Carte Blanche [Special Enforcers Series ] Page 4

  She felt like asking him, suddenly, whether he had been part of the scene before being sired, or whether being a vampire was part of the reason he was there. It was just curiosity, however, and it didn't have any bearing on what they were here for. She'd ask later, if she had the opportunity. Now it was time to give the people looking at them behind the almost soundproof glass something to watch.

  "Stand."

  He rose lithely, keeping his hands behind him, without showing a hint of discomfort at having knelt on the hard floor for the past few minutes.

  "Come here."

  He walked with her to the side of the room, and at her indication he stood in front of the bay window. A clear Plexiglas rod ran from wall to wall, just inches in front of the glass panel. She tapped it with the riding crop.

  "Lean forward and hold this."

  His hands closed on the rod in a way that hinted it wasn't the first time he had been made to take this position. She observed him for a few seconds, then corrected his posture with a light touch of the crop on his left thigh that had him spread his feet a little more. His hard cock bobbed against his stomach. She felt the urge to slide her hand down his back and ass; his skin looked smooth as silk. He hadn't earned such a gentle touch, however.

  She noticed he had lowered his head a little, probably so he wouldn't have to see the people watching him. He might not have been as indifferent to their audience as he had tried to pretend.

  "Keep your eyes open,” she demanded. “And look up."

  She had the time to count to two before he obeyed.

  "Now think back about everything you did since you watched me enter the bar. What do you need to be punished for? Be specific. And don't forget anything."

  "I was rude,” he started. “Also, I—"

  She tapped the crop to his shoulder, and he fell silent.

  "Specific,” she reminded him. “How exactly were you rude?"

  "I ... stared at you."

  The crop swished through the air and landed on Ray's ass with a snap. She hadn't hit really hard, so his small jump had to be due more to surprise than pain. He was a vampire, after all. This had to be nothing to him.

  "I undressed you with my eyes."

  This time, the crop flicked at his skin more than truly hit. He might think undressing her with his eyes was a punishable offense, but she wouldn't have worn a tight short dress if she had shared his opinion. If anything, it was nice to know he found her attractive.

  "I was rude when I talked to you."

  That blow was the hardest yet.

  "I tricked you into playing with me."

  And harder still. It was his worst offense as far as she was concerned. She saw his hands clench on the rod, but he didn't move. If he felt the sting of the blows, it didn't pierce his voice as he continued his list and the crop continued to hit his ass, one cheek then the other in turn. His cock was as hard as ever, so she had to be doing something right.

  "I didn't keep my eyes down. I was slow giving you my card. I spoke out of turn. I left my clothes in a messy pile."

  He fell silent then, although he wasn't done as far as Grace was concerned.

  "If you need help remembering,” she said coolly, “you are allowed to ask."

  A few seconds passed. Grace waited patiently. When he finally gave up, there was a tremor in his voice that hinted he wasn't happy about it.

  "Mistress Red, would you please remind me what else I did wrong?"

  "You tried to argue with me about having a safe word."

  The crop hit his skin twice in a quick succession. She was ready to help, but her help had a price.

  "You wanted to roll your eyes at me, and not doing it doesn't excuse you. You looked down without permission when I placed you in front of the window. You weren't specific when I asked you to be."

  That was it—at least for the list. She stopped and ran a hand across his ass, checking her handiwork. She was surprised by the lack of heat, although she knew she should have expected it. There was just the smallest hint of redness to his skin; a human's would have been bright red by now.

  "I doubted you."

  The quiet words gave her pause, but she remembered to switch him for this new admission even as she thought about it. He had doubted her ... What did he mean by that? Had he doubted she would know how to handle him?

  For that matter, was she handling him well enough? She hadn't even left a mark on him, hadn't even made him flinch. She needed to do better and give him what he deserved. She needed to make him think that doubting her had not simply been an insult to her; it had been silly. She went to pick up a flogger from the wall, the leather falls narrow and as long as her forearm. Returning to him, she positioned herself and flogged him, just once, as hard as she could. That, at last, made him flinch.

  "Straighten up and look at me,” she asked.

  He did, his wrists instantly crossing behind him again.

  "Now that we're clear on what you're being punished for, let's get to the actual punishment. I've never played with a vampire before, so you're going to help. How many blows like this one would your Master give you in this situation?"

  His eyes darted behind her for a second; she had a feeling that his Master would have used something else than a flogger, for example one of the whips directly at her back.

  "A dozen hits for the most serious offenses, Mistress,” he offered after a few seconds. “Maybe half for the less serious ones."

  "Then we'll double that, for good measure."

  He didn't even blink. “Yes, Mistress."

  She held his gaze, searching. “Are you still doubting me?"

  A tiny smile curled his lips. “Ask me again in an hour."

  Three seconds passed before he remembered himself.

  "Mistress."

  "We'll just add one more item to the list, then."

  An hour later, when she ran a hand down his back and ass, light as a feather, and he clearly had to struggle not to squirm under her touch, she asked him again. His answer was much more to her liking.

