Masters at Arms

Section Three

Prequel to Marc’s Story, Nobody’s Angel

October 2003, Aspen, Colorado

“Not tonight, damn it.” The knock at his door was not welcome. Marc D’Alesso had had an exhausting day trying to juggle what seemed like dozens of crises at the resort and just wanted to be left alone.

He drained his glass of Pinot Bianco and leaned over to set his wineglass on the oak coffee table. Standing, he walked over to the stereo to turn down Bocelli’s Por Amor. The living room of his Aspen apartment was done entirely in earth tones that reminded him of his childhood home in Lombardy, and usually provided some calm for him after the stresses of trying to run the family business.

So not working tonight.

With reluctance, he crossed the living room to open the front door. On the welcome mat knelt a voluptuous Italian woman he recognized immediately, even though her head was bowed.

Ah, shit. Not again.

“I’ve been very bad, Master Marco.”

Melissa raised her head to look at him and smiled. She wore a very low-cut blouse, her breasts spilling from the gaping vee. Two years ago, he’d have dragged her inside, stripped her, and had her ass reddened within ten minutes.

That was before he’d found her in bed with his brother, Gino.

“Look Melissa, I’m tired, I don’t appreciate your topping from the bottom, and I thought we were finished playing these games.”

She sat back on her heels, straightening her back. A look of sheer desperation crossed her face before she controlled it and reached up to place her hands on the sides of his hips. He didn’t help her stand, but perhaps if he had, she wouldn’t have been able to rub her breasts across his crotch and chest as she pulled herself to her feet.

Melissa teetered and grabbed his arms for support. Had she been drinking? Not nearly as much as he’d have to drink to want to have anything more to do with her again.

The woman who had nearly become his fiancée wrapped her arms behind his neck and pulled his face toward hers. “Please, Marco. I need you. No one can satisfy me the way you can.”

He doubted she’d waited around celibately over the last eighteen months for him to satisfy her again. What the hell did she want? He reached up to separate her interlocked hands and took a step away from her. Big mistake. She stepped into the apartment to follow him.

“Melissa, we’re through. We were through six months before what happened after Gino’s funeral. That was just a big mistake.”

Tears filled her brown eyes. She’d always been able to cry at a moment’s notice. Her well-manicured hand splayed across his chest. “Marco, we need each other. Gino would have wanted us to be together to comfort each other.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Gino didn’t share. What was his, was his. And he’d made it abundantly clear that she was his before he left for Afghanistan. Of course, after their betrayal, Marc had wanted nothing to do with either of them.

She closed her eyes, then gazed up at him again and took a new tack. “Gino never satisfied me the way you could. He didn’t understand my need to be controlled.”

As if Marc had ever been in control in their relationship. She’d pursued him in college and they’d dated exclusively the year before he graduated. Then he brought her home to the resort to meet his family in preparation of popping the question. At least he’d been divested of that notion before it was too late.

Melissa had played Marc for a fool. He’d vowed that no woman would have that kind of control over him ever again.

“Look, I’m going to drive you home. You’ve obviously been drinking. Someone can bring you back over tomorrow to get your car.”

He turned to walk into the kitchen to retrieve his Porsche keys. Melissa pressed her body against his back, pushing him against the dark-gray granite countertop. Her hand snaked out to grab his cock through his pants. She couldn’t suppress a moan, apparently disappointed to find she hadn’t given him an erection despite her blatant attempts.

“Marco, please. It’s always been so good between us.” She stroked him and he felt his long-neglected cock responding.

He spun around and grabbed her shoulders, wanting to push her away. Her pupils dilated. Damn her. If she wanted to be controlled, he could accommodate her.

He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and guided her back into the living room. She stumbled on the stilettos and he steadied her. Maybe it wasn’t that she was drunk, just that she couldn’t walk on those damned five-inch heels.

When they reached the tan-colored leather sofa, he pushed her hips against the armrest and eased her torso over until her head was on the seat cushion and her ass high in the air. She turned her head and looked back at him, smiling.

“Hard, Sir. Give it to me hard.”

Marc knew he’d hate himself later for letting her top him like this, but right now, he needed to blow off some steam. His life was so damned f*cked up. He hated his job, but knew he couldn’t leave it. He owed the family that much. But being cooped up behind a desk all day was killing him. He hadn’t been out on the slopes since Gino enlisted.

Managing the resort was killing him by degrees.

He went to the bedroom to grab his toy bag and returned to Melissa, who waited patiently for him to begin. God help him, if she didn’t look good to him, draped over the armrest, waiting to be spanked. Well, he wasn’t in the mood for an over-the-knee spanking tonight. Too intimate. He reached into the bag and pulled out his riding crop.

When she saw it, he saw her butt cheeks clench. Her mouth fell open as she sucked air into her lungs.

“What’s your safe word, Melissa?”

“Cherry, Master Marco.”

“Use it if you need it.”

Whack.

The flat leather tip came down on her right cheek and she gasped. He watched as the red mark appeared on her olive-colored skin.

