Visions of Destiny (Complete Series) Read online

  Mike’s expression turned teasing. “Come on,” he said, leaning forward in his chair and looking up at Daisy with his head tilted to one side. “Don’t you want to know?”

  She looked at Brett, who had been silent so far, and took him as witness. “You wanted to know. And how did that turn out for you?”

  Brett shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m feeling a bit silly for freaking out,” he admitted. “Whatever I saw, it can’t have been all that bad, right?”

  Daisy wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or if he truly expected her to answer. Taking her cue from Woods, she said nothing, and after a moment Brett started again, gesturing to their friends.

  “The others remember what they saw. And they’re happy they went through it.”

  “Well,” Daisy said blandly, “I’m glad you guys are happy you saw what you saw. At least the evening wasn’t a bust. Now who’s next?”

  She hoped they would understand that the topic of her getting a vision was closed as far as she was concerned. Rachel stood from her chair and took a step forward.

  “I’ll go,” she said very fast, as though afraid if she hesitated she wouldn’t be able to go through it. And indeed, she added at once, “I’d better, or I’ll change my mind.”

  Daisy gave her a jerky nod. “All right. You might want to take your coat; it’s getting chilly.”

  At once, Brett took his suit jacket off and offered it to Rachel. She gave him a grateful nod as she slipped it on. It was much too large on her small frame, and she looked even frailer suddenly. She turned a hesitant smile to Daisy and asked, “Will you come with me?”

  Remembering how uncertain Rachel had been earlier and her questions about how much Woods saw and whether he shared it with others, Daisy tried to soften her expression. “Of course.”

  They left the dining room together and stepped into the living room, but before opening the window to the balcony, Daisy reminded Rachel that no one was forcing her to do this if she didn’t want to.

  “I do want to,” Rachel replied, although her tone was less than convincing. She seemed to realize as much because she added more strongly, “Really.”

  Nodding, Daisy opened the French window, and Rachel followed her out. Woods, who had been looking out at the ocean, turned toward them, a gentle smile on his lips. Rachel seemed flustered, so much so that she didn’t introduce herself when they shook hands.

  “This is Rachel,” Daisy said. “She was wondering about your privacy policies, since you’ll see everything she will.”

  Woods nodded as though he had been expecting the question. “A lot of people ask about that. I assure you, this is all strictly confidential. I’ve got privacy agreements in my car if you want us to sign one.”

  Daisy couldn’t hide her surprise. She had not imagined any such thing. “Do you do that often?”

  “Not very often,” Woods said with a shrug, “but it happens. I read a politician once. They had their lawyer draft a contract before we even met. I can’t even tell you if it was a man or a woman. I use the same thing when other people get worried.” Raising a questioning eyebrow at Rachel, he added, “Do you want me to go get it? It’s no trouble, really.”

  Rachel shook her head. She looked a little more confident suddenly. “No, I trust you. But thank you for offering.” Reaching out to Daisy, she touched her arm. “And thank you for asking for me.”

  Squeezing her hand lightly, Daisy smiled. “You’re welcome. Do you want me to step out?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.”

  With a last smile that she hoped was reassuring, Daisy left the balcony. She drew the window closed behind her, only noticing after she had pulled back that she hadn’t shut it completely. She reached for the handle again, but soon became distracted. On the other side of the glass, Woods and Rachel were already sharing the kiss that would start the vision of Rachel’s future. Another pang of jealousy flared through Daisy, as unexpected as the one she had felt when Cathleen had kissed Woods earlier. The difference was that, this time, she couldn’t begin to imagine that Rachel and Woods might end up together.

  * * * *

  A casual passerby might not have noticed the discreet sign above the tinted glass door, but Rachel never failed to smile every time she saw it, excitement already fluttering inside her. Holding her coat closed with one hand, she crossed the street, her heels clicking sharply on the asphalt.

