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As Benson examined her, Charlotte leaned in to Aram, as if hoping he would protect her. Something about the sweet, trusting action made Benson’s jaw clench just a little tighter.
His voice was rough when he asked, “What do you want done to her?”
He expected a spanking of some variety, or perhaps rope bondage. Instead, Aram said, “This lovely creature hasn’t had nearly enough orgasms.”
Had Aram—Aram!—seriously just said that?
Charlotte’s eyes widened with surprise, and then she smiled up at Aram, who returned the smile with a very genuine grin of his own.
What the hell was going on in this damned club?
Benson contemplated the reality that everyone but him had apparently lost their damn minds as he helped Aram prep Charlotte for some aftercare orgasms. Aram handed him the remote for a butterfly vibrator now strapped in placed on Charlotte’s clit.
Benson was going to babysit her for three to five orgasms.
Babysit. For fuck’s sake.
Working a vibrator remote was hardly the dominant outlet he’d been looking for.
When he finally got his hands on a sub, he’d need someone who knew how to handle some punishing impact play.
Punishing.
Punishment.
His thoughts turned back to Mal.
Fuck.
* * *
One Year Earlier
“I’ll be using your ass this weekend.” Benson idly stroked the curve of Mal’s ear. “Heavy use, both my cock and toys.”
“Thank you, Master.”
Malvia was kneeling between Benson’s legs, facing him as he sprawled in an armchair. Her hands were clasped together behind her back. No restraints needed. Benson had commanded her to keep her arms behind her back and she obeyed.
She always obeyed him.
Samppa Benson—named after his Finish great-grandfather—and Malvia Leonidas—named for her Lithuanian grandmother—scened together every weekend.
They first bonded over shared experience when it came to odd first names. “Samppa” and “Malvia” caused most people pause and do a double take, or awkwardly pause while processing the unfamiliar name and trying to remember the pronunciation. After several casual conversations and bottles of wine, Benson had asked if she wanted to scene the following weekend.
Neither had scened with anyone else since.
Benson was strict, but not formal. A sadist who understood the mental and emotional aspects of BDSM just as well as he knew how to wield a tawse.
Malvia invited Benson to call her Mal, something she’d never done with any other Dom or Master. She was deeply submissive, but found it hard to let go. Too often, Doms let her get away with topping from the bottom. More than once she’d “bratted” in order to earn a punishment, simply because she’d learned that was the only way to get the more intense play she needed.
The first time Mal tried that with Benson, he called her on it. They stayed up late into the night talking about honesty. About how people were taught to hide the truth of their needs and wants. Benson had explained that in order to embrace BDSM, that behavior had to be unlearned.
In the darkest part of the night, wrapped in blankets and sitting out under the stars, Mal had confessed desires she’d never spoken aloud before.
The desire to be spanked so hard there were bruises.
The desire to be used as a sex toy, to be passed around like a BDSM “slave,” but only sometimes. She knew she didn’t want to take on that title or standing within Las Palmas.
