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The other tape was Regina's public flogging with Marius from a few months ago. There. Tyler stopped it at the point where Regina was releasing Marius and watched the man rest his cheek on her hand. In this instance, Tyler was more interested in Regina's reaction, the stillness that gripped her. How she'd touched his head with a tenderness the practical Mistress didn't often display in her Zone sessions.
He should throw Marius out on his ass with extreme prejudice, no more chances. Two taped moments wouldn't have changed his mind about that, except another factor had to be considered. Marguerite.
Tyler's wife was an indomitable Mistress and yet also his committed submissive, wrapped up into one complex, damaged but precious soul. His angel. Out of all the Mistresses at The Zone, she was the only one who had ever successfully topped Marius, meaning she'd achieved deeper levels than a simple, shallow orgasm exchange, usually the best-case scenario with him.
That had been well before Marius's downward spiral, which had come to a head tonight. Being a frustrating submissive wasn't against club rules. Mistresses could choose not to play with him, and they talked among themselves enough to know his M.O. even before trying him. But tonight he'd crossed a line, and Tyler protected his club members, whether Masters, Mistresses or subs.
His jaw flexed as he thought of Siren on the tape, shivering and crying. While just a few notches above novice-level, and sometimes taking herself a little too seriously in her Domme role, she was usually an even-handed Mistress who'd brought pleasure to many male subs in her same weight class.
Even behind closed doors, cautionary tales like this one leaked. It was a fair bet the subs who'd enjoyed Siren's company would be happy to handle Marius's punishment. Probably by taking him into the back lot, beating him bloody and dumping him into the trash. Tyler had to get out ahead of it before Marius was done permanent damage, no matter how much the idiot deserved it.
He sat back and thought about Marguerite's advice, which he'd solicited several weeks ago when he'd noticed the problems with Marius increasing.
"I'm going to have Mac shoot him. Every time I issue a warning, he says and does the right thing. When I call him on that shit, he clams up and tells me 'Understood, sir.'"
"Mac hates the red tape when he shoots someone," Marguerite pointed out serenely. "Using your covert CIA clearance to dispatch him would make far more sense."
Tyler snorted. They were sharing breakfast on the sunporch of his plantation house. His angel was in a short white silk robe and reclining on her hip against colorful pillows on the chaise lounge. The sunrise reflected off her moonlight-colored hair. Sitting across from her at the glass table, which gave him an unimpeded view of her long, bare legs and pearlescent toenails, he thought all she needed was a pair of wings. Though his second thought was far more earth-bound. He considered when he would order her to open the robe and lie there naked for his viewing enjoyment. The fabric was already slipping off one silken shoulder.
"Marius possesses as many layers as a brick wall. And he'll never open up to a male authority figure." She cocked her head, a smile touching her serious lips. "You're not listening, Master."
"I'm listening. I'm just fantasizing at the same time. By calling me that, you just pushed it into a higher gear, as I'm sure you're quite aware." He put down his coffee cup, though, and folded his arms on the table, nodding at her to continue.
"One side of Marius is a reasonably decent man with a good heart," she said. "The same Mistresses he drives crazy in scenes have complete confidence in him as a DM and security. The problem starts when you hit his triggers."
"Which seems to be happening more often."
"Yes," she confirmed. "When it does, he morphs into a mean-spirited bastard."
Tyler's eyes narrowed. "I didn't see your session with him back then. Did he get mean?"
"He tried." She met his gaze with eyes the color of a blue sky veiled with gossamer clouds. "Which I handled, quite effectively. That's why you're asking my advice."
He was sure she had. It didn't defuse his protective instincts, even in retroactive application. She gave him an amused, knowing look, but continued her explanation. "After our session, he made a conscious choice to limit himself to the Mistresses who don't push. Or the ones who cut him loose when he starts to be an ass, not interested in that kind of drama. Until recently."
"Yeah." Tyler shook his head. "Probably why I've let this go on longer than I should have. And because I used to like and respect the kid."
"He wouldn't be working for you otherwise." She nodded. "The more a Mistress tries to penetrate his shields, the more acrimonious he gets. His shields protect what's at his very center. At his core, he's deeply troubled. Damaged. Perhaps damaged in a way beyond repair."
She paused. "His wounds run deep--possibly deeper--than what you found in my heart."
He knew the depth of those wounds, the hell she'd gone through and to which he'd nearly lost her. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly.
"Yes. Whatever set him off in recent months has made it harder for him to keep up his facade. Or maybe the attempt to be something he's not is wearing thin, which happens as the years pass and we realize those demons aren't go
ing away without the aid of something we do not possess alone."
She reached out, something she wouldn't have done at one time, and laid her hand on the table, like a bird landing at the corner of his place setting. He collected her fingers into the shelter of his grip. Whether she'd intended it or not, it was the hand that bore a scar that looked like a starburst, evidence of that hell she'd faced.
"Perhaps that's how he and I connected," she said slowly, gazing at the link between them. "How I found an open doorway. But there was a point during my session with Marius that I felt like a neurosurgeon who opened the body and saw a cardiologist was needed instead. He's not mine to fix." She lifted her eyes to meet his. "The one who needs to perform that operation is the one who wants to hold his soul in her hand. The way you wanted to do with mine."
He needed to be closer to her. Rising, he came around the table, continuing to hold her hand. "Robe off," he murmured, his chest and loins tightening at how she complied, with such quiet obedience. His own personal miracle. A woman with the soul of a Mistress and the heart of a submissive. He released her only to allow the robe to drop all the way free, then he folded her down on the lounge again, stretching himself out behind her, their bodies spooned together.
Propping himself on his elbow, he ran a proprietary hand over her body, her backside, her upper thighs. She laid her head down on his biceps, her short, manicured nails stroking a trail up his propped forearm. He dipped his head to smell her hair, nuzzle it.
"Do you think there's such a woman out there? That's a tall order, finding the perfect Dominant for such a difficult sub."
"I won't inflate your already massive ego," she said, but added a teasing rub of her ass against his groin, emphasizing the innuendo--and inflating it. He wrapped his hand around her hair and tugged.
