The Dom's Dungeon

Chapter Eleven

After setting the tray down, Mac hastened up the stairs to the master bedroom. And there she paced, caught in a quandary. Should she return back downstairs for the rest of the party? Damned if she would do that without clothing. But if she put on clothes, what would Zachary do? Even scarier, what would Alex do? Her heart squeezed at the thought of his displeasure, and wasn't that totally bizarre? In the last twelve years, aside from Jim and Mary, she'd never changed her behavior for anyone, no matter what they might think.

Okay, Mac. Think. Be logical. If she didn't go back downstairs, she'd break the deal with Alex. She'd promised to submit at his parties and all that. This was a party. So she couldn't cut out early, no matter how offensive his guests were.

But she refused to walk around without clothing, so… Her suitcase held a long jean skirt like Tess's and a discreet, sleeveless, button-down top. After pulling them on, she checked herself in the mirror. Nothing provocative about this.

Surely Alex would understand that she couldn't tolerate being mostly naked. Wouldn't he?

Frak, but I'm so screwed. Trying to rub the butterflies out of her stomach, she descended the stairs and entered the living room. The light scent of wood smoke from the fire mingled with a cool breeze from the window someone had opened. Zachary and Tess had joined the others at the window, so everyone stood on one side of the room. Mac clenched her hands at her sides. Join them or resume serving? But she'd already served them once, dammit, and look how well that had turned out.

Casual, then. Just go hang out with them. Note to self: stay a good distance away from the nasty Doms.

Her breath kept hitching like a bad motor as she crossed the room and stopped beside Alex. Eyes down like a good little sub, she listened to Tess's description of kayaking. When Tess's light voice stopped in midsentence, no one picked up the conversation.

Silence grew.

Mac glanced out of the corner of her eye at Tess and Hope. The look of horror blossoming on their faces made her stomach sink. Oh frak. Beam me up, Scotty. Quick.

A hand closed around her bare arm in a firm grip. Alex. He turned her toward him.

Her hands closed into fists, but she kept her gaze on the floor, at least until his finger under her chin raised her gaze to his.

Cold, cold eyes, like blue ice. “I seem to recall putting you in a maid's outfit.” His voice had deepened, but he spoke softly. “Why are you not wearing it, MacKensie?”

“I-I…” Why the hell hadn't she thought up a good excuse upstairs? “Um. It was uncomfortable, and Zachary…um—a Dom—removed it for me.”

“Did he.” It wasn't a question, and his eyes didn't leave hers. “Master Zachary?”

“She mouthed off,” Zachary said in an unemotional voice. “I removed her corset as a punishment and told her to find you and explain why.” Just the facts, damn him.

“Ah.” Alex's brows drew together, and his lips flattened. The nervous flutters in Mac's stomach kept moving out until her knees started to tremble.

“You talked back to a Dom. You disobeyed a Dom's direct order. And you disobeyed me. Did I miss anything, MacKensie?” He loomed over her as if he'd added another foot in height.

She tried to swallow. “No, Sir. That's all.”

“More than enough, actually. Do you understand what you did wrong?”

This was worse than any chewing out she'd ever had. His eyes held both anger and disappointment. He didn't yell; his voice stayed level.

“Answer me, MacKensie. What did you do wrong?”

“I wasn't polite.” She thought about ripping free of his grasp and running, but her feet stayed frozen on the floor. “I didn't obey his order. I didn't wear what you told me to wear.” She felt her lip quiver and couldn't stand it. She tried to pull away. “Damn you, I'm not going naked in a roomful of fully dressed people.”

She heard gasps from the two other subs.

“Actually, if it pleases me that you be naked, then you will do so and be proud that I choose to share your beauty,” he said softly. “In situations like this, what you wear—or don't wear—is at my discretion.” He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Strip. Now.”

Her mouth dropped open. “No. No way.”

“Well then.” Moving so smoothly she didn't realize his intentions, he grasped her wrist, stepped back, and sat on the couch behind him. He pulled her to his right to stand beside his knees. An ironic smile crossed his face. “I think we've done this before.”