Whack.

Again on the left cheek. Normally, he would have rubbed her ass cheeks before beginning a spanking. He would have planned the scene and gotten his head in the zone, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess tonight. Not that Melissa would notice or care.

He delivered four more whacks in quick succession, alternating cheeks.

“Oh, God, yes!” She moaned.

Damn her for liking it, too. “Quiet!” The next blows fell to her upper thighs. One leg kicked out at him, nearly hitting him in the groin.

“Keep your legs down!”

She put her feet back on the floor. “Sorry, Sir.”

The next eight blows reddened her ass nicely. Dio, he didn’t like taking his pleasure when angry, but his cock throbbed at the sight. He needed to find release. He’d given her plenty of warning, if she wasn’t looking for sex tonight, but Melissa had never run cold on him before and he didn’t think she would this time. He reached into the bag and pulled out a condom package. Placing the riding crop on top of his bag, he tore open the foil packet.

“Yes, Master. Give me that big cock.”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak.” He ground the words out between his teeth as he sheathed himself. He most definitely didn’t give her permission to speak in porn-flick script lines either. Standing behind her, he reached down to stroke his fingers between her folds. Wet. He spread the moisture to encircle her *, which protruded from its hood. Her ass bucked and tilted toward him. “Mmm.” He rammed two fingers inside her and she moaned, but didn’t speak.

Unable to wait any longer, he positioned himself behind her, held her ample hips with his hands, and thrust himself inside.

“Oh my God, Master!”

Ignoring her, he battered against her, his balls slapping against her p-ssy. He nearly pulled out of her, then pushed her legs open wider and slammed into her again.

“Sweet, Jesus! I need to come so badly, Marco!”

“Silence! You do not have permission to come yet.” He continued to pound her p-ssy, then reached down and took her * between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed hard. She bucked against him. “Oh, God! Oh, God! Please, Marco!”

“How do you address me?”

“Master Marco, please. I can’t wait any longer!”

“But you will.”

“Ohhh! Oh, yes!” As little as she could move with him confining her, she still managed to tilt her hips toward him, allowing him deeper access. “F*ck me, Master! F*ck me harder!”

He thrust until he felt his own explosion nearing. He purposely pictured her in bed with Gino to delay his own orgasm. “Come, now!” As she went over the top, he felt her vagina clenching his cock. He needed to hold out a little longer. He wasn’t finished with her yet.

“Oh, God! Ohhh, Marco, yesssss! Don’t stop!”

He leaned over her, continuing to stroke her * even after her spasms had ended. She tried to move her pelvis to evade his fingers on her oversensitive *.

“Come again.”

“No, Marco. I can’t.”

“Twice you have addressed me as Marco without using my proper title. You owe me two more orgasms.” They’d negotiated orgasm torture before, but broke up before they’d tried it. “I. Said. Come. Again.” He ground the words out against her ear. With her body restrained under his, he stroked her * harder, faster. She couldn’t escape the pressure he applied. She was trapped.

Just as he was.

Trapped.

“Oh, my God! I’m coming! Oh, shit!” She bucked wildly against him, clenching his cock as another orgasm wracked her body, this one seeming to be more intense than the last. He’d been taught never to promise a sub something and not deliver, but delaying his own orgasm was hell.

He let her breathing slow a bit, then touched her * again.

“Oh, God, don’t! Please, Mar…Master. Enough!”

His fingers stilled. “Do you wish to say your safe word?”

She paused, gasping for breath, then shook her head. He pulled her hair away from her face so he could judge whether she could take another one. He began stroking her * again. Her cheeks were wet from tears, but her mouth panted as she let the sensations build again. Her mewling sounds told him she wasn’t in pain. Not that pain was necessarily a bad thing in Melissa’s book of needs.

He stroked her harder. Her screams became incoherent as she bucked against him.

“Open your eyes.”

She did as he ordered. He pinched her * again, then stood up and rammed her with his cock.

“Oh, shit! Oh, Master, please! No more!”

Again and again, he thrust himself inside her, demanding more than he ever had before. He took perverse pleasure in making something so desired feel like a punishment. Not unlike his feeling of being trapped at this resort, staring at the mountains every day and knowing he couldn’t walk away from that god-damned desk and enjoy them as he had before Gino had joined the Marines.

He reached down and stroked her * again as he neared his own climax.

“Oh, ohhh, ohhhhhh, yes! Yes, please! Don’t stop!” Her body convulsed beneath him as she experience her third orgasm in just a few minutes.

Marc found himself breathing hard, as well. He pumped harder, faster. The release he felt as his semen spurted from him caused his legs to go weak. But he continued to pound her p-ssy until the last spasm of his cock and her vagina ceased. He pulled out immediately and staggered on weakened legs to the bathroom where he disposed of the condom, washed himself off, then got a clean washcloth and wet it with warm water for her.

