Club Helix: The Power Games

by Brynley Bush

  I nod again as he crooks a finger at Rose, who’s dressed like a slutty saloon girl in a corset that stops at the bottoms of her breasts, a red satin skirt edged in black lace that’s short in the front but ruffled and longer in the back, black elbow-length gloves, black fishnet thigh highs, and stilettos. Seeing her bared breasts obscenely framed and pushed up by the cupless bustier, I’m suddenly grateful for my cowgirl outfit, which covers everything except my butt since I’m wearing nothing but a thong under the chaps. She comes bounding over. “Hey, Ava.” She nods formally at Roman. “Sir. How can I serve you?”

  Confused, I look around the room, realizing that half of the girls are dressed like cowgirls like me, and the other half are dressed like saloon girls.

  “Two beers, Rose. Thank you.”

  She heads to the bar, and I look at Roman questioningly. “Why are some of the girls dressed like me and some are dressed like Rose? And why is Rose getting our drinks?”

  “The submissives have been divided into two groups tonight, and each group will compete in various events to earn extra points. The saloon girls will serve the Doms, and the cowgirls will provide the entertainment.”

  I feel a finger of apprehension dance along my spine. “What kind of entertainment?”

  “All in good time, Avalon,” he says, his lips tipping up at the corners.

  Rose comes back, holding a tray filled with mugs of beer. She hands two of them to Roman and then moves on to the next group of Doms and submissives. One of the men jostles her slightly as she’s handing Stefan his mug, causing the beer to spill slightly. I watch in horror as he unhesitatingly pulls Rose over his lap, flipping her ruffled skirt up to expose her bare bottom.

  “Five strokes for spilling my beer, little one. Count them.”

  Rose breathlessly counts as Stefan spanks her five times and then lets her up.

  “Why did he do that?” I demand in whispered outrage to Roman.

  “It’s the rules of the evening,” he says with a grin. “The saloon girls are required to serve the Doms however they’re instructed. If she’s careless or doesn’t serve him adequately, the Dom has the right to discipline her. And as you can see, Rose just spilled beer on Stefan. I think he was rather lenient myself.”

  Holy shit. I’m doubly glad I’m not a saloon girl, although Rose has a pretty pink flush to her face, and her nipples are hardened points as the burly Dom sets her back on her feet.

  A few minutes later, I’m not so sure which role is worse as Roman leads me over to join the rest of the cowgirl submissives at the mechanical bull.

  “One hundred extra points will go to the submissive who stays on the longest,” Logan announces.

  “I have to ride that thing?” I ask in horror.

  Roman’s fingers are on my back, and as I feel the whisper of cool air across my breasts, I realize he’s removed the bustier. “Bareback,” he whispers in my ear, pushing me forward.

  The next thing I know I’m being helped onto the fake bull as a crowd gathers around the mat. Roman comes to stand next to me. “Have you ever ridden one of these before?” he asks, his voice low.

  “No!” I say wildly, clutching the pommel of the saddle with both hands.

  He gently disengages my left hand. “You can only hold on with one hand.” He chuckles. “Hold this one in the air for balance. Squeeze your thighs together tightly to hold yourself on the bull.” He winks. “You should be good at that. Keep your upper body relaxed.”

  Before I can protest or ask any of the thousand questions that are running through my head, he steps away, and the bull starts to move. I grip the pommel tightly with my right hand, squeezing my thighs together like a vise. I’m so focused on staying on the bull, I don’t have time to feel self-conscious about the fact that I’m topless in front of all these people. The bull whips around in a circle, and I somehow manage to stay on. Then it begins to buck slowly, and I try to do what Roman said and keep my upper body relaxed and move with the bull. I settle into the rhythm as soon as I realize it’s kind of like riding a horse—albeit a completely unpredictable and hyper one. I work at keeping my balance, shifting my weight in the opposite direction that the bull is moving.

  It picks up speed, lurching and spinning, and I hang on, desperation and stubbornness powerful motivators. The men are cheering wildly, and I realize that my breasts are bouncing obscenely with each jerky movement of the bull, my bare ass popping up and down on the bull’s back suggestively.

