Ice Queen

The purple light of The Zone's gold-edged neon marquee threw a wash of surreal light over the parking area. It was a good crowd for a Tuesday night. Marguerite sat in her car, watched the security patrol make its second lap since she'd pulled in ten minutes ago. Apparently the ownership of the club had taken prompt steps to ensure there would be no repeat of her unpleasant experience.

It was yet another of the many ways The Zone made it clear that the protection of their members was a number-one priority. But beyond admirable management style, it was a personal message from Tyler to her. A message she chose to push into a closet in her mind where she wouldn't see it. She needed her focus tonight. She took a deep breath. One. Two. Three.

Tuesday nights were about finding and keeping the balance she needed to run the rest of her life. She harbored no illusion that this night would do that. She felt like a restless sea, waiting for the arrival of a storm to give her the fuel to explode with power and pounding fury. Ravage a coastline, demolish homes, stack up boats like a pile of children's toys.

She'd taken his offer, recognizing it as a high compliment. Her pride wanted to show him what being under her Dominance would be like. And now she felt a way she'd never felt before. Always before, the moment she drove into the parking lot she'd feel a calmness settling on her shoulders, her mind centering on her intentions for the evening, on what she'd demand of the man she would choose.

Tonight she managed the ripples of unease by letting them pass around her like rush-hour traffic on the highway. She'd let them get by, then find her center as she always did. She'd know exactly what she wanted to extract from Tyler to feed her own soul.

Getting out of the car, she pulled the velvet cape around her body, her pale hair gleaming against the unrelieved black. She didn't take anything else with her.

Everything she'd requested would be in the room. Just like Tyler.

She nodded to the doorman. From the barely restrained speculation in his eyes, she understood the reason for the crowd. She'd requested that the ceiling view screen be left open. The staff posted what groups and scenes would be available for viewing via email blasts sent out twenty-four hours before the session. She imagined such an unexpected face-off between the two most powerful Dominants at The Zone would create a standing-room-only crowd.

An audience didn't faze her. In her mind it was always between her and her sub, but the ceiling view could rattle the chosen slave. Especially a private man like Tyler.

Stepping inside, she went through the reception area and straight down the side hall to the private video rooms. As she'd requested, her tape was being queued up, by a Zone staff member named Stacey who'd likely been radioed by the doorman as Marguerite was crossing the parking lot.

"We just finished getting him ready, Mistress. He's ready when you are."

"How long is the tape?"

"About fifteen minutes."

"All right. Please have someone stay in the room with him for the next twenty minutes. I'll be down by then."

The young woman nodded, turned for the door. Marguerite noticed the spots of color high on her cheeks, the averted eyes. "Stacey?"

"Yes, Mistress?"

She knew the girl to be an extremely capable staff member who often earned extra money as a hired submissive for those Masters and Mistresses who preferred a trained, known quantity in The Zone walls. She looked distinctly flustered tonight.

"Did you handle Tyler's undressing?"

"I did, Mistress. A woman to undress him and two men to restrain him, just as you specified."

"Did you enjoy that?"

Her response, though soft, was immediate. "I did, Mistress. Thank you."

"Why did you like it so much? You see things like this every night."

"Not a Master like Tyler. Not being bound, stripped." She drew an unsteady breath, let out a nervous chuckle. "With respect, Mistress, there isn't a woman here tonight who wouldn't want to be in your shoes." She slipped out.

Marguerite shook her head and settled in a chair. Curling her cold hand in the warm folds of the cloak, she let one leg emerge, cross over the other. She pressed the play button.

She'd thought about having one of the male staff do the undressing but realized that as a petty desire to irritate Tyler and discarded it. Then put it in anyway. Then took it out.

In the end, she'd opted for a woman for the very reason she'd almost decided against it. When she focused in on hands on that muscular body on the tape, she wanted to absorb herself enough in it to imagine it was her. Stacey didn't know it but Marguerite would have given a lot to be in her shoes. Disrobing a submissive, unbuttoning shirt cuffs, sliding trousers down over a well-defined backside, seeing what type of underwear or socks they chose, those were intimacies she could not risk close-up, hands-on. But she could experience them this way.

He stood in the center of the observatory, her favorite Zone room. The lighting could be dimmed so only a glittering of stars were thrown out for light along the walls of the chamber. The lights rotated as if the bound sub were the center of a moving galaxy. The platform on which he was anchored could also be rotated, all of which helped disorient him while publicly displaying him from every angle. A spotlight would illuminate him but the Mistress could come and go out of the starlit shadows, all of her preparations and tools set up out of sight, increasing the trepidation.

