by Gina Kincade
“College debt?”
“Through the roof, on top of medical bills.”
Carol shut her eyes for a moment. Fuck! With the economy taking a nose dive, securing a position at an exclusive sex club catering to the wealthy and powerful could mean financial stability for a young person. With everyone getting hot under the collar, members would soon be lining up outside Club Desire for a chance to let off steam. She couldn’t rob a struggling woman of that kind of chance. “Tell you what, forget you ever dialed this number. I know I will. Is that good?
“Awesome. Thanks.”
With a lopsided smile, Carol pressed the off button to end the call. Hoping Mark hadn’t pick up on the exchange, so she would maintain her aura of bitchy boss, she pocketed her phone in the jacket that hung on the back of a nearby chair.
“That was a nice thing to do, boss.”
She eyeballed him, searching for a shred of smart ass attitude and found none. Brains and heart with a to-die-for cock on top, Mark was the proverbial whole package. Too bad he came wrapped in her company’s stationery. Which reminded her of the reasons for their all-nighter. Better focus on practical things and leave impossible fantasies out of the picture. She counted on rubber toys and Club Desire to take care of her needy pussy, so she wouldn’t depend on Mark’s natural attributes for that. Now all she had to do was convince the damn wet traitor to stop quivering at the memory of his hard body.
“You pulled up the spreadsheet for the Copeland account?”
“Yep. Give me a sec,” he replied as he reopened the laptop on the table in front of them.
“How current are these numbers?”
“Today’s session.”
Slipping seamlessly into NYSE headspace, she regained her customary professional stance. They spent the next hours going through the folders of her personal clients as she updated Mark on their expectations and needs.
“I don’t expect you to do my job while I’m away, nobody in the office is equipped for that.”
“Don’t I know it,” he assured her with a chuckle.
She shook her head and smiled. No idle flattery, just sincere admiration, shone in his dark blue gaze. She’d better tread with caution. She shielded her thoughts and emphasized her bossy inflection. “I wish to provide you with tools to make informed decisions, albeit basic ones, if an emergency comes up and you can’t reach me. An ordinarily volatile market, turned psychotic as the NYSE, requires that kind of precaution. Understood?”
He nodded and she caught a subtle flutter of his nostrils as his irises dilated. In her eagerness to sound professional, she forgot his submissive tendencies. Honest mistake, she told herself, ignoring the opposing voice in her head that screamed Freudian slip.
“Very well. Any questions?”
It was clear he had millions, but apparently no business-related ones because he shook his head before saying, “Nope, all’s good.”
She held his stare for a moment, searching his face for signs of doubt, until she was convinced he had none. He was a quick study, a refreshing change from her previous assistants. “Great.”
She started to collect the empty and half-full food containers, when Mark stood up and reached for them. “Allow me.”
With a shrug, she accepted the offer and ambled to her desk to organize the papers she had spread around during their meeting. “I can take care of that as well. You’ve got a plane to catch in a few hours. Why don’t you go home and get ready for it? I’ve got this.”
She frowned and hesitated, both out of her need to control and because she never had somebody take care of her like that. Strike that. It had been an awfully long time since someone truly took care of things for her. She forgot how good it felt.
With a sly expression, she released the papers and grabbed the strap of her designer bag lying on the leather couch behind her desk. “If you say so. Careful, though. I might get used to this and never let you go back to Rob Strong’s team.”
“Counting on it.”
His deep laughter followed her into the private elevator located inside her office and it wasn’t until she was halfway through to the underground garage that she realized it. For the first time since she started Horizon Inc., Carol left her office while her assistant was still working. It was usually the other way around. If Mark Aikens kept up like that, he would become irreplaceable. That idea scared the shit out of her on many different levels.
IN THE BACK SEAT OF a sleek stretched limousine, Carol peeked through tinted windows at the quaint French Quarter buildings. As a rule of thumb, the familiar neighborhood would put her in a good mood, her conditioned body equating it with indulging in quality kinky time at Club Desire.
Not today it didn’t. The colorful façades framed by intricate wrought ironwork did little to raise her spirits. She blamed it on the economy, refusing to acknowledge any other source of stress. Particularly a certain six-feet-and-change dark-haired assistant she left behind holding the fort. She trusted him to do a good job and her instincts were always right on the money when it came to business decisions. If she were to be honest with herself, Mark did play a hand in her lack of enthusiasm, though. The part she couldn’t bring herself to admit was that it had nothing to do with the office or the economy.
Shoving the unfamiliar yearnings into the depths of her subconscious, Carol returned her attention to the neglected tablet on her lap. She reread her notes for the speech she was to deliver that evening at the conference. Facing more than two thousand antsy international investors seeking a miracle remedy for a global crisis? Piece of cake. A showdown with her inner demons? Nope, not going to happen. She had become an expert in disguising her old scars over the years, so why change it now?
SHE NAILED THE KEYNOTE speech and cruised the gala dinner afterwards like a pro, then slept like a baby with a deluge of help from Mr. Jack Daniels complemented with generous doses of Glenfiddich. She preferred wine to whiskey, but the selection at the banquet room didn’t offer good quality reds, so she figured bad malt would do the trick just as well.
