Open Doors, Page 3
Tymber Dalton
“You say that now.” She picked up her fork and pointed it at him. “If I’m sucked into doing this anyway, we’re going to do it my way—the right way.” She took a bite of her salad.
“Yes, dear.” Derrick blew her a kiss.
“Oooh, fail, dude,” Kel teased. “You’re Mastering wrong.”
“Fuck you,” Derrick lightly said. “Happy wife, happy life.”
“Happy slave keeps him out of his grave,” Mike chimed in.
“We’re going to have to paint the place,” Marcia added. “Those white walls won’t cut it.”
“At least we won’t need to primer them,” Julie said. “That’ll save some money.”
“What color were you thinking?” Derrick asked.
“Colors, plural,” Marcia said. “We’re going to paint them a plain dark charcoal-grey all the way to the ceiling, and then make a faux rock pattern on the lower half of the wall to let it fade out going up.” She leveled her gaze at Derrick. “Someone better get me that scissor lift, pronto.”
“That sounds like some work,” Kel said.
“Then I guess having you help us, Mr. Landlord, will make it go faster, won’t it?” She flashed him a wide, beaming smile.
Derrick laughed. “Welcome to my world, buddy.”
Their dinner actually lasted several hours as they sat there talking until the restaurant was ready to close. After paying their checks—leaving a generous tip for their waitress in exchange for them taking up the table all evening—they walked out to the parking lot, where they talked some more.
“You know,” Julie said, “I think this is the start of something big.”
“Why’s that?” Derrick asked.
“I just do. I’ve got a really good feeling about it. We don’t have something like this here. We need something like this here. Look how the monthly munch is growing. How many times we’ve had to find new locations because we outgrew restaurants. Think about if there was some kinky Internet site like Facebook, instead of just the .alt newsgroups and AOL chatrooms, where we could actually organize more people from the area. For every one person who comes to one of the munches or coffee times, there are probably a bunch of kinksters who don’t even realize they’re not alone here in Sarasota.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not starting a website,” Marcia said, casting another pointed stare at Derrick. “We’ve got more than enough on our plate as it is. Someone else can do that crap, and no, we’re not starting a website for the club right now, either.”
“No argument from me there, sweetheart.” In fact, as he’d listened to the women talk early on, before the three of them started adding their ideas, he had begun to realize exactly what a daunting task this was.
To do this right, to have it be more than just a kinky garage party that lost popularity after a couple of months, it would take a lot of ongoing work.
Somehow, while Kaden and Kel and Mike and the others had been egging him on out by Kaden’s pool, that factoid had escaped his notice. Yes, he knew he’d be able to count on help from his friends, but had he really bitten off more than he could chew?
He hoped not. He loved being able to bring new people into the lifestyle. That wasn’t safe to do anymore holding house parties. Yes, they frequently had group excursions up to Tampa or Orlando to a club or a fetish night at a bar, but those only happened every couple of months.
They needed a spot for them. For their local community. One tailored to their needs. One where they could act as gatekeepers and make sure to keep it a safe space.
Attending a fetish night at a bar in Ybor was okay, but it wasn’t exactly optimal. And there were plenty of people who would never do that for whatever reason, the top reasons usually being privacy and safety concerns.
The general public wouldn’t be able to attend these parties. They’d have to be vetted first, invited to attend, and approved on the guest list. People wouldn’t be able to just walk in off the street with no one knowing who they were or if they even knew the rules.
By the time they split up for the evening, it was almost midnight and the restaurant’s staff had already left, leaving the five of them standing around their vehicles in the parking lot and talking.
As they rode home, Marcia was unusually quiet.
“You all right?” Derrick asked.
“Yeah.” She looked at him. “I have one ironclad term for this deal.”
“Sure.”
She turned in her seat. “If I pull the plug on this because I think it’s hurting our marriage, or will harm our livelihood—or get us thrown in frickin’ jail—I won’t get any arguments from you. Deal? We have to come first. That was what you promised me, not just as my Master, but as my husband. It was the only reason I agreed to work in the office with you in the first place, that I would go work somewhere else—without any arguments from you—if I thought it was hurting us. So that has to apply to this, too. Agreed?”
“Deal,” he said. “That’s only fair.”
“Okay.” She reached out and laid a hand on his thigh. “I know this means a lot to you, but we can’t do something stupid and end up broke and divorced because of it. If it’s not fun anymore—overall I mean, not counting the inevitable minor aggravations we’ll deal with—then it’s time to either hand it off to someone else, or shut it down.”
He covered her hand with his. “I’m a lucky guy to have married you.”
She giggled. “Yeah, you are.”
“Someone’s awfully cocky.”
She grinned. “It’s not cocky if it’s true.”
Chapter Four
By the time they returned home that evening, Derrick’s mind buzzed with possibilities.
This might really happen.
Well, yes, he knew it would happen, but to what degree—if it would simply be an available, open space for play, or become something that actually looked and felt like a dungeon—had still been up in the air.