She'd had him brought in blindfolded because she suspected he would look for the camera and gaze into it, guessing she might do this. She saw immediately that he'd dressed for her. Black slacks perfectly pressed, a pristine white shirt, silver cufflinks.

Black and white, which set off that raven and silver hair. The lights deepened the ebony shadow of his jawline that no amount of shaving could completely eliminate.

Stacey moved out of that darkness. Marguerite had commanded that no one was to speak to him unless necessary. He was simply to obey their physical nudges to move as they needed him to move. No distractions, nothing but what was in his head to keep him occupied. No attempts at banter to regain some control of the situation. If attempted, he was to be gagged. Since he had received a copy of the instructions, she wondered what his reaction had been to that.

When his nostrils flared as Stacey came near, Marguerite felt the jolt to her toes. He recognized her scent. She'd left some of her tea tree oill infused with lavender for Stacey to mist on her skin. To give him a moment of confusion and to see if he was that sensually aware.

Stacey's fingers slipped the buttons down the front of his shirt, lifted his hands to undo the cuffs. She fumbled a little but then she took a closer hold of the shirt at the waistband of his slacks to free it, her thumbs brushing the well-defined lower abdomen just above the belt line.

Marguerite had seen his upper body during their partial weekend together but she'd been too often distracted by other factors to fully enjoy a perusal of it. She didn't have to be distracted now. The curves of the pectorals, the sectioned stomach muscles were sculpted with the perfect imperfection of one of his bronze statues.

Stacey glanced up at his face. He hadn't said a word but a slight smile played on his mouth. Not a smirk but a reassurance for Stacey. He knew the hands touching him were that of a submissive. The son of a bitch could tell the difference. Marguerite shook her head. Stacey was enjoying herself now, reaching up to push the shirt off his shoulders, her palms following the skin as the shirt peeled away and his arms drew back to let her get the shirt down them, the solid strength of his biceps and rounded points of his shoulders gleaming in the lighting. As she moved away to go hang up the shirt, the two men moved into the light. Three sets of manacles were lowered from the ceiling. They lifted Tyler's well-defined arms to lock the cuffs at the wrists, just above the elbows and the final set right between the swell of the biceps and shoulders. The slack was drawn up to suspend the arms perpendicular from his body, a pose that would limit his upper torso movement far more than just drawing his arms over his head. The pose of DaVinci's perfect Vitruvian man.

Pressing the zoom button, she went in on the chest area as she always did to closely examine every possible angle, to determine if there was an unacceptable level of discomfort to the restraint. There was a second screen and she turned it on now, for it showed a live view of her subject waiting for her. She compared, picked up the headset.

"Tony?"

"Yes, Mistress Marguerite? Always a pleasure to hear your lovely voice."

"You and Eli did an excellent job. Would you please raise the biceps restraints an inch? I want a little more strain on the shoulders."

"Right away, Mistress."

"And please start him rotating so the audience may enjoy the view." Tyler's head had turned at Tony's voice, his head cocking. She wondered if he could hear her voice coming through Tony's earpiece.

She turned her attention back to the replay. No open cuts to concern herself with.

She saw the scars she'd remembered from his house, knew there might be more vulnerable joints there and made a mental note to take care in those areas. Then she zoomed out, watched Stacey loosen his belt, free the tongue, dropping the pants lower on his hips, revealing that V line of muscle on either side of his stomach disappearing beneath the waistband.

She wasn't breathing as Stacey unhooked the trousers and took down the zipper.

That was why she preferred particularly in this case to view this in privacy. He wore dark gray underwear beneath the slacks, the snug stretch boxer shorts that hugged the ass and crotch, the upper part of the thighs. Stacey had the trousers halfway down his legs before she remembered the shoes. She tapped on one dress shoe with a finger, a silent direction to toe the shoes off. The trousers were loose at the upper part of his thighs, enhancing the artistic display of grace and beauty in his upper body as he complied.

Marguerite was throbbing. Throbbing. She didn't throb, didn't have this uncontrolled pulsing in her cunt keening for fulfillment when she looked at her subs.

There was a deep sexuality to their interactions but she was able to keep it locked in a contained space, relieving it in her own way with her own private ritual when she got home at the end of the night. She wanted satisfaction now and all she'd done so far was watch him get undressed, like a peeping Tomasina in a boy's locker room.

Stacey's slender hands were at the band of those gray boxers. Hooking it, she took the underwear down, cupping her hands so she'd be able to feel the curve of his buttocks whisper under her fingertips. Marguerite could hardly blame her. Tyler's head was still. She'd made a calculated error with the blindfold. She wanted to see what was going on in his eyes. But his stillness suggested tension, wary alertness, waiting for the next move.