He looked into the mirror over the vanity. The disgust he saw written on his face brought him to a standstill. Surprisingly, he wasn’t disgusted with Melissa, but with himself.

What the f*ck was he doing?

He needed to get away—from Melissa, from the resort, from his family.

Far enough away to find himself.

Before this place totally consumed his soul.

* * *

Christmas Day 2003, Aspen, Colorado

“You’ve what?” Mama turned red. All conversation at the dinner table came to an abrupt halt, quite a feat at a large Italian family gathering. Marc felt the scrutiny of every set of eyes at the table, but most especially Mama’s. And Melissa’s.

“I’ve joined the Navy.” Marc repeated.

“How could you do such a thing?” Mama’s voice rose an octave. “Hasn’t this family given enough already?”

Marc met his mother’s gaze. “Exactly why I need to do this.”

In part, at least. If Marc could play some part in the victory over Al Qaeda and the Taliban, Gino would not have died in vain. He’d even passed the test to train as a hospital corpsman. Maybe he could help keep someone else from dying, so he or she could return home to loved ones.

He glanced over at Melissa, whose face was redder than Mama’s. If looks could kill, he’d need a corpsman of his own. Why had Mama invited her to the family dinner anyway? She and Gino had barely been engaged a week when he’d enlisted. Talk about a whirlwind romance.

Marc hadn’t seen her since that disastrous night at his apartment when he’d totally lost control. He’d talked to the Navy recruiter the next day.

See the world. Whether he was sent to Iraq, Afghanistan, or just another part of the States, it would be far enough away, he supposed.

Seeing Melissa again reminded him of the last face-to-face conversation he’d had with Gino before his brother left home, only to be killed in the mountains of Afghanistan five months later.

Since Gino’s death—Dio, two months short of two years now, he realized—Marc had buried himself in the running of the resort, losing interest in the frivolous pursuits he’d specialized in since high school.

Gino had been the favored son, the one Mama groomed all his life to take over the family business. Always the dutiful son, Gino had gone to Cornell’s Johnson School earning an MBA, just as Mama wanted. He’d returned to Aspen and put the degree to use turning the family’s ski lodge into a popular world-class, five-star resort offering all of the amenities.

Marc had opted to attend a nearby college and earn a degree in recreation and leisure studies, hoping to come back to the resort to pursue the things he loved, like skiing and camping. He’d lived the life of a carefree playboy—easy job, easy money, easy women. No one expected anything more from him.

Then Marc had invited Melissa to Aspen late in the summer following their college graduation to meet his family. He and Melissa had dated more steadily since his third year of college. Marc’s interest in BDSM had been developing for a few years and Melissa had been a willing participant, the first woman his age to have shown any interest in bondage and discipline.

When Marc had caught Gino in bed with Melissa early one September morning two years ago, the brothers had fought, physically, but also verbally. Gino had everything he could possibly want—and yet he found the need to steal Marc’s girl away. It wasn’t until much later Marc realized Melissa had set Gino up. But Gino hadn’t had time to pursue women and fell head over heels for Melissa, proposing to her that day, whether because he loved her or wanted to rub Marc’s face in their relationship, Marc wasn’t sure.

Neither of them had seen Melissa for who she really was at that point. Gino probably never did. When the Nine-Eleven attacks happened a week later, Gino surprised everyone by enlisting. He loved his brother, even if they were embattled in a constant rivalry.

Since he’d heard Gino had been killed in action, guilt plagued Marc over the things he’d said to his big brother that day. Had Gino enlisted for patriotic reasons for their adopted homeland—or because Marc had driven him away with his anger and animosity?

He’d loved his brother, even if they had spent most of their lives embattled in an ugly sibling rivalry. Had Marc driven his brother to his death?

Even though that thought had consumed him every day since February 2002, it still had the power to cause his meal to churn in his gut. He laid his fork down.

Mama’s voice brought him back to the present. “You have responsibilities here. Who will operate the lodge?”

Anyone the hell but me.

Lord knew, he’d tried. But he and his mother had clashed over every major decision he’d tried to make. Besides, Marc had always been more interested in developing backcountry ski and hiking weekend packages he could lead groups on, not overseeing the day-to-day operations and making sure the payroll and taxes were paid on time.

“I’ve been showing Alessandro and Carmela how to take over for a couple months now. They’re ready for the day-to-day management.” His brother and sister took a sudden interest in the lasagna remaining on their plates, afraid of revealing their duplicity in the plan Marc had put into action two months ago when he’d enlisted.

“Unacceptable!” Her Lombardy accent became more pronounced when she perceived a loss of control. She’d grown up in the war-ravaged Apennine Mountains, where Marc and his siblings had been born, as well. The family ran a ski lodge there, but moved to Aspen when Mama had discovered the name of her father, an American soldier in World War II. Marc’s grandfather had helped the family get established in this country and all of the D’Alessios were American citizens now.

“Your place is here. You will just un-join.” She acted as though her decreeing such would make it so.

“Not an option, Mama. I fly to Chicago tomorrow to begin training at Great Lakes.”