Until Marcia stepped in.
Had it been left up to him, they would have set up some work lights or cheap floor lamps, turned off the overhead lights, used folding tables, and been done with it.
He’d never expected anything approaching the level of planning he had listened to his wife engage in with Julie.
Not even close.
The project definitely needed a woman’s touch. That much was certain.
You want something done, let an Alpha subbie do it.
Yes, in the bedroom and at home, Marcia was definitely his slave.
That was the only way in which she was submissive.
In all other areas of her life, she was definitely what he’d call an Alpha-type person. Get shit done, kick butt, take names.
He pulled her into his arms. “Got a little energy left for your Master, or did you wear yourself out talking with Julie?”
“That’s the lamest pick-up line ever,” she teased, rising onto her toes to kiss him. “I think I can manage a little bit of energy for you, Mister Master.”
In their nearly eleven years together, they’d settled into an easy, comfortable dynamic. He’d never wanted a doormat, and Marcia most certainly didn’t disappoint there. She loved what he did to her, and he loved that she enjoyed it.
He grabbed her ass and squeezed. “Then get naked, cuffs and collar, over the end of the bed.” He smacked her on the ass with both hands before releasing her, her smile already hardening his cock as she hurried down the hall toward their bedroom.
It was late, and he didn’t have the energy for a full scene. But he walked down to the spare bedroom that was their home office and also doubled as their personal dungeon when the spanking bench wasn’t folded up in the garage. He kept his implement bags in there.
After digging out the riding crop and wooden paddle he wanted, he followed Marcia to their bedroom.
Pleased to find her already naked, wearing her leather wrist and ankle cuffs and matching leather collar, and bent over the end of the bed as he’d ordered, he laid the implements on the bed next to her.
It was even more fun to keep her unrestrained and watch the struggle. Anyone could tie up their slave, sure.
But watching his slave trying not to squirm or wiggle was even more fun, for him.
He followed that up by a bite to her left ass cheek. In the morning, he knew he’d catch her looking at the marks in the mirror with a playful smile on her face and a wet pussy as she remembered the play.
Meaning morning shower sex for him.
Nearly every time.
For now…
He stood up and grabbed her by the hips, grinding against her. “Someone’s going to go to sleep with a nice red ass.”
Her fingers curled, fisting the sheets. He felt her trying to arch her back and rock her hips against him for more traction.
He nudged her feet wider apart and folded his body over hers. Pulling her hair away from the nape of her neck, he brushed kisses across her flesh there, making her shiver.
Then, he nipped, making her let out a soft cry of need. He knew if he reached between her legs right then that he’d find her pussy drenched already.
“Who’s my good girl?” he whispered in her left ear.
“Me, Sir.”
Yep, subspace achieved. He could hear it in her voice. Just the act of putting her cuffs and collar on usually got her most of the way there. And a nip on the nape of the neck?
She almost always sank like a rock into subspace from that.
He straightened and started stripping, making sure she heard it when he slowly slid his belt out of the loops of his jeans. He laid it on her back, lengthways, with the end hanging off her ass and brushing against her pussy.
Yes, she loved that, too. It would be used on her soon enough. He didn’t buy a belt unless he could also spank her with it. Every belt he owned had been used at least once on her flesh, when they brought it home from the store. She would kneel, kiss the buckle, and work her entire way down the length of it, kissing it, before he laid her over the end of the bed and used it on her.
One more sneaky trigger to get her wet for him. Plenty of times in the past when they’d been somewhere, especially with others, and they’d been standing there as a couple, he’d drawn her arm around his waist and then hooked her fingers under his belt.
What? It looked like an endearing gesture between a couple in love.
Only he knew, while standing there, with his arm draped around her shoulders, that she was having a hard time keeping her knees locked so she didn’t drop to them next to him. That her pussy would be wet, her clit throbbing, and that she damn well knew that he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
She called him the good kind of evil.
He took that as a compliment.
Once he was naked, he grabbed her by both ass cheeks again and squeezed, hard, enjoying her moan of pain and pleasure all rolled into one as she tried to stay still. He started spanking her bare-handed at first, with his right hand, the left planted squarely in the middle of her back and keeping the belt in place, too.
All the while, her toes curled, her knees flexing and straightening a little as she struggled not to start dancing in place, trying to stay still for him. Wanting to stay still for him as he increased the tempo and force of his strokes. Until just before he knew she was about to safeword, he stopped.
Her chest rose and fell, her body trembling.
Then he slowly picked up the belt and with the buckle in his hand, took several turns around his fist with it.
He started out lightly slapping her pussy with it, not enough to hurt but enough to make her moan as he teased her.
Then across her ass, both cheeks, hard enough to leave marks and make her cry out in pain.
“You know the rules,” he said. “You can safeword, if you want.”
She shook her head, her hands balled into tight fists. She hated to safeword. Sometimes, he’d deliberately push her hard enough he knew she’d have to safeword, just to comfort her and reward her when she did to reinforce that he didn’t have a problem with it. Somehow, she’d gotten it into her mind that not safewording was a badge of courage, when he’d insisted it wasn’t. And she even preached to newbies that safewording was good and encouraged.
