Page 93 of Not Safe For Work

I wrapped my arm around his waist. “You all right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s, uh, definitely new.”

“It’s not too late to turn around.”

“No.” Still watching everyone around us, he shook his head. “I don’t want to turn around. I want to do this.”

I searched his expression. He was edgy tonight, and the tension from his job was palpable. Yeah, he needed this. I definitely understood that. “Are you ready?”

He cast one more sweeping glance around and then whispered, “Yes.”

“Look at me.”

He faced me, and we locked eyes.

“I’m in charge tonight,” I said, hardening my voice. “Anything I say, goes. Understood?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and good God, he really did need this, didn’t he? The tightness visibly melted out of his neck and shoulders. He tilted his head to one side, then the other, and rolled his shoulders. Exhaling, he nodded. “Yes. Anything you say goes.”

“Good. And your safe word?”

“Red.”

“Use it any time. No questions asked.”

“Understood.”

I kissed his cheek and slipped my hand into his. “For now, let’s look around and see what everyone else is doing. Maybe get some…ideas.”

A grin curled his lips. “I’ll follow you.”

I led him out of the ballroom and into the maze of hallways extending deeper into the house. Here, there were three large play areas out in the open where people could watch others play. This was exhibitionist and voyeur paradise—people were not only allowed to gather and watch, but encouraged to do so. The other rooms were semi-open—they could be closed off for privacy or left open for the occasional voyeur or for the comfort of a submissive who wanted to be reassured that there were others nearby.

In the first room, two Doms were caning a bound, gagged woman. Red welts crisscrossed her ass, and tears streamed down her face, and her eyes… Lord, that woman was flying. The cane hit her flesh with a snap, and she whimpered around the ball gag, her eyes sliding closed for a second. When they reopened, they were even more distant than before.

“Someone enjoys pain,” I whispered to Rick.

Mesmerized, he nodded. “Yeah, she does.”

I was about to make another comment, but a small group on the other side of the room caught my eye. “Oh, look at that.” I gestured toward them. “You ever watched someone doing hot wax?”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “No.”

“You want to?”

He nodded, but quickly added, “If you do.”

I kissed his cheek. “I do.”

We joined the thin crowd that had gathered to watch. In front of us, another female sub was on her knees and stretched across what looked like an ottoman, though it had been covered in towels.

On a small table next to her was a pile of white candles and a steaming Crock-Pot, in which the Dom was stirring the melted wax with a ladle. They’d shrouded the Crock-Pot in some sort of drape—presumably something fire-retardant—so it looked a bit less like something from Grandma’s kitchen, but I doubted anyone was looking at it anyway. Not with a beautiful woman with pristine skin that was just waiting for the molten wax.

When he was apparently satisfied that the liquid was the right consistency, the Dom lifted the ladle from the pot. He held it over the sub’s back, turned it, and let a single string of wax fall.

It dropped straight down. It hit the sub’s shoulder.

And she screamed.