A Dom's Best Friend

Here is Chapter 3. Enjoy the chapter and the crossover with one of my other stories, Her Daddy, Dom, and Neighbor in One.

* * * * * * * *

Jacquelynne

I mentally cursed and castigated myself as I flopped down on my bed. Pres and I were fulfilling my dreams and fantasies only to have him stop.

To know that he wanted me-until he remembered I disgusted him-was more than I could deal with.

A ping of my phone alerted me to an e-mail that I hoped would be a distraction. An email advertisement for the Kinkster's Ball filled the screen of my phone.

Rebellion pumped adrenaline through my veins. Pres didn't want me? Fine! I WOULD go to the Kinkster's Ball and find a Master who accepted and wanted to explore my darkest desires.

My fingers hovered over the "Buy tickets now!" button as my eyes scanned the message.

"Master Scott and Master Ryan seek willing and adventurous subs to participate in a slave auction. Go home to the dungeon of a Dom of your dreams for a week (minus the time requirements of your career)!"

Did I dare? I heard groaning next door that stiffened my resolve. Let the Dom who bid on me see how truly depraved and slutty I could be. I instead clicked the "Auction Me!" button and began to fill out the form.

* * * * * * * *

Avoiding someone is remarkably simple if he goes out of his way to steer clear of you, as well. In the days leading up to the Ball, I saw Pres very little. At work, he was locked up tight in his office, putting out a metaphorical fire that one of our competitors started. At home, well, he was never home. He returned to the domicile after I fell into an uneasy sleep and left before I awoke every morning.

Saturday dawned, sunny and full of promise. Part of me wistfully lamented that I was giving up on a chance of Pres and me happily ever after, but the realist in me plunged that fantasy deep within me where it belonged and forced me to look forward to the possibilities of tonight.

Maybe Master Right did not exist, but I sure hoped for Master Right Now.

I scanned the list of Do's and Don't's for auction slaves tonight at the ball.

All hair other than what is found on the scalp must be removed. (I had scheduled a spa session for today for a touch-up.)

Dresses must be no longer than knee length.

All garments and accessories would be removed prior to the auction. (Gulp!) All auction slaves will take the stage naked, save for ankle restraints and wrists handcuffed behind their backs.

Yes, number three gave me pause, I'll admit. I am not comfortable with my body. Too pale. Too many curves. And to be presented with no way to be covered, no concealment from calculating gazes?

The woman in me shrank in fear. The submissive slut who craved degradation? My panties were permanently wet because of her.

In that good girl versus wanton submissive masochistic slut competition, the slut won overwhelmingly when it came to dress choices.

Strapless and white, providing an illusion of innocence, the chiffon babydoll dress flared just beneath the sequined band at my breast to flirt mid-thigh. I ratcheted up the naughtiness, foregoing panties and leaving my freshly waxed pussy vulnerable should I bend over.

After all, I reasoned, I would be standing on display before the entire assembly, completely nude, within two hours after my arrival. Quickly, I squashed the nervous jitters that reminder caused.

Taking a deep breath as I handed my keys to the valet before metaphorically squaring my shoulders and facing the hotel where the ball had already commenced, I repeated my mantra to myself. Tonight was about finding a new Master, about moving on. From the videos. From Matt. From Pres.

My fascination, in the wake of the makeout session earlier that week, had become an obsession-one that needed to stop immediately.

As I entered the ballroom and presented my ticket only to receive a bracelet designating me as one of the auction slaves, I felt eyes on me.

I turned and furrowed my brow as I tried to place the man staring at me, walking toward me, even. This man did not merely walk; he sauntered as if he owned the place.

With a start, I recognized the truth about that statement. Ryan Smith, the Master Ryan of the email invitation, owned the hotel we presently stood in. And, while not as close to me as Pres and Jase were, he was once our friend before he moved away when he and Pres were going into the seventh grade.

I knew he had moved back, but I had not made the connection until this moment. HIs smile wolfish, he savored his approach. "Jacqui," he breathed.

"Ryan," I murmured. I'm sure my eyes were agog. I could do far worse than Ryan, if he were offering.

My old friend had grown up-and cleaned up-nicely. Tall, nearly Pres's height, his formerly wild red hair now was a deep auburn, controlled and tamed with a sleek cut and style. Every move he made bespoke control and elegance. An untamed wolf who kept his wildness in check by a force of will. Gray eyes burned me with their icy coldness. This was not the laughing jokester who helped me prank Pres and Jase unmercifully.