After an invigorating shower and a healthy breakfast, she began to get ready to go out and conquer the world, starting with a willing bottom at Club Desire. Her nipples stood to attention at the thought and she smiled into her reflection’s eyes in the mirror. “About time the girls joined the party, huh? We’re gonna have some fun. Promise,” she assured herself, while adjusting the pads in her bra, so the girls had breathing room. Her body was finally reacting to the right stimuli.
She touched up the make-up, fluffed the red curls that bounced around her head caressing her cheeks, then swirled around to check out her ass in the opposite mirror. It looked yummy snuggled up in her tight leather skirt.
She snatched her tiny night purse and reached out for the hotel door handle. “And off we go.”
As the door shut behind her, she fished the phone out of the red clutch that matched her Manolos before it rang a third time. Her breathing hitched when the words ‘Horizon Inc.’ flashed on the small screen and a naughty smile split her lips before she could stifle it. “Hello?” At least she managed to keep her voice cool in stark contrast to her boiling insides.
“Ms. Sullivan, Rob Strong here. Sorry to bother, but I was wondering if I could pick your brain on something that came to my attention?”
“Sure.”
The butterflies died out in her stomach while she reviewed numbers with the team manager. Resting her head on the cold window at the back seat of a town car, she observed the busy traffic as the car sluggishly approached Club Desire. She nudged Strong to wrap up their conversation. He was a talker when let loose. “Anything else you need, call Aikens.”
“Will do, Ms. Sullivan. Bye.”
Instead of locking the screen, she turned the phone off and slid it back inside her small handbag. She wouldn’t need it again, another perk of going to a sex club. If you were not into exhibitionism, a phone would be useless. She welcomed the no-electronics break. The car turned onto Royal Stree
t and stopped in front of a small art gallery. The driver held the door open for Carol and she quickly went inside the store, pretending to browse the sophisticated collection of paintings and statues so that regular clients wouldn’t think much of it. She took her time walking over to a dark corner at the back of the gallery. Double checking to make sure nobody was observing her, she pressed a wood panel on the wall that sprung open to reveal a dark passage. She went in and swiftly closed the panel behind her. To the unsuspecting observer, the panel cloaked a solid wall. To Club Desire members, the panel shrouded the path to blissful release. Something she had been craving to get.
At the end of a nine-foot-long corridor, made less dark by candlelike lamps mounted on the wall, Carol came to an empty podium. The hostess manning it didn’t take long to return to her station, coming out of the human resources office. Carol never met the petite brunette before, but the tight grey skirt, white blouse and grey vest she wore meant she was solely office staff. Some employees doubled as subs or dominants and their uniforms proclaimed their status with different colors and accessories.
“Welcome to Club Desire, ma’am.”
After an awkward moment of silence, Carol stretched out her hand, palm up. “You have my key?”
The young woman furled her brow and looked about herself, fumbling with papers on the podium, clearly unsure of what to do. She stuttered, “Sorry. What did you say your name was?”
Carol’s temper flared. “I did not. Since when did it become necessary to use names at the club?” Before she bit the woman’s head off, she glimpsed at her name tag pinned to the vest. She chuckled. “I should’ve recognized your voice, Jenny. I guess I never talked for so long with a Club Desire hostess before that phone call.”
Relief relaxed Jenny’s features, but was immediately chased away by dread as the hostess recognized the client. “Oh, my goodness! How dumb can I be? I want to kick myself. I’m sorry I messed up again, Ms. Sullivan.”
Carol muffled a chuckle and covered her lips with an index finger. “Shush. You skipped the ‘no names policy’ class at your training sessions?”
Club Desire proudly offered its members the ultimate experience of exclusivity that money could buy, including the fact that each staff member knew the selected clientele and didn’t need introductions, which led to the ‘no names’ policy, which also protected members’ privacy. All of which was covered by the ironclad confidentiality clauses in the terms and conditions of the members’ agreements and the staff employment contracts.
She studied Jenny’s mortified expression and took pity on her distress. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. Shame on management for not offering you proper training.”
Dropping her voice to a whisper, the brunette replied, “Mine was an emergency hire. Their regular hostess skipped town overnight with a client.”
“In that case, I stand corrected. You are doing fine already.”
Jenny blushed and handed Carol an antique key. “The Purple Dungeon is the last door on the right through this corridor on the left. I can take you there.”
“No need. I’ll stop by the Lounge first.” As Carol started towards the opposite direction, she stopped and spun around to face Jenny again. “A piece of advice, if I may?”
“Shoot. I’m way over my head here as it is.”
“Fake it till you make it. Most people won’t notice the difference and before you know it, you won’t be faking anymore.”
She turned and covered the short distance to the heavy double brass doors that concealed the Lounge without waiting for a reply. As she pushed them open, the smells and sounds of a full-fledged orgy hit her in the chest.
She was home.