She stared down at him in confusion. “What?”

He grabbed a handful of her shirtfront and yanked. She landed painfully on her stomach across his knees. “Oomph.” Gasping for the air knocked out of her, she struggled to rise.

Her left arm was trapped between their bodies. Alex reached across her back to grip her other arm, holding it against her side and pinning her shoulders at the same time.

“Let me go, dammit!” She tried to roll off his legs.

She felt movement on the backs of her thighs as he pulled her skirt up, baring her bottom. He wouldn't! She fought harder.

Slam!

The shock of his hand striking her bottom rendered her speechless for a second. And then she screamed in fury.

Slam. Slam. Slam. The shocking pain of the stinging blows silenced her.

He said, “I do this because I care for you, MacKensie.” His voice sounded almost tender. “I don't like having to punish a sub, but this is for your own good. And because I care.”

Slam. Slam. Slam. Each blow stung like a searing flame on her skin.

“Damn you, you asshole. You bastard. I don't—”

Slam. Slam. Slam. She choked as pain began to overwhelm her.

“You were disobedient and disrespectful, as you are now. So you are being punished because I care how you behave.” His hand stroked over her burning skin gently, then…

Slam. Slam. Slam.

God, it hurt. Hurt way worse than when he had spanked her before. He was hitting harder. Tears pooled, then ran from her eyes. She tried to free her arm, and his grip tightened to a steel band.

“I can keep this up all night, MacKensie, if that's what it takes to get this through your head. Obedience is rewarded. Respect is rewarded. Subs who disobey are punished.”

Slam. Slam. Slam. “If I didn't care about you, I would simply ask you to leave.”

She froze as his words entered her, echoing through the hollows inside her. He cared. Cared enough to punish her. He hadn't made her leave.

Slam. Slam. Slam.

A sob welled from deep inside her and wrenched out past her constricted throat. As if the first sob had opened something, the next and next ripped out, faster, hurting her chest.

His hand caressed her bottom, and the pain of his touch mingled with the pleasure of his warmth. “When you apologize and sincerely beg forgiveness, then I will stop.”

Never, she'd never. She smothered her sobs. “You bastard,” she whispered, yet her defiance lacked real anger.

Slam. Slam. Slam. The blows moved lower to the tender crease of her thigh, the sharp slaps agonizing. She gritted her teeth.

“I was proud of your behavior earlier tonight, of your sweetness and your compassion. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman, MacKensie.”

Slam. Slam. Slam.

His words tore through her, more painful than the stinging blows. Something, some dark emotion, tore loose, and her chest shook with its passing. The pain on her skin filled her world even as his words emptied the lake of pain inside her. She couldn't fight either one. He had control.

He cares for me.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. And he held his blow. How could he hear her? But the ringing noise she heard was all inside her head and didn't diminish when he paused.

“That's a start.” His hand stroked her back. “Do you know what to do now?”

She remembered from the dungeon a lifetime ago. “Kneel and apologize.” She nodded.

He released her, and his big hands steadied her as she slid off his legs and onto her knees. Her voice shook as she stared at her hands clenched together in her lap. “I'm sorry, Sir.”

No answer.

She looked up. He was waiting for…for the rest. “Please forgive me, Sir.” She felt tears still rolling down her cheeks and didn't dare move to wipe them away. His gaze held her pinned as he studied her, looking for…something. She wanted to give him whatever he wanted, and then maybe he'd hold her. She wanted to be held so badly.

“I forgive you, little cat,” he said gently. “Strip for me now.”

One second of shocked horror and then she caved. He had control, and she'd given it to him. To finish seemed…right, as if it satisfied something within her. Her clothes dropped to the floor, and she stood before him naked.

When he held his arms out, she fell into his embrace.

MacKensie vibrated in his arms like a badly tuned machine; the trembling rolled through her body in waves. Alex tightened his grip, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder, and let her feel his warmth and strength. His comfort.

