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Dana's expression had moved from contrition to startled dismay. Somewhere along the way, big surprise, he'd caught the attention of both Doms, their conversation coming to a screeching halt. That was fine. He was on his feet and moving away.
There wasn't far to go, just through the partition that led to the conference room and the bathroom in the back. He was going in the right direction. He could shut himself in the bathroom until the plane landed, containing any more poison spewing out of his mouth. But he didn't make it that far. He stopped at one of the oval windows and stared at the clouds against a blue sky. Christ, he was up so high. Yet why did he feel like a leaden weight was holding him down?
He thought of the other night in the hotel room, the struggle between darkness and light, and how she'd brought him into the light. But the sun didn't really care about anyone specifically, did it? It shone because that was what it was designed to do. At the end of the day, it set and the darkness came. It always came.
He heard her come up behind him. He deserved to be Tasered, but in the absence of that, she might slap him, reprimand him for his abominable manners, all of which he'd deserve and which would feel worse than a far harsher physical punishment.
Instead, she put her hand on his shoulder and pressed. She wanted him back on his knees. He thought about resisting, but he didn't really want to fight with her. When he complied, sinking down, she kept him going until his palms and knees were on the floor. She sat down on the platform his back provided, using him as her chair, her hand clamped on his neck.
"As nice as those seats are, I think I prefer this one. If I was a petite thing like Dana, I could stay here for quite some time."
"Stay as long as you want, Mistress," he muttered. "I can handle it."
"I know you can. But I value your strong, beautiful back. It looks like we're going so slow, just drifting through the sky. When I was little and went on my first plane ride, I wondered why we never saw flocks of birds flying alongside us, and then my mother told me how fast we were going. She said the only thing that could keep up with us was a dragon, so I should keep my eye out for one of those, and draw what I thought it would look like. It was a way to keep me occupied and not nervous during the flight. But I was never nervous. Just like you. I liked the expression on your face when we took off."
She rose, stepping away as if she was going to sit in one of the conference room chairs. He curled his hand around the ankle of her boot, bringing her up short. She wore dressy, sharp-heeled boots under the slacks, much more delicate than what she wore for the club. He loved her Domme wear, but these looked damn good on her.
He held on, the side of his face against her knee. She'd tell him to let go and punish him for the infraction. Maybe that was what he was going for. Normally, it would be.
She pulled a chair closer and sat. Though he had to accommodate the motion, it left the leg in his grip. She'd picked up something off the table. A quiet snick and tap on his shoulder with it told him it was a thin metal pointer she'd telescoped out to its full length.
"You behaved badly toward our host's sub," she said mildly.
"Yeah. Yes, Mistress. My mouth isn't always that smart."
"Actually, I think your smart mouth is what gets you in trouble." There was wry humor in her voice. "But you will go apologize to her Master, and make amends as he requires. After I remind you how to properly behave when you are in my company, representing your Mistress with your conduct. The other night it was as much about enjoying the flex of your beautiful ass as it was about teaching you to ask before you put on your clothes. But this is different. This is like when you kissed me when I was on the phone. You've disappointed me. You know it, don't you?"
He nodded, his throat tight. "I didn't want to fuck today up. I really didn't."
A long pause, then she spoke, her voice neutral. "You haven't. You fucked up a few minutes ago, and I've told you how to make it right. First you'll take the punishment." Her tone stayed reproving, but her touch on his back was oddly gentle. "Open the belt and the jeans from your current position. Then put both elbows on the floor. Don't do anything else."
This wasn't a scene, a game. Her next words plucked that feeling right out of his head and gave it a shape.
"For many Doms and subs, any interaction, whether punishment or play, falls within the structure of a scene, an agreed power exchange, which keeps it at some level a game that can be called off with a safe word. I've never asked you for a safe word, have I? Because I know you've been playing a game for so long, that's the last thing you need. You need to belong to someone. If true ownership of another person was permitted, that's what you'd prefer. I know that, know it terrifies you and that's why you keep fighting.
"Belonging to someone you can trust would be a safety net for you, a cell from which you could handle the world in a way you've never been able to handle it. Very few people understand the complexity and simplicity of that need you possess so deeply inside. But I feel it, I do. Which makes you a lucky man, because I have absolutely no problem with owning your ass, head to toe, heart, body and soul."
Gripping the back of his loosened jeans, she tugged them and the dark briefs off his ass with one strong jerk that almost pulled him off his elbows. She pressed her knee between his shoulder blades as she took a firm grip on his hair. "If that's what you need to find yourself, then you'll consider yourself mine. You know how to bear pain, because the pain has always been part of the game. This isn't a game. This is punishment, because you failed to meet my expectations. It doesn't change how I feel about you, how much I care about you or want you. And yes, I do care about you. Three. Count them off."
Three wasn'
t so bad. What was bad was the roiling knot of emotions her words were creating in him. He'd let her down. She meant that. She--
Holy fucking Christ. Being struck by something like a broken off car antenna was painful as shit. He sucked in a breath, and barely remembered what she'd ordered.
"One." When he muttered an expletive, she hit him again, with just enough of a pause for the pain of the first strike to clear the field so he could fully feel the next one on the opposite ass cheek.
"Two." Fuck, that hurt.
The third landed on the juncture between thighs and buttocks.
"Three," he said hoarsely. He could handle pain, he could. So why did this hurt so much?
"Okay," she said briskly. "Pull your pants back up, then come and apologize."
She dropped a kiss on his sore butt, snicked the pointer closed and placed it on the table. Then she left the room with a no-nonsense stride.
He pushed himself back to his heels and got to his feet, using the chair to pull himself up. As he tugged the jeans back over his smarting ass and tucked himself back in, adjusting things and buckling the belt, he saw his fingers were shaking. What the hell... He raked his fingers through his hair, rubbed them over his face, and went into the bathroom to stare at himself in the mirror. A man with a cruel broken mouth and stark gray eyes looked back at him.