  * * * *

  Ray lived for moments like this one when everything was pure, raw, extraordinary sensation, moments when thoughts were unnecessary, when his body wasn't his own anymore, when all he had to do was listen, obey, and accept. He did all three with a quiet joy that filled him with same warmth the sun once had.

  He listened to Mistress Red, to her words as well as to the tone of her voice, and marveled at how well they matched. One-word orders held strength and the absolute certainty that they would be obeyed. Reminders of why he was being punished contained enough disappointment that he could have believed, even though he knew otherwise, that she had spent hours upon hours training him and making him a perfect submissive for her. Words of praise were long to come, but when they did, they burst with warmth and pride at how well he was now behaving, and slid on his mind like the tender caresses of a lover. He listened to her heart, too, and to his ears it was the calm and steady song of purpose.

  He obeyed her, positioning himself in any way she wanted him. Standing, at first, with his back to the window and his hands clenched on a trapeze suspended from the ceiling, as immobile as he could be as she used the flogger on his back, his ass, and the back of his thighs. Propped against the bench, next, when she alternated blows of a wooden paddle to his ass and light touches of a fur flogger that made him want to jump out of his own skin. He obeyed her, also, when she demanded that he remain hard and forbade him to come. The first one was much easier than the second.

  And finally, he accepted. He accepted the harshest blows—never as harsh as Keller's, of course not, but it wasn't how hard she flogged that mattered, it was the reason behind each burning contact of leather on his skin. He accepted the single finger that slid from the root of his cock to the very tip, the nail scratching his hard flesh in just the right way. He accepted that she had never closed the blinds, and more people were now watching them. He accepted that he had placed himself in her hands and that he was
hers to play with as she pleased or to display for others regardless of his preferences. He accepted her as his Mistress, not just an adequate substitute for his absent Master.

  "Good boy."

  The words slid on him like the most delicate touch. At the same time her fingertips left a trail of fire down his back and ass. Both the words and caress made him tremble, even when he tried to remain still.

  "Do you still doubt me?” she asked for the second time, as she had promised she would.

  Ray did not even need to think. His voice almost shook with fervor. “Never again, Mistress Red."

  She laughed quietly. The sound reverberated through Ray's mind, filling him with contentment. She was satisfied with him. He had done well.

  She hadn't said he could move, and so he stayed immobile and in position as she walked away from him. He didn't have time to worry she might be leaving. The quiet, familiar buzzing of the blinds being lowered told him exactly what she was doing. In spite of himself, his cock gave a jolt. If it had been Keller in the room with him, now would have been the time to take the edge off before going back to their bed and spending the rest of the night, and maybe the next day as well, fucking. Not all scenes at the club ended with sex, of course not, but if Mistress Red were so inclined ... The scent of lust filling the room wasn't only his own, and he would have bet his life that her panties were soaked through.

  "You took your punishment very well,” she praised, coming back toward him. “Even if your way of getting me in here was hardly commendable."

  Now standing in front of him, she placed a finger beneath his chin, the same finger that had trailed along his cock earlier, and made him look up and stand straight. For the first time in the past hour, he could see her face. It was practically glowing, her cheeks flushed bright and her eyes shining with a delight that never reached her voice. She was beautiful. Something inside Ray tightened at the realization that he had helped make her this happy.

  "Anything you want to say?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "I am sorry, Mistress Red.” His throat felt as parched as though he had been screaming for hours, although, at her request, he had never made a sound. “And I thank you for teaching me better."

  Her finger slid over his chin to cover his lips in a shushing gesture.

  "Don't lie. You'd do the same thing again if you were in the same situation. How long has it been since your Master last played with you?"

  Ray could answer without counting. His lips moved against her finger as though in a kiss. “Fourteen nights, Mistress."

  Her features hardened a little, coloring with disapproval, although it didn't make Ray want to fall to his knees. He understood why when he realized the disapproval was directed toward Keller, and for the first time that night he felt disloyal to his Sire.

  "We're done with the punishment,” she said, taking a step back. “Now a small reward for behaving well in here. Sit down, or kneel, as you prefer, and make yourself come for me. Give me a nice show."

  Ray stopped himself halfway though his kneeling and straightened again, feeling miserable. Of all things, she had to ask this.

  "I am sorry,” he said again, his eyes downcast, “but I can't do that."

  A few seconds passed in ominous silence before she asked, her voice back to the snap and crack of a whip, “Why the hell not?"

  Surely, those words and that sharp tone shouldn't have made Ray's cock throb just a little harder with need.

  "Mistress, I ... I told you I asked permission to come here tonight. And everything we did was allowed. But I don't have permission to touch myself."

  "Not even if I—No, don't answer that. I understand."

  Ray wanted to let out a sigh of relief.

  "But I'm not going to touch you. As good as you were, you didn't earn it. Get dressed."

