Enamored (2 page)

Marc coughed. He had an erection just listening to Roman talk about the idea. What the hell?

“Scotch on the rocks,” Marc called to the bartender. He wouldn’t be able to get up and go anywhere at the moment without embarrassing himself. “Five grand, huh?”

“That’s right. If—rather, when—Lauren agrees to a bet that involves the loser submitting for a week to the victor, you give me five thousand dollars.”

“Make it ten K, I could use the money to cheer me up when she laughs in my face,” Marc said.

Roman shook his hand. “Deal. Let’s go to WhipperSnapper.”

“What about the bachelor party?” Marc looked back over at the table where Trevor and Elisabeth had been. They were gone, most likely off fucking each other in some poor stripper’s dressing room.

“Told you not to invite the bride,” Roman grumbled. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

M
arc tipped the bouncer to get him and Roman into WhipperSnapper, the BDSM club they frequented in Manhattan. Although no one would turn away the BAD Boys. They usually met up there a few times a week, and Marc came even more frequently so he could hang out with Mistress Lauren.

Their booth in the back was empty, unofficially reserved for them at all times. Any newcomer who tried to sit there was reseated by the Dungeon Master, who walked around wearing a crossing guard’s vest, checking in with couples scening and making sure everyone was having fun and things didn’t get out of hand.

Sometimes people tried to break NYC regulations and fuck in the club, especially the newbies—but the lifestylers and the Dungeon Master always put the kibosh on that. WhipperSnapper was kinky, for sure. One only had to look at the Saint Andrew’s Cross on the wall near the tables or the scantily-clad young sub hanging in the cage above their heads to see that.

But there were so many semi-private places, like the dungeon rooms—complete with impressive arrays of implements on the walls to borrow—that it was easy for couples to forget they weren’t actually alone.

Mistress Lauren wasn’t considered one of the BAD Boys because she wasn’t a billionaire and she wasn’t a boy. But she could fit the definition of Arrogant Domme, even if the arrogance part was only an act.

In real life, Lauren was the kindest, more caring person Marc knew. She was always welcome at their booth—in fact, Marc thought of it as her booth as well.

And she was sitting there now, a male submissive kneeling at her feet. He wore only a harness and a shiny black thong that left his ass cheeks bare and little to the imagination, and he appeared to be quite honored to be holding Lauren’s soda for her while she ignored him, watching the scenes around her with interest. Or maybe she was looking for someone . . . Marc, perhaps?

Her eyes seemed to light up when Marc and Roman walked to their booth.

“Don’t spill my drink,” she warned them as they stepped over the submissive to sit with her.

“I’d buy you a new one,” Marc promised, and gave her a respectful kiss on both cheeks. “Anything for you.” He grinned since the “anything” was just an overpriced soda, because the so-called bar at the club didn’t serve alcohol.

“Of course anything for me. I deserve it! Where’s the bachelor?” she asked, looking over their shoulders for Trevor. “Was he afraid to take me up on my offer for a last-night-of-freedom spanking?”

Roman snorted. “Like Trevor would ever let you spank him.”

“His loss,” she shrugged.

Marc took a quick sip from her soda. “Coke Mafia gets his cut,” he said.

Lauren shook her head but let him take another sip before he handed it back to the man who had been holding it. “I need to beat someone soon or I’ll die of boredom.”

The submissive at her feet looked at her with excitement.

“Not you, LeatherButt,” she said. “You don’t even feel anything anymore, that fine ass of yours has been paddled so many times.”

“Please, Mistress Lauren? You can do whatever you want to me. Anything, I swear I’ll be good.”

“Drink,” she said, and he lifted the straw to her ruby-painted lips, which looked so kissable and yet dangerous . . .

Stop. Stop thinking that way about Lauren.
He focused instead on the music blasting throughout the club instead, tapping his foot to the heavy beat.

Okay.

Roman kicked him under the table. Fuck.

“I think Trevor and Elisabeth decided to make their own bachelor party,” Marc said, rubbing his shaved head. “You’re going tomorrow, right?”

“Of course!” Lauren laughed. “I wouldn’t miss the wedding for the world.” She turned to Roman. “And you’re the best man, right?”

“Guess so,” Roman said.