Except that sex in public didn’t appeal to her and she hadn’t participated in group sex since her initiation into the lifestyle. Even then, Josh rarely used group or public sex as punishment for her and only as an extreme resort. He was too possessive for that, but she dreaded both settings too much, so they became effective tools in her Master’s hands. Funny how she still conceded him that title, although she learned later in life that he was nothing like a guide to her. As she became more proficient, Carol understood that real dominants didn’t strive to break their subs. Far from it, they respected and cherished their bottoms, coaching them on how to understand their limitations to be able to push them in the safest way possible. It wasn’t about dominating another human being for the sake of it, but establishing relationships based primarily on trust. Josh never did any of that, not while they were a couple and certainly not after he became her jailer.
Demons. Past. Not dealing with them.
She picked a stool at the end of the bar, perched on it and ordered a glass of Bordeaux. When the bartender poured the wine, she spun around and scanned the room for an available partner. Candidates abounded in all sizes, shapes and formats. A curvaceous blonde parading her stunning birthday suit took a vacant seat next to Carol. About the same age and height as her, the woman exuded authority as she checked Carol out from head to toe, with an approving smile. “Looking for company, love?” Her British accent made her even sexier.
Carol smiled politely. “I’m flattered, but I don’t sub anymore and I’m not into women. No offense.”
“Pity.”
When the blonde moved away to join a couple, a stunning male specimen came into Carol’s line of sight. She got an unobstructed view of his natural assets in all their glory since he wore a collar with the black and gold Club Desire logo and nothing else. That meant he was a staff member playing bottom tonight. She strained to see if there was a name tag attached to the collar, which would display his Master’s or Mistress’s name. Her stomach sank when she spotted the little tag, then soared when she realized it was blank. Their eyes locked and her pussy and nipples approved her choice of playmate, so she raised a hand and crooked a finger. He was by her side in a split second.
Up close, he caused an even better impression with his thick cock whose engorged purple head glistened with pre-cum. She rubbed the back of her index finger along the side of his length, bottom to top, and smiled when it twitched and expanded. “Hmm, there’s more of you, huh?”
He blushed and lowered his gaze. Gorgeous and well-trained. Carol pinched his chin between her index finger and thumb and brought it up until their eyes met. “What’s your name, handsome?”
“Richard.”
“How appropriate.” Her mouth curled up thinking about his most evident asset. She hooked a finger in the loop connecting the name tag to his collar. “Marker,” she ordered the bartender, only releasing Richard’s eyes to write her name on the tag. “Come.”
They weaved through the crowd on the way out and Carol lost count of the times she heard someone complaining Richard was taken. Probably the same number of times someone congratulated her on her choice.
“You’re quite popular.”
When he didn’t reply, she looked over her shoulder and the emotions she read on his face gave her pause. “I’m not a tyrant, you don’t need my permission to speak, pet.” She threw her hands up thinking whoever had damaged Richard didn’t belong in the BDSM scene. They harmed everyone else by fueling the existing prejudice against the lifestyle.
The padded doors at Club Desire didn’t have signs indicating numbers or names, only the colors on them corresponded to the suites’ names. She stopped when they reached a mauve painted door and inserted the old-fashioned key in its hole, then entered the Purple Dungeon, closely followed by naked Richard.
Before she could issue the command, he dropped to the ground, sitting on his heels, hands resting on his thighs, palms facing up. His back set straighter than a rod, his dick jutting out of his lap and up, its head almost level with his belly button.
She kicked the door shut and took the couple of steps that led her to stand in front of him, feet apart, close enough that she smelled his desire, felt the heat of his body, but not enough that she touched him. She hovered her hand over his cock, teasing him with anticipation
without touching his skin. Still, his dick extended upwards as if trying to reach her palm. “Impressive.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I live to serve.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
She surveyed the fully supplied room to confirm she had everything she needed and then some. Eyeing a purple St. Andrews cross leaning against the wall opposite the door, she considered using it, but changed her mind when her stare took in the wrought ironwork headboard that crowned a gigantic bed on the far left of the room. Six people could sleep in that bed with room to spare. At least.
She smoothed the soft violet satin of the bedspread before pulling it down. She patted the burgundy silk sheets covering the mattress and called out, “Come.” When he jumped to his feet and perched at the foot of the bed, she nodded to its headboard. “All the way up. Flat on your back. Hands on the headboard.”
While he settled his head on the pillows, she fumbled through a tall chest of drawers beside the bed and found a pair of handcuffs, with which she tied Richard to the headboard. “See, the width of this bed makes it impossible to use the posts for this, but the iron design fits perfectly. Since I won’t be able to bond your legs, you’ll have to behave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She rewarded his spotless behavior by wrapping her warm palm around the tip of his shaft and rubbing its head with her thumb. “Good boy.”
A soft hiss was the only sound he let out, indicating her touch had an effect on him, while his body remained perfectly still, except for the cock inside her fisted hand, twitching like live wire.
She released him and knelt on the mattress, straddling his waist, not bothering to take off her fuck-me pumps. Since she decided to go commando, she also didn’t bother slipping out of panties, but she hitched up the tight leather skirt to be able to see what she was doing. Angling her body, she squatted down just enough for her sex to grip the tip of his cock. She guided him along her slit with a hand, all the while keeping their eyes locked.