  The cab had dropped her off a block away. She didn’t want to be seen getting out right in front of the club. Even as she approached it, she was hyperaware of the couple coming down the street, far enough away that she doubted they would see her face. She glanced behind her: no one.

  She whispered the name of the club to herself as she pushed the door open. “Carte Blanche.”

  The receptionist smiled at her from behind the counter, already retrieving a hanger from the closet. “Good evening.”

  Rachel smiled back and slipped out of her coat. “Good evening.”

  She handed over her coat, then slipped her membership card out of her purse and handed the purse over as well. The receptionist looped the strap around the wire hanger then hung the coat in the open closet behind her. Rachel’s gaze scanned the line of coats; she didn’t see the long leather jacket she was looking for. She wasn’t disappointed, though. She was early, and she knew it. She liked to arrive at the club before Master David did in order to get herself in the right frame of mind.

  At the receptionist’s invitation, she swiped her card through the reader, then clipped it to the hem of her bustier. The front of the card was blue to indicate she was a submissive, and the short list of restrictions on what she was ready to do was there as well, printed in invisible ink to be revealed when a finger rubbed the plastic. The magnetic strip on the reverse could be used at the bar to pay for drinks or in the back to gain access to one of the play rooms.

  She shivered when a couple opened the door behind her and the cold winter air rushed in. In the street, her coat had covered her past the top of her knee-high boots, but now her legs were exposed up to mid-thigh where her mini-skirt ended, and her bustier left a narrow band of skin on her stomach exposed, as well as her shoulders and most of her back. She hurried away from the counter and passed the frosted glass wall behind it. A few steps led to the ground floor of the club. The heating system was strong enough that the goose bumps that covered her arms faded away before she had reached the bar along the wall of the welcoming room.

  The barmaid knew what she wanted, and Rachel answered her inquiry of “The usual?” with a nod and a smile, swiping her card in the reader to pay for the drink. Mirrors at the top of the back wall reflected the armchairs and sofas behind Rachel. They were arranged around low tables for conversation, and at the moment a dozen or so people were talking. Some were simply chatting over drinks as they might have in a regular bar so that only their attire set them apart from the patrons of the trendy club just three blocks away. Others were probably negotiating a scene; a few months earlier, she had sat right there, across from Master David, talking over what each of them enjoyed or didn’t care for, setting rules and expectations. The last thing she had told him was her safeword, and they had started playing a moment later.

  Taking the tall glass the barmaid had set in front of her, she sipped from it as she stepped over to the sitting room. The entire floor was fairly open, but low walls and clusters of house plants created three different spaces: the welcoming area with the bar, a dancing space where the ambient music was a little louder, and finally another seating area.

  In the sitting room, sofas and armchairs were spread out, all of them facing a long glass wall. Behind the glass, four rooms were visible, like shadow boxes. At the moment, three of them were dark, unoccupied, while the fourth was lit, throwing the two people inside it into prominence. Rachel recognized them at once, and a flash of excitem
ent sent tingles through her body.

  She joined the three onlookers who were sitting near the window. Inclining her head in silent greeting, she sat down on one of the round cushions on the floor a few feet from the window, her legs folded to one side, her drink forgotten as she avidly watched the Domme known in the club as Mistress Red and her exclusive submissive, Ray.

  Their scene was well under way, Rachel realized. A flogger lay on the floor, certainly left there after being used. Ray was bent over, clutching the horizontal plexiglass rod in front of the window as his Mistress struck him with a second flogger, the falls narrower than those of the one on the floor. Ray’s cock lay hard and wet against his stomach, his head up and his eyes as round and wide as his mouth. He wasn’t watching his audience, though, Rachel was sure of it.

  The window was transparent, but Rachel knew from experience that, with the way the light struck the glass, he would be able to see the reflection of his Mistress as she moved behind him. Rachel had been in his place often enough to know that, when caught in a scene, the world could have ended on the other side of that window, and it wouldn’t have mattered as long as the flogger continued to strike.

