“If you spill so much as a drop, I’ll switch your disobedient ass, adding to the stripes you begged me for earlier.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the sub squeaked, as she slapped the seat of his skimpy midnight-blue shorts with the flat end of her crop.
Condensation beaded on the glass. Alec watched a droplet roll down and drip onto the man’s back then over his ribs and onto the floor. Impressed by the sub’s control, he saw a second and third bead follow but knew he didn’t have a prayer of enduring much longer.
Betty—also in her fifties, who at close to six feet tall towered over many of the men—claimed she wasn’t a sadist. Alec didn’t buy it for a minute.
Despite the spectacle of waiting for the sub to break, Alec had a pressing question for Regina and moved toward the group.
“Ladies,” he said in greeting. “May I join you?”
Regina waved him to the empty seat beside her, eyes rapt on the scene playing out before her.
“Think he can hold out?” Alec asked quietly.
She grinned and shook her head. “Roman never makes it past four icy drops, which is why Betty does it to the poor boy.”
When the fourth droplet splashed onto his skin, trickled down his spine, and into the gap at his waistband, Roman arched and let out a squeal.
“Tsk, tsk,” Betty scolded, picking up the empty glass now lying on its side at her feet. After she set it on the side table, she yanked his shorts to his knees. “Naughty boy. A dozen strokes for disobeying and another twelve for my ruined shoes. Then you’ll bring me a refill, and we’ll try this again.”
“Yes, Mistress,” he replied, a distinct quiver in his voice. The size of the hard-on he sported said it wasn’t from fear or humiliation, but eagerness for more of his mistress’s attention.
And man, did he get it.
After twelve solid, welting whacks to his bare ass, Betty made him spread his legs, baring his vulnerable dangling bits, which she targeted with the remaining dozen.
Alec winced in sympathy when Roman cried out with the last six. They were obviously painful, though he rocked into them as if hungry for more.
Time for another beer, Alec decided. “Let me buy you a drink at the bar, Regina.”
“You’re sweating, Master Alec,” the domme observed with a laugh. “You men dish it out, but only a rare few, like Roman here, can actually take it.”
“Which is why I choose to wield the whip. I’m betting it’s why you do, too.”
After watching the male sub gingerly rise and hobble off to do his domme’s bidding—bowlegged in consideration of his tender man parts—she shrugged. “Point taken.”
Regina stood when he did. “One piece of business before we adjourn.” She extended her open hand to Betty. “He only lasted to four drops,” she announced. “He’s getting worse, not better. Pay up.”
“We’ll keep working on it,” Betty promised, dropping a twenty into Regina’s palm.
“And I’ll keep collecting,” she crowed, tucking the bill into the front of her corset.
Although convinced between the two of them, the pint-sized mistress had the bigger set of balls, Alec stepped aside, as a gentleman would, and let her lead the way to the bar.
She ordered a tequila shooter then asked, “What’s this about?”
“I couldn’t avoid hearing about your recent nautical event. Was it at the convention center by any chance?”
“Why yes, it was.”
“In honor of Marco Benedetti?”
“I don’t divulge my client’s names, but you seem to know it already. Why do you ask?”
“I was there that night. One of your staff looked familiar. She’s in her mid-twenties with long, dark brown hair.” He held his hand flat at chest height. “She comes up to about here on me.”
“That could be Emily.”
