Truly Helpless Read online

  The Dommes murmured their appreciation, and he was surprised to see some assessing looks of his person as they anticipated what might be offered. Most of them had had nothing but contempt for him for months. But many of these women were also Regina's friends or confidantes, so maybe she'd been letting them know how things were going.

  As Chloe rolled out the first trolley of tea and hors d'oeuvres, he began to serve. He'd been a waiter before, not just at Tyler and Marguerite's Carnival, but at a couple different area restaurants, before he got into the fighting. He wasn't bad at it; had particularly liked waiting on the female customers. Big shock there. They'd appreciated him as well, though not for the same reasons that Regina or any of the ladies here would have. At least not consciously.

  Today, no one offered him up any warm fuzzies, nor had he expected them to do so. Reparations didn't mean instant forgiveness. But they were cordial and spoke among themselves as he'd expect, Mistresses accepting a sub's service to them and reinforcing the role by seemingly ignoring him as long as he performed as he should. All while they tracked his every movement, that stirring duality. No one watched him more closely than his own Mistress, which stirred him up the most of all.

  Mistress Tia asked for iced instead of hot tea. He lifted the pitcher and poured some into her glass, with a rattle of ice and smooth fountain sound. "Lemon?" he asked.

  She picked up the tea, sipped it. Then her gaze lifted to his. He was a fighter. He could read the tells of an attack, a punch about to be thrown. Therefore he steeled himself as, in the next breath, she dashed the contents of the glass directly into his face with a shock of cold water and ice.

  Gasps, a scraping back of chairs. Her table fortunately had three occupants, rather than five, and he'd stood before the two empty chairs, so the other Dommes had been mostly out of range of the fallout. The only one affected was him, her, the floor, and the section of the table nearest them. He understood and accepted why she'd done it--no matter the sick frog jump in his gut--but he thought it had been a rude thing to do in Marguerite's place.

  That wasn't his call. As the tea dripped down his face, he pulled the towel off the cart and dropped to one knee before her, keeping his eyes down. "I apologize the tea wasn't to your liking, Mistress. You got some of it on your arm. May I dry that for you before it gets on your clothes?"

  The stillness in the room had weight.

  His unexpected reaction didn't seem to defuse her emotions, however. When his gaze flicked briefly to her face, he saw the cold anger.

  "You aren't touching me. You're a useless mongrel who should have been put down."

  Chloe approached with more towels, but at Tia's words, she came to a halt, her expression tightlipped. He saw her shoot a glance over her shoulder, and he expected she was looking to Marguerite for direction. Later, he would realize the expression on Chloe's face was akin to "Tell me I can put this bitch in her place," a championing he hadn't expected.

  Now, though, he offered his hand towel to Chloe and took the ones for the floor from her. "So Mistress Tia doesn't have to suffer the offense of my touch," he said quietly.

  Chloe passed the towel to the Mistress, but when she started to kneel to help with clean up, he made a sharp, quelling sound, and shook his head, reaching up from his half kneeling position to clasp her arm briefly, a way to keep her on her feet. "If you and Melissa would start pouring the tea so the ladies aren't waiting on me, I'll clean the floor."

  He felt like every eye was upon him as he started mopping up the liquid. He wondered what his Mistress was thinking. His gut was cold, a lot of things buzzing in his head trying to drag him down into darkness. A mongrel who should be put down. Had Tia deliberately chosen an animal reference, or was it just fate that took him back to that part of his life? No, he wasn't going there right now. He couldn't. Yet he couldn't erase the overlapping of voices in his head, telling him he was nothing and she'd treated him just as he'd deserved.

  Maybe he should take his self-flagellation as an improvement. Before, the darkness would have surged forward, compelling him to use anger and cruelty to hide his feelings. He was embarrassed she'd done this in front of his Mistress. He could tell himself that Regina saw all of him, dark and light, but in a moment like this, it didn't feel that way. He felt ugly before her, and since she was the only one in the room whose approval counted, it weighed him down, hurt his heart. He didn't want to put on a mask, but he wasn't sure how he was going to get up off the floor and do this without putting on a face not his own.

