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Ignoring the happy tears sliding down her cheeks, Lia breathed, “Yes, Master Beau. I will.”
She bowed her head as her man placed the buttery-soft leather around her throat. The magnetic closure clicked satisfyingly into place at the nape of her neck. “You now belong to me, slave Lia. Please rise so I can bind you with my ropes and share you with my friends.”
Lia accepted his offered hand as everyone around them clapped and cheered. Mark came forward, hanks of Master Beau’s beautifulKinbakurope in his hands, dyed for the occasion the same cotton-candy pink as Lia’s hair.
“Place your hands behind your back, wrists touching,” Master Beau directed.
Lia slipped pleasantly into that snug, happy place bondage always took her as the two men bound her at the wrist and elbow. Master Beau directed her to bend forward at the waist, feet planted shoulder width apart. Once she had assumed the position, they clipped one end of a length of chain to the suspension ring, the other to the rope at her wrists so that her arms were held parallel to the ground.
“Mark, my good friend,” Master Beau said in a voice designed to carry. “Both through example and good advice, you helped me to remember that nothing is more important than love. I would like you to be the first to mark my slave tonight.”
Lia couldn’t help the shiver of nervous anticipation that shuddered through her. She had known this was coming. It had actually been Mark and Jaime’s idea, a nod to the slave initiation ceremony all staff slaves underwent when joining The Enclave.
Lia, facing the room, couldn’t see what impact toy Mark chose. But then he appeared in front of her, a wicked-looking snake whip in his hand. “Lia, do you accept my mark as a token of your submission to your Master, and by extension to me?”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, heart kicking up its pace in anticipation of the whip’s biting kiss.
Mark moved out of her line of sight. A moment later there was the whistle and then the crack as the lash hissed over both ass cheeks.
“Thank you, Master Mark,” she gasped, wincing from the welcome pain.
Lawrence was next. Crouching directly in front of her, he gripped her by the hair and forced her head up. He hadn’t chosen an impact toy. “You’ve finally earned the right to be called a slave. Do you accept my mark as a token of your submission to your Master, and by extension to me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Drawing his hand back, he slapped her across the face with a stinging blow that brought tears to her eyes. Unlike some subs, for whom face slapping was a negative trigger, Lia adored it. She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking for another. Instead, she said, “Thank you, Master Lawrence.”
“My pleasure.”
Brandon and Marjorie, dominant husband and wife, were next. Marjorie held a single tail. “I knew you had it in you, girl,” she said with a warm smile. “Do you accept my mark as a token of your submission to your Master, and by extension to me?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Brandon cupped Lia’s breasts, lifting them for Marjorie’s whip. She snapped it expertly across Lia’s left breast. It hurt like a motherfucker.
“Thank you, Mistress Marjorie,” Lia said through gritted teeth.
Brandon repeated the ritualistic words as Marjorie held up Lia’s breasts. He then gave her a second welt. As she hissed her thanks, Mason appeared, a long, sharp-looking knife in his hand.
Lia couldn’t help but recall her last botched session with Mason, one in a series during her disastrous training the first time around at The Enclave. What had changed since then? Why was she now so easily able—not just able but eager—to submit to all these different Doms?
Because you’re doing it for Master Beau,a calm, happy voice inside her whispered.There was always a submissive inside you, but she needed love to flourish.
Mason, like Lawrence, lifted Lia by her hair, forcing her head up so their eyes met. With his other hand, he pressed the tip of his knife against the hollow of her throat. Though she knew he wouldn’t actually cut her—the parameters of the scene not conducive to blood play—still her heart began to race, her breath catching in her throat.
Then she felt the warm, comforting touch of Master Beau’s hand on her lower back, reminding her he was right there beside her. She instantly calmed. He would keep her safe.
“Do you accept my mark as a token of your submission to your Master, and by extension to me?” Mason asked in his gruff, rumbly voice.
“Yes, Sir,” she said, her voice steady.
He drew the tip down her sternum in a slow line, stopping just between her breasts, which still throbbed from the lashes delivered by Brandon and Marjorie. The knife left a long, straight stinging red line on her skin. As she stared down at it, a single drop of blood appeared between her breasts.
“Oh,” she breathed, mesmerized by the bright red bead.
A moment later, Mason dabbed at the blood with one of the premoistened sterile wipes he always kept at the ready.
Recalling herself, she said, “Thank you, Master Mason.”
