BONDS Two: Claim

Her crew had spent days preparing the area, erecting St. Andrew’s crosses, screwing hooks into overhead beams for suspension work, carrying in spanking benches and massage tables. She’d had several stations constructed for rigging scenes and demonstrations.
One of her carpenters had been pressed into service to make a jungle-gym type apparatus with lots of rope. She’d christened it the Knotingham. Right now, no one was using it, but he imagined that would change soon.
The stark space reverberated from the excitement and the pounding music.
Even though it was still early, he guessed at least a hundred people were already in attendance, and more were still filtering through the curtain that separated the main area from the check-in desk.
He sensed, rather than heard, Alma’s approach, and he turned toward her.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“You look thoroughly devourable.”
“Devourable?” She raised her perfectly sculptured eyebrows. “Is that a word?”
“Where you’re concerned, it should be.”
She executed a slow pirouette. In business wear, she oozed sensuality, but in a red leather corset and skintight black leather pants tucked into knee-high platform boots, she could inspire grown men to crawl through cut glass.
The thing was, Alma was submissive in sexual play, though most would initially mistake her for a Domme.
“I appreciate the compliment,” she said with a grin, “and I’ll savor it for at least a week, but I was asking about the event.”
“I knew that.”
“Well then?”
“You’ve done a fabulous job. As always. Congratulations.”
“I managed to bring in a couple more Dungeon Monitors tonight,” she said.
“Whatever works.” She batted false eyelashes at him.
More than anything, he appreciated her honesty.
“So, I figured you could each take an hour off, maybe more, if you wanted to play.”
“We’ll see how it goes.”
“How are you doing?” Then, obviously to avoid small talk, she added, “Chantelle is a bitch.”
“That’s direct.”
“I didn’t want you trying to guess whether I’d heard or not.” She moved to stand at the rail next to him. “I’m sorry if she hurt you.”
“Thank you.” Though he’d made light of her public breakup, it had stung. He’d liked Chantelle, and they’d had some outrageous fun together. It was when she’d started hinting about wanting an engagement ring for her birthday that things had soured. He’d been honest with her from the start. And when he’d sent flowers rather than jewelry for her special day, she’d called the press conference.