Lauren raised her eyebrows, which were a darker red than her long auburn hair, cut in a decidedly Domme look with short bangs, like a redheaded Cleopatra. “Roman, you need to get over Elisabeth. Move on. Or at least, please, let them move on and be happy. Do you have a toast prepared?”

“No.” He looked away. “I’m going to get a drink. Wish they served fucking alcohol here.”

“Yeah, you need more of that,” Marc joked. With Roman gone, he turned his attention back to Lauren. “I just hope he doesn’t use his toast to declare his hurt feelings and love for Elisabeth again.”

“I will literally grab the microphone away from him if he does,” she promised.

“So . . . do you have a date?”

“Why, are you asking me to go with you?” Damn, she could be blunt.

Marc grinned. “You know these things are always more fun when we go together.”

“I didn’t hear an invitation there.”

“Mistress Lauren, would you do me the honor of being my date for the wedding tomorrow, pretty please with a spanking on top?”

He held his hand across the booth to her, and she touched it lightly, cocking her head as if thinking about it.

“Yes, I’ll be your date, since you asked so nicely, even it was a touch last-minute. Ooh, does this mean I get to spank you?”

They both laughed, since that question had been parried between the two of them since they first met five years ago at this very club, and the answer was always the same, for both of them.

No. Hell no. They were each too dominant to be over someone else’s knee, even if that knee belonged to the other one.

LeatherButt tapped her leg impatiently. “You can spank me, Mistress, if it pleases you.”

She sighed.

Marc looked down at the sub with amusement, ready to tell him to fuck off, but . . . this could be Marc’s chance to get Lauren to lose a bet.

“We could double-team him,” he suggested casually.

Lauren gave him a mischievous smile. “Well, that might make it more fun.”

“I have an idea that will make it even more fun, but I doubt you’d be up for it,” Marc said, hoping reverse psychology would work for once.

“Try me.” She leaned forward on the booth.

“Let’s make a wager. See who can get LeatherButt here to scream first.”

She laughed. “I’d win. What’s the wager? What do I get when I win?”

Marc cleared his throat. If she turned him down, at least when Roman came back to the table Marc would have an extra ten grand to play with. “Well, whoever wins gets the other as his . . . or her . . . personal submissive for a whole week. Full-time sub, one week.”

Lauren gasped and covered her mouth as if she’d never heard such a crazy idea in her life. “You’d actually be willing to be my sub for a week? Let me tie you up and torture you a bit?”

Marc stood and took Lauren’s hand to help her out of the booth. “I don’t intend to lose. So the real question is, would you be willing to be
my
submissive for a week?”

She paused, looking up at him with an intensity he’d never seen before. “What would that involve?”

“Everything. You’d serve me, you’d live at my place.” Marc wasn’t sure if he could say what he knew he should say, but wagers such as this required full disclosure. “I’d fuck you.”

For the first time in their friendship, Marc could see a deep blush blossoming up from Lauren’s usually pale breasts, pushed up as they were in her tight vinyl corset. Lauren? Blushing?

“You’d fuck me,” she repeated slowly, as if to see if he’d back down.

“Hard.” He couldn’t take it back now, the words were out, the wager on the table. So he may as well play it through.

“Fine,” she said. “But when I win, you can expect for me to sit on your face for about, oh, two hours. You won’t even be able to say ‘Yes, Ma’am’ by the time I’m done with you.”

Ah, fuck. He was getting hard again. This was the furthest they’d ever taken their light flirtations. This was getting real.

“Let’s do it. First one to make LeatherButt the Unbreakable scream.”

Lauren put her hand out, and they shook hands. Hers were cool as ice and so small they seemed to disappear in his big paw.

LeatherButt jumped up, setting the soda on the table. “Oh my God. This is amazing. Thank you for letting me be a part of this!”

Lauren grabbed him by his black leather harness, which left most of his torso bare along with his ass and legs. “Let’s go, sweetheart. And don’t you dare scream for that BAD Boy. You only scream for me.”

“Yes, Mistress. I would never disappoint you.”

Marc frowned as he led them to an adjacent room with various torture devices but no door, so the Dungeon Master could peer in if necessary to make sure everything was kosher.

“That’s cheating,” Marc said. “You can’t rig the game.”

