Page 29 of Under His Command

“I’ll feel better once I can get rid of this tweed jacket and tie you insisted I wear.”

“Stop bitching. You wear a tie almost every day, and the tweed makes you look the part of the teacher you’re supposed to be playing.” Eric tilted his head toward the boisterous throng crowding the bar. “We’ve had an excellent turnout, which gives you at least twenty naughty schoolgirls to choose from.” His eyes shifted, and he nodded to a table to his left. “The brunette is lovely.”

Flynn shook his head after assessing then eliminating the sub in question. Tall, as he liked, she was a bit on the slutty side with her blouse open to the navel, revealing flat sculpted abs and the inner curves of her surgically augmented breasts. “I prefer a little more subtlety, not to mention authenticity, in my bad girls.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Eric asked in utter surprise.

Flynn didn’t elaborate, thinking Cassie would look fucking fantastic in a plaid skirt and knee socks.

“Okay, how about the blonde over there? She’s buttoned up to her chin all prim and proper.”

He followed Eric’s gaze. She reminded him too much of the woman he was trying to forget. “No blondes.”

“You’re not making this easy,” his friend observed with distinct irritation. “I’ve brought you to the trough, horse. Now it’s up to you to drink.” With that, he walked away.

Flynn sighed. He’d driven over two hours to play; he might as well give it a fair shot. As he stood, he straightened his tie, ready to mingle, though neither his heart nor his dick—who just wanted to get down to business and go home—were in the mood.

***

“Iown a chain of highlysuccessful specialty food stores. I’m up to 10 locations and growing. Because I’m extremely busy during the week, I'm mainly a weekend player,” the dom in the sports coat with suede elbow patches told her. Men’s suits didn’t usually catch her eye, but this one seemed to be from a bygone era, like something her dad wore twenty years ago.

His questionable fashion sense aside, he stood at average height, putting him several inches over her petite frame, even in her 3-inch black patent leather Mary Jane’s. His subtle cologne wafted through the air, leaving a pleasant scent lingering in its wake and though he was easy on the eyes, she couldn’t get beyond his arrogance. Not the sexy, self-confident Flynn kind of arrogance, the off-putting kind.

As he spoke about himself, obviously his favorite topic, he acted as if it was a foregone conclusion that she would choose him. But what bugged her the most was that throughout their conversation, he never once looked at her face. Instead, his gaze had fixated on the front of her blouse.

True, it was a sex club, and yeah, she had dressed as a naughty schoolgirl. With her fake red hair in twin braids complete with fuzzy hair ties, she added thigh-hi lace stockings beneath her plaid skirt instead of the knee socks that came with it. Even though Jules had provided her skirt and ruffled panties; the white cotton shirt had come from her own closet. She’d left an extra button undone and knotted the shirttails revealing an inch of belly, but compared to 90 percent of the subs in the room, she had dressed like a nun. The material wasn’t risqué or sheer, and when buttoned up, it was appropriate for work, and she had worn it there, often.

But the way he leered at her chest made her want to check herself for drool. Even when her gaze swept the crowd for another teacher to match her schoolgirl persona, she could feel his eyes on her, and it made her skin crawl with discomfort.

She ignored him, since no way in hell was she giving him a ribbon, and searched the crowd for other candidates.

It was past eleven o’clock, and she’d met ten teachers, giving up three of her five ribbons, but not sure why. No one had come close to sparking her interest. One was an excellent dancer but wanted a full-time slave girl. Another had two left feet and had nearly caused a pileup on the dance floor when he’d tripped over them both.

Although not a full-blown disaster, it had been close. He’d lurched forward with her in his arms, bumping into the couple slow-dancing beside them. The other irritated dom had growled as he assisted his partner off the floor, telling the poor man to spare them all an ER trip by having a seat at the bar. Her partner had flushed with embarrassment and excused himself. She’d then watched him fly out the door with one of her ribbons in hand. After the doors had closed behind him, she tried to picture him in a dominant role but couldn’t see it.

Two others had bought her a drink, bringing her to the two-drink club limit. They’d then bored her with talk of rules and protocols, not once asking about herself. Not her name, what she was looking for in a dom, nothing. It was all about what they wanted. Since she had to want to please the dominant she was with, and she so did not want to with either of these two—no ribbons for them.

With time running out before the midnight unmasking, one of her ribbons was MIA, and two were with men selected because they offended her less than the others, which was a sad commentary on the teachers she’d met thus far. The man in front of her sure as heck wasn’t ribbon-material. She needed to get rid of him and find someone else, anyone else, and quick.

“Naked weekends.”

Elbow Patches’ comment snapped her back to the present, and she realized she’d missed half of the conversation. “Pardon me?”

“That’s what you can expect as my slave,” he continued, not noticing her inattention. “Intense bondage: ropes, clamps, plugs, and gags. As a strict disciplinarian, I will be firm and expect complete servitude. Please me, and you’ll be rewarded with incredible pleasure. If not, you’ll find my punishments can be quite severe.” His eyes continued to roam over her chest. “You have magnificent breasts. They are perfect for a special serving tray I found. It clamps tightly onto your nipples. While you serve me and my guests their drinks with your arms in a binder behind your back, the weight on the tray will have you crying pretty tears and begging for mercy from behind your gag. If that interests you—”

It didn’t. No freaking way!

“I’ll claim you by the dungeon doors at midnight.” After this proclamation, he tugged the bow on one of the two remaining ribbons at her wrist. Before she could sputter a denial, and, with him still not having once glanced above her chin, he turned and walked away with her fourth ribbon.

“Arrogant putz,” Cassie murmured under her breath, appropriating one of Flynn’s often-used slurs for insufferable people. If that was his best offer, it was no wonder he was searching fora submissive. Correction, a naked weekend slave.

A familiar chuckle behind her made her turn. “Charles lacks a certain charm. Many of us have tried to work with him on his approach, to no avail.” He shook his head then shifted his gaze from the departing dom to look down at her.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared up at Flynn’s smiling face. His tweed suit coat and tie weren’t much of a disguise, and unlike most of the other doms who played the game, he had forgone a mask, so there was no mistaking the gray-blue eyes or the tawny hair with the slightest hint of silver at his temples. Speechless with horror, her body froze. All she could do was blink up at him.

“Did he shock you, little sub?” he asked, his lips kicking up on the ends in a dazzling smile as the dimple in his cheek made an appearance. “I agree, he can be a real putz. Still, you should refrain from calling the dominants names. It’s not only frowned upon but against the rules and could get you punished.” He cocked his head to the side, a brow arching as his gaze swept over her hair, her mask, and then keyed in on her mouth, which remained open in shock. “Unless that’s what you’re aiming for.”

She shook her head, still unable to put thoughts into words.

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