He was right. She had come this far. She had embraced her deep-seated erotic urges and thrown herself headlong into researching the topic. She had learned she wasn’t sick and twisted after all. She had discovered there were thousands—no, millions—who shared her needs and desires. She had found the courage to go into the field like an intrepid explorer. She had met two hot guys who were interested in scening with her. She had allowed them to spank her!
And yes, she had loved it, even while she’d been afraid.
What must they have thought of her when she cut things off so abruptly and fled the scene? Were they laughing about it now—about the newbie wannabe sub girl who ran away in the middle of a spanking?
What would they think if they knew she was still a virgin?
Chapter 2
That Monday morning, Shea stared at the vial containing the new chemical compound she’d been working on, wondering if she’d finally gotten it right after several days of trial and error. Her concentration had been off since she’d arrived at the lab, her mind constantly sliding back to Saturday night at Hardcore. The business card Steve had handed her was burning a hole in her purse. She’d handled it a dozen times and had almost made contact, but each time she’d chickened out at the last minute.
A heavy hand on her shoulder startled her, nearly making her drop the vial.
“We’ve got a problem, O’Connor,” Scott Carroll, her boss at Cosmetic Formulations, boomed in his overloud voice. “Or rather, you’ve got a problem.”
Jeff Scharnott, who sat one workstation over in the large lab, sniggered softly, no doubt pleased Shea, and not he, had been singled out for that morning’s berating.
“What’s that, Mr. Carroll?” Shea strove to keep her voice even and calm as she willed herself not to flush. Her boss sensed weakness like a hawk sighting its prey, and always pounced. “If it’s the dimethicone adjustment, I’m aware of it and I think I’m almost there.” She held up her vial as proof. “I’m satisfied the occlusive agents are properly balanced now with a good humectant.”
Shea had helped in the development of several successful moisturizers for the company, but this was the first time she’d been entrusted with such a complicated formulation. When she’d been given the assignment for the latest product commissioned by a top cosmetic company, she’d been both thrilled and terrified. The lotion was supposed to be a toner, serum and moisturizer in one, formulated to hydrate combination and oily skin while toning, reducing breakouts, treating sun damage and calming irritated skin. Oh, and it needed to smell good, too.
“We’ve got deadlines, O’Connor. The test groups are being lined up as we speak. Your scent is too floral. Fix it. The client wants a clean, fresh scent, something in the cucumber family with maybe a trace of citrus. If you need to pull an all-nighter—do it. Just don’t expect any overtime.”
“I’m on it, Mr. Carroll,” Shea said, willing him to walk away. She loved her job, but her boss was another story. She hated the way he called everyone by their last names, and seemed unable to modulate his voice, booming like a drill sergeant so that everyone in the lab heard every word he said. He was always quick to criticize and his rare compliments were usually backhanded and left you unsure if you’d just been praised or humiliated.
He grunted and turned his attention to Jeff. “Hey, Scharnott, you working hard or hardly working?”
Relieved she was no longer the focus of attention, Shea returned to her task, but her mind continued to drift back to the night at the club, and the two men who had taken such sexy control over her. She knew what she needed to do to get back on track with her work. She would just take care of it, and then she would be able to concentrate.
She waited until the boss had left the lab, grabbed her purse and slid from the tall stool at her workstation.
As she passed Jeff’s station, he said, “You going to the break room? Bring me back a cup of coffee. You know how I like it—cream and three sugars.”
Jeff was always telling Shea to get him something or handle some trivial formulation for him, as if she were his personal lab assistant. When she had first joined the staff two years before, fresh from graduate school, she had made the mistake of obliging him. Now, without breaking her stride, she said, “Sorry, I’m busy. Get your own coffee.”
Shea headed for the women’s restroom. One advantage of being the only woman in her lab was that she generally had the bathroom all to herself. She entered a stall and closed and locked the door. Setting her purse on the floor, she removed her lab coat and hung it on the door hook.