She told herself this wasn't about payback, though she could feel a beast in her wanting to tear him down, open him up, make him bleed for disturbing her world, for asking more of her than she'd wanted to give. And she knew he had the audacity to want ten times more than even that from her.

When Stacey got the fabric of his underwear past the curve of the buttocks, she had to bring her hands forward to peel the fabric back and free his cock. It was a mouthwatering size. Marguerite was sure the opportunity to see it for the first time was causing a stir on the main floor among those who'd come to see this show. Somehow the word "show" created a tightness in her body, a moment of sick nausea. She pushed it away, breathed. No. She'd never made her interactions with a sub about a performance, but she'd always made them public because she'd seen no need to do otherwise. Had no desire for the intimacy that privacy could bring.

Tyler said he was honoring the Mistress in her. Giving her the chance to what? To even the playing field, to apologize, or to simply manipulate her?

She rose, not wanting to see Stacey rub the warm oill on her hands and begin to stroke it on Tyler's cock as she'd required. She hadn't wanted the rest of him oiled.

Actually she didn't necessarily need that part of him done but she'd wanted him handled by strange hands while restrained to disturb him. Watching his quiet features she realized she was the only one who could accomplish that. He was waiting for her.

For her to prove she could take him down as easily as he had taken her.

She put her hand on the stop button but could not bring herself to press it yet as Stacey's hands rubbed that impressive shaft, back, forth, oiling it as it rose under her touch, as she palmed his balls and got them glistening. She would put him in a cock harness, attach it to nipple clamps, make him feel pain, the type of pain that was in her head now, becoming a pounding headache. She wished she had amputated Tim's genitals. If she had, she would not only have a sense of satisfied completion, she'd be in a safe, quiet cell now where these things didn't matter.

She hit the stop button, removed the tape and dropped it in The Zone secure return box so it would be re-filed in the main office. Gathering her cloak about her, she yanked open the door to come face-to-face with Mistress Violet, leaning against the rich wallpaper of the opposite wall.

Violet did not come to The Zone as often as she had before she married Mac, but Marguerite knew they still came a couple days of the month. Usually in the company of friends like Tyler to take advantage of The Zone's topnotch amenities for play. While Violet was barely tall enough for the top of her head to reach Marguerite's chin, Marguerite did not underestimate her.

"Something I can do for you, Mistress Violet?" It was an effort to put courtesy in her voice but she managed it.

As a result of the exposure created by the bust of the S&M killer, Violet no longer bothered with the long black wig and contacts that used to alter her appearance at The Zone. Her shoulder-length curly auburn hair and Caribbean blue eyes were a tempting match for the body she displayed in a black corset. It pushed her small breasts out and nearly over, the garment a complement to the snug purple satin skirt with black filmy overlay that flirted just above mid-thigh. Marguerite suspected that she had made Mac lace the corset, tightening it until she was satisfied with the view. Despite that intimacy, Violet likely wouldn't have given him permission to touch anything yet, wanting to keep him hard and lusting. Teasing him with what was so erotically displayed in the corset his hands had laced and what was barely concealed above the hem of the short skirt.

It was the type of game a good Mistress excelled at, or one intensely experienced with the desires of her slave. Marguerite wondered what it would be to indulge in such loving play with someone. She'd never sought that with a sub, perhaps because she was driven by a very different compulsion. Her dwelling on it now was just another example of how Tyler had managed to fuck with her head. Something that would end tonight.

She began to move past Violet when the woman did not immediately reply but was not at all surprised when Violet raised her hand. "A moment of your time, Mistress Marguerite."

"A moment." She stopped, sighted just over Violet's shoulder and found a photograph of Marilyn Monroe. In a crinoline and bra, smiling her sad, distant smile at the camera. "I have someone waiting."

"I know that." Violet stepped squarely in front of her, blocking her way.

Marguerite's eyes narrowed. "I'm asking you to be careful. What you did earlier with Tim, if it wasn't for your relationship with Tyler, you wouldn't be down there tonight."

"I don't have to court Tyler's favor. The Zone can kick me out at any time."

"You'll take care of him tonight."

"The Zone has rules."

"And as you've demonstrated quite recently, every experienced Domme knows how to hurt someone without breaking the rules, especially if they know the ways to keep the sub from crying uncle. The best ones can cripple without even breaking the skin."

"That sounded suspiciously like a compliment."

"My mistake. I meant it as a warning. He's stupid when it comes to you. I'm not."

"I disagree. You're the one standing in my way."

"Mistress Violet." One of The Zone staff members, Mark, had come up the hallway.