She just didn’t practice what she preached.
She couldn’t even tell him why she was like that. And even several months of aggravating her by stopping well before she was ready for him to stop didn’t break her of the habit, either. After their years together, he’d given up trying to find the reason. As long as he knew he could read her body and not push her to a bad point, he’d decided it wasn’t worth struggling over. It wasn’t like she played with anyone else, only him.
He used the belt on her for nearly ten minutes. Slow, deliberate strokes that would mark her and leave bruises for several days, making her happy.
Then he switched to the riding crop, leaving welts up and down the backs of both thighs.
Finally, the paddle.
Her body tensed. She hated the paddle, any paddle, but also loved them. Because she knew after the paddle would come the pleasure.
For his part, his cock was hard, dripping. A couple of times he’d had to pause, catch a drop of pre-cum from the head before it fell and hit the floor, and reached around to her lips for her to lick it from his fingers.
She flinched when he laid the cool wood of the paddle across both of her flaming hot ass cheeks. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” she mumbled, deep in subspace. She would absolutely sleep good tonight when they finished.
He took several teasing, light test swings, mostly because he enjoyed watching her tense and flinch, her knowing he was doing it deliberately because he enjoyed the mind fuck.
Finally, the real thing. The crack of the paddle landing against her flesh, and her head shot up, a howl escaping her, but no safeword. He repeated it on her other side, back and forth, slow, steady strokes, until she was sobbing and squirming and struggling to stand still.
That was when he put the paddle down, stepped between her legs, and fed his cock into her ready pussy with one hard, deep thrust.
She collapsed onto the bed, her moans now ones of pure pleasure. He took his time, fucking her hard and fast, alternating with slow and steady strokes, holding back and loving the feel of her scorching flesh against his. Actively fucking back against him until he planted a hand in the middle of her back again and shoved, hard, pinning her to the bed.
“What’s slave supposed to do?”
She squirmed harder. “Hold still like a good girl while Sir fucks her.”
Yep, deep and hard. Full-on subspace always triggered what he called her “slashy speak” mode.
“Is slave holding still?”
“No, Sir,” she admitted, her voice sounding tiny. “Feels too good.”
He reached under her with his other hand and found her clit. “Then get it out of your system.” He pinched her clit, making her howl, this time with pleasure as her pussy clamped down on his cock and her orgasm started.
Then he backed off, gently rolling her nub between his thumb and fingers, keeping her going, knowing from the way she was still trying to arch her back and rock her hips that she was completely gone.
He smiled, struggling not to start fucking her again. He loved this, loved the complete and utter abandon she only showed in times like this, her complete and utter trust in him not to harm her, her easy acceptance of his sadism and control.
“That’s my good little slut,” he said. “You show me what you want, and I’ll keep giving it to you.” Now her fingers clenched and unclenched as wave after wave of pleasure kept coursing through her. He knew if he could see her toes, they’d be clenching and unclenching, too.
It was fun, sometimes, to spank her, then tie her up and do forced orgasm torture on her with a vibrator. In t
hose instances, he always forced her to safeword before he stopped.
It was too much fun lying there, letting the vibrator do all the work, and watching her flying in that deep, dark emotional place only he got to see.
Finally, after a couple of minutes of this, he realized she was wearing out. He sat up again, grabbed her hips, and started fucking her, hard and fast, until he buried his cock deep inside her with one last thrust and shot his load into her pussy.
Both of them were breathing heavily when they climbed up onto the bed. She curled up into his arms, her face pressed against his chest, his arms safely encircling her.
“Love you, Sir,” she whispered, already sounding half asleep.
He rubbed his chin against the top of her head. “Love you, too, baby.”
Chapter Five
Wednesday evening, a handful of volunteers had gathered in the warehouse space to begin the process of transforming it into a dungeon in less than two weeks.
“Okay,” Derrick said. “Tonight’s project is to put up the base coat of paint, the dark charcoal, on the walls, floor-to-ceiling. The good news is, there’s no worries about trim work on the walls. The bad news is, there’s a lot of damn wall to paint.” He indicated all the walls with wide, sweeping gestures.
“Most of us are going to start painting the south wall.” Derrick pointed to the scissor lift that Kaden had rented for them, another donation to the project. “Kaden and Kel are going to start on the far north side, doing up high.” He pointed at the north wall. “By the time we work our way around there from the south wall, they’ll have moved and be following us so they’re not dripping paint on our heads, and they’re not in our way while we’re trying to paint the bottom of the walls.”
Rusty McElroy held up a hand.
“Yeah?” Derrick asked.
“What about the floor?”
“We’ve got drop cloths. That’ll be step one, getting those taped down.”
Rusty gave him a thumbs-up.
Pat Donnelly, who in his day job was a seated family court judge for Sarasota County, held up his hand.
“Yeah, Pat?”