Mama’s hand gripped her fork and he couldn’t help but think she wished it were protruding from his neck at the moment. Her eyes narrowed. “How can you do this to me, Marco?”

The tears welling in her eyes tugged at Marc’s heart, but he wouldn’t relent. “Mama, I’m not doing anything to you. I’m doing this for me.”

For my country. For Gino.

Papa, Sandro, and Carmela stared at him in disbelief and something akin to awe. He’d never stood up to Mama before. Melissa just looked as if something was slipping away from her grasp.

“Marco,” Melissa began, “how can you do this to your Mama?”

Well, that was new. Concern for his mother? Rich, Melissa. F*cking rich.

Mama’s face became redder with Melissa’s encouragement. “This family already made the ultimate sacrifice for America. We need not shed any more precious D’Alessio blood in this war.”

But the wrong D’Alessio brother’s blood was shed.

If anyone had been expendable in the family, it most certainly would have been Marc. Twenty-six years old and when had he ever done something selfless? Noble? Honorable?

Marc wiped the condensation off his wine glass with his thumb, watching a bead of water trickle down the stem. He’d never admitted to his brother how much he admired him, spending all those years being jealous of Gino’s status in the family. He’d never have that chance now.

Marc looked up at her, his gaze locking with Melissa’s. She hadn’t loved Gino the way he’d deserved. She sure as hell didn’t love Marc. Was she just some damned gold digger? He dismissed her, not caring what her motives were.

Then he turned to his mother. “I need to do this, Mama.” His voice sounded raspy even to his ears. Marc maintained his gaze with Mama. You aren’t going to win this one, Mama. When she looked down at her plate. Marc felt as if the world shifted on its axis. She’d surrendered.

“Well, at least you haven’t joined the Marines,” Mama whispered. “I don’t think I could bear that.”

Gino had served with the Marines. No problem. Marc was tired of trying to compete with his brother. He’d never fill his brother’s shoes as a war hero either, unless he got himself killed, which he didn’t intend to do. So he’d chosen the Navy instead.

“Just be careful, son,” Papa said. “Come home safe.”

“I will, Papa.” Marc placed his red cloth napkin on the table. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I need to relieve the manager at the front desk for the night shift.” Marc had decided he and Sandro would work some of the holiday shifts to give more employees a chance to spend time with their families.

“Sandro, when you’re finished eating, you’re on duty at the concierge desk tonight.”

“I’m finished.” His little brother quickly wiped his mouth, probably anxious to escape the tension in the room, as well. “Mama, may I be excused?”

Mama gave him a nod, but her gaze remained fixed on Marc. Without any acknowledgement of Melissa, Marc turned to leave. He felt Mama’s and Melissa’s gazes boring into his shoulder blades as he exited the dining room.

* * *

Nearly an hour later, Marc placed the phone in the receiver and sighed. He looked across the hotel lobby at the blazing fireplace surrounded by the festive decorations Carmela had orchestrated. Several couples laughed and flirted as they sipped cocktails and beer, gearing up for an evening of sex, no doubt.

Two years ago, he’d partied with the guests after a long day on the slopes giving ski lessons. Marc had never fit into a business suit. The guests had treated him like one of their own. He preferred to teach ski lessons during the winter months, lead extreme mountain-hiking excursions the other seasons, and provide his own specialized services after hours year-round. His gut tightened. He’d given up all three, the last when Gino died.

Right now, though, he had a guest asking for him specifically for some emergency in her cabin. Marc picked up the master-key card and put the “Back in a Moment” sign on the reception desk. He told the bartender at the wet bar in the lobby she’d need to cover the desk for a while.

Marc sauntered over to the Concierge desk. “Sandro, come with me. You’re going to have to deal with these matters after I leave tomorrow.”

At least Sandro showed a knack for the business end of things—and Carmela enjoyed being activities coordinator and working on publicity. They’d do fine. Of course, Mama would continue to pull the strings. She wasn’t one to relinquish control.

“You and Carmela have done a great job these past couple months,” Marc said as they walked out the service exit. “You’re going to do fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Marc squeezed his little brother at the nape of his neck. “Hell, yeah, Sandro.”

The wind whipped at their faces as they crossed the grounds to one of the more isolated cabins. He wondered what could be wrong. He’d always made sure the resort was maintained to perfection.

Marc knocked and spoke through the door, “Marc D’Alessio!” No answer. He knocked again and heard a woman’s voice inviting him to come in. He inserted the key into the lock, turned down the handle, and pushed the door open, motioning for Sandro to precede him.

A couple of steps into the cabin, Sandro came to a dead stop. “Damn!”

Damn was right. Why did he have to have a major freaking problem on his last night? Marc nudged his brother further into the cabin so he could begin to assess the situation.

Oh, shit. On the floor, beside the overstuffed loveseat, knelt a middle-aged woman with brassy red hair and fake boobs, clenching a purple-handled riding crop between her teeth—naked as the day she was born. She also had the nip-tucks to keep everything firmly in place, despite her age.

