Dating her… Dungeon Master Style
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Maddy had just enough time after the plane touched down to race to the nearest bathroom and check her face. It was worse than she thought and, apart from a few wet wipes in her purse, everything she needed to fix her makeup was in her suitcase. With any luck, it was on a luggage cart being shuttled across the airport to the last plane she had to take before she reached her destination: the very tropical La Isla del Paraíso, the center hub of Rita’s new resort, where all the behind-the-scenes activity necessary for the running of such a massive BDSM operation would take place. Maddy couldn’t wait to get there, not only because travel like this was exhausting, or because—as freelance promotional jobs went—this one would prove quite lucrative once her article was published (hopefully for Rita as well), but because this little mini vacation was almost like the fulfilling of a secret dream.
Not since her clandestine reading of Fifty Shades of Grey had Maddy dared to indulge her most secret fantasies. She’d tried to share some of those fantasies with Virgil once, but he’d made it very clear that, in the realm of responsible adulthood, everyone knew that certain thoughts, certain feelings, just had to live in the dark. This wasn’t the middle ages and hurting other people was illegal for a reason. Women weren’t supposed to want to be dominated, so Maddy tried not to—except when delving between the pages of the books she sometimes liked to read. Her heart wasn’t supposed to quicken over thoughts of being held an erotic captive, tied to a sensually cruel man’s bed, or—be still the beating—turned across a strong man’s knee while he spanked her for being ‘a bad girl’. Or a good one. Or perhaps even for no reason at all. Maddy was equal opportunity kinky that way.
But, no. Grown-up, responsible women weren’t supposed to want that sort of thing. Certainly they weren’t supposed to actively seek out those kinds of engagements, so Maddy hadn’t… not until the day she got Rita’s email. In her wildest dreams, never would Maddy have thought she would come to a place like this. Yet, here she was, staring at her reflection under the unflattering lights of an airport bathroom in Nassau, of all places. She was, literally, a hop, skip, and a jump-flight away from mingling amongst all the men and women Rita had hired to cater to society’s most daring—people who, unlike her, thought nothing at all of giving free rein to all the feelings and urges that Maddy… just couldn’t help but hide.
She wasn’t going to indulge; she already knew that. She’d already had that internal argument. She’d had it pretty much daily since she’d accepted this job, and every single day, she came to the same irrefutable conclusion. For all that Maddy found the idea of dominance and submission, authority and discipline, control and total power exchange intriguing, it all came down to this: she wasn’t skinny enough, young enough, or pretty enough to engage in such nonsense.
She was thirty-eight, for crying out loud, and she barely knew how to put makeup on.
I’d still feel something for you other than embarrassment or disgust!
Turning from her reflection, Maddy dug into her purse. It took every wet wipe she had, but she finally got the black, tear-track smudges off her cheeks and out of the creases to either side of her nose. Folding the wet wipes into very small pieces, she used the corners to touch up what remained around her eyes. It wasn’t perfect, but at least she no longer looked like a KISS groupie who just fell out of the tour bus. Combing her fingers through her wavy blonde hair, she grabbed her purse and hurried to catch the next flight.
As it turned out, she needn’t have bothered rushing. When she reached the departure gate, it was not a commercial plane she found waiting for her. It wasn’t even a prop-plane. Rather, it was a small jet, big enough inside to stand up straight and with seating for sixteen people, but smaller by half than the next largest plane in that airport. Impeccably dressed in black, gray and red uniforms, a man and woman were waiting to greet her at the steps leading up into the jet.
“Miss Cameron?” the woman asked, shifting her clipboard to hold out her hand.
“That’s me.” Maddy shuffled her purse to her other shoulder and shook it. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” the attendant demurred, still smiling.
“No, you didn’t,” Maddy agreed, keeping her tone light and friendly. “But if you know who I am, then either I’m the only passenger on the log or I’m the last to arrive.”
The woman’s soft laugh and reluctant nod were the only acknowledgement Maddy needed to know it was the latter.
“Sorry,” she said again.