  "That's more than enough." He saw her feet clad in the sexy strappy heels stop at his side, and inhaled her scent with a flood of relief. He was ashamed at how welcome her presence was, her touch, when her gloved fingertips grazed his back and bare shoulders.

  He wanted to tell her not to interfere with this, that he'd prove he could handle anything they threw at him. He'd show her how much he'd changed, that he could do this. The slight tightening of her fingers on the back of his neck told him to be still. He didn't always obey her, but this time the pressure convinced him to stay silent, kneeling. When she'd touched him, he'd automatically assumed a submissive posture, hands flat on the tile, head bowed.

  "He wants to show me he's changing, becoming a better person," Regina said. "I told him once that the most important thing to me was that he was trying to be the best person he could be with me. That's what this is about, even more than making amends to all of you."

  He swallowed. It sounded kind of bad, put that way, but hearing it said straight out, he knew she was right.

  "Because I think most of you understand the significance of that," she continued, "you know I don't bring it up as an ego stroke to me or a cut against any of you fine ladies. It's progress in the evolution of a human being, which I believe deserves a certain level of respect."

  "I had--" Tia started to object.

  "Shut up." Regina spoke in such a chilling voice that Marius himself froze under her hand. "You want to keep your nose in its current shape, I'll have my say, and then you will leave."

  Tia wasn't all that physically imposing, and next to Regina, that difference would be enhanced. Especially with his Mistress emanating a low-level fury that did odd things to Marius's gut.

  "I was not in time to stop Siren from what she did to him," she said, her tone sharp as a razor blade. "As Dominants, we are not immune to being fucked over and fucked up. But we appoint ourselves to a position of control, where we trust our instincts and our nature to dive deep into the mind of a submissive, figure out his twists and turns. There are risks to that, on both sides. But we're all big girls, aren't we? We wouldn't be Dommes if we didn't accept the consequences of taking that control.

  "One of the gifts that comes with that risk is a sub like this." She stroked his hair, and he couldn't resist the desire to lean into her touch, shoulder pressed to her thigh as his head remained bowed. "We all know there are times a sub might need a light to guide him to the true expression of his submission, to bring him peace and pleasure as we bring it to ourselves. Sometimes he's too fucked up, and he needs a therapist to break some things up first. But if he's a true sub, once he finds that help, a Domme can help him get the rest of the way there."

  She took a breath. "What he did to Siren and the women in this room was wrong, but he knows that. Which is why he's trying to make amends. You had the right not to come today. To refuse those amends. But you did not have the right to come here and attack him. So I want you to leave, Mistress Tia. Go contemplate what true repentance is. And look up the meaning of grace while you're at it."

  Tia's chair scraped back and she rose. A tense silence reigned as Marius saw the legs and feet of both women in a squared-off position. Then Tia's closed-toe black stilettos changed direction as she claimed her purse off the back of the chair.

  "I'll see you at the club, Mistress Tia," Regina said formally. "Thank you for coming."

  A bitten-off reply, and the woman was leaving, her heels clicking across the floor. Reg
ina waited a beat, then trailed her fingers over the juncture between Marius's bare shoulder and neck. "The ladies are waiting for you to serve them tea," she said in a neutral tone.

  "Yes, Mistress." He bit his lip, but couldn't not say it. "You didn't need to interfere with that. It was okay."

  She squatted, cupping his jaw to bring his face up to meet her gaze. He was right. She was angry enough to spit nails, but there was a tenderness in her eyes that made him swallow and want to look away for reasons that had nothing to do with protocol.

  "Who decides upon your proper care and discipline, Duncan?" Her gaze held his in a lock, and what he saw in it made his stomach do a flop.

  "You, Mistress."

  "That is correct. Tia disrespected me in a manner that was unacceptable to me, and to the other Dommes here. Not that I owe you an explanation. Do I?"

  "No, Mistress."

