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Fuck. Tal, the big Oz asshole, had used his first name. He'd forgotten that, but she hadn't. The way it sounded on her full, glossy lips...he remembered a lullaby, a call to dinner, a harsh cry.
"That's two questions," he said carelessly. "I'd answer, but I'd hate to see you break your own rules, Mistress. Especially since you've worked so hard to put me in my place tonight, playing horsey."
She glanced at the slim watch she'd put on her wrist. "Very well. You have ten minutes to get out of here before you'll set off an alarm. Better put your clothes on and get to your car."
"No need to get pissy. I can clean up--"
"Go home, Marius," she said shortly. She was moving, striding down the wide corridor of the barn and toward the arched opening. She paused only to shut off the lights, leaving dim emergency lamps to illuminate his space.
He watched her head toward the building where they'd parked. Wearing her jeans and tank, she was a cock-hardening, deep-into-temptation play of feminine curves.
It must be the lingering sense of the horse, because for a single moment, those wild instincts took over. He'd chase after her, shove her to the ground and take her the way she'd taken him, with such ruthless lust and need. He'd make her come the way she should have allowed him to do it.
He trembled with the rage, and it was a close thing. What would she do? Would she fight him? Would he like that?
His hands bunched into harder fists inside the hoof mitts. She didn't toss him even one backwards look. The distant sound of the clubhouse door shutting echoed in an inexplicably hollow place inside him.
Fine. Using his teeth, he removed the straps to take off the first "hoof," and then yanked the other free. He pulled on his jeans and shrugged into the shirt, not buttoning it. He dug out his car keys, but paused. He didn't like leaving the space like this, the strap-on, the crop, the saddle and other tack, none of it properly cared for and put away. It felt wrong, irritating
him. They'd had a good time. Why couldn't she handle a little mouthing off? She'd ruined it.
Yeah, right, she'd ruined it. That was total crap. Looking bleakly around at the wreckage of their pleasure, thinking about how he could have cleaned it all, hung it up and won a look of approval from her...
"You know what?" he muttered. "Fuck it." So she'd set the alarm and lock him in here. The cops might come. Wouldn't be the first time he'd been on their bad side.
It took him thirty-eight minutes. He cleaned everything the way she'd directed. He had to do some switching around to remember exactly where everything went, but he thought he got it right. He'd have to pay closer attention next time. She was apparently the type of Mistress who liked to give quizzes.
He put the horse masks side by side in the cabinet after carefully wiping them down. His fingers lingered on the long, slim nose of her mask. "You are beautiful," he said quietly, thinking of all he'd imagined doing to her while she was wearing it. And while she wasn't. Then he closed the doors, and turned the latch.
When he walked to his car, hers was still there, and there was a light on in the clubhouse. It looked like she might have the TV on and was drinking a cocktail. But if he knocked, it'd be like he was begging. She hadn't invited him anyway. Hell, she'd told him to have his ass out of here thirty minutes ago. For all he knew, she'd coded the alarm as she'd threatened and he'd set it off when he left.
He got into his car and drove away, because that was all he knew how to do. When he reached the gate to the property, he hit the buzzer to exit, bracing himself for a shrieking alarm blast. Instead, the intercom near the gate emitted a short crackle of static before her voice came over it.
"Be at Safe Word tomorrow night," she said. "Nine p.m."
Swallowing a million different responses, he went with the only one he really wanted to say.
"Yes, Mistress."
Chapter Five
Would he show? Regina figured it was a fifty-fifty bet. He'd been rattled by the whole pony play scene. After having time to think, he'd be all kinds of conflicted about it, tangled up with a bunch of rationalizations about his behavior and hers.
It was a decently active night at Safe Word, for a week day. The club was not as upscale as The Zone, but safe, clean, and with enough amenities to cater to middle-class BDSM lifestylers. An enthusiastic group of mostly naked subs were being directed through various line dances on the small dance floor, and cheerfully punished by a trio of patrolling Dominants when they had missteps.
The DJ was playing Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffet's duet of "It's Five O' Clock Somewhere," so as she went by, she hooked her thumbs in an imaginary belt and did a decent two-step and twirl. It made Mistress Zoe, one of the Dommes directing the action, grin and do a little pirouette in sisterly response. When she invited Regina to join them, Regina shook her head and gave her a friendly wave, letting her know she had other plans tonight.
About half of the handful of private rooms were occupied, while other Masters, Mistresses and subs enjoyed the equipment in the public dungeon. Her destination was the lounge and bar area, where there were scattered couches and comfortable chairs, seating areas for people to socialize. One of the things Regina looked for in the BDSM clubs she chose was evidence that the long-term membership used it as much for a social gathering spot as a place to get their kink on.
Case in point: Kristoff and Janice, Master and sub, both in street clothes, were relaxing in one set of facing chairs, playing a card game. Janice had her bare foot propped on her Master's knee, her casual heels tumbled on the floor. When they both suddenly lunged forward and tried to slap the card on the table, Regina grinned, realizing they were playing Slapjack. Janice won, laughing, while Kristoff gave her a mock scowl and they started again.
Though they were in an environment where they could make it about more than a card game, they might or might not. Lifestylers often hung out at their favorite club the way other people went to their favorite bar or coffee shop. It was their place, their people. While The Zone was her first choice for serious play, Regina had always liked the energy here as a good runner-up. Since Marius was currently banned from The Zone, this was the best option for what she had in mind. She'd left his name up front as her guest, so they'd let him in. If he decided to show.
She glanced at her watch. 8:55. He was cutting it close. So yeah, he'd fucked his head up over the other night. If he showed tonight, he'd be spoiling for a fight. Fine. She'd position herself accordingly. The Throne corner was available.
The tall wooden chair placed there had earned the name with its carved floral back and velvet seat and arm rests. A center board and cushion could be removed to reveal a strategically placed hole beneath the Mistress, if she wanted her sub to eat her pussy or tongue her ass while she was in the chair.
The Throne was flanked by two shorter stools, which could serve as seating for bottoms or a prop to do other things to them. One night, she'd put a sub over each one while she took the center seat. Both men had donned thin body suits lined with metallic thread. The suits had an opening that allowed their cocks to hang free, and she'd ordered both to don a seven-ring gates of hell to contain their erect shafts until their queen allowed them to climax.