Reaching for her purse, she rummaged at the bottom of the large bag for the plastic cosmetic case that held her favorite travel toy—her trusty purple plastic pussy teaser. It was a G-spot vibrator with a slim, seven-inch shaft and a one-and-a-half inch egg-shaped head. She removed the toy, along with the small tube of lubricant.
Closing the toilet lid, she lifted her skirt and pulled down her panties. Standing in front of the toilet, she put one foot up on the seat and carefully inserted the vibrator into her already-wet pussy. Sitting carefully, she perched on the edge of the seat. Reaching between her spread legs, she twisted the base of the dildo to turn it on, sighing with pleasure as it began to vibrate inside her.
As she rubbed her clit, she let the new fantasy that had been fueled by the events of Saturday night scroll through her mind like an X-rated movie in which she had the starring role.
Naked, she’s hanging from chains by her cuffed wrists, spread eagle, her feet barely touching the ground. Her slender, perfect body is bathed in sweat and stippled with welts. Each crack of the bullwhip yanks a cry from her lips, but her pussy is swollen and throbbing, its juices wetting the insides of her thighs.
Sir Stephen is relentless, striking her again and again. Her heart is pounding as the whip cuts into her flesh. She’s trembling in her bonds, sweat stinging her eyes and plastering her hair to her forehead, but she won’t use her safeword, no way. Not this time.
Master Zach appears in front of her and takes her face in his hands. He dips his head and brings his mouth to her lips. Their kiss is long and passionate, and Shea forgets the pain of the whip, or rather, the pain melds into the pleasure of her lover’s kiss.
The whip, the kiss, the throb of her clit, Master Zach’s tender touch, Sir Stephen’s relentless stroke…
“Oh god,” Shea whispered as the pussy teaser vibrated inside her. “Oh, yesssss.” The orgasm was powerful, if brief, and she shuddered as it washed over and through her.
She turned off the vibrator with trembling fingers and slid it out of her still-thrumming pussy. Standing, she pulled up her panties and smoothed down her skirt. Leaving her coat and purse in the stall for the moment, she moved toward the bank of sinks. She turned on the hot water in one of the sinks and squeezed a large dollop of liquid soap over the plastic dildo.
As she washed her toy, she regarded herself in the mirror. Her cheeks and neck were mottled with telltale color. Not for the first time, she wondered about formulating a foundation that would effectively hide flushed skin without making you look like a cadaver. Would there be a market for such a product? Well, definitely a market of at least one.
Once she was satisfied the vibrator was properly cleaned, she dried it with paper towels and returned to the stall. She placed it and the tube of lubricant in their case and pushed the case down into the bottom of her bag. As she started to zip the purse closed, her gaze fell on the much-handled calling card.
She plucked the card from her bag and stared at it for the hundredth time.
Steven Hartman/Zach Wilder
Professional BDSM training
Explore the passion and the power of erotic submission
She flipped the card over, though she’d already memorized the phone number and email address.
“Just do it,” she said aloud. “You know you want to.”
Suddenly resolved, she grabbed her phone from her lab coat pocket and opened the messaging app. Before she cou
ld talk herself out of it yet again, she texted rapidly with her thumbs.
“Hi. This is Shea from the other night at Hardcore. Remember me?”
~*~
Steve was in the middle of grinding a spring steel reinforced cane handle when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it at first, intent on finishing his task.
Zach sat across from him at the long table in the Leather Master’s workshop, busy measuring and cutting a kangaroo hide from Australia. Taggart, the Leather Master, was at the other end of the workshop, putting the finishing touches on a hanging row of eight-plaited snake whips.
The phone buzzed again. Removing his work gloves, Steve reached into his jeans pocket and pulled it out. The screen indicated he had a text message from a number he didn’t recognize. He opened the app and read the short message, his eyes widening with pleasure and surprise.