“Fine.” Lauren pushed LeatherButt hard against the wall, her long red hair shimmering down her back, the ends brushing just above her tantalizing ass. “Listen carefully, slave. Don’t scream at all, until you can’t help it. Don’t fake it for me. I’ll know if you’re faking it and it will ruin the fun of when I truly win.”

“Yes, Mistress. I won’t make a sound unless I have to. But you’re a goddess, I know it will be you who wins the bet.”

Lauren smirked at Marc. “I’ll give you one last chance to back out. Unless that hard-on you’ve got going on is because you’re actually looking forward to being my personal sub for a week.”

He shrugged. “I’m aroused because I like watching you work, I like inflicting pain, which is what I’m about to do . . . and I’m thinking of how I’m going to make you call me Sir as you swallow my come when
I
win.”

This time, Lauren didn’t blush. She picked a thin cane from the wall of implements, a vicious punishment indeed. “I’m going to use this on Leather over here first, and later tonight, I’m going to get to use it on you, Marc.”

“One punishment each,” Marc said, “back and forth, until he screams.”

“Deal,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Marc with a wink.

Oh, this better work.

“Bend over, bitch,” she said to LeatherButt. He draped himself across a black-leather-covered spanking bench and faced the stone wall. “Tell Marc your safeword.”

“
Algebra
, sir. It’s what I teach.”

Marc nodded. “I don’t want you to safeword, I just want you to scream for me, Leather. That’s all. Now take Mistress Lauren’s lick so I can get my hands on you.”

The cane whistled through the air with a sound that some submissives said was worse than the pain of the cane strike itself, but the ones that said that had never been caned by Mistress Lauren. The strike landed neatly across the sweet spot of his ass and thighs.

Barely a whimper. Wow, no wonder they called him LeatherButt. That
had
to hurt.

“My turn. Maybe this cane just needs some muscle behind it.” Marc turned to Lauren and flexed his tattooed bicep in his usual teasing way, but she didn’t laugh like she normally did at his mugging. This was serious business now, with a lot at stake.

“Ready to scream?” Marc asked, and waited for the man to nod his consent before he whipped his bare ass with the cane as hard as he could without drawing blood, pulling the stroke back with a flick of his wrist at the last moment.

Another whimper, but no scream.

“How are we doing, hon?” Lauren asked the sub. “Green for go or do you need a break?”

“Green, Mistress. I’d happily stay here all night with you two. This is a dream come true for me.”

“Let’s try to make it a nightmare.” Lauren set the cane aside and picked up a heavy flogger, the kind with many long strands of suede. Played lightly over a sub’s skin, it felt like heaven. Whipped forcefully, each strand of that flogger would light up his back like a Christmas tree.

“I’ve got the big flogger, LeatherButt,” she said softly. “I’m going to hurt you now. I’m going to give you so much pain you won’t be able to help but to scream.”

“Objection,” Marc joked, as if they were in court. “Leading the witness.”

“Don’t cramp my style,” she laughed, finally. Ah, there was the Lauren he knew. They always laughed together. But this . . . tonight . . . was different.

Tonight meant everything.

“Now where was I?” she asked, running the flogger strands through her fingers, letting the intimidating-looking implement hang in front of LeatherButt’s face. “Kiss it for good luck.”

Marc couldn’t help but notice that the man’s cock was so hard it was barely contained in his miniscule thong, the black material shiny and wet with pre-come as he kissed the whip with relish.

Lauren stood back, rolled her shoulders, and grinned at Marc before she let the flogger fly, landing across his back with a thud.

A strangled moan escaped his lips, but no scream.

“Damn,” she muttered. “I bet if I could do that twice in a row I’d get my scream.”

Marc raised his eyebrows. “That’s not how the game works. But if you want to change the rules, go ahead. You have my permission. Flog him again, and then it’s my turn.”

At this, Lauren laughed and raised her eyebrow. “I knew it! You really do want to be my slave for a week, don’t you? You love the idea of me winning so you can pretend to your buddies that you had no choice but to finally submit to me.”

She raised her arm but Marc grabbed it mid-air. “No. Let’s make this very clear. I’m going to win, and I want to win. I also don’t want you thinking I had some sort of unfair advantage since I’m so much bigger and stronger than you.” He stood over her, staring into her amazing blue eyes. “You can whip him again, and then I’m going to win. Do you understand?”