Free Brat and Master by Sindra van Yssel Page B

clock. Nine twenty-five. Jeremy had said he’d meet her at nine thirty. She stood in the gallery, at the spot where she could see the door, and tried not to stare too obviously in that direction. Her eyes flicked over the scenes in the middle—a spanking, a single-tail demonstration—without any particular interest.
    She’d gone through a half-dozen outfits before settling on one. Debated between shaving her pussy and leaving it natural. She didn’t know anything about what Jeremy would like. She’d searched for a profile on a popular fetish site where she often researched new people and had come back empty. She’d had blind dates where she knew more details about her partner.
    In the end she’d set the razor aside and had decided to go basic black. She had on a short cocktail dress, heels, and thigh-high stockings. Beneath, for him to discover, were matching black lace and panties, and a garter belt. The hem of the dress showed off glimpses of thigh and suspenders when she moved.
    “Amanda,” said a husky male voice behind her.
    She didn’t have to turn to find out who it was. The last “steady” dom she’d had, Blackie. Blackie had made her swear off relationships for a while, preferring the occasional play partner. It had been hot for a while. But every date they’d had, Blackie had pushed farther until Amanda was outside her comfort zone. As far as Blackie was concerned, a safe word was the end of a relationship. It had been exciting at first, to know she had no easy out. But then she had waited too long to say the word while her hands were going numb from the tightness of the rope around her wrists. If Master Vincent hadn’t interfered with the scene when he saw her hands turning blue and her grimacing in pain from the way the rope around her shoulder pinched her nerve, she could have been seriously hurt.
    “What do you want, Blackie?” said Amanda coldly.
    He put a hand on her shoulder, his fingers touching the bare flesh exposed by the wide neckline. “You,” he said.
    That touch once thrilled her. For a moment, she felt it again. Then it was replaced by a chill that ran far deeper. She turned around, shrugging off his hand. “Real doms don’t break their toys.”
    Blackie was broad with long, dark hair. He wore a motorcycle jacket over a white T-shirt. Confusion ran over Blackie’s face. “What do you mean?”
    He thinks I’m talking about a flogger. I mean me. “Ask around. I’m sure you’ll find out.”
    “Look, Amanda, I know you’re lonely.” He took hold of her chin and turned her face so she was looking at him directly. “I can help with that.”
    In comparison to Jeremy’s touch, Blackie’s seemed so crude. Jeremy caressed; Blackie grabbed. Had she once yearned to have him touch her? She knew she had. She didn’t know why anymore.
    She grabbed Blackie’s wrist, and he released her. “No, Blackie. I don’t want you anymore.”
    Blackie looked as if he was tempted to touch her again, but instead he shook his hand free and glared. “Dammit, Amanda. You know we were good together.”
    “We had our moments. But we were bad more than we were good. Go, Blackie.” She saw Vincent coming from behind him. Probably Vincent had been watching ever since Blackie had approached her. Blackie didn’t move. She waited. She wanted to take care of her own battles. On the other hand, if Vincent got involved, it would wrap up the problem neatly. Even though they’d never had anything but a mentor relationship, Vincent had always been good at playing the knight in shining armor.
    Blackie put his hand on her shoulder again, his thumb brushing the side of her neck.
    “Sorry, she’s mine tonight,” said a voice from behind her. A hand with long fingers tightened around Blackie’s wrist and squeezed. Blackie’s eyes widened. Vincent stopped his forward motion. Amanda turned around and saw Jeremy with a look on his face as cold as ice. Even though his intervention was welcome, it was the