Free AtHerCommand by Marcia James Page B

and local teen hangouts to interview the kids. But so far, they hadn’t
turned up anyone willing to admit to working the Xecutive Branch parties. And
Dalton was afraid they never would.
    He flipped through the pages of the journal until a
reference to Mistress Tori caught his eye.
    Mistress Tori used a cat o’ nine tails tonight.
I’ve discovered there’s a very fine line between pain and pleasure. The nerves
stimulated by her whip sent shock waves straight to my cock. Afterward, I
fisted myself as she watched. I loved the way her eyes followed my hand and her
face flushed with excitement. When I came, it was harder and longer than ever
before. What if I can never achieve an orgasm like that with anyone but Tori?
    Dalton closed the journal and tossed it on the coffee table.
He didn’t know which made him more uncomfortable—reading his buddy’s private
words or worrying he’d become as addicted to Mistress Bella as Jason had been
to Tori. Shutting his eyes, Dalton scanned the memory of his session with
Bella. Had the humiliation and pain turned him on? Never one for self-delusion,
he admitted some of the discomfort caused by Bella’s toys had produced a
quasi-sexual rush. But it’d been an empty sensation devoid of emotion, like
getting off with a prostitute. No, Dalton couldn’t see developing an addiction
to Bella’s type of kinky stimulation.
    Had he enjoyed turning over the dominant role to a woman?
Being brutally honest, Dalton acknowledged that relinquishing control had been
erotic. There were no worries about performance when you weren’t even allowed
to touch your partner in the sexual game. And it had been a game, albeit
an intense one. Even in handcuffs, Dalton hadn’t been helpless. At any time, he
could’ve used the safe word and the session would’ve ended. So he’d allowed
Bella to call the shots and that had been arousing.
    But the session had been so much more than just arousing.
Sighing, Dalton rubbed the heels of his hands over his tired eyes. If he ruled
out pain, humiliation and lack of control, what the hell had driven that
incredible post-session climax in the shower? Bella. For a moment, a
vision of her dancing eyes and mocking smile filled his mind. Despite his
submissive undercover role, he’d felt a challenge from her, a war of wills that
had raced through his blood. The second he’d met her gaze, Dalton had
experienced a sexual déjà vu. It was as if he’d known her intimately before and
she’d finally returned to him.
    Snorting with disgust at his sappy thoughts, Dalton glanced
at his watch. Twelve-forty a.m. At loose ends, he gathered up the congealed
remains of his dinner and threw the foul-smelling mess into the garbage can in
the garage. Besides the trash, the two-car garage housed his 1969 Shelby Mustang
and Jason’s Jeep Cherokee. Too restless to go to bed, Dalton grabbed the SUV’s
keys off the counter and his bomber jacket off the peg by the door. A little
night surveillance of the Xecutive Branch sex club was just what he needed.
    * * * * *
    Dom heaved a heartfelt sigh as the door to S&M Room Five
closed behind her last customer of the night. Tootsie Tom was a harmless foot
fetishist but an evening of dominating him and a parade of other milquetoasts
had been surprisingly exhausting. Her feet in particular were killing her,
unaccustomed as they were to the hot, thigh-high leather boots she’d worn with
Tom’s predilections in mind. Yet the arch pain and toe-pinching were worth it
considering the alternative—Tom’s tongue on her flesh instead of the boot leather.
Dom suppressed a shudder.
    She tugged at the hem of her micro-mini leather skirt and
smoothed down her black spandex top. Since puberty, Domino had avoided
form-fitting clothes that showcased a body her first boyfriend had described as
“stacked”. He’d praised her curves as earthy and sensual before they’d made
love but afterwards the jerk had called them “false advertising” when her sex
drive