“Well, will you look at this,” he said, holding the phone out toward Zach. “I wasn’t sure we’d hear from her again.”
Zach lifted his head from his work and squinted as he read the words on the screen. His lips lifted into a smile. “Sweet,” he said. “So, text her back. See if she wants to come over.”
Though they both now worked full time in Taggart’s whip making business, they continued to engage in their semi-professional pastime of training both men and women in the local BDSM community who wanted to learn about or expand their understanding of erotic Domination and submission. They made contacts at Hardcore, the Portland Power Exchange events and at the whip demos they now regularly participated in for the Leather Master’s business.
It was a great way to stay connected to the community, as well as indulge in their sadistic and dominant predilections. They were careful to keep sex out of the equation, at least during the training process, both keenly aware of their responsibility as Doms not to take advantage of the particular vulnerability of a submissive in training.
For Zach, it had been a great way to hook up with potential play partners after the training was over, since the women had already been thoroughly vetted by the pair. Until fairly recently, that perk hadn’t been something Steve had cared about, since he’d been in a serious relationship with the submissive woman he’d thought he would eventually marry.
That was, until he’d read an email she’d left open on his laptop. Unbeknownst to Steve, Sandra had an online lover she’d apparently been having a torrid virtual affair with for several months. She had already made plans to secretly meet “Evil Master,” as the asshole styled himself, in person on her next business trip to the East Coast.
She claimed she’d left the email open by accident, never properly explaining why she had used his computer instead of her own. Accident or no, the consequences had been devastating, their relationship effectively over. Sandra had tearfully said she’d cancel her plans to meet Evil Master, but Steve had told her to go ahead.
In retrospect, there had been signs of Sandra’s discontent and secret betrayal before she’d thrust it right under his nose, but that hadn’t made it hurt any less. He had been devastated at the time, but had been slowly coming to realize it was more about his ego than his heart.
“What’ve we got going tonight?” Steve asked, since Zach always had a better handle on that than he did. “Do we have any clients?”
Zach picked up his cell phone from the worktable and tapped at the screen. He shook his head. “Nothing on the schedule tonight. How about we grab a bite or a drink after work—keep it low key and see where we go from there?”
Steve nodded. “Good idea. We’ll take it slower this time, now that we know she’s skittish.” He typed back a quick text.
“Hi, Shea. This is Steve. Zach and I were just talking about you. We’d love to meet you for dinner or a drink or something, maybe after work today? Are you free?”
The little dots began to undulate immediately, indicating she was texting back. “I might have to work a little late tonight, but I should be free by eight. We could meet at Grassa over on Washington Street. Do you know it?”
“Sure. That sounds perfect. Shall we say 8:30?”
“Sounds good. See you both then.”
~*~
The guys were already at the restaurant when Shea finally arrived at eight forty. They were seated at a table near the bar, and Zach lifted his hand in greeting as she approached. They both stood when she got to the table, and Steve actually pulled out her chair for her. Shea, used to the socially awkward science geeks that surrounded her at work, was both startled and charmed by their old-fashioned politeness.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said as she sat down. “Work was crazy.” In fact, she could have been there on time, even early, but she’d raced back to her apartment instead. No way was she going to show up wearing her boring work clothes.
She’d changed into a silk blue, sleeveless top that always garnered compliments, worn untucked over a flowing black skirt. The skirt was a tiny bit snug at the waist but the top was loose enough to hide the muffin-top effect. She’d even changed into the sexy panties and bra set she should have worn to the club—not because she planned to flash them at the restaurant, but because they made her feel more confident and attractive.
“No problem,” Zach said with a smile. Now that she could see him better in the light of the restaurant rather than the dim, reddish haze of the club, she saw he was older than she’d initially thought, probably closer to thirty than twenty-five, but still just as good-looking with his mop of dark hair flopping into his eyes, his closely cropped beard, caramel-colored, dancing eyes and big bear of a body it would be nice to snuggle against.
