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“Lia,” Katie cried, moving toward her with open arms. “Lucia told me you were coming. It’s so great to see you again.”
“You, too,” Lia replied sincerely.
As they embraced, Lia was struck yet again by how kind and welcoming everyone at The Enclave was. Well, maybe with the exception of Lawrence, who had taken delight in punishing Lia at every turn.
“Katie and I will do hair and makeup for tonight’s event,” Lucia said. Turning to Katie, she added, “Can you get started with the trainees while I get Lia settled? We’ll join you in a bit.”
Lucia and Lia walked together down the hallway that led to the bedrooms and the large communal bathroom. There were eight bedrooms in total, all of them doorless. Each bedroom contained a bed and a small bureau.
“This one’s empty,” Lucia announced, stopping at one of the bedrooms and stepping inside. The bed was made with a brightly colored quilt and plump pillows, chains neatly coiled at the head and base of the mattress.
As Lia set down her duffel on the bureau, Lucia fixed her with a critical gaze. “You’ve got helmet hair. Go ahead and strip down. Meet me in the bathroom and we’ll get you properly fixed up.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Lia said with a laugh.
At dinner, the already long table had been extended with additional leaves to accommodate all the occupants. Along with the full-time residents and the trainees, there were the three guest whip makers plus Hannah Davies, whose brief time as a trainee had overlapped Lia’s by a few days.
Lia was now as naked as the rest of the subs, even more so since she had no collar. She’d allowed Lucia to style her hair and let Katie apply some makeup, including a little rouge for Lia’s nipples.
“Where’s the new Dom you mentioned?” Lia asked with studied casualness as she helped Lucia bring in the dinner platters.
“He should be here by eight,” Lucia assured her. “Curious, huh?”
Lia shrugged, not quite suppressing a smile. “Maybe.”
She was seated between one of the visiting whip makers, a heavyset British fellow in his fifties named Jeremy Blake, and Hannah. The older woman was a very successful BDSM romance author who wrote under the pen name Angelique Rose. Though Lia wasn’t much of one for romance, she’d read some of the Rose novels after meeting Hannah and had to admit they were smoking hot.
More importantly, Hannah had been a sympathetic ear when Lia was at her lowest point. Though they hadn’t kept in direct touch, Lucia had kept Lia informed on the budding romance between Mason and Hannah.
It was hard to reconcile the arrogant, grumpy chef and impatient, unforgiving Dom Lia remembered with the smiling man who sat on Hannah’s other side. Hannah, too, got that soft, fuzzy look of someone in love each time their eyes met.
Lia turned away from the pair, ignoring the sudden pang of longing for something she didn’t even entirely believe in, at least not where she was concerned.
Romance was overrated, she reminded herself. A good, hard whipping was all she really needed.
Once the dinner had ended, everyone scattered to finish any last-minute preparations. The event was scheduled to start at eight, only thirty minutes away. Lawrence corralled Lia, along with Madison, who was also to serve as a volunteer, and Gene, Aubrey’s slave and life partner. Gene was a tall, good-looking guy in his thirties with short dark hair and an easy-going disposition. The puppy-dog adoration in his eyes when he looked at Aubrey would have been nauseating if it weren’t so obviously sincere.
Lawrence, Lia’s nemesis during her training, was in his late thirties, with thinning sandy-blond hair, pale blue eyes and a perpetual sneer, at least when he looked at Lia. She’d instantly tensed when she saw him at dinner, her body preparing for punishment before her mind could catch up. She’d had to remind herself she was there as a guest, no longer the constantly-in-trouble trainee.
Lawrence owned Danielle, who was model-gorgeous, with flowing blond hair, angelic features and long, shapely legs. Though Lia didn’t know Danielle well, she couldn’t imagine what she saw in Lawrence. The unlikely pair had apparently fallen in love during Danielle’s training. According to Lucia, Lawrence was much nicer as a result, though you couldn’t prove it by Lia.
“Here’s how it’s going to work,” Lawrence explained as they entered the main dungeon. “Master Anthony will introduce our guest whip makers, who each have an assigned station for the evening. You three will be on display as they demonstrate their new toys on the canvases of your naked bodies.”
He fixed his hard gaze directly on Lia. “You’re only here because of your high pain tolerance, and because you’re Lucia’s friend. Don’t think that gives you a free pass. Tonight you’re an Enclave slave, and you will behave as such. Are we perfectly clear?”
“Crystal clear, Sir,” Lia replied, resisting a sudden urge to salute the man. That, or kick him in the nuts.
Jeremy had requested her as his subject that evening. She was taken to a St. Andrew’s cross where the whip maker was setting out his wares. He stood by a long table, several of his handcrafted single-tail whips and floggers neatly arranged by handle length.
“I’ve brought your first victim, er, volunteer,” Lawrence said with a dry chuckle. “She’s not much of a sub but she can definitely take whatever you dish out.”
Lia bristled at Lawrence’s description of her, though she couldn’t deny its veracity. In spite of her dislike of the man, she sighed with pleasure as Lawrence strapped her against the cross, her arms raised high, legs spread wide. As the cuffs closed around her wrists and ankles, she relaxed against the smooth, polished wood of the cross. She closed her eyes, breathing in the heady scent of leather, clean sweat and pheromones that suffused the dungeon.
More people were entering the space, the noise level rising as the room filled. Unfortunately, the cross was set such that she was facing away from the main action. Even so, her skin tingled with anticipation of the biting kiss of the lash.
Jeremy moved around her in a slow circle, finally stopping in front of her. He smiled, slow and cruel. Lia shivered with delicious fear at the sadistic gleam in his eye. “You’re a tiny little thing. You sure you’re up to this?” He spoke with a British accent that Lia found appealing.
She lifted her chin, meeting the man’s eye. “Whatever you mete out, I can take it, Sir.”