  “That’s it!” a male voice on the sidelines cheers. “Ride it like you’re riding Roman.”

  The image of me on Roman, my thighs squeezing him as I buck against him, flashes in my mind, and I lose my concentration. I go flying off the bull, landing in an awkward but unhurt heap on the thickly padded mat at Roman’s feet. He helps me up, pulling me to his side.

  “That was downright impressive, Avalon,” he says approvingly, tilting my chin up with his finger so I’m looking at him. There’s pride in his eyes, and I feel a rush of pleasure at his praise. His voice lowers. “I’m looking forward to a personal demonstration of that later.”

  I flush, my heart still pounding as we watch the rest of the girls take a turn. Not surprisingly, Desiree is the crowd-pleaser, although I’m seriously worried she’s going to give herself a black eye with her own boob, but the only one who comes close to staying on as long as me is Rebecca.

  Logan says the final times will be announced a bit later, and we head over to another area of the vast room where a crowd has gathered. Tessa passes us, carrying a tray filled with drinks, and stops to give me a quick one-armed hug. “You were fantastic!” she says. “Rebecca was close, but you definitely stayed on the longest. And you looked better doing it.” She gives me a wink and continues on toward a group of men a few feet away. Out of the corner of my eye I see Rebecca watching us with a venomous look on her face. With a snide smile, she sticks her foot out as Tessa walks by. Unable to see over the tray of drinks she’s carrying, Tessa stumbles and falls. She would have crashed headlong into a table if Michael hadn’t caught her, but the beers go flying.

  “Ah, an entire tray of beer wasted,” the older Dom, Karl, says, shaking his head regrettably, but there’s a glint of humor in his eyes. I watch in horror as Tessa is passed from lap to lap while half a dozen Doms lift her skirts and swat her bottom until it’s bright red.

  Catching my look of distress, Roman leans down and says in my ear, “Don’t be too worried about your little friend. Although her ass will no doubt be sore, she’s doing okay.” He nods toward Tessa, who’s climbing off Luke’s lap.

  I follow his gaze, and although there are tears in her eyes, she’s flushed and her nipples are stiff and rosy. I glare at Rebecca. She nods at me with a faint smile, tucks her hand into the crook of Emmett’s elbow, and looks up at him, smiling warmly.

  What a bitch! I hate that Emmett is stuck with her, but because she’s his partner, I don’t want to say anything that will get them in trouble, or worse, kicked off the show. But I’m definitely going to watch my back around her.

  I turn my attention back to the competition that’s about to take place as a red-faced Tessa joins the rest of the saloon girls who are gathered in a group with their Doms.

  Logan turns to address the crowd. “Our saloon girls are here to serve. If you would like some additional”—he pauses and grins—“service tonight, these little submissives would be happy to attend to you. In addition to her own Dom, each girl will serve two more guests. The first girl to bring all three men to orgasm with her mouth will receive one hundred points. I’ll take the first dozen volunteers.”

  The men clamor for a place in line, and I watch, half-horrified and half-fascinated, as the girls kneel and give blowjobs to each of the men lined up in front of them, one after another, until they come.

  “Who are the extra guests?” I whisper to Roman, unable to tear my gaze away from the depraved scene.

  “Most are Doms who are members at Logan’s club in San Francisco
, plus a few TV executives and key hotel personnel. They aren’t allowed to participate, though; only the Doms can. Sometimes the contestants who have been voted off will be invited back for the group events.”

  That actually makes me feel better since every Dominant I’ve come in contact with so far seems to have the same ethic as Roman—authoritative and commanding for sure, but always keeping the well-being of the submissive in mind. Except for maybe Michael; he’s someone I wouldn’t want to be alone with.

  Although I would probably die of humiliation if I had to give blowjobs to Doms I didn’t know, the saloon-girl submissives—Rose, Tessa, Eva, a pretty but shy submissive named Sabrina, Rebecca’s friend Megan, and a girl named Sophie—don’t seem too bothered by it. In fact, most of them seem to be enjoying it. The crowd begins to chant as Tessa and Megan pass up the other four girls, and both redouble their efforts. Tessa prevails as Luke comes with a jerk of his hips, and the crowd, including me, applauds wildly for her.