"It's Lynne, now," I again murmured sedately.

He chuckled, the mirth not quite reaching his eyes. What had happened to turn him so bitter? "Pres mentioned that when I saw him awhile back. If it's okay with you, I still will call you Jacqui, in honor of our old friendship."

Nodding distractedly, I latched onto something he had said. "Have you seen Pres recently?" My attempts to sound casual rang false even in my ears.

Ryan nodded enigmatically. "Fairly recently. He should be here soon, in fact."

"Here?!" I blurted aloud before I could stop myself. "This is hardly his scene!"

If ever a glance thrown my way were sardonic, Ryan's was. "Of course not. But he can meet some very lovely ladies here this evening." Ryan winked, not entirely lightheartedly.

His gaze traveled over me, lighting on the bracelet at my wrist. "Take you, for instance. The belle of the ball, literally, in this case. And an auction slave, too. Although I don't look forward to Pres's reaction when he sees you take the stage nude."

"Pres doesn't own me or control what I do," I snapped.

Ryan raised his eyebrows but didn't respond to that remark. "You are here to be auctioned, though, correct? You do realize it's not a game or play, I hope, Jacqui. The Doms bidding expect complete submission for a week," he cautioned.

I seethed. "Yes, Ryan. I do know what it means. I wore a collar for a year before my last relationship ended."

Placing a calming hand on my cheek, Ryan bent so that his lips brushed my earlobe. Willing myself to feel arousal, I felt instead nothing beyond an irritating tickling.

"I know. I found the breakup video link, and I sent it to Pres. What Lester did to you-a Dominant should never do that to his sub. Not what he dished out, necessarily-you were craving the humiliation and degradation. But ending things the way he did was wrong."

Shaking my head, I sought a chance to explain. "I betrayed him; I wanted another."

Two fingers on my lips stopped my explanation. "That is not how it's done. What he did to you? That caused him to be blackballed tonight and at every event in the foreseeable future in this community. You weren't the first sub he tried to destroy."

The knowledge that there was that measure of protection-that I wouldn't see Matt here tonight-dissolved some of the anxiety I felt.

"Chin up, Jacqui. And know that I will be bidding on you," he muttered, his lips drifting across mine as he spoke.

As he stepped back, putting air and space between us, I again felt eyes on me or, more specifically, Ryan and me.

Pres. Absolutely devastating to my senses in a tuxedo. The searing stare burned me, stripped me bare, and flayed me alive. The crowd parted as he approached us.

Not for the first time, I wondered if he could possibly be a Dominant. His bearing right now made that thought, for once, difficult to argue away.

But whereas Ryan was all cold control, Pres's dominance-if it were truly there-was molten destruction, to my senses, at least. Realizing that my thoughts were babbling nervously, I paused, taking a deep breath.

"What in the fuck are you doing here, Lynne?" Pres's words whipped at me, attacking me.

I stupidly went on the defensive. "What do you mean, what in the fuck am I doing here? I, at least, belong here!"

His eyes blazed, banked, then blazed again. Whatever he was about to fire back would never be heard because a middle-aged woman, matronly dressed, approached the microphone on the stage.

"Would those lovely auction slaves please meet Claire at the end of this stage to prepare for your bidding?" With a flounce, I turned, ignoring Pres's openmouthed stare as he finally understood what in the fuck I was doing here.

I approached the Nordic blonde that the speaker had gestured toward. "Name?" she barked, her voice sharp as she noted the silver around my wrist.

"Jacquelynne Andrews," I whispered. She checked her roster.

"You are the fifth slave to be auctioned this evening. Move over there," she directed to a group of anxious men and women.

Just as I neared the group, Claire called me back. "Yes, Sir," she responded to someone talking to her through a headset. "I understand. If that is what you wish, it will be arranged."

Claire glared at me. "It seems you have attracted the notice of one of the event organizers. He insists you be auctioned first."

That was so sweet of Ryan, I mused as I returned to the group. He could tell that I was worried and made sure I could go to the auction block first. Then, I remembered Ryan's words and sobered. "And I know that I will be bidding on you."

A few of the girls looked over at me, venom in their eyes. "Ryan Smith was a friend of mine growing up," I explained. They sniffed and turned away.

One of the other girls smiled at me, a bit shy. "They don't want Master Ryan; they are hoping Master Scott takes them home. The rumor is that he's on the lookout for a new sub, and they want to prove they have what it takes."

