Page 70 of At Her Pleasure

She was still wondering how the dad stuff had boiled up and why she’d just blurted it out like that. But no matter the wrench he’d thrown into it with the insane babysitting idea, she’d leveled out since and felt surprisingly okay about the whole thing. Personal growth. She could tick that box for the year.

As Ros moved away from her to do her own looking, Cyn scanned the growing number of people wandering through the vendor area and elsewhere. The planned public sessions would start in eighteen minutes. The schedule displayed on the screens throughout the club indicated six stations, each session at them scheduled for thirty to fifty-five minutes. As she left the Market, she passed one of them. Chairs had been set up in a crescent before a foot-high platform, like a small theater. Those who preferred to watch on the move could stand behind the seating area.

The first set of sessions would include wax play, cock-and-ball torture, rope suspension, forced orgasm, strap-ons and mind fuck interrogation. There would be four rotations throughout the night, for a total of twenty-four scenes. A lot of people were going to miss their bedtime.

She was at ten o’clock. CNC. Consensual non-consent, Mistress Cyn and Mick. It would be well attended, because people who didn’t do edge play were still intrigued by it. Like climbing the rock wall at the gym, and then watching ESPN televise climbers scaling a cliff with nothing but their hands and a rope harness attached to the crevices along the way. The thrill could be viewed from a safe seat.

It would also be well attended because of Mick. The mysterious and hot event planner, popping up on the schedule to do a CNC scene with one of the club’s biggest sadists? That was a not-to-be-missed.

She didn’t give a shit. During a scene, she didn’t pay attention to anything except what was going on between her and her sub. Which was why she preferred private play. Someone making a random comment, sneezing, or letting their phone go off while she was in the zone didn’t make her happy.

That had happened during her last public session. Someone’s phone had started playing “Let It Go.” Who the fuck had that as a ring tone?

Cyn had been doing a scene with a public play preference sub who had a hard time voicing his safe word when he needed to do so. It was a favor for Vera, who believed Cyn had the skillset to resolve the problem. He was already on probation for lack of self-care, having let one-too-many Mistresses push him too far before they realized he’d gotten himself into a bad place.

Vera claimed Cyn was as soft-hearted as she was, just in a different way. That was bullshit, but Cyn would do any favor her clan asked of her, because it was always important, not just shit they were dumping on her. They would do the same for her.

Cyn had enough experience to recognize when he was getting too close to that line, as long as she could keep herself focused on every minute change in his physical and mental state. Then the goddamn phone went off.

She didn’t immediately react. She pushed him to the point where she needed him, then put her hand on his shoulder and leaned in. “A Mistress wants a sub who knows how to care for himself, for her,” she murmured. “So she can play with him again. If you don’t safeword when you should, I will be very angry with you. Do you want me displeased?”

“No, Mistress. No. I just don’t know if I can…”

“Yes, you can. Because if you don’t, I’m going to rip your fucking throat out with my teeth. When you lose control of your bowels, it will get on my shoes. Do you want my shoes to get dirty?”

“No, Mistress.” She saw the whites of his eyes as they rolled in her direction. She gripped his hair, yanked his head back and sank her teeth into the flesh around his windpipe. She had a very strong jaw, and through pain and stress, she’d pushed him into the grip of the mindfuck. He believed she meant it.

The usual desire rose, to cut through, find blood. She held onto it, her fingers tightening on his neck below her grip. He was bucking, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge her. His breath started to rasp and he choked. Her teeth cut through, and the metallic taste of blood touched her tongue.

“Abraham Lincoln,” he gasped out. “Abraham Lincoln.”

It took effort to rein in the roaring urge to follow through, to clear the red haze in her vision, but that was good. He’d remember those three extra-long seconds of terror, when he thought she wasn’t going to stop. So next time he was in a session with a Mistress, he’d safeword right when he should.

Regaining control, steadying herself, she let go of his throat, but dropped her hand to his cock, gripping and stroking.

“You don’t want me to stop doing this, do you, Branch?”

“No…no Mistress. Oh, fuck…” He bit his lips, pressed his forehead to the webbing he was restrained against. It was quivering with his body. But he remembered his manners and asked.

“May I…”

“Not yet.”

She stripped off the condom on one upward stroke, letting it fall between his feet. In the same motion, she pivoted and closed in on her audience, specifically the fan of Disney earworms.

Cyn plucked the phone from her beringed hand—emeralds and gold, with streaked hair to match. Ignoring the woman’s startled protest, she came back to Branch. Wrapping her arm around his hip to reclaim his cock, she brought the phone around the other side as she leaned against him. He’d take the full-body contact as reward and reassurance.

She’d been swift enough he’d barely lost any momentum, so as she pumped the stiff shaft, he was ready to blow. “Now, Branch. Come.”

She kept the screen against the meatus, and felt the fountain of semen baptize phone and fingers. She was fine with that and worked him thoroughly. When he was all done, she put her palm on his back. “Well done. Don’t forget this lesson. It’s important.”

“No, Mistress. I won’t. I promise.” He was near tears. During the session, through pain and interrogation, she’d stripped him down to why he couldn’t safeword. He’d be vulnerable to subdrop, but that was where Vera came in.

As her friend entered the circle and took over the aftercare, Cyn turned away and tossed the sticky, drenched phone to the slack-jawed woman. She caught it against the lustrous green silk she wore over ample breasts. The dry cleaner was going to have a hell of a time getting that out.

“Try silent mode next time,” Cyn suggested.

Returning to the present, Cyn remembered the taste of Branch’s throat, his life force beating like a hapless bird against her. She had no patience for that kind of weakness, the inability to protect himself, but she’d gotten the job done. He’d had no problems since, and discovered a self-confidence Vera said he wouldn’t have found without her.

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