“You were in no danger of being left behind,” the male attendant assured her. Gesturing to the stairs, he took the lead. “I’ll show you to your seat.”
She definitely wasn’t the only passenger flying out. Unlike her last flight, this time all the seats (arranged in four short rows, with two overstuffed chairs on either side of a very narrow aisle) were already taken up. Rita had mentioned that Maddy wouldn’t be the only guest attending this once-in-a-lifetime vacation-style tour of the island resort. Although she was the only one writing a promotional piece (at least, as far as Maddy knew), the rest of the group was made up of investors, insurance agents, accountants and lawyers, and even one curious local politician, no doubt wondering what an adult-themed pirate resort could bring apart from revenue to his highly tourist-driven economy. Taking up the entire first row, he was the easiest to pick out, flanked as he was by a retinue of three men, all of whom were dressed impeccably in three-piece suits.
Squeezing sideways down the narrow aisle behind the male attendant, Maddy made her way past all those unfamiliar faces until she suddenly spotted an unexpectedly familiar one, and her feet instantly rooted to the floor. The man from the last plane, M. Dominick, was sitting in the very last row next to the only empty chair on the plane. Her heart raced, climbing ever upward until she could feel it perched in the very back of her throat. She tried to swallow past it, but her heart refused to go back down where it belonged. Her stomach somersaulted. Her palms, oh lord, they were sweating.
“Here you go,” the attendant said, drawing abreast of that final row. As he indicated the seat, M. Dominick stood up and suddenly Maddy had an epiphany. She knew who this gorgeous specimen of man was. Rita had been very clear about what kind of vacation this would be. Her staff needed hands-on training, her investors needed reassuring, and so did the lawyers and accountants. To that end, Rita had promised everyone that she would hire the best professional—every fine hair prickles up her arms as Maddy heard again what he’d told her: I suppose you could say my line of work revolves around motivation and training—that money could buy to show her hired Dominants the ropes.
“When it comes to the best in BDSM resorts, what’s the first name that springs to mind?” Rita had asked her, way back in the beginning when she’d first mailed Maddy copies of the brochures for her dungeon-based retreat.
“The Castle,” Maddy had obligingly replied. It had been that easy a question. Although she had heard of other places—places in Seattle, New Orleans, Chicago, and even Wichita; places that were arguably just as nice when it came to dungeon-oriented facilities—the Castle had been around the longest. It was the biggest; albeit only in operation now for, what, four years? Although Maddy had never been there herself, according to everything she’d read about the place, it was staffed by the most competent and knowledgeable Dominants to ever gather in any one location.
That was who he was. He was the professional Rita had flown in from the Ohio-based Castle. He was the one specifically hired to help establish the policies and procedures that would encourage safe, sane and consensual play for all of Rita’s would-be guests.
What does the ‘M’ stand for?
Oh… In the back of her rattled head, where every other thought had already scattered like birds on a gust of wind, she heard again that low and sultry laugh. Let’s save a little mystery for our next meeting.
She had been so, so sure there wouldn’t be one and yet here he was, those honey brown eyes staring deep into hers, that quirk in his smile curling seductively higher and higher while her stomach twirled inside her like a drunken ballerina.
“Is there a problem?” the attendant asked, his smile gradually fading the longer Maddy stood there, frozen mid-way down the aisle, staring like an idiot. A grinning idiot. She could feel it pulling at her mouth and just couldn’t make herself stop. She was lighting up, filled to the brim with excitement and jittering, and drunken ballerinas and butterflies and, God, how insane was it to feel so damned happy about bumping into him again so soon?
She didn’t even know him.
“No,” she said, the heated flush of embarrassment stealing up into her cheeks. “No, it’s fine.”
“More than fine for me.” M. Dominick stepped out of the aisle to give her the window seat.
Bending down long enough to stuff her purse under her seat, Maddy had a half-second of ‘what the hell’ when it occurred to her she was presenting a Master of the highly-celebrated Castle with an unobstructed view of her jean-clad ass. Her face burned hotter. She quickly plopped her butt into the seat.