The woman looked confused as her gaze shifted from Marc to Sandro, then settled on Marc, probably because he was the taller of the two. Her hand reached up to take the crop out of her mouth and asked, “Which one of you is Master Marco?”

Shit. His reputation had preceded him.

Sandro looked at him and grinned. “Is there something you forgot to train me to take over for you, bro?”

Brat.

Marc recalled that week nine years ago when Master Marco had been born. Seventeen, restless, and horny as hell. Then a sexy, bored cougar he’d given ski lessons to took him under her wing at night for some private lessons of her own design. By the time the week had ended, he knew more about bondage and discipline than any under-aged kid ought to know. The euphoric feeling of control and power he’d achieved in Dom space had him hooked for life.

In the beginning, the diversion kept him from going stark-raving mad from boredom. Of course, he’d never taken money from the women. They were paying enough to stay at the lodge. He was just…an added amenity.

He’d also drawn the line at having intercourse with them. He had friends with benefits for that, although most of them weren’t interested in exploring their kinky sides. Until Melissa. So, Master Marco provided a select few in-the-know resort patrons with whatever level of bondage, discipline, and sado-masochistic kink they chose. He preferred bondage and discipline best, though.

When he met Melissa, he thought he’d found himself the perfect submissive. He’d grown tired of catering to bored, rich older women. Most were anything but submissive. Hell, they’d called all the shots. Having them top him from the bottom was about as sexy as stale wine.

But, shit, he had loved turning their asses crimson red with his firm hand or whatever implement from his toy bag they preferred.

But that was then.

Melissa had topped from the bottom, as well. What was he doing to attract such quasi-submissive women? Maybe he needed to take Dom lessons.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, but Master Marco doesn’t work here any longer.”

Marc politely extricated himself from the indelicate situation and advised Sandro to forget what he’d seen. Master Marco had now officially been eliminated from the amenities offered at the resort.

Someday he’d like to explore the lifestyle with a woman interested in true submission. As he walked back to the lobby, Marc wondered if he’d ever find such a woman—one he could train himself. One who didn’t have a plastic face and a pair of matching plastic boobs.

Focus, man.

First, he had a four-year enlistment in the Navy to fulfill. Maybe in that time he’d become a man he could live with.

* * *

Five months later, May 2004, Camp Pendleton, California

Marc fell back on the rack, too tired to remove his boots. Every muscle in his body ached—some he’d never become acquainted with before. What the hell had he gotten himself into? If he’d known becoming a Navy Hospital Corpsman might land him in the Marines, he’d never have signed the damned papers. Everyone knew that training with the Marine Corps was more intense than any other regular military branch. He could vouch personally that his Great Lakes boot-camp experience was the bunny slope compared to this.

He heard the rack next to him squeak and looked over to see Orlando. The man had just been through the same maneuvers and exercises and looked ready to go dancing. Shit. Marc had no idea how soft he’d gotten at that cushy desk job.

Orlando looked unhappy, as usual. Never saw someone with a more depressing outlook on life. Maybe he could engage the kid in some conversation. At least Marc’s jaw muscles were still in working order.

“So, what got you into the Marines?”

Orlando looked around as if perhaps Marc had been talking to someone else, then his gaze zeroed in on him. “Lost my job.”

“What did you do?”

“Bus boy.” He said it as if Marc would look down on him or something. Damn, the kid sure had a boulder of resentment on his shoulder.

“That’s hard work.”

“It was a living. While I had it, anyway.”

Clearly, this conversation was going nowhere fast. “So, where you from?”

“Just down the coast. Eden Gardens at Solana Beach.”

Again, he looked as if Marc would make some judgment call. He had no freaking clue what Eden Gardens was like, but it sure sounded nice. When he didn’t ask where Marc was from, he just decided to volunteer the info. “I’m from Aspen, Colorado, by way of the Lombardy region of Italy.”

“Mmm.” Orlando removed his boots and began polishing the suede on one of them.

Shit. What the hell could he do to get a response out of the guy? Marc turned onto his side with a groan and propped his head in the palm of his hand. “So, have you ever tied a woman to her bed?”

Orlando’s hand came to a stop and he looked up from his boot. Got his attention, at least.

“Once or twice.”

Yeah, right. He’d remember if it were once…or twice. But there was a look in his eye that Marc couldn’t quite decipher.

“I don’t get off on that shit.”

“Then you must not be doing it right. Nothing sweeter than the surrender of a submissive woman in restraints.”

“Not if she doesn’t want to be in them.”

“Well, no shit. I’m talking safe, sane, and consensual, good old-fashioned bondage and discipline between consenting adults.”

“I had a girlfriend once who was into pain, but I left her. I could never hurt a woman.”

“Even if she needed the pain to get off?”

Orlando got a faraway look in his eyes, his hands remaining still, holding the boot and brush. “There was this girl last fall who got herself into a really bad BDSM scene. F*cking pissed me off when I found her. She sure as hell wasn’t enjoying it.” Orlando shook his head. “No thanks.”