“I'm proud of you, little cat,” he murmured, stroking her sweat-damp hair. “It's not easy to submit, even if it's what you want to do. Giving up control takes as much internal strength as taking control. Maybe more.”

He glanced up and realized the others had cleared out when the punishment began. Some discipline should be witnessed; some should be private. The Doms had known what he'd planned. They'd helped push MacKensie into defying him so he could give her what she couldn't admit she wanted. From the feel of her in his arms and the calm look on her face when she asked forgiveness, the spanking had satisfied something in her.

His next task would be to find out why.

But first she needed to be held, and he needed to hold her. Erotic pain aside, deliberately hurting a woman could indeed hurt the giver too. A Dom's nature was to protect a helpless woman, but sometimes the path to healing came through pain.

He pulled her closer, pleased at the way she snuggled into his arms, as trusting now as a sleepy kitten. And he knew he'd spoken truly a few minutes ago.

He did care.

A while later, Alex set MacKensie on her feet and picked up two heavy blankets. He wrapped one around her. “Time for some more fresh air.”

She glanced toward the clothing still piled on the floor, and he shook his head, amused at her look of outrage. His little cat recovered quickly.

The wind off the Sound moistened his face as he guided her down the beach to a spot where piles of driftwood on three sides gave an illusion of privacy, and the sand hid everything else. Not that restraints would be needed tonight.

After opening his blanket on the sand, he took a seat and used a weather-smoothed log for a backrest. Smiling at her wary expression, he drew MacKensie down to sit between his legs.

She gave a muffled yelp when her sore ass hit the rough blanket, then relaxed, resting her back against his chest, his arms around her waist. It was a rare evening with no rain, and there were few places as lovely as the beach. The waves washed onto shore in a soft rhythm as lighted freighters and ferries traversed the Sound with a slow dignity. Overhead, patchy clouds drifted in front of the waning moon, creating shadows that flowed across the white sand.

Gradually the tension eased from his little sub's body.

“I've canoed on a lake at night,” she said, her voice hushed. “This is like it but more…alive.”

“Yes.” He kissed her cheek. “I'll have to take you to the ocean. Our Sound is sweet and gentle; the Pacific has more moods.” In an unhurried move, he slid his hand under the blanket and cupped a pert breast. He could feel as well as hear her sharp inhalation. His arm tightened around her waist, a quiet warning about whose body he held.

He felt the tremor run through her and the stiffening of her muscles. Her discomfort at being touched intimately by a man, even him, hadn't diminished much. He had no intention of pursuing sex now, but he needed his hands on her to read her responses and show him the way.

Most people's beliefs and responses to spanking originated in childhood. He'd start there. “I've lived close to Puget Sound all my life,” he said easily. “Where did you grow up, MacKensie?”

“Iowa. You know that,” she said. Terse answer. Not a subject she wanted to pursue.

“Ah yes, that's right. Did you grow up in that town you came from? Oak Hollow?” He'd never have detected the quickly controlled jerk if his hand hadn't rested on her breast.

“That's right.” She tried to sit up, and he pulled her back.

“Are your parents still there?”

“They died. When I was four.”

He felt as if he were Butler, pursuing an elusive mouse through the grass. “Who raised you then?”

“I went into foster care.”

She strained against his grip. Foster care might hold the key. “How were you punished in foster care, little cat?”

“Frak, that's not… I'm not going to talk about… None of your business.”

Frazzled and a little lost, and the spanking still affected her emotions. He'd counted on that. “Answer me.”

“We had time-outs.”

Well, that sounded harmless enough, except the tension buzzed through her body so fiercely, it made his hands ache. What could go wrong in a time-out? Length or location? “Send her where you didn't have to look at her,” she'd said. “Where did you have your time-outs?”

Her whole body stiffened as if he'd hit her.

Right question. “MacKensie?”

“A closet. She'd lock us in a closet,” Mac said, her voice thin and high.

“So who got spanked?”