“This is a great place you selected,” Steve said, drawing her attention to him. He was good-looking, too, she decided, though in a different way, with his narrow features, chiseled edges and a lean, hard body. Both guys had mugs of beer in front of them. Following her gaze, Steve added, “Fantastic selection of local craft beers here. Hope you don’t mind we started without you.” He lifted his half-empty mug.
“No problem,” Shea assured him. “I’m glad you did. Did you order dinner yet?”
“Waiting for you,” Steve replied. He glanced around and caught the eye of a waitress, who came over to the table.
Shea considered getting a beer to calm her nerves, but reminded herself she had to drive, and instead ordered an iced tea. For dinner, Zach chose the pork belly mac and cheese, Steve got the mushroom cannelloni and Shea ordered the grilled chicken piccata.
“So,” Zach said, once the waitress had set a glass of tea in front of Shea and brought another beer for each of the guys, “what is it you do that keeps you at work so late?”
“I’m a chemist,” Shea said. “I work for a cosmetic lab.”
“Wow, sounds fancy,” Zach said. “You must be smart.”
Shea shrugged. “I’ve always been good with numbers and science, but really, I just like to mix things up and see what happens.”
“Please tell me you don’t test mascara on bunny rabbits,” Steve said with a teasing grin.
Still, Shea took the question seriously. “No,” she said emphatically. “Zero animal testing at my company. That’s one reason I took the job.”
“So you try out the mascara on yourself,” he amended with a grin.
“Actually, I specialize in emulsions and surfactants,” Shea said.
Steve nodded but Zach looked puzzled.
“Soaps, moisturizers, lip balms—stuff like that,” she clarified. “I’m working on a big project right now for a top manufacturer. It’s pretty exciting.” She almost started to expand on the topic, but brought herself up short. These guys didn’t want to hear about skin creams. Seeking a quick change of topic, she said, “And what about you two? That card was intriguing.” Lowering her voice, she continued, “Are you, like, professional BDSM trainers? Is that even legal?”
“We don’t charge for the training,” Steve explained.
“It’s purely a labor of love,” Zach added with a smile.
>
“Though we do occasionally rent out the BDSM dungeon we have in our basement,” Steve continued.
“Our basement?” Shea echoed. “What are you guys, brothers or something?” Or gay? Oh, shit. Are they gay? Did I somehow miss the cues? Wait a minute, it’s okay if they’re gay. It’s not like you’re going to have a relationship with either one of them.
Both guys smiled. “No,” Zach replied. “We’re not brothers, and no, we’re not gay.”
Shea felt herself coloring. Was she that obvious? She picked up her iced tea, lifting it to her lips to hide her face.
“Actually, we connected because of our work. We both make whips and other impact toys and BDSM gear. We met at a trade show a few years back and hit it off. Steve bought this great house over in Healy Heights a few years ago and the lease on my place was up. We already got along really great by then. Steve had the space and didn’t mind having a roommate”—Zach shrugged—“and so I moved in. The BDSM dungeon came afterward and things just sort of evolved from there.”
Steve nodded. “To answer your question more completely, we do work with people who are interested in learning more about both sides of the D/s equation, but we don’t charge for our services. We’ve both been active in the scene for a long time, and there are a lot of folks out there who are interested, but kind of clueless.”
“Like me,” Shea interjected with a self-effacing grin.
Steve neither agreed with nor denied her assertion. “We’ve found that just because you’re interested in BDSM, that doesn’t mean you suddenly know how to be a good sub or, for that matter, a good Dom. In some ways, being a good Dom is more important, because they have the ultimate responsibility in the relationship to keep things safe, sane and consensual.”
“That makes sense,” Shea said, intrigued. “So, what, you have classes and stuff? Dominance 101? Submission for Dummies?”
Zach laughed and took up the thread. “Something like that. Except we find it’s most effective to work one-on-one with someone, rather than in a class scenario. Though we do work with couples sometimes.”