“Why didn’t she say her safe word?”

“I’m not sure she didn’t. She was with two guys she barely knew. Not very good at keeping herself safe, I guess.” He looked as if he were a million miles away again. Then slowly he began polishing the boot.

“Some people don’t take enough time to establish trust. Can’t have a power exchange if there isn’t a firm foundation in trust.”

When Orlando silently continued working at the grime on his boot, Marc eased back onto the rack. If he could move, he’d do the same with his boots. Tomorrow morning, he’d have to get up and go through this pain all over again. If he survived reconnaissance training, it would be a miracle.

Gino had gone through Recon Marine training, too. Marc had a new respect for him after a week with this Marine unit. Funny how Marc had tried so hard to avoid going into the Marines—then had wound up in the same damned unit Gino had served in.

Gino hadn’t said much about what he was doing. He’d been sent to Kandahar in the early days of the war to help establish the base there. If Marc made it through training, he wanted to talk with Master Sergeant Montague about the firefight that had taken Gino’s life. The details they’d been given were pretty sketchy.

But there weren’t a lot of opportunities for a corpsman to chat up the Top. Not that he’d ever dare to call the master sergeant a “Top” to his face without permission. Did the man like the common nickname or not?

After months of medical training, including A-School, Marc just hoped he’d be able to save the lives of the men and women in this unit when the time came. Dio, he didn’t want to screw up. They would count on him to be there when they needed him.

Oh, shit. What had ever possessed him to enlist? He’d never carried responsibility like this before in his entire f*cking life.

* * *





Two months later, July 2004, Camp Pendleton, California

Iraq. Marc knew it was coming, but knowing they’d be shipping out to a duty station in Fallujah in a week sure made him want to do a few things before he left. The no-porn, no-sex, no-alcohol rules were going to kill him. He needed to blow off some steam while he still could.

Orlando walked into the barracks and dropped Marc’s mail on the rack at Marc’s feet. Looked like he’d taken the fetish magazine Marc’s little brother, Sandro, had subscribed him to out of the wrapper for a peek.

Marc smiled. “Get into a Tee and khakis. We’re going out.”

“Where to?”

“Little place up the coast. You’re going to love it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I do. You need an education.”

“More training?”

“Something like that.”

Twenty minutes later, they were on the 5 in Marc’s vintage cherry-red Porsche 911 Carrera, top down, and heading for Los Angeles. He figured that would be far enough off base for them not to run into anyone who would report them up the chain of command. At least he knew they wouldn’t find by-the-book Master Sergeant Montague there. The man had to be about the grimmest, meanest hard-ass Marc had ever met.

He’d never found an opportunity to ask his top sergeant about Gino. He knew Montague was involved in the firefight that killed his brother, though. Montague had written a letter to Marc’s parents soon after telling them of his regret about Gino’s death.

Marc had read the short letter many times after his brother’s death, trying to glean some clue as to what had happened. But there weren’t many details there. Mostly he’d just shared how honorably Gino had served his unit. Probably just a form letter he sent to all families of the fallen. Maybe someday the two of them would talk about that fatal day in Afghanistan. But it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

As the sports car’s engine purred, his thumb stroked the underside of the steering wheel. He realized how much he was going to miss his baby. Sandro had agreed to fly out to San Diego later this week to drive her home—agreed a little too enthusiastically for Marc’s taste. He hoped he’d get back from Fallujah before the kid blew the engine.

“Nice ride!” Orlando shouted over the wind blowing around them.

“Thanks. What do you drive?”

“Harley.”

Shit! This kid has chick-magnet potential, after all.

“Had to sell it to make rent last year, though.”

“Crap. That had to suck.”

“Yeah. I’m currently a man without wheels—but I guess it won’t matter much after next week.”

Marc hoped there would be at least one woman with a military fetish at the club tonight. With their “Marines” emblazoned camo T-shirts and their high-and-tight haircuts, it was obvious. Marc wore his Navy uniform and insignia on formal occasions, but damn it, he’d earned the title of Marine, as well, during his Recon Marine training and was proud to proclaim it.

He also hoped they had Dom gear available. He’d left his toy bag in Aspen. Wouldn’t be surprised if Sandro was trying out his gear, too, the way he’d become so fascinated by the whole Master Marco fiasco. He shook his head.

“So, where we going again?”

“A little club I heard about.”

“What kind of club?”

“Fetish.”

“Man, I told you I’m not into inflicting pain on chicas.”

“No problem. I’ll take care of that part. We’re tag-teaming. You’ll be the master in charge of pleasure. You do know how to please a woman, don’t you, Orlando?” Marc grinned over at him.

The kid sat up straighter in the leather seat. “Well, hell, yeah.”

Marc’s smile widened. He’d known bringing Orlando’s machismo into question would rile him up. Being Italian, Marc knew all about machismo. He’d been weaned on it.