"What it takes?" I echoed, suppressing a shiver at the vaguely ominous tone.

She smiled again, lending her an almost ethereal quality. "I'm Emma, by the way. You must be new to the scene. Master Scott has the reputation of being the most strict Sadist in all of Texas. There isn't a sub who can withstand his training, supposedly." Her tone was one of hushed awe.

"I'm Lynne," I replied, smiling back at her. "Are you hoping he bids on you, as well?"

Emma shuddered, her pale as starlight hair shimmering over her shoulders with the movement. "No. The Dom I want-he's out of my league. And he hates me. He would never bid on me."

I sensed a mystery there, but I didn't press. Master Scott sounded ideal, someone who could make me forget Pres. And strict. That part of me that craved debasement perked up.

Of course, if those girls wanted Master Scott, they of the perfect bodies and hair would have him. Not me. "I'm being auctioned off, hoping to forget someone as well," I offered.

"Ooo," Emma enthused, "another Dom? Is he here tonight?" She craned her neck to see if she could infer who he might be.

"No, not a Dom-at least, I don't think so." That prickle of doubt made me try to search for Pres before we exited the ballroom, but I did not see him.

Maybe he already left with someone, I thought with a pang. At least he wouldn't witness the bidding for me, the rational part of me stated.

In the makeshift dressing room suite, I quickly stripped, placing my dress in a garment bag labeled with my name and my shoes in a box that was provided, again marked with my name.

I kept my head bowed; Claire came around and snapped the restraints around my ankles and my wrists, nearly wrenching my shoulders out of socket when she pulled my arms behind my back to secure my wrists.

What the fuck was her problem?

Flashing Emma a brief smile, I followed Claire to the backstage area. "You will come out when I call your name. As I read from your form, try to sell yourself."

Nodding, I bit my lip, trying to psych myself up for this.

The icy blonde walked upstage, stepped in front of the curtain, and greeted the audience. "Good evening, and welcome to the Kinkster's Ball slave auction! We have quite an array of slaves for your perusal and delectation this evening. Let's get this party started!

"Our first slave is Jacqui. She is twenty-five years old and an accountant."

My heart hammered and blood pounded in my ears, drowning out much of what Claire said. My first steps on stage were timid before I recalled that Claire had said I needed to sell it.

"Slave Jacqui seeks a cruel, strict Dom to bring more control to her life. Who here will be that man? Let's start the bidding for a week with Jacqui at $5,000. Do I hear $5,000?"

Out of the periphery of my eye, I saw Ryan raise a paddle. Not an auction paddle, but an actual working paddle with holes drilled to maximize pain and minimize air resistance.

I bit back a whimper unsuccessfully. Several Doms near the stage chuckled, and even Ryan's eyes glinted with cold promise.

Claire's own smile was malicious. Whatever made her smile did not bode well for me. "One of our hosts, Master Ryan, bids $5,000. Does anyone wish to top him? Do I hear $6,000?"

One of the men nearest the stage raised a flogger, and I winced. "Master Peter bids $6,000. Do I hear seven?" Claire's voice sang with satisfaction.

A tall, ebony-skinned man nearly at the back of the ballroom motioned with a rattan cane. "Master Russell," Claire cooed. "Welcome. Will anyone bid $9,000 and surpass Master Russell's bid?"

Ryan's paddle rose again with flattering speed. I could almost feel the welts those quarter-sized holes would leave. "Nine thousand from Master Ryan," Claire crooned into the microphone. "Will anyone make it an even ten grand?"

There was a collective pause as everyone looked from Ryan, to me, and back again.

"Going once."

"Going twice."

Suddenly, in the very back of the room, a black leather riding crop raised imperiously-there truly was no other word for it. My eyes slid to Claire in time to witness her expression sour. "A ten thousand dollar bid from Master Scott, our other host. Who will bid $11,000?"

Claire looked into the crowd, silently willing for someone to bid. For some reason, she did not want Master Scott to purchase me.

"Going once."

"Going twice."

Everyone heard the reluctance in Claire's eyes. "Sold to Master Scott for one week of submission for $10,000."

There was a smattering of shocked, polite applause, and a man in uniform approached the stage, then climbed upon it, carrying a tray.

On the tray was an inch-wide black leather collar with a gleaming chrome D-ring, a leash of the same black leather (but half the width), and a scrap of black silk. "Your accessories for the evening, miss," the minion intoned. "Compliments of Master Scott."