  The swallowed sigh, this time, was one of disappointment. He didn't have permission to bring his own release until the next sunset, and he was in no state of mind to find someone else to play with this night. Still, it didn't occur to him to argue with her or cajole her into changing her mind. After the past hour, he wouldn't have dreamed of disrespecting her so. Trying to walk as steadily as he could despite the lancing pain that each step brought forth from his shoulders down to his thighs and despite the way his cock strained up toward a touch that wouldn't be given, he went to pick up his clothes and dressed, aware of Mistress Red's eyes on him the entire time. It didn't help his arousal abate, and he almost came when he pulled too tight jeans over the sensitive skin of his ass and had to tuck his cock in to fasten the buttons.

  When at last he was fully clothed, he had the neat impression that this was just another part of his punishment, especially when he saw the small smile dancing on Mistress Red's lips.

  Chapter 5

  During the hour and half Grace had spent in the playroom with Ray, she had been too caught up in the scene to pay much attention to the people watching them from behind the glass. She had spared them a thought, at the beginning of the scene, to realize she would probably be judged according to her performance with Ray, and a second one at the end when deciding that she didn't feel like sharing Ray's orgasm with anyone. Walking out of the room, she still felt irritated that the scene hadn't ended the way she had imagined, but she supposed it was nothing compared to Ray's frustration. She was a little sorry for him, but not enough to help. After all, he had brought this on himself.

  She had planned to invite him for a drink when they returned to the actual club and try to ask a few questions. She received some unexpected help with that. The owner of the club—she thought his name was Maxwell—was waiting for her by the doorway. She had met him briefly upon arriving, and he had been one of the first to sit down and watch her play. Her heart jumped inside her chest, and she wondered immediately if she had done something wrong, broken some rule without meaning to, so that she was now going to be led to the door. The large smile he offered her, however, hinted at more pleasant things.

  "A remarkable scene,” he complimented her. “You left a few people jealous, too."

  From the heated glance he cast Ray behind her, Grace surmised that he was part of the jealous crowd, and that he would have liked to play with Ray himself. She wasn't too sure how to answer that, so she settled for a simple “Thank you."

  "I'd like to offer you a drink,” he added. “If you'll come with me?"

  "Thank you,” Grace repeated. “We'll be glad to."

  He blinked, and she realized the invitation might have been meant for her only. He didn't say a word, however, and smoothly guided her and Ray to the second room, where sofas and armchairs were arranged in small clusters for conversation. Tall and stocky, he walked with a confidence that matched both his expensive-looking suit and the red card hanging from his lapel.

  Grace sat down on a leather sofa, and before she could say a word, Ray had knelt down next to her, ignoring the thick carpet just a foot in front of him in favor of the bare wooden floor. It seemed to surprise Maxwell, although he quickly schooled his face and smiled at Grace. A waitress had appeared behind his velvet-covered armchair, clearly waiting for their orders.

  "What would you like to drink?” he asked her.

  "Champagne for me. Blood for Ray. You do have a blood bar license, don't you?"

  His voice remained steady, but again his face betrayed his surprise. “We do. We serve it straight or in cocktails."

  "With a bit of champagne as well, then,” she decided.

  While Maxwell ordered for himself, she looked at Ray, wondering what he thought of her choosing for him. With his eyes downcast, it was hard to tell. His body was entirely still, giving no indication of the pain she knew, from experience, had to be lancing through him still. She racked her fingers through his hair, making the short blonde strands spike up, then lightly tugged until he raised his face toward her. His eyes were calm, his lips smiling faintly. She took that as her answer that he was happy enough with her choice of drinks.

  "Do y
ou intend to play again tonight?” Maxwell asked, drawing her attention back to him.

  "Not here,” she replied, leaving it up to him to figure out what she meant by that.

  "Then can I ask you to leave your friend's card with me? She can retrieve it on her next visit."

  Grace felt a pang of disappointment at that request. If he wanted the card back, she imagined it meant that she wouldn't be welcome to return to the club. Somehow, the idea was affecting her more than she would have thought, seeing how she had only come to gather information in the first place.

  Unclipping the card from the hem of her dress, she placed it on the coffee table between them and leaned forward to push it toward him. He picked it up and slipped it in the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a bulging white envelope that he placed on the table and pushed toward her.

  "A membership application,” he explained. “Once you fill it out, it usually takes us a couple of days to create your card, but you'll be welcome to visit with a temporary card in the meantime."

  Grace stared at the envelope, not quite daring to pick it up as though, if she touched it too soon, Maxwell would reveal it had only been a joke. Carte Blanche wasn't simply the most exclusive club in town; its reputation spread down the entire east coast. In her younger years, Grace had met a few players who had boasted they were members, although none of them had ever shown the famed card that would have proved it. She could hardly believe she was being invited to join.

  Their drinks arrived, two slim champagne flutes filled with golden bubbles and a tumbler of dark red liquid. The waitress left all three on coasters on the table. Maxwell picked up the flute closest to him and seemed to wait for Grace to do the same. Before she did, she took the tumbler and handed it to Ray.