Everyone around me shudders in delight.

Except for Kathryn. She’s shuddering in something else entirely.

“Oh, this guy’s gonna get it good,” Gwen says. “I’ve seen this Domme before. She doesn’t pull any punches.”

“Now what kind of man comes to a place like this and thinks he’s going to get any woman he wants?” Dawn has her sub’s chin cupped as she chains him to a cross. “Go on, honey, tell the whole club what kind of foul creature you are.”

He speaks into her mic, his low, submissive voice echoing between every warm body. “I’m a slut, Mistress.”

She grabs his cock, teasing it with a firm grip before walking away, laughing. “I’ll say. You like having your skin tickled with a whip, slut?”

Of course he does. Because he’s a male sub who volunteered for this.

I don’t pay much attention to the show. I keep my eyes on Kathryn, who is watching with rapt attention, her eyes so far away that it’s possible nobody would be able to get through to her. This theory is proven true when Lana says something and doesn’t get an answer. Huffing, Lana turns away again.

“She’s probably thinking about doing it to Ian,” she says… much too loudly.

The people on the other couch look over at us.

At me.

At Kathryn.

“Don’t be silly,” Kathryn quickly interrupts. “I would never waste my time on someone like him. Ian would rather eat grass than get spanked by anyone.”

Uh.

“Do you want it, huh?” Mistress Dawn is jerking her sub off, her hand clenched so hard around his cock that he’s wincing in exquisite pain. “Do you want me to make you come before you’re even ready? Because I will.”

Boy howdy.

“Come on,” I whisper into Kathryn’s ear. “Let’s go back before the rooms start filling up from everyone getting horny off this.”

She sits back, nearly knocking into Lana behind her.

“Do you want to sit out here any longer with these people, like this?”

My hiss finally makes its way into her brain. She shakes her head and stands up, going to an empty corner and waiting for me to follow.

I get a key for a back room, one of the only ones left. I motion for Kathryn to follow me down the hall, where I hear the faint moans of men and woman having kinky sex – and vanilla sex, I’m sure. By the time we reach our room, however, Kathryn almost refuses to go inside.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, door opening in front of me.

She doesn’t say anything. Within a few seconds she goes in, standing in the doorway and whispering to me, “Fuck me good.”

My sub almost disappears on me. I can’t let that happen.

Chapter 12

KATHRYN

No fewer than three walls are built around me.

The wall around my body protects me from the pain I feel. Pain that should be turning me on, yes, but pain nonetheless.

The wall around my heart makes sure I don’t indulge in any of those pesky feelings I have for Ian, the man clasping me to the ceiling of this borrowed room, stripping me, and pinching my nipples with tight clamps for the first time in my life.

And the wall around my mind? It keeps me from hearing the voices in my head. The voices I don’t want to acknowledge at the moment.

All these walls likewise keep me from enjoying the final scene Ian has constructed for my training. I suppose I’ll be considered an able sub by the end of this scene.

Or at least, I’ll be his sub.

Is that what I want? Do I want him tying me up on a regular basis? Denying me pleasure? Forcing it on me? Making me call him sir while he fucks me however he pleases? Debasing me?

Stripping me of everything I used to think I was?

I was having fun this week. As much fun as I could outside of the bedroom, anyway. Hell, I took that anal like a pro! I had no problem with Ian dragging me to closets and having quickies with me. I didn’t care. I liked it.

I wanted more.

Scenes are fantasies. When I’m locked away with Ian, indulging in these innermost fantasies of mine, I don’t worry about things beyond my desires. His desires. Once he dragged my submission in front of the world… once I saw that show up on display… I began to question what the fuck am I doing?

“Look at my pretty girl,” Ian says, standing before me in his crisp suit. He tugs on the nipple clamps, which I barely feel now. When they first snapped to my flesh, I cried out, my arousal deceiving me as it ran down my thigh. “Who knew that Kathryn Alison would one day be kneeling on this bed, looking like this? For me?”

Who knew, indeed?

“Do you like the feel of the clamps?”

Normally his voice would lull me into a sense of security, false or real.

“Yes, Master.”

He didn’t ask me to call him that. The word simply fell out.

I’m barely aware of what he’s doing to me. Kissing me. Licking my slit. Pinching my ass and circling his finger around my opening. One tiny piece of my brain captures these sensations and tells me that they feel good. The vast majority of it, however, says that I need to zone out and wait for this to be over.

I wish I knew why. What has happened to take me from complacent sub to a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown… not that I’ll let Ian know that? His lips are so tender against my skin, even though his words are full of the sorts of things that get me hot. It’s only a matter of time before he picks a way to fuck me. Maybe strung up like this, my lap riding in his.

Wouldn’t that be a trip?

I want that. I want him to fuck me, but I don’t think I want it like this.

Why not?

It’s Kathryn vs. Katie, ladies and gentlemen. The regular Domme versus the obedient little sub who likes to be defiled. I didn’t even know that latter girl existed until a few weeks ago, when I lost that bet to Ian and decided to follow through with it.

Oh, but I decided to follow through not a whim, but in a great desire to test out that side of myself. If I didn’t like it, fine. I would know, and could say I tried it. Except I liked it.

Not only does “Katie” exist…

But I think she only comes out for Ian.

How do I explain this to the world? How do I reconcile this with who I thought I was, who the world thinks I am? This has gone beyond my reputation. This has settled into my own self-worth and what it is I really want from life. I can’t do this fulltime. These past few days have taught me that. The sex! The thrill! The letting go of reality and remembering what it’s like to feel so fucking alive. Yeah, that often happens on the end of Ian’s cock, but… isn’t that okay?

I love feeling him on top of me. I love all the names he calls me, both affectionate and dirty. I love how he holds me in his arms as we sleep in the same bed. I love…

I love him.

My eyes open, suddenly clear and aware as I stare into the hazel depths before me. Ian stops what he’s doing – there’s a light-weight crop in his hand, and I guess he’s been patting my thigh this whole time. Does he realize that I didn’t feel it? That I tuned it out? My skin is red and blotchy. I don’t remember that happening.

“Ian…” My mouth is getting away from me again. I want him to hold me.

Please.

“What is it?” His face twists into concern. I think it’s concern, anyway. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Ian moves to remove the nipple clamps.

Yes, I’m hurt. My pride is hurt. My heart is hurting. My brain hurts from analyzing who I am. I don’t say these things, though. I say, “No. I wanted to say that I love you.”

He kisses me, raw, hungry, powerful. Any power I’ve lost over the past few weeks is restored in me through this kiss. It’s a kiss of love.

Devotion.

Empathy.

No, Ian, you can’t empathize with my position.