  I want to go congratulate her, but Logan is saying something about calf roping, and before I know it I’m being hustled over to a roped-off, matted area where the rest of the cowgirls have been herded.

  “What’s this?” I whisper to Roman.

  “Calf roping.”

  “I don’t see any calves.”

  His gaze travels over me salaciously. “You’re the calf, sweetheart.”

  He chuckles as my eyes widen. He nods toward the matted area where Rebecca has removed her chaps and is standing at one corner of the mat, wearing nothing but a thong and a cowboy hat.

  “The rules are simple,” Logan says. “The Dom has five minutes to catch his submissive and tie her up. She must be fully bound hand and foot by the time the bell rings. If the Dom is successful, the submissive will pleasure her Dom like the saloon girls just did for the same amount of time it took the Dom to capture her, up to the five-minute limit. If the sub manages to escape, as her reward her Dom will pleasure her with his mouth for the five minutes she managed to elude him. Doms and subs must stay within the roped area, or they’re disqualified.”

  There’s a loud guffaw of laughter from the crowd as Logan hands Emmett two lengths of rope. “On your mark, get set, go.”

  I watch, puzzled, as Emmett circles Rebecca, toying with her like a cat with a mouse. I’ve been with him a few times to the MMA gym he belongs to in New York, and I know he’s quick on his feet. I have no doubt he could have her on the mat and bound in under a minute.

  “Why doesn’t he just capture her?” I wonder aloud.

  “He’s maximizing his pleasure,” Roman says, not taking his gaze off the arena. “The trick is to wait long enough to make your move so you get your submissive’s sweet lips on your cock as long as possible without running out of time and having to pleasure her.”

  Ah! I get it now. I cast a sidelong glance at Roman. I fully intend to be the one who’s pleasured tonight. He looks at me knowingly and leans over, his words echoing my thoughts. “I fully intend to have your lips around my cock for the full five minutes.”

  Hmpf. We’ll see about that.

  Emmett makes his move in the last minute, tying the final knot in the rope that binds Rebecca’s ankles just as the bell rings. He smiles and bows at the loud applause before tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her to one of the hay bales, where he sets her on her knees before him, still bound, and pulls his cock out of his jeans.

  I turn away, suddenly grateful that Emmett and I were split up. I can see now how awkward it would have been competing with him as my partner. Logan was right; we wouldn’t have lasted a week.

  Desiree is up next, and it’s fun to watch her give her Dom, Stefan, a run for his money. All the submissives are cheering for her as the clock starts to run out, and I think she’s actually going to win, but Stefan manages to capture her just before the bell rings.

  Michael and Carly are next, and he wastes no time flinging her tiny frame to the mat and trussing her up. I cringe as I watch him tighten the rope around her wrists tightly, the rope cutting into her flesh. At least she won’t have to blow him for long. Then Karl, the older Dom Tessa had eyed at the rooftop bar what seems like a lifetime ago, takes the mat with his sub, Bella. He puts on a show for the crowd during his five minutes, expertly twirling a lasso as she tries to evade the reach of his rope. Roman leans over to tell me in a low voice that Karl grew up in Texas and used to ride rodeo horses, so I’m not surprised when his lasso finally finds its mark and encircles Bella with thirty seconds to spare. He tightens the rope and reels her slowly to him before expertly hog-tying her as the crowd, which is getting rowdier, cheers loudly.

  Then it’s Roman’s and my turn, and I stand nervously at the edge of the ring as I unbuckle the belt at the back of the chaps and slowly unzip them. When I turn back around, Roman is standing at the opposite corner from me, wearing nothing but those tight denim jeans that hug his ass. Per Logan’s instructions, Roman’s chest is bare, and I can see the ripple of muscle beneath his tanned skin. I swallow hard. Lord, help me.

  Then the bell rings, and we’re circling each other like prizefighters. I figure I have at least four minutes to antagonize him. Not only is he ultracompetitive and likes to win, but he’s already told me he’s looking forward to having his cock in my mouth for the full five minutes.

