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"You like the challenging ones, but you train them to be better for the next Mistress and don't keep them for yourself. You're looking for the right one, aren't you?" The older woman had adopted a dramatic tone, clasping her hands over her heart. "Your soulmate."
"Maggie, if you're taken, there's no one else for me," Regina teased her. But fueled by fertility festival moonshine, she'd allowed some truth to come out. "Nothing wrong with having my own personal treasure hunt. I'm happy single, but when I find him, I'll know he's who I want."
Maggie had sighed and hugged her. "Dumb, sentimental bitch. Just don't be too picky."
Regina smiled at the memory, but the smile disappeared as she thought about Marius. She might be a little more absorbed in him than her recent past engagements. But that didn't translate to him being "it," "the one," or choose the romance novel term of choice. She'd committed to this much, this day, and she'd see where it went. If he even showed up.
When she pulled up to The Preserve's gate at 6:30, he was waiting. That was a mark for him, his understanding that she wouldn't take any disrespect up front tonight. If he'd been even a minute late, she would have turned the car around and been on her way. So he'd decided to see where this was going to go. Or he wasn't giving up on the question and challenge she presented, seeing whether he could fuck with her the way he did other Mistresses.
He'd healed up some. The bruises from the face shots weren't so purplish, and the cut from Killjoy's ring had scabbed over. However, he'd still be feeling some aches and pains from the overall battering, and she'd use the physical and emotional effects of those for her own purposes.
He'd shaved earlier in the day, and wore jeans and a button-down dress shirt. Southern straight white boy's way of "dressing up" for a girl on a casual date. It didn't displease her.
She rolled down her window and gestured. He came to her, a saunter of motion that was part deliberate cockiness and part just the way a man moved who was in superior shape. A fighter, who walked light on his feet with full awareness of his physical capabilities. She'd been around cops and former military who had that vibe, but there was a different quality to it for Marius. His version had an edge, like he'd honed the skills for personal survival and retaliation, not protection and specific service to a cause greater than himself.
He looked good, though. No matter his fucked-up nature, Marius had a body meant to be used hard by a Mistress. If she got nothing else out of this, she would get that. But he was more than willing to provide that to any Mistress who hooked up with him at The Zone. Maggie was right. She was looking for more. If she didn't find more than that tonight, she'd probably be done with this.
"Mistress." He spoke the one word as a greeting.
"Marius. Are you familiar with The Preserve?"
"Heard of it. Never been here."
"Follow me in. There's parking at the clubhouse. I'll take you where we're going from there on foot."
She rolled up her window and eased forward to the gate. In her rearview, she saw him pause and then move to his car. He'd probably expected more chitchat. She saw no reason to delay the program she wanted to execute tonight. Until then, the only thing she'd be getting out of his mouth was bullshit.
Yesterday, she'd stocked the area she would be using with the equipment and supplies needed, so it left her hands free as she exited her car. When he left his own to join her, Marius looked at her like she looked at a cupcake. He didn't try to hide his interest in a deeper exploration of her body, showcased in snug jeans and a red tank that clung and caressed her curves. A ruby pendant winked in her cleavage, drawing his gaze there.
"Seen enough?" she asked tartly.
"Not nearly. Mistress." He added it with a grin she wanted to slap off his face, but she logged the data it gave her. The smile at the fight, that lopsided gesture when he'd told her his favorite flavor of Jell-O? That had been real. This wasn't.
"Does it get exhausting?" she asked. "Always playing a part? Or do people falling for it energize you? In the right kind of way?"
She meant it seriously, not in anger. Though he didn't appear to expect that, he shrugged in answer. Letting it go for now, she strode up the dirt road to the nearest barn. Once there, she led him down the wide corridor of stalls to the one at the end, next to her personal supply cabinet.
She saw him noting the tack mounted on the wall, the array of combs and brushes. His expression became wooden. Stoic.
"Are you familiar with pony play?"
"Yeah. Done a little bit. I'm not usually a fave for the pony play Mistresses. I don't get into it the way they want. Just because I'm hung like a horse doesn't mean I know how to be one."
She rolled her eyes. "Your cock has the proportions to please a woman, but I've had subs who are hung like a horse. They'd put you to shame."
"So why aren't you with them?" he asked with a touch of belligerence that made h
er hide a smile.
"Because it's not about size." She drew him into the stall that had a knee-high wooden platform covered by a rubber mat. An array of rings were driven into the platform to allow for tie-down straps. "Take off your clothes and get on your hands and knees on the dais."
"Just like that? No preliminaries, no talk of safe words?"
She moved toward the shelf of supplies. "I've watched you plenty at the club. You don't ask for limits, and you never volunteer a safe word. A Mistress can impose one on you, but you never use it, so why would I waste my energy? What I'm going to do to you here won't be half as physically demanding as other sessions I've seen you handle." She arched a brow. "Or are you asking for a little romancing? You don't seem the type to need pointless reassurance."
"A woman who thinks romance is pointless reassurance." His voice was dry. "Sure I haven't died and landed in male heaven?"
"I haven't killed anyone in a session, but there's always a first. Enough chatting. Clothes off and on the platform, hands and knees."