  And the flogger was striking. Mistress Red’s hand was steady, her rhythm as regular as a metronome. The glass was too thick to let sound through, but Rachel could hear the strike of the narrow leather falls in her mind, the very particular sound they made when they caressed Ray’s skin—or when they hit it full on. She could also imagine the moans that had to be passing his lips every time he jerked forward with a new strike. His cock was bouncing against his stomach, leaving shiny, wet trails. Rachel licked her lips and leaned forward a little more, not wanting to miss a second of this performance.

  The pleasure and pain that alternated on Ray’s face were things of beauty, revealing every bit of sensation that ran through his body. He was a vampire, Rachel knew, and therefore didn’t need to breathe, but his chest rose and fell with harsh, panting breaths, and Rachel found that her own breathing was accelerating to match his. Her nipples were pressing into the leather cups of her bustier, and her thong was already soaked through simply from watching them play—but not only from that. Master David had promised her a special night, when he had called her. A night she would remember. Was he going to push her as hard as Mistress Red was pushing Ray?

  God, but she hoped so.

  Ray’s eyes suddenly shut as tightly as his hands on the plexiglass rod. Mistress Red had dropped the leather flogger next to the suede one, and stepped to his side, and it was now her hand striking his ass, her entire body swinging into each blow so that her long braid bounced against the laces on the back of her corset. Her free hand rested at the back of Ray’s neck, and without thinking Rachel curled her hand at the back of her own neck, wishing it were another’s hand holding her so.

  Ray’s lips moved, and while Rachel couldn’t hear what he said, she could guess what caused Mistress Red’s arm to fall to her side and made her stop the spanking. Rachel knew what was coming now, and she wasn’t surprised when the blinds started rolling down, hiding the room so that the last thing Rachel saw was Ray slip down to his knees, his cock hard and thick between his parted thighs, the tip gleaming with precome. Rachel was not surprised, no, because at that point in their scenes Mistress Red always closed the blinds. Rachel was disappointed, however, and she was sure that the other onlookers behind her wished as much as she did that they could have seen the end of the scene.

  Picking up the glass she had forgotten on the floor, Rachel sipped from it, suddenly so thirsty that one glass wasn’t enough. Rising to her feet, she returned to the bar and ordered a refill. She had to sit on one of the high bar stools at the counter while she waited, her knees not as steady as they had been earlier. Watching wasn’t the same as playing herself, of course, but those two always made quite a sight together, and Rachel was more impatient than ever for her turn.

  She had raised her new glass to her lips for a sip when she felt someone lean in close behind her. A deep, velvet-smooth voice said against the shell of her ear, “It better not be alcohol. That would be a poor start to our night.”

  The thrill of hearing her Master, of feeling his body so close to hers, brought a smile to Rachel’s face. Without needing to think, she slipped off the stool and lowered herself to her knees in front of him, hands resting on her thighs and her face turned up toward him. “Good evening, Sir. It’s only lemonade, like you said.”

  It had been one of the first rules he had given her, after they had played together for the first time and he had told her he wanted to play with her again. He did not mix alcohol and BDSM scenes, and required his submissives to adhere to the same principle. Rachel liked a glass of wine every now and then to help her unwind, but ever since he had voiced that rule, whenever she came to the club, she remained sober, whether she knew he would be there or only hoped to find him. Even on those nights when she didn’t get to play, following his wishes still was like feeling his hand on her neck, gentle and yet dominant.

  “That’s my good girl,” he said, and there was so much warmth in his voice that Rachel’s cheeks flushed, as though she had been lounging by a fireplace, her face turned to the flames.

  He rested his hand on her head, petting her hair absently as he ordered a fruit cocktail. Rachel straightened her back, pushing lightly into his touch. Soon, he picked up both his glass and her own and with a quick, “Come, Sheila,” he led the way to the sitting room. Rachel stood and followed, hands linked behind her and eyes downcast.

