Cherise Sinclair - The Dom's Dungeon

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

He held her still so he could smile at her. “I like the way that sounds. You please me, MacKensie.”

A flush bloomed in her pale face in response to his approval.

By the time he'd finished making up everyone's usual drink, the soft sounds of Enya filled the room.

Drake smiled slightly when Alex handed him the scotch he favored. “You're a good host, and this is an excellent diversion. Thank you.” He took a small sip, then put the glass down.

Alex took the last two drinks off the tray and reclaimed his chair. He set the drinks on the small table and held his arms out, pleased when MacKensie burrowed back into his embrace without hesitation. He handed her a gin and tonic and picked up his scotch, then glanced at Drake. “You think this will be the end of it?”

Drake frowned. “As far as copycats, yes. I gave Steel a camera for before-and-after photos. Although I'll black out her face, Cynthia's body is quite recognizable, and the story of what she did is making the rounds. When the pictures from tonight are posted over the bar, I doubt anyone will consider duplicating what she did.”

The talk turned general, and the Doms encouraged the subs to join in to keep their minds off the scene being played out in the dungeon.

Zachary told how his new ram had butted him off his feet; Tess teased the rancher about the dungeon he'd built in the barn. Hope had several troublesome students creating chaos in her classroom. Peter suffered from a backlogged caseload that kept him working late each night.

“You know, we never asked how you met,” Hope said, smiling at Mac.

MacKensie stirred in Alex's arms. “We exchanged houses. Butler needed someone to care for him while Alex attended some conference close to my hometown.” She frowned and looked up at him. “After seeing your house, I couldn't believe you wanted to use my little place.”

“I've found staying in a real house—even little ones—more comfortable than any motel room. And it's worth the drive if I can get out of the city and enjoy a smaller town.”

“Oh.” MacKensie returned her attention to Hope. “Anyway, he missed his flight and returned to the house.”

And found her in a wonderful position . Alex grinned as red streaked across MacKensie's face. She obviously hadn't forgotten either. “She was nice enough to let me stay in my own home.”

He heard the little sigh of relief that he hadn't gone into detail.

With a little click , the music came to an end. Mac turned toward the dungeon. “Why isn't he done?”

“Steel was furious he'd been used in such a way,” Drake said. “And he's a master with the single tail. He won't break skin, but she will be marked for quite some time.”

“You must love her a lot to punish her like this,” Mac said.

Alex frowned at the peculiar statement and realized there was something odd in her voice. Wistfulness? Envy?

His glance at the others silenced them. “What other punishment could we have used, little cat?” Alex asked softly.

Her hand resting on his chest curled into a small fist. “If you didn't like her, you'd put her out of sight. Send her where you didn't have to look at her.”

Such a matter-of-fact statement. A reality to MacKensie. Alex frowned as dawning comprehension created a knot in his stomach. “So Cynthia knows we love her, since we're whipping her raw?”

Her cheek rubbed against his shirt as if she were the little cat he called her. Even as she snuggled, a frown formed between her brows. “I don't know about whipping. It seems awfully harsh.”

“I guess we could have flogged her.” He paused. No response. “Or caned her.” Paused. “Or spanked her.”

MacKensie's breathing increased, and the tiny muscles in her lips quivered for a second.

“Yes, maybe a hard spanking. Would she know what it meant, though?” He threw that out blindly and got more than he'd anticipated.

“Only girls who are loved get spanked. She'd know that.” Again, a reasonable tone. Spanking and love went together in MacKensie's world, a thought pattern probably established so young, she didn't even realize it. He'd dig further. But for now she needed to know she was valued as much—more—than Cynthia. He could give her that. With a little help.

He glanced at Peter and Zachary, saw the understanding in their eyes, and received nods. Experienced Doms could no more ignore a need like this than a doctor could ignore a bleeding wound.

The dungeon door opened, and Steel walked out, his hand wrapped around Cynthia's upper arm, giving her support enough to walk, but from the repugnance in his face, he didn't want to get closer. Steel's mouth was tight; he obviously hadn't enjoyed the punishment, but he'd done a masterful job.

Red welts covered Cynthia's body, front and back, shoulders to calves, only the areas around her kidneys and spine left unmarked. Her tear-streaked makeup splotched her face like camo paint, and her eyes were glassy with pain.

Pity rose in Alex until he remembered that she'd tried to do the same to Mac for no other reason than spite.

When the two approached, Drake rose. His black eyes displayed no pity at all as they traveled over Cynthia's body. “Kneel and apologize to Master Steel, then to Master Alex's sub.” His words were deliberately chosen, and Cynthia flinched at MacKensie's designation as Alex's submissive.

Cynthia knelt awkwardly, all her grace gone. “I'm sorry, Master Steel. Please forgive me.” The monotone left little to be read.

“Forgiven,” Steel said, his taut face adding without words that he wouldn't forget.

Cynthia turned slightly and looked at MacKensie. “Please forgive me,” she repeated, her face blank and cold.

MacKensie's eyes brimmed with tears. “Of course,” she whispered.

Alex's mouth thinned. His little sub's sympathy could be heard, felt, and seen. Cynthia's attitude, however…

“Cynthia, you speak the words of repentance but feel no remorse, only unhappiness that you were caught,” Drake said and lifted Cynthia to her feet. “You are not welcome in my club. Do not return.”

The woman's soft gasp of shock showed she had expected everything would go back to normal.

Drake handed Steel his car keys. “Please escort her to the car. I will be out in a moment.”

Steel nodded and gripped Cynthia's arm again. He snagged her coat on the way out the door.

Drake walked over to Alex. A flick of his eyes asked for and received Alex's permission to speak and touch. He lifted MacKensie's chin with one finger. “Little one, a truly repentant submissive is forgiven and cherished by her master, whether she is punished or not.” His black eyes gentled as if he could feel the quivers racking the little cat's body. “And sometimes punishment isn't about love; sometimes it's just punishment.”

He let her go, nodded at Alex, and headed out to take Cynthia home. Alex didn't envy him the trip.

“I think the evening calls for a walk on the beach,” Alex said. “Come, people; let's get some fresh air.” He set his mostly untouched drink down on the table. There was yet a scene to play out tonight, and he'd need a clear head.

Seattle glowed brightly on the horizon as Mac took one last look before entering the house. The long walk in the brisk sea air had blown away the shadows of the evening, and the soft shushing of the waves erased the screams that had filled her imagination. Alex had held her hand as they strolled along the water's edge, and that had helped too. Mostly.

So maybe she'd had a few moments of wanting to be home, reading an old Heinlein, and snuggling in the extra-soft quilt that Mary had made just for her—the one with kittens peeking out from behind each square. The homesickness hadn't lasted too long. Hand on her stomach, Mac rubbed away the lingering remnants and took a fortifying breath of cool, briny air.