And then it hit her, what the ‘M’ in M. Dominick stood for. When her wide-eyed gaze snapped to his, his eyes lit up and a grin split his handsome mouth. Re-seating himself beside her, oh so casually, Dominick leaned over and asked, “What’s my first name, little girl? I want to hear you say it.”
A fizzling shock thrilled through every raw nerve-ending she owned when he called her that. Little girl. As if she were little. As if she were a girl, and not a woman courting her forties. She’d never in all her life felt anyone call her any kind of pet name. Never. Before she knew it, her mouth was open.
“Master,” she answered, every consonant of the word sparking a whole new wave of thrills that rippled through her.
He laughed again, that same slow chuckle. “And don’t you forget it.”
* * * * *
Right from the start, this had been a ‘vacation’ Dominick hadn’t wanted. First, he’d had to leave two good hours before it even qualified as the ‘crack of dawn’, and second, he’d had no time for the gym, breakfast, and God only knew whom they’d got to fill in for him in the Dungeon. His routine was seriously shot to shit. On any other day, that would have killed his mood. Today, however, was turning out not to be the wash he’d been inclined to label it. Nobody had told him there would be eye-candy the likes of Maddy to keep him company over the next seven days. That right there changed everything.
Having her bend over in front of him like that didn’t hurt, either. It hadn’t even been intentional. Having worked in a place where submissives made a practice out of looking for good reasons to bend over, Dominick prided himself on being able to tell at a glance when feminine wiles were employed by sheer accident or by carefully crafted design. Maddy was a sheer accident kind of girl. He liked that.
He liked the way her face turned that brilliant shade of hot pink while she’d stammered over calling him ‘Master’. She hadn’t been able to hold his gaze while she’d said it, either. She’d dropped her eyes to her lap and her face had gone even redder, but she had done it and he really liked that. All he could think about now was how fiercely she might blush if forced to say that while bound naked upon his bed, wrists cuffed to the headboard and ankles on a spreader bar—or cuffed to the headboard along with her wrists. Yeah, that was how he wanted plump, shy, stammering Maddy—ass arched up off the mattress, every inch of her laid sexually bare to his scrutiny and his touch… and his use.
A hungry stir of interest was already turning the crotch of his jeans into an uncomfortably tight prison, and she’d only offered that bent-over view for half a second. Already it was burned into his memory—round, curvy nether cheeks, fully fleshed out in denim and decorated by scrolls of colored thread and sequins on the pockets. It had been all he could do not to lay his hands on her right then and there, squeezing, kneading. Owning…
When Marshall is approached for help by another vacation resort, he responds by sending his most notorious sadist, Dungeon Master Dominick. His job: to fly to the Caribbean and help institute the same Safe, Sane and Consensual policies that have made the Castle such a success. Though not at all pleased by the assignment or its disruption to his routine, the last thing Dominick expects are complications… until he bumps into Maddy Cameron. She’s plump, she’s pretty, she’s every bit the complication he doesn’t want or need, and yet he can’t help himself. Every time he gets close, he can’t wait to get closer still, to touch and be touched, to taste her, tease her, torment and possess her. Not just for a few scenes or a few days, but for the rest of his life… if only Maddy’s past scars will let him.
Hired to write a promotional review for a pirate-themed BDSM resort, Maddy looks on the opportunity as if it were a once-in-a-lifetime vacation – a vacation that comes complete with a tall, dark, arrogant and masterfully good-looking Dominant thrown in. It’s been four years since her disaster of a divorce, and though she knows she’s neither young enough nor thin enough to keep the attention of someone like Dominick, the allure of an illicit island fling is more than she can resist. Still, flings – like most relationships – don’t last, and better than anyone, Maddy knows the pain of letting herself get too close.
For Dominick, however, a little pain is all in a day’s pleasure. Maddy might not know him well enough now, but she’s about to find out that the world’s most infamous Dungeon Master never did take ‘no’ for an answer.