  As much as she wanted—craved—to play, as much as she needed it, the memory of her Master’s hands reawakening like a phantom touch and leaving her itching for more, it was only ever when she heard this name that she truly slipped into the right frame of mind. To hear the name she had chosen for herself always flipped the switch in her head, giving her permission to tune out the nice, normal girl she was outside the club, and fully embrace the submissive she didn’t dare show anyone who hadn’t met Sheila.

  He sat on a loveseat across from the glass walls, and when Rachel kneeled at his feet, he handed her the glass of lemonade.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  He nodded absently as he brought his glass to his lips. While tilting her head back to drink, she looked at him. He seemed strangely anxious, his gaze fleeting around the room. Another one of the play rooms was occupied now, and a blindfolded submissive, his back to the glass wall, was attended to by a Dom and a female submissive. Two more couples were sitting in the room at a small distance from Rachel and Master David, all talking too quietly to be overheard over the soft ambient music.

  “Looks like there isn’t much going on tonight.”

  His fingers had returned to her hair, back to stroking lightly. Rachel struggled with herself not to push into his hand again. She loved that simple touch, undemanding but at the same time possessive.

  “Did you see anyone I know come in?”

  “Mistress Red was playing earlier. She finished before you arrived.”

  He made a small, disappointed noise. “Oh, too bad I missed that.”

  Rachel knew exactly what he meant. At the moment, only two Dommes were members of the club, and Mistress Red’s visits were always a treat to those who had the chance to watch her play with her submissive. Rachel didn’t like women sexually, but she sometimes wished Mistress Red would play with other submissives. She had beautiful hands, and Rachel would have loved to feel them strike her skin.

  “Did you enjoy the show?” Master David asked.

  She started nodding before she even knew it. “Yes, Sir,” she said quietly, and could hear the lust in her own voice, deep and raw. She squirmed a little under Master David’s intense stare, and felt herself start blushing.

  He clucked his tongue, and as small as the sound was, she shuddered as though he had cracked a whip.

  “Enjoying yourself without me when you knew I was c
oming,” he said, reproachful. “How very naughty.”

  He finished his drink and set the glass on the table beside the loveseat. Reaching forward, he slipped a single finger under her chin. He made a point of looking straight into her eyes, and she had to stop herself from dropping her gaze. His eyes were dark, the pupils dilated and already filled with desire.

  “I think,” he said slowly, as though musing aloud, “I might have to see just how much you enjoyed yourself and decide if you need to be punished.”

  A shiver fluttered down Rachel’s back at that last word; it was all part of the game, of course. Whether she had enjoyed herself too much or not watching others play, Master David would end up taking her to one of the play rooms so they could have a scene of their own.

  “Go to the restrooms,” he continued, his voice quieter now yet stronger, “and take off your panties. Then return so I can decide.”

  She was standing the moment he finished speaking, before his full command had even registered in her mind. Her heart stuttered when she understood, and she almost stumbled. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her mind and keep a normal pace as she went to the ladies room, the entrance for which was near the bar.

  Pale lavender porcelain on the floor and walls gleamed under the soft light above. Three white sinks were set into a waist-high counter of pale marble, topped by one oversized mirror in a white frame. A large bouquet of flowers opposite the door perfumed the entire room with exotic scents.

  All three stalls were empty. Rachel picked the one farthest from the entrance and closed the door behind her. Leaning back against it, she slipped her fingers underneath her skirt, hooked her thumbs in the sides of her panties, and had to wiggle a little to tug them down. The fabric left damp trails down her thighs, and as she stepped out of the thong she thought, briefly, of cleaning herself up before she returned to Master David.

  He hadn’t indicated that she ought to do so, however, or even that she could. All he had said was that she was to take off her underwear and return to him. She was sure that he would know if she did anything else; he always seemed to guess whenever she did something she wasn’t supposed to. She didn’t want to disappoint him now, not when he had said that tonight would be special.