. It shows off how beautiful she is, all those womanly curves, the boning keeping her straight and proud, knowing she’s got nothing to worry about. Because she’s mine.” She closed her eyes, lost in the pleasure of the thought. She wasn’t a woman who sought the shelter of a man, but for some reason the idea of being his like that gave her a welcome sense of sanctuary, a place she could count on when she needed it. It was a dangerous thought, because loneliness, dwelling on the fact she had no family left, could too often take her down the wrong road.

The leftover lacing was wrapped over the hand he put beneath her curled fingers, as though he were offering a branch to a bird. “Rest your weight now.” She wanted to hold out longer to prove she could, but her straining body overrode her, her gasping muscles letting out a cry of relief. Then the movement of his body told her he’d pulled his dog tags over his head. He broke the latch, wrapped the chain around her neck twice and snapped it shut again one-handed, an impressive feat. The beaded chain tightened on her throat when he cupped her chin, stroked his thumb along the corner of her mouth to get her to open up, and then slid the tags onto her tongue.

“Close your teeth on them.”

She did, so the edge of one was visible between her lips, the chain swinging against her chin. He stroked her back. “Good girl. You drop them, and I’ll be very displeased. You think this is a cushy environment, don’t you? No dungeon, no clever, cruel metal devices made to torture flesh. It’s too soft. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?” His voice had that dangerous purr to it again, so she nodded her head, a quick jerk. She didn’t even think about lying.

“You know your Bible? ‘And out of the ground made the Lord God to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight . . .’”

She did know her Bible, but was surprised that he would use it here. Her curiosity about that was short-lived, however. Apparently those compartments held more than man-made items. He brought a thin, whiplike branch into her line of sight. Not a polished switch, lacquered and placed for sale in The Zone’s diverse gift shop. This was one that had been cut and peeled, much as someone might have done in ages past to take a child behind the woodshed. Or an errant wife, in the days of the “one-inch thick” rule.

Holy God, switches hurt. She didn’t know if she could . . .

He was sliding it along her buttocks. “I’m going to teach you that when I give you an order, you follow it, Sergeant. I don’t care how hot you are, how wet your cunt. What you want to happen or you’re nervous about. I’m your Master and you trust and obey everything I tell you, to the letter. When I tell you not to move, you don’t move. When I tell you to move, you move your ass as if it’s on fire.” The tip teased her pussy and she wiggled before she thought, then froze, but it was too late.

“Fire it is.”

He brought down the switch. Holy Jesus, Gram, forgive me. Three successive strikes and she was yelping against those metal tags, feeling the edges against her tongue, but she wouldn’t let them go. She’d learned her lesson. He’d given them to her; she was going to hold on to them.

He ran his hand over her smarting ass. She was shaking. God, when was the last time she’d shaken like a newbie during a session?

“You want your freedom, Sergeant?”

She was blowing like a winded horse around the outsides of those tags, saliva escaping in an embarrassing display. But she shook her head. Tears she didn’t understand clogged her throat.

“There you are, baby,” he murmured. “That’s the sub in you, rising to the top like cream.

Like this kind of cream.” His fingers passed through the honey of her pussy. “You just needed some focus. Got to get your mind on your proper business.” He traced the eagle tattoo again, following the ripple of the gathered flag; then he made a wide loop to cruise up her back. She had two other tats, not as visible through the sheath’s mesh, because they were simple pen and inks. He was resting on one now: the Lord’s Hands. Dog tags were inked in a wrap around them, inscribed with In God We Trust.

Doms usually stayed away from that one. Too spiritual or personal, and the clubs weren’t a place for strangers to get close in that kind of way. Only for pain and pleasure, and losing yourself in a place far beyond the mundane.

“Looks like you made a promise to your grandmother.” His touch descended to the script below it. I’ll never forget, Gram. “No matter what shit you see, you told her you’d keep Jesus and His teachings in mind. Let Him help you with every hard decision a soldier has to make. I like that.”