  She nodded. "I'll punish you later to help you remember that. For now, resume your duties."

  The other women had remained silent until Tia's departure, which left him uncertain of whether they had supported Tia's action or disapproved of Regina's. Until Marguerite spoke.

  "Ladies, you'll find we've provided four types of tea for your enjoyment. I encourage you to sample them all, but your server will explain to you what they are so you'll know what might best suit your preferences. He'll also explain how particular hors d'oeuvres will bring out their flavor. Marius?"

  She had coached him closely on the differences between the teas, how their origins and preparation impacted the taste; which ones could be enhanced by milk and sweeteners, or the foods, as she'd just said. His Mistress rose to her feet, tugging his hair, and he took a steadying breath. Right. Time to get back to it.

  But Lyda had something to say first. "Lady Regina," she said. "It appears your sub's trousers are soiled from his thorough clean-up of the floor. Might he discard them? And I particularly like being served by a barefoot slave."

  Marius lifted his head and saw his Mistress's eyes light with warmth at her friend's way of switching things to a better footing. A wave of sensual laughter ran through the room and expectant eyes turned to Regina.

  "An excellent point, Mistress Lyda. Marius, remove shoes, socks and trousers and put them here beside me."

  "Not everything?" Lisette queried, amused disappointment in her voice. The Domme in her well-tended sixties had her dyed blond hair drawn back in a smooth chignon that worked well with the snug skirt and blouse she'd worn. She'd given Marius particularly thorough workouts in the past.

  "Erect appendages knocking over tea cups or dipping into sugar bowls don't meet health code requirements," Marguerite said demurely. The comment set off peals of laughter, which broke into resumed conversations and restored the earlier mood.

  He rose, removed the trousers, socks and shoes, and brought them to his Mistress, crossing the ground in his dark, snug brief shorts only. The cock harness beneath it didn't do a great job minimizing his reaction to his Mistress's command, which only added fuel to the mirth over Marguerite's comment. A wolf whistle came from one of the tables. He was a bit mortified to find himself blushing, something he never did, but it seemed to give all of them pleasure.

  His Mistress closed one hand over his on the clothes, and reached up to hook her fingers in his collar, which she'd of course required him to wear today. She increased her grip on his throat, a move that shot straight to his cock.

  "Sweet boy," she murmured, and he had all he needed to proceed. Her approval.

  Over the next two hours, he worked hard to meet their needs. They were demanding, keeping him busy. But unlike Tia, there was no pettiness or hostility. It humbled him, the respect they were showing his Mistress, and the kindness they were offering him.

  Forgiveness. It was a balm over the raw place Tia had opened, and they were all administering it, with every even-handed command and some sparse but sincere praise when he performed to their expectations. It made him work all the harder for them. When they at last adjourned to take the party to the club, he was worried, but even more determined to do whatever Regina would require of him, to show her and these Mistresses who he truly was, what kind of sub he could be for Regina.

  He'd worked quickly to handle clean up, which went faster than he expected because he found out Marguerite had excused him from dish duty. With a wink and quick grin, Chloe had shooed him off, explaining that the Mistress of Tea Leaves hadn't gone easy on him by letting him out of the task.

  "Washing her delicate tea sets requires special training. It's a huge badge of honor, to be trusted with it. She still does certain ones herself."

  So he took himself off to The Zone. The Mistresses, including his own, had gone on ahead, carpooling to keep a festive atmosphere. Once there, though, he was more relieved than expected to find Regina waiting for him in the foyer. Maybe she'd known he would feel somewhat uptight about crossing the threshold for the first time since Siren had trapped him in the cage. He could do it; it was just nice to see her there.

  She pressed herself to him for a warm kiss, reassuring him and restoking his confidence with one gesture. "Follow me," she said, and turned to lead the way.

  She brought him to the main playroom. "Strip," she commanded, and pointed to a bench with adjustable side pieces. "Then lay down on that, face up."

  The bench had adjustable side pieces. She strapped his calves to those pieces and raised them, tying him down so he looked like he was sitting in a chair, only he was on his back and his knees were bent and thighs spread so his cock, balls and ass were vulnerable and exposed.