"With your permission, I need to speak to you a moment." Violet never broke eye contact. Her lashes did not even flicker. She took a step forward, lowered her voice. "I have a tremendous amount of respect for you, Marguerite. I've learned a good deal from watching your technique. But I love that man very much. Whatever nightmares or demons you're exorcising, you make sure you don't sacrifice him to appease them. You hurt him and I'll tear you limb from limb." She moved around Marguerite, bumping her shoulder none-too-gently to get to the waiting Mark.

Without hesitating, Marguerite moved onward down the hall, pushing the exchange away, pushing it all away. There was only one thing now and that was the sub. Not Tyler. There were no names, no identities, simply the power and energy she needed for their session. It would be no different tonight. She could not afford to let it be different. Not if she was to protect Tyler the way Violet wanted.

* * * * *

"Ass. Moron. Man."

Mac lifted a brow as Violet sat down in the chair he'd been holding for her. It had a clear view down into the observatory room and of the hundred-and-twenty-inch flat screen on the wall at the deck floor level. Currently it provided a close-up of Tyler, arms restrained out to his sides, legs manacled and spread, ankles secured to the bolts in the floor. The blindfold was still in place. Stacey had reluctantly finished with him, so his genitals were well oiled and well aroused. The audience was currently getting seriously worked up as the platform turned, displaying him from all angles in erotic slow motion.

Mac knew all his senses would be on high alert, not just his glands. Waiting for that one noise. The sound of a door opening, the feminine step that said she was there with him, the one that was keeping his cock at aching attention even more than the tactile ministrations had done. He knew Tyler was not a submissive but he also recognized the look he'd seen in Tyler's eyes when he'd passed him going down to the observatory.

Dom or sub, a man in love was a man willing to undergo anything to win the woman who'd stolen his heart.

The Masters and Mistresses were of course accorded the balcony seats. Their subs, if they had one, were seated at their knees or standing behind the chairs as Mac was now. He leaned down, a long arm on either side of his wife's chair and nuzzled her ear.

"What's the matter, sugar?"

She thrust the note up at him, shrugging him off irritably. "Stupid men." Mac looked down at the note in Tyler's broad script.

Violet, Perry has instructions from me. Nobody is to enter that room until we're done. I'm asking you to trust what I know. Don't interfere. No matter what.

"He's anticipating this getting pretty rough."

"You think?" She scoffed. "The woman tried to chew the balls off a sub not too long ago. The only reason she's allowed to be down there tonight is because she's with one of the owners and because of the crowds she draws. And because Brendan talked Tim out of filing a complaint against her. I know this is a good place." She waved a hand.

"But we both know when she performs the bar tabs triple. So I guess we're just supposed to sit here while she neuters him, or just cuts his throat." Her gaze shifted to the screen. "I'm tempted to let her do the neutering. His ability to think might return to his brain where it belongs. Jesus."

Mac stayed in his position over her. He had a fantastic view of her breasts swelling high out of that corset. The glitter dust she'd sprinkled across their tops was making his tongue itch. But she needed something else right now other than his substantial erection pressed against the small of her back. The way she casually rubbed against it with the shifts of her body told him she was aware of it, making him ruefully bless and curse her ability to multitask, to torment him while fuming. She'd closed her eyes, was shaking her head.

"Sugar." When he touched her face, he compelled her to open her eyes and look up at him. "Tyler's an intelligent guy and a tough Dom. He trained you. I think you should do what the note says. Trust him."

"But his judgment is seriously impaired."

"Because he's in love with her?" Mac's silver eyes crinkled. As she always did, Violet got a little lost watching that firm mouth lift in a smile. "Maybe they'll be lucky and find what we found. But we had some pretty edgy moments getting there together.

For people like us, for anyone, you have to earn the right to it." He bent a little closer to her. "Just like I'd like to ask my Mistress how I can earn the right to put my mouth on those beautiful breasts of hers. I'd like to suck on her nipples until she comes just from that, as I know she can do. Repeatedly."

She slanted a glance up at him, his attention spreading welcome heat over her skin.

"I'll give it some thought. For now you just stand behind my chair and keep that big cock of yours hard for me. Let me feel it against my back, ready to serve me when I call for it."

"That's not going to be a problem, Mistress."

She brushed her cheek against his palm. Taking a light bite on the silver bracelet he wore, her symbol of ownership, she tugged on it. "You may be on different sides of the D/s fence but you and Tyler both try charm for distraction. I think you're in for a long, hard night to remind you I won't be charmed."

"Yes, Mistress," he said.

She kept his hand on her shoulder, rubbing her face against it like a cat, seemingly placid now. But Mac wasn't fooled. Watching her gaze shift back to the man bound in the observatory, he had a feeling what they were about to witness was going to be a problem. He ran a light finger along her neck, a transgression he hoped she wouldn't command him to withdraw, for he knew his touch would help calm her.

Tyler, you better know what the fuck you're doing.