Cherise Sinclair - Club Shadowlands

People who like being hurt . Okay, she'd seen that already. The club had rules—rules were good—and she'd screwed up big-time in this strange world. Time to apologize, extricate herself gracefully, and retreat.

Sitting in the entry looked more and more attractive, and she was going there right now, Master Z or no Master Z.

Now released, the whipped woman joined the bully. The tiny woman's whole body trembled, and the man put an arm around her, incongruously tender, considering the way he'd wielded that whip.

Jessica sucked in a breath, looked at her. “I'm very sorry. I thought you were being hurt, and well… Please forgive me.”

Master Z raised his eyebrows at the man.

“No, Z, I'm sorry. I can see this is a pet of yours, and she didn't do it on purpose, but she screwed up our scene.” He kissed the top of the woman's head. “Ruined the night for us. We got club rules for this, and I want them enforced.”

“It is within your rights, Master Smith.” Master Z sighed and clasped Jessica's wrist in one firm hand before continuing, “Here is my judgment. I will discipline, allowing you to participate. I will stop when I am satisfied both punishment and repentance have been achieved. Since she is a newcomer and not in the lifestyle, that must be taken into consideration for intensity and duration.”

Master Smith frowned, and then his face cleared. “Guess that'll do.”

Sir turned, motioned to a barmaid, and pointed to the bench where the whipping had taken place. “Clean that, please.”

A spray bottle and paper towels came from a tiny shelf on the wall, and the barmaid quickly cleaned the bench.

What did he mean by punishment? Jessica's gaze went from the bench to Master Z. She was getting a really bad feeling about this. “Listen, I apologized, and I'll leave now.”

His grip didn't loosen. “Jessica—”

“You are not going to whip me.” She tried to pull her arm away. “You can't—”

She tried to punch him.

Smiling slightly, he caught her fist in one hard hand. When she yanked at her hand, he let go, stepped behind her, and pinned her arms to her sides.

Lifting her, he placed her facing the bench.

“Not a whip,” he said mildly, as if he were continuing a conversation. She could feel his body all along hers, and despite the fear, she noticed.

As he pulled Jessica's lush body tighter against him, Zachary could feel her reaction in both her body and her mind. Fear, yes. But arousal still lingered, which surprised him at first. Then again, even a perfectly straight person would be turned on by the Shadowlands; for a submissive—even a novice—the activities in the room would be an erotic dreamland.

And had turned into a nightmare. He should never have let her in here, and guilt carved at his gut like a dull knife. But perhaps he could make this easier for her, not that she'd understand his actions or how arousal could change the quality of pain.

Keeping her pressed against him, he nuzzled her neck, breathing in her warm vanilla scent. She shivered.

“You aren't ready for a whip,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, feeling how both fear and excitement heightened inside her. “I doubt you would ever enjoy that pain.”

Without decreasing the pressure over her arms, he moved his hands up to cup her breasts. If she weren't attracted to him, weren't aroused, this would be reprehensible behavior, but her nipples pebbled under his touch. Ignoring the crowd accumulating behind them, he focused on bringing the heat out in her. Her breasts were soft and round, heavy. She could undoubtedly feel the warmth of his hands through the thin top.

She could feel the heat of him through her shirt as his thumbs rubbed her nipples, sending blazing sensations searing through her body.

“Stop it,” she hissed, squirming in his unyielding grasp. Her heart pounded with fear, yet she was all too aware of his hands on her, of how his larger body held her in place so easily. It was Sir who had her in his arms, Sir who made her feel safe, only there was no safety here.

She felt something close around her ankles. “Hey!”

The man and the whipped woman were kneeling on each side of her. She tried to kick at them and couldn't move her legs. They'd strapped her ankles to the bench legs.

“Let me go, dammit. I didn't agree to—”

“Actually, you did,” Sir murmured. “I have your signature. The penalties for interrupting a scene are spelled out in detail on the third page.”

“No way.” She tried to wrench free. “Damn you, let me go.”

He held her as easily as he would a puppy, his arms around her both comforting and terrifying.

“Master Smith, could you lower the front several inches, please?” Sir said. “And bring the entire bench up another foot.” Even as he spoke, he teased her breasts, rolling the nipples, stroking the undersides.

When he moved a hand down to press against her mound, a wave of heat rolled through her. She struggled harder, but she couldn't move away from his attentions, and even her fear couldn't quite suppress the sensations awakening in her. Or was her fear heightening them?

The table was adjusted.

“Jessica, bend over now,” Master Z said. She tightened her body to stay straight. Damned if she'd help him in any way.

He gave a huff of laughter, moved one arm down to cross at her hips and bent with his chest against her back, forcing her down on the table. She struggled uselessly, panting with exertion. Pulling her arms out to the side, he flattened her chest right onto the bench.

Two more snicks and she realized the ever-so-helpful pair had shackled her wrists to the bench legs. Her arms were pulled straight with no give, and she yanked at them uselessly. “No, dammit.”

Sir walked around the bench. Reaching under her, he arranged her breasts so they hung down on each side of the narrow bench top.

Jessica tried to move her legs, to raise her body from the bench, but she was restrained completely. Horror rushed through her as she realized, with the bench tilted head down, her bottom was sticking high in the air. She heaved in a panicked breath, yanked at the wrist straps.

“You bastard,” she jerked out. “You let me up, or I'll sue you so bad. I—”

“Kitten,” he said, stroking her heated cheek. “No one ever does. Lawsuits make headlines, and no one wants to admit they've been here.”

Publicity? She choked, bitterness sour in her mouth. She couldn't afford a scandal in her straitlaced accounting world. Her threat of a lawsuit was useless, and he knew it.

“I am sorry, little one. You're going to have to submit and take your punishment.” After stroking her hair, he walked over to the wall. She twisted her head, trying to keep him in sight. Her breath stopped. The flickering lights on the wall had concealed what hung there. Canes and whips and paddles and crops. A whimper escaped her, and she strained harder against the restraints.

She could hear people laugh as she struggled. Lots of people.

Hands behind his back, Sir took his time contemplating the devices, and her anguish grew. No, not the whip, you promised. Please not the horrible long, stiff cane . And then he picked up a round paddle the size of a person's head.

“This seems to fit the need,” he said. He touched her cheek gently and said, no longer whispering, “Jessica, since you are new to this, I will make it easy. You have permission to scream, to cry, to swear and call names, to beg…even to stay silent. Anything you do will be acceptable for this period of time.”

“You jerk, don't you tell me what I can do.” She was so angry, so frustrated, so terrified, she felt tears springing to her eyes.

“Jessica, I just did.”