  She even strapped down his head to keep it motionless at the end of the bench. The bench had separate pieces, so she could tip his head and neck down. A much better angle to provide oral pleasuring, which gave him an idea of what she had in mind.

  During that process, some of the panic he'd felt when he realized Siren had him trapped returned, but his Mistress picked up on it, stroking him and making eye contact often, reminding him this was not that. In case he wasn't completely aware of it, when she was done binding him, she bent to speak softly in his ear.

  "There's nothing you can do to disappoint me, Marius. Safe word if you need it. You will only fail me if you don't care for yourself the way I require you to do."

  Yeah, everything began and ended with her. And maybe, at a deeper level, with himself. The counselor had implied the same a few times and he'd shied away from it. He shied away from it now, but that didn't mean her insistence that he keep himself safe didn't help steady him.

  "Ladies?" Regina drew their attention without much effort, since they'd been milling around, sipping their wine and watching her restrain her naked sub with frank gazes of appreciation. "I see some of you have asked your subs to join you here, as we indicated would be welcome. While you well may be occupying yourself with them during our lovely couple hours of private time here at The Zone, may I please extend the use of my sub's extremely capable mouth to you as an added perk?"

  With a series of sultry movements, she loosened the hold of the elbow-length black glove on her right hand and skimmed it off her elegant limb. Sliding her now bare palm along Marius's side, she reached his face, traced his lips. As he parted them, she dipped her fingers inside and he automatically sucked on those slim digits, teasing them with his tongue. It scrambled his brains and made him care less that some of the subs gathered around were smug-looking males.

  "You're welcome to straddle his face and let him give you pleasure. While he does that, you may also play with his body as you wish, with the exception of penetration. And no male/male play." She tossed the audience a feline smile. "As hot as I'm sure we'd all find it to watch, it's one of my sub's hard limits."

  She bent and kissed his mouth. It took him by surprise, but he caught up fast, tasting and tangling with her wet heat as much as she'd let him before she drew back a few inches and studied him. The black bra and hold of the red satin dress gave him a sweet view of her generous breasts, but her
dark, rich eyes were what mesmerized him. "Make me proud, sweet boy," she said quietly. "Every time a Mistress puts her cunt to your mouth tonight, I will fuck you afterward with a nice, oversized strap-on. When I get tired, as I'm sure I will, because all these Mistresses look like they plan on using your mouth, I have a fucking machine standing by to take up the slack for me. But I'll never be farther than a yard from you all night long. Understand?"

  "Yes. Fuck." He stared up at her. How had she known that was the part that had worried him the most? He wanted something else, too, and was concerned it made him seem weak to ask, but he did it anyway. "Could...when the other Mistresses are using me, could you be touching me some way? So I can feel you?"

  For all that asking made him feel like a total coward, her reaction flipped that over and made him feel like a hero. Framing his face with both hands, she put her lips on his, this time a slow, lingering kiss that spun out and snared him in a web of her making. One he embraced. His cock and heart jumped as she gripped his collar, holding it tight.

  "Yes."

  Slapping his stiff and cruelly harnessed cock, pinching him, using impact play toys on him... Whatever kink pleased each Mistress was explored, though all under Regina's watchful eye.

  The night Siren had set him up, he'd come to the club so full of himself, so certain about handling his own shit without actually handling it. Now that he was, he realized the two feelings were all the difference between what was on the surface of the earth and what lay beneath it. It was a tough road, but he had a couple good reasons to walk it.

  The first reason was the one that jumped to his mind first, last and always--his Mistress. She knew how to torture him on every level, break him open so it was a true punishment, his suffering evident to all of them. A few weeks ago, she'd compelled him to tell her what position made him feel the most vulnerable and foolish. This was it, making him feel like a damn baby in a crib, getting his diaper changed. So of course that was the position she chose to fuck him and allow others to watch or enjoy his discomfort...or his tongue and lips.