“This place is fairly strict—no penetration except oral, no alcohol other than beer and wine. I know the owner, though. A Navy vet. Jerry served in Vietnam. He’ll make sure we deploy with enough carnal memories to last us for eight months of lonely nights in Iraq. I called and he said he’d find us a fem-sub interested in a threesome.” Marc’s only hard limit over the phone was that she not be Italian.

“I’ve never…”

“Hell, Orlando, we’re headed to a f*cking war zone. What better time to try a threesome than now?”

Less than two hours later, they were seated in the social area of the club having beers with the petite redhead Jerry had sent over to get acquainted. Bianca seemed to have a thing for Orlando’s forearm. She kept tracing her sharp red fingernail along its length, then she’d bat her eyes at Orlando, who for some god-damned reason couldn’t quite make eye contact with her.

Come on, kid. She’s interested in you, for Christ’s sake.

She sighed and looked at Marc. “So, what kind of kink are you boys into?”

Marc brushed a burnished lock of hair back from her forehead to get a better look at her green eyes. “Whatever kind of kink you need, pet.”

Her pupils dilated. Marc smiled.

“Well, um, Jerry says I can trust you—or he’ll whup your asses.” She smiled sweetly to belie the threat. “So, how about leather flogger? St. Andrew’s cross? Cunni and fellatio?”

Marc’s cock throbbed. She had him at flogger, one of his favorites. Jerry knew and had probably planted the idea. F*cking patriotic of him.

“Mind if I warm up your backside on the loveseat first? The kid here needs to see how erotic spanking is done.”

Orlando glared at him, but didn’t speak up.

“Sure. Let me go change into something more…appropriate.” She smiled and flounced off toward the dressing rooms.

“We’ll be waiting!” Marc called after her.

“You don’t have to make me sound like a f*cking virgin.”

Marc turned to smile at Orlando. “Good, then don’t act like one. When we restrain her on the cross, I’ll let you have first crack at her. Her ass will be pretty sore by then. You can work on her tits and p-ssy.” Marc glanced down to see the bulge in the kid’s pants. Yeah, he was coming around.

Fifteen minutes later, as he polished off his beer, Marc looked toward the dressing-room entrance to see Bianca strutting toward them in a short, short plaid skirt and a schoolgirl’s white blouse. She held a wooden ruler between her breasts.

Holy shit!

Marc adjusted himself surreptitiously to keep from strangling his cock and stood up.

“You’re late, young lady. Mr. Jerry sent you to me for your punishment thirty minutes ago. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Her pupils dilated again as she caught her breath, and then she cast her eyes down to the floor. “I’m sorry, sir. I was with my friends and just lost track of time.”

Marc took the ruler from her and laid it on the table. He had raided Jerry’s private toy stash while Bianca was dressing and picked up one of the leopard-print cuffs lying beside the ruler. He handed it to Orlando, then picked up Bianca’s hand and extended it to the kid, whose hands shook as he wrapped the cuff around her wrist and tightened it.

“Is that too tight?” Orlando asked.

“No, Sir.”

The kid’s pants tented at the title. Marc grinned, then he turned her around and pulled her cuffed hand behind her back while he secured the right wrist and clipped the two together. She kept her head bowed, causing his cock to throb even more. He couldn’t wait to turn her over his knee. He picked up a borrowed necktie and blindfolded her.

Grabbing the ruler almost as an afterthought, he motioned for Orlando to take one arm and Marc took the other as they led her to a darkened corner, keeping her from running into any obstacles along the way. He pointed to the far end and Orlando sat down, then Marc lowered Bianca over the armrest at that end until her head rested in Orlando’s lap. He wouldn’t be able to smack her as hard with his left hand, but the ruler would sting enough.

Marc lifted her short skirt. Oh, yeah. No panties. Her round globes were white and begging for some color. “Tell me why you’ve been sent to the principal’s office, Bianca.”

“Because I was talking in class, Sir.”

Marc reached out and rubbed her ass cheeks vigorously to get the blood to the surface. Then he indicated for Orlando to do the same. The kid’s hand reached behind her to gently stroke her ass. Well, it was a start. At least he was touching her. He motioned Orlando’s hand away with the ruler.

Smack!

She gasped in the most sensual way. His cock strained against his khakis. Her left cheek soon displayed the mark of the ruler, holes and all. “Tell me what your mouth should be used for instead.”

“F*cking, Sir.”

“Good answer.” She visibly relaxed.

Smack! The right cheek soon bore a matching welt.

Marc nodded to Orlando indicating her head. The kid moved his hand up past her cuffed hands and traced a path up her arm to her hair.

“Tell me how you want to please us with your mouth, pet.”

“By sucking your cocks, Sirs.”

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

“Oh!” The pain and frustration were evident in her scream. The last blow landed across her upper thighs, causing her to squirm. Enough of the damned ruler. He needed to feel his hand against her ass, between her legs.