Claire helped, placing the collar around my neck and securing it tightly-almost too tightly. She then clipped the leash to the collar. After tying the blindfold behind my hair, she hissed in my ear, "He was supposed to be mine again, you stupid cunt."

Then, she simpered. "Oh, Master Scott, your new submissive is all ready for you. I hope she doesn't flake as all the rest of us have."

My new temporary Master said nothing but yanked my leash. The unspoken command was clear. I slid to a kneel, then dropped to all fours. As he prodded me forward and I crawled, I heard someone shout, "Hey, Scott! At least she seems to be a well-trained bitch!"

The atmosphere in the room seemed to chill by several degrees. Master Scott's hold on me tightened, but he had stopped moving forward. A few moments of silence seemed nearly deafening, then that same voice, albeit more subdued, continued, "Apologies, Master Scott, slave Jacqui."

Around the room, conversation returned to normal. Although Master Scott did not say a word, his hold on the leash loosened as he led me from the ballroom.

Outside, the concrete chafed my palms and knees, and Master Scott, hearing my whimpers, chuckled sadistically. The chuckle seemed familiar somehow.

Master Scott attempted to deposit me into a car, and I balked. An instantaneous thwack of the crop reminded me of my place, and the incipient warmth that radiated from there to my pussy precipitated a flooding of arousal. A low growl indicated that Master Scott had noted the reaction.

Another attempt to place me in the car met with success. A second man-the driver-spoke, his voice warmed with humor. "Ah, she shows promise, Sir. Do you think she will last longer than the others?" No answer. "Don't you worry, Sir, I will get her to the warehouse safely."

Warehouse? What warehouse? Car doors opened and closed and closed and opened, and then the car began to move smoothly away.

The driver appeared to be in a chatty mood. "What is your name?"

"Jacquelynne," I responded, "but I guess after tonight, my slave name has become Jacqui."

"Jacquelynne," he repeated consideringly. "Are you sure you don't know the Master? Your name sounds familiar."

I shook my head. "No. I've never met him before tonight. Still haven't, technically. To which warehouse are you taking me?"

"Your Master Scott set up a dungeon in a warehouse downtown. He furnished it six, seven years ago. Right after he became involved in the lifestyle. Hired me back then, too. 'Keeps me around, even though he hasn't had a slave in nearly a year. I am only around him when he's a Dominant. 'Keeps his two lives separate."

"I'm nervous, Mr.," but I realized he had never told me his name.

"Jeeves, miss. Call me Jeeves. I would say you have no reason to be, but that wouldn't be true. From what I've put together, the Master is very demanding, very exacting. Cruel and often callous with his subs. Very demeaning. Of course, he also has the capability of much kindness and generosity, but none have seen that. They can't get past the humiliating brutality he dishes out."

Jeeves sighed. "You have to understand. I served his parents before him, was their driver and caretaker of his father's dungeon. On his eighteenth birthday, his father took him to the local BDSM club, and the Master took to it with no regrets, save one. Y'see, he was in love with a little vanilla girl, and he didn't want to destroy her innocence by introducing her to his other life.

"So, don't feel bad when you don't meet his expectations and he tosses you aside. I think he does it on purpose because none of the subs he has had have been her."

He paused, mostly to take a breath. Since he had been so patient with me, I wanted to reassure him. "I'm not looking for my soulmate. I am trying to forget someone who doesn't want me, who is disgusted by what he knows about my needs and desires. And I'm tough. Much of what I've heard about Master Scott makes it sound as if he would be just what I need. Maybe we can help each other. If not, no harm, no foul."

"That's...that's," I could tell I had impressed him. "That's very stoic."

I nearly sputtered with laughter. But my laughter drained away; the car slowed and then stopped. "Whelp, miss Jacqui, I am to deliver you to Master."

A bit lightheaded, I nodded. This was it. A perfect opportunity to get over Pres. I crawled out of the car gingerly. The concrete here was rougher.

I bit back a moan as I scraped my knee in my haste. After entering the warehouse, Jeeves directed me to kneel and await Master.

His presence throbbed, thick and oppressive in the huge room, and the continued silence unnerved me. Was this how he planned to break me?

"Are you there?" I croaked.

That same insidious chuckle was my only response. My head jerked around because I heard the chuckle behind me.

A warning tap of the crop on my nipple, and I yelped. Taking the hint, I turned around to face forward.