Page 67 of At Her Pleasure

Vera was chuckling, and had that look that women got when a man did something stupidly romantic.

Cyn was mortified. And pleased. She retrieved one of the cupcakes and a napkin, while Vera helped herself to a couple cookies from elsewhere on the table. Then they headed onward.

More subs like Grania’s were scattered about the main floor, suspended on webs threaded onto large rings. An automatic motor rotated them, the metal catching the light. The rotation was very slow. A Mistress could put her hand out, keep it still, and her fingertips or palm would slide over soft skin, an erect cock or taut nipple, a wet cunt.

All of the subs on display were up for auction. The highest bid would win their service for the remainder of the night. Like most of Progeny’s special event fundraisers, the proceeds would go to charity, like a local domestic violence or homeless shelter, or one of NOLA’s several animal welfare organizations. Tonight the funds were earmarked to combat human trafficking. Since the legit BDSM world often got lumped in with criminal behavior, it was an issue the membership felt strongly about.

Submission and service were willing choices, always.

Cyn stopped beside Vera at the table with literature about the organization. A jar for additional donations was half full.

The spot was manned by a husky male sub with a thick beard. He looked like a pirate crewman or a Renaissance busker in his linen shirt, red sash and dark pants. His collar’s tag said “Property of Edwina.” Pewter rings on his fingers had skulls and Harley Davidson logos, and his black bandana was printed with more white skulls. Amiable chocolate brown eyes with thick lashes were saved from being too pretty by a two-inch scar on his cheek.

Because Progeny did reciprocity with other clubs, many here tonight were visitors. Cyn didn’t know Edwina or her sub, but Vera gave him a familiar nod.

He beamed at her. “I’ve already emptied the jar twice,” he said. “Everyone’s being especially generous.”

“That’s wonderful.” Vera looked at a brochure. “I assume the charity was verified, Theo?”

“Yes, ma’am. Absolutely.”

Cyn put a couple twenties in the jar. “Have you seen Mick?”

“Not in the last fifteen minutes, but he’s here somewhere.” That quick smile again. “He’s been on site since sun up. Because he’s doing a session tonight, he’s making sure everything’s square and everyone knows their job before he turns it over to Jillie. She’s his second.”

“Sounds like he’ll need a nap before that session,” Vera observed, flicking Cyn an amused glance.

Theo nodded vigorously. “That’s no lie. He’s signed up to do a CNC session with Mistress Cyn, and everyone here says she’s a ball-busting bitch.”

Cyn leaned in, bracing her fingers on the table. Theo’s gaze slid to her, then his face flooded with color.

“Would you say that’s a respectful thing to say about a Mistress, Theo?” she asked silkily. “To her face?”

“Oh shit. Uh, no ma’am. No, Mistress. My apologies. To both of you.” He surged to his feet and hit the table with his knee, almost toppling it. Vera steadied it, pressing her lips against a smile as he managed a clumsy bow.

“He’s a good boy,” she told Cyn. “Stop fucking with him. You love being called a ball-busting bitch.”

“I prefer ball-removing bitch.” Cyn gave Theo a critical, searing look, then put her uneaten cupcake in front of him. “You’re doing a good job. Just watch your manners. You’re swimming with sharks tonight, and your flesh looks mighty tender.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As Cyn moved on, Vera sent Theo a wink before joining her. He let out a relieved breath. He also added a prayer for Mick. And thought nametags for future events might be a good addition to the suggestion box.

Mistress Cyn looked like she didn’t weigh more than a buck ten, but those eyes were pure black hole gravity.

* * *

Cyn found Mick up on the main stage. Spiral, one of Progeny’s staff subs, was handling the warm-up before the kickoff while Mick stood in the wings. He was talking to another volunteer helping to man the curtain.

Spiral, who also did stand-up comedy and community theater, had his audience laughing, whistling and tossing out suggestive proposals. Cyn paid little attention to him. Her gaze stayed on Mick.

Was it normal to feel this way after not seeing someone for less than a full day? She’d done without him for ten years, for fuck’s sake.

Vera had joined Ros and Skye at a high top. Abby was the only one absent tonight. Bigger events with unpredictable variables caused her problems. Some god deserved a habanero enema for inflicting this on their friend. However, Abby genuinely seemed to welcome the stories they’d bring her about things she couldn’t do. Most days, she’d made her peace with it. Neil was a big part of the reason for that.

Case in point, he was taking her out on his boat tonight for a cruise in the bayou. Cyn didn’t know how anyone could enjoy anything that involved alligators, snakes, spiders and mosquitoes the size of planes, but it worked for Abby, especially with Neil at the helm of the boat.

Cyn hung back at the mezzanine, since the elevated position offered a better view of Mick. Him being in the wings made sense. He didn’t strike her as a person who sought the spotlight, or would even enjoy it, though he didn’t seem afraid of public speaking. Afraid of anything at all, really. He was like a dead calm expanse of ocean, the water still as glass, everything beneath hidden.

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