A tiny dominatrix was putting on quite a show for the room. She couldn’t be more than five feet tall, with curly black hair down to her waist. She had the perfect face of a doll. It’s expression, however, was far from doll-like. She wore a savage look as she glared down at her feet. Her five inch stilettos looked razor sharp, and were currently digging into the prone back of a man easily twice her size. He was moaning pitiably. “You ask permission to speak, worm!” she was barking at him as we entered the room. She used her whip on him with every word she spoke. She didn’t even look up as we entered.

“Yes, Mistress Devour,” the poor, submissive man moaned. His back was bloody.

I glanced back in Lynn’s direction briefly. “That’s f**ked up,” I told her. She smirked at me.

I wasn’t ignorant about such things. I’d been hanging around Lynn long enough to see my fair share of it. But I didn’t like the look of this little spectacle.

I approached the kinky couple, kneeling down beside the bound man. He lifted his head the barest amount. His long, curly, auburn hair nearly covered his eyes. I brushed it away with one fingertip. His dark blue eyes met mine reluctantly. I was sure eye contact wasn’t something his vicious lover encouraged. I could tell with one look that he was truly submissive. “You ok?” I asked him directly. “You’re consenting to this?”

“Yes.” His hoarse voice was soft. Mistress Devour started whipping him in earnest. “I didn’t give you permission to speak!” she screeched. Her voice sounded petulant and childlike. I grabbed her whip easily with one hand, not taking my eyes off of her tortured lover.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Luke.”

“Well, Luke, my name is Jillian. Your friend here is a little overzealous. If she ever gets to be too much for you, let me know if you need a hand getting loose.” He could always overpower her physically, so that wasn’t really what I was worried about. But a bound sub with little to no boundaries in the hands of the wrong dominant could always use a friend. He nodded slightly, lowering his gaze.

Mistress Devour looked ready to throw an outright tantrum. I hesitated, not really wanting to hand her back her whip.

“He’ll speak when I say he can speak!” she spat, glaring at me. Oh great. I’d probably just brought out her possessive side. She stomped her razor heals repeatedly into his back. “You’re little blond can’t save you from me!” she was yelling at him. Had she really just called me little? I was easily a foot taller than the little termagant. I stifled a laugh. She continued, “If you speak to her again, I’ll wipe the floor with her ass, then beat you both. Is that what you want?”

A few laughs were stifled around the room at that boast. I didn’t bother stifling mine, laughing outright. Her murderous glance shot back to me. “You’re laughing? You won’t be laughing when I scratch up that pretty face!”

I laughed harder.

She flew at me, claws outstretched for a classic girl fight. I had both of her hands behind her back before she could touch me. She didn’t even know how to fight. I couldn’t stop laughing for a few minutes as she spat curses at me. I could hear both Christian and Lynn, giggling like children, as she went on and on.

Finally, I shook her slightly, saying, “Shut it,” in the most serious voice I could muster. “You really don’t want to try to attack me like that again. Ever. Next time, I won’t just restrain you. This is the only warning you’re ever going to get. Oh, and lay off of Luke when I’m near, or you’ll regret it.” I finally let her go. She was smarter than I’d guessed. She merely stormed out of the tent.

“Thank you, Mistress.” Luke’s voice was muffled, his face in the floor. I realized he was talking to me.

“No problem. Call me Jillian. You want to be untied or anything?”

“No, Mistress Jillian.”

I rolled my eyes. Christian and Lynn started laughing harder. I hadn’t seen Christian move, but he was lounging beside Lynn now. I noticed, for the first time since entering the tent, another familiar face lurking in the corner near Lynn. I nodded to Caleb. Even his usually stoic face was split in a grin. He nodded back.

We went way back with Caleb, far enough back that he must have started to seriously suspect what we were. At the moment, he was a nondescript man with a cleanly shaven head, unremarkable features, and an average, if hard, build. And the coldest, blankest brown eyes I had ever seen. It was his favorite form. His ‘blend in with the scenery’ form. But he could shed it in minutes and take on another. I didn’t know the limits to the forms he could take. It’s wasn’t the sort of information he would ever volunteer.

Caleb was a Mimic. The only one of his kind that I had ever met. He was the perfect killer. And, many times for us, the perfect backup. If shit was going down, we called Caleb, and he showed up to join the violence. He claimed that no one could find a good, solid battle like Lynn and I. He may have had a point, but it wasn’t something we were pleased about.

We always knew what we were getting when we called Caleb. He was a calm, emotionless, uncontrollable killer. We only called him when things got real bad. Which, sadly, meant we had called him enough that he was a fairly solid part of our lives now. We’d gotten so chummy with the sociopath over the years that he just popped in for coffee sometimes. Rather often lately, actually. It was a little scary… If you started spending enough time around the real, stone-cold killers, you could get too comfortable and let your guard down. That would never do with someone like Caleb.