“Stand!” With his and Orlando’s help, she was lifted onto her feet again. The disappointment written on her face told him she thought her discipline had ended.

Not even close, pet.

Marc led her to stand in front of the dividing center cushion, facing her toward the social area where they’d negotiated the scene. He sat down, then reached up and took Bianca by the arm, pulling her off balance.

“Oh!”

“We have you,” Marc assured her. Yes, she definitely hadn’t expected more. Good. He liked to surprise subbies.

He wrapped his arm around her waist while motioning for Orlando to do the same in front of her thighs. Together they lowered her over both their laps, careful not to overstrain her arms. Bianca was positioned so that her abdomen was over Marc’s thighs and her ass lifted in the air, giving Orlando a perfect view. Her calves were across the kid’s lap and he reached out to stroke her legs with his right hand.

“How are you doing, pet?”

“Fine, Sir.” Her voice had gone up an octave to a high squeak.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Red, Sir.”

“Use it if you need to.” Not knowing how much pain she could take, it never hurt to remind her, before the spanking continued in earnest. Hoping to give Orlando and himself better access to her p-ssy—he reached down and put pressure against her right knee until she spread her legs for him with some hesitation.

Slap!

He brought his right hand down hard against her pink lower right cheek.

Slap!

Then the left.

Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!

Continuing to alternate cheeks, he delivered the blows in quick succession until he heard her gasp. “Ow! Oh, please, Sir.”

Marc stopped and rubbed the reddened cheeks, watching her flesh jiggle beneath his hand. His cock pressed against her abdomen. “Please what, pet?”

“Please…more, Sir.”

“Are you topping me?” He’d had enough of that shit in Aspen.

She stiffened. “No, Sir! I…forgot my place. Please, Sir, do whatever you wish to do to your pet.”

“Good girl.” He moved her right leg until it slid off their laps and her foot went to the floor, opening her p-ssy to them nicely. Orlando’s hand was making its way closer to the juncture between her thighs. Marc’s next blows went directly to that vulnerable area.

Slap!

Slap!

“Oh, God! I mean, thank you, Sir!”

He slid his finger between her folds. Wet. They had agreed that fingers wouldn’t break the club’s no-penetration limit so he moved down to slide two fingers inside her. Then he pulled out and his wet fingers pressed against the sides of her *. She moaned. When he touched the swollen nubbin standing erect from its hood, she bucked against his hand.

“Remain still!”

She groaned and he moved his left hand to her lower back to keep her still. Then he delivered his hardest blow yet, against her p-ssy.

Slap!

“Ow! I…um…thank you, Sir.”

Marc decided he shouldn’t be having all the fun. He moved his hand away and encouraged “Master Pleasure,” sitting like a lump on a log next to him, to take the reins and give Bianca her first orgasm of the evening. The young man surprised him by extricating himself from under her thighs and kneeling on the floor in front of the loveseat. Marc shifted her body to give Orlando better access.

His buddy lowered his face to her p-ssy and wrapped his arms around her thighs. Marc waited for him to make contact with her sensitive core; then at the same moment, pinched her swollen nipple.

“Oh, my f*cking God!”

Marc pinched her harder.

“Sir! I mean, oh God, Sirs!! Please don’t stop!”

He pinched her again. She was forgetting her place. Slap! Her topping annoyed him. “You will ask for permission to come.”

“Yes, Sir! I’m sorry, Sir!” Orlando’s tongue must be torturing the poor woman. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Mark grimaced. Her fevered gasps and writhing body sent his cock into conniptions. Shit, he wished he could bury himself to the hilt inside her p-ssy to get some relief.

“Oh, please, Sir, may I come?”

Marc heard Orlando sucking at her *, then he pulled away, releasing the swollen nubbin. The kid nodded before taking the tiny erection in his mouth again.

“Yes, you may, pet.”

Orlando’s head returned to her p-ssy, shaking back and forth in tiny movements as he tormented her *.

“Ohhh! Ohhhhhhhh, f*ck! Yes! Please…” She moaned, bucking her red ass into the air. Marc’s hand landed on her sweet globes. Slap! Slap! “Please, yes, there! Oh, God! Oh, God, Yessss! Yessssssss!” Her screams filled the room and Marc had no doubt she’d turned heads throughout the club. Slap! Slap! Slap! “Ahhhhhhh! Yessssssssss!”

Her body convulsed on his lap as she went over the top. Orlando’s head movements slowed, but he must have continued to lick her *, because she bucked a few more times against his face, milking every last drop out of her orgasm.

Shit, she would have made an interesting subbie to train. Getting rid of her tendency to top would have been a challenge he’d welcome. But he didn’t know when he’d be stateside again. Not fair to make her wait. Someday he’d find the woman who would complete his Dom side.

But, for now, he and Orlando had needs to be taken care of by one smart-mouthed subbie. Orlando leaned back with a p-ssy-eating grin on his face and a whole lot of her juices glistening against his lips, chin, and nose. Marc nodded and watched Orlando’s chest swell.

Well done, man.