“That’s his station, over there.” Abbie pointed toward a space partially shielded by a rice paper screen.
Just then, Ryan Summerlin appeared in front of them. He wore black leather pants and boots, his smooth chest bare. “Hey there, girls,” he said, flashing his too-perfect movie-star smile. “I’m looking for a scene partner to give a few of the guests a demo in some basic Shibari knots. Any volunteers?”
He addressed them both, but his eyes were fixed on Abbie, who had turned a particularly rosy shade of pink. She glanced at Kendra, who could almost hear Abbie’s voice in her head asking, “Will you be okay?”
Kendra gave Abbie a quick, encouraging nod, conveying in their silent cousin language, “Absolutely.”
Abbie did one of those incredibly gracefully dips to the ground and looked up at Ryan with undisguised adoration. “I would be honored, Sir,” she said softly.
Ryan’s smile broadened as he held out his hand to lift Abbie to her feet. The pair moved off together, leaving Kendra on her own. There were lots of scenes already in progress all around the room. The scent of lust, power and pheromones was ripe in the air. Kendra closed her eyes, breathing it all in. It was both empowering and mildly terrifying to find herself in a BDSM dungeon after all these months of abstinence. What if she had a panic attack or something equally embarrassing?
Don’t be an ass, she silently chided herself. You’re Kendra Fucking Wilson. You got this.
Taking a deep breath, she walked toward Dylan’s station, her heart kicking up its pace. She peeked around the screen. Dylan was nowhere to be seen.
The station was equipped with two whipping posts set about six feet apart with adjustable ankle and wrist straps hanging from each. There was a large suspension hook protruding from the ceiling. A rack contained whips, floggers and canes, and there was a small table with several neat coils of rope of various thicknesses and colors. As Kendra took it all in, the crotch of her panties instantly moistened with Pavlovian desire.
She startled at a hand on her shoulder and turned back to see Dylan. A diamond stud glittered in his left earlobe. He was dressed in black leather pants that molded perfectly to his muscular legs. He wore a black leather vest that hung open to reveal his ripped abs and more colorful, beautiful tattoos across his broad chest.
“Oh, hi,” she said stupidly, trying to calm her skittering nerves.
“Hi,” he replied. His smile, she noticed, was slightly lopsided in an appealing way, the left side of his mouth lifting up while the right side turned slightly down. He looked her over, his smile widening into a grin. “Looks like you got the memo.”
“What?” Kendra looked down at herself and then grinned. “Oh. Right. The black leather vest memo. Half the folks in here are wearing the uniform,” she added wryly.
“Yeah, but none of them are wearing it as well as you,” Dylan said, lifting his brows suggestively.
Kendra laughed, feeling more relaxed.
He moved closer and placed his large hand lightly around her throat. His touch sent her instantly into a submissive state of mind. An involuntary shivery shudder moved through her frame. His indigo eyes were knowing as he stared down at her. “I stayed away from my station until you got here,” he murmured, moving his hand from her throat to cup her cheek. “I was waiting for you.”
Kendra’s face and neck flushed with heat, her nipples perking hard against the soft leather that covered her breasts. “Sir,” she whispered, the word falling unbidden from her lips.
Letting her go, he reached for a long cane of medium thickness, its handle covered in red suede. He whipped it lightly through the air, creating a whistling sound. “I promised you a caning. Are you ready to feel its sting?”
Kendra swallowed. It had been so long since she’d scened. After the incident, she had deleted all her accounts on the various BDSM websites where she used to hang, and had avoided the clubs like the plague. She had cut herself off from the scene—a self-imposed exile while she tried to put her life back together. At first, she hadn’t missed it, but in the past few months, she had begun to crave the power and intensity of a D/s power exchange.
Now she stared at the cane, her mouth actually salivating in anticipation. “Yes, Sir,” she murmured throatily.
“Excellent,” he growled in a low, sexy voice. He glanced from the suspension hook to the whipping posts. “I think for this first time, I’ll restrain you between the posts so you can keep your feet on the ground. Not that I expect you’ll need it, but what’s your safeword?”
“Bukkake,” Kendra instantly replied.
“Boo-what-ee?” Dylan queried, wrinkling his nose.
Kendra laughed. “It’s kitchen slang. Well, actually, it’s a porno term used when a bunch of guys jerk off in a woman’s face or whatever. But in kitchen slang, it refers to a squiggle of cream or a splash of crème fraiche on a dessert.” She shrugged. “So it kind of fits in both my scenes, if you follow me.”