  So instead of running like the other girls, I walk right up to him and run my hands across the wide breadth of his shoulders, confident he won’t make his move this early. He smiles, places his hand on my arm, and then sweeps my feet out from under me. My hat goes flying as I fall backward, landing on the mat. His body pins mine, his eyes dark with desire and fixed on mine.

  “Rule number five. Never try to outsmart your Dom,” he rumbles with a roguish smile.

  Despite my struggling attempts to get away from him, he effortlessly ties my wrists together in front of me with one length of rope. Holding me still, he deliberately traces his finger gently around each of my nipples, which pucker into tiny points at the attention. Straddling my torso to keep me still, he grasps my nipples with a firm grip and tugs, pulling them up and away from my body unrelentingly until my back is arching off the mat and I’m groaning with a mix of pleasure and pain. He lets go, and then his hand is on my sex, cupping me. He slips a finger into me, smiling as he encounters wet, slippery heat, and the noise of the whistling and cheering crowd recedes.

  I dimly hear them begin to count down—ten, nine, eight, seven—but Roman doesn’t stop or try to tie my ankles together. He just continues to slide his finger slowly in and out of me until the bell rings, and then he lifts me into his arms and carries me off the mat.

  “Why did you do that?” I ask, confused, my head resting against his chest as I trace tiny circles across his heated skin with my fingertips. “You could have restrained me and won, but you didn’t.”

  “Maybe I just wanted to taste you,” he rasps.

  Oh.

  He purposefully carries me to a wooden barrel in a corner of the room and lays me across it, tugging my thong off. His strong hands grab my thighs, and he opens me deliberately. My sex clenches as his mouth descends on me, and suddenly I don’t care that dozens of people might be watching or that I’m naked in a crowd of people I barely know. I just want the sweet heat of his lips at my center and the stroke of his tongue on my sex that has been aching for him for days. He licks and flicks, lapping my juices until I think I might come, but self-consciousness and my innate reserve keep me from plummeting over the edge. When the bell rings, he sits back reluctantly.

  I feel flushed and feverish as I slide bonelessly from the barrel, barely aware of the next competition being announced. There’s an enormous bulge beneath Roman’s jeans, and I can’t wait until the group event is over so we can finish what we started three days ago. Roman looks over at me and smiles, and I realize I’m actually having fun. Maybe it’s because I’ve had absolutely zero social life for the past two years, but even though the games have pushed me so far past my comfort z
one I can’t even see myself in the rearview mirror, they’ve been kind of fun. And kind of hot. It doesn’t hurt that I have the most gorgeous man in the entire room by my side. A man who lost just to have a taste of me.

  His fingers close possessively around the back of my neck as we stand silently together watching the next scene, and I’m sure he must feel the tremor of sheer need that’s vibrating through me. If he does, though, he ignores it, his attention focused on the six saloon girls who are standing back-to-back in pairs, each holding what looks like a water gun. Logan explains to the audience that in the spirit of the true West, the saloon girls will be dueling each other with guns filled with colored paint. On the count of three, each girl will each walk ten paces, turn, and fire. The girls who are hit first will be placed in the stockades for thirty minutes with the guests encouraged to torment them however they see fit. The winners of the duel will be pleasured by their Doms until they come, with the first submissive to reach an orgasm awarded the one hundred points.

  Just when I thought my heart rate had almost come back down to normal, Logan’s explanation of the next event sets it racing again. Except the whole plan has a flaw.

  “What’s to stop one of the submissives from faking it?” I ask.

  Roman gives me an incredulous look. “I pity the girl who ever fakes an orgasm with her Dom,” he says harshly.

  Tessa and Rose are paired together, as are Eva and Sabrina, and Megan and Sophie. Logan counts to three, and the submissives walk ten paces and then turn to fire. The tension is so thick that for a moment I forget this isn’t real, and I grip Roman’s arm. Rose has hit Tessa in the thigh, Sabrina has a bright splash of paint on her arm, and poor Sophie has a smear of paint right across her breast. I feel for them as I watch them being led to the stockades by their Doms, cringing when the wooden frames are fastened over their necks and wrists, locking them into place so they can’t move.

  “As this is the last event for these three, Doms can feel free to make them come as much or as little as they deem appropriate,” Logan says.