My Stepbrother's Rules: The Complete Series (Steamy Stepbrother Romance)

by Moore, Lila

  “No, I mean, would you like to check out one of the back rooms? I hear there’s a whole other world back there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I leaned in close as if I was sharing a secret, though I’m not sure that it was one. Why this man had no knowledge of the sex element to the party was a mystery. It was something to consider.

  “I hear they have private rooms where…” I paused dramatically. “People have sex, and not just regular sex-BDSM.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Let’s go back. I’ll show you.”

  I took his hand in mind and started to lead him away. As we exited the room, it suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea where I was going. I looked around for Angie, but she’d disappeared with her two dates.

  A waiter walked by carrying a tray of drinks.

  “Excuse me,” I said to him, “can you tell me where we can find a private room?”

  I felt embarrassed asking, but I didn’t know who else to speak with. The man shrugged and walked away.

  I felt my temper flare. If Ivy or one of the girls had bothered to brief me before the party, I wouldn’t be making an ass of myself now.

  “Over there,” my date said.

  I followed his gaze. The crowd parted and I caught a glimpse of a large man in a black suit standing before a door. He was dressed formally, but he looked strangely out of place. His suit didn’t quite fit and he wasn’t wearing a tie. He stood stiffly like a soldier. His hands were crossed in front of him; his eyes steely.

  “I’d bet that’s where the private rooms are,” my date said.

  I frowned. I felt a bit chagrinned by the fact that my lame, dorky date understood the party better than I did. Clearly, I had a lot to learn. I walked up to the guard with my date in tow.

  “Excuse me,” I started. I didn’t need to finish. He opened the door as if he recognized me. I looked at the man closely. He looked vaguely familiar. Did he work at the club? It was possible. It made sense that they would provide security for the party. Ivy seemed concerned about keeping her girls safe. Besides, it would allow unlimited access. Ivy seemed like the kind of woman who would enjoy that sort of privilege. She probably used it to her advantage.

  I smiled. A part of me respected Ivy’s hustle. Still, I worried about what sort of illegal activity she was involved in. There was prostitution obviously, but what else?

  The girls appeared to be satisfied with Ivy as a boss. I was starting to warm up to the girls. With the exception of Angie, they were friendly and witty. They enjoyed their work and didn’t care about how society judged them. It was then I decided that whatever I uncovered, the girls would not be the focus of my story. I did not want to see them publicly shamed. I was going to focus on political corruption and money. If that was a problem for my editor, well, then I would have to lie. I’d have to convince him there was no story behind The Red Room. It wouldn’t be easy.

  We walked down a long hallway that opened up into a parlor. Two girls in bondage gear stood in the middle of the room on a raised platform. A group of men smoked cigars and drank while watching the girls.

  A tall girl in a blonde wig whipped a smaller girl with a shiny, black whip. I stopped to watch as the second girl, handcuffed and bent over the first girl’s knee, moaned with pleasure. Her back was covered in red stripes and welt. The skin on my back started to burn with the memory of being whipped by Alex.

  “My goodness…” my date remarked.

  I’d forgotten he was there. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He watched the scene with his mouth hanging open. I wondered if it was possible to ditch him now that I was in the back.

  “Why don’t you sit and watch?” I whispered.

  “What about you?” he said too loudly. A man turned to look at us.

  “I’ll go get us drinks.”

  “I don’t want one.”

  I stood up straight and readjusted my dress. The man was starting to get on my nerves.

  “Well, I’m thirsty and I need to freshen up. I’ll be right back.”

  I pushed him towards the empty seat. As I left, he watched me leave with a sad, lost look on his face like a puppy. I felt a bit guilty ditching him, but he’d find plenty of entertainment. He didn’t need me.

  I moved on down one of the side hallways. Low moans echoed from behind a closed door to my right. I continued on, passing paintings of naked, voluptuous women and small statues of nude figures. The owner of the house had interesting taste in art.

  The hallway opened up onto a large room. Several men sat before it quietly talking. A girl I recognized from the club walked up to me.

  “Perfect timing,” she said. “We need you backstage.”

  As she dragged me off behind the curtain and through a closed door, I caught a glimpse of a man I was sure I recognized. I ran through all the faces I’d memorized.

  “The Lieutenant Governor,” I said. I hadn’t meant to speak out loud.

  “Did you say something?” the girl asked.

  “Nothing.”

  A rush of adrenaline shot through my body. Finally, I had a story. Well, maybe, I had a story. I was getting ahead of myself. There was nothing criminal about attending a party like this. Though many of the girls were prostitutes, I had no evidence he was using their services.

  I bit my lip, deep in thought. The girl from the club was holding up clothes to my body.

  “None of this is going to fit you,” she said.

  “What?” I hadn’t been listening.

  “We need you on stage. We’re missing a girl. You’ll fit in perfectly.”

  My excitement was replaced with anxiety.

  “Wait, what do you mean? I can’t go on stage.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…”

  I didn’t have a good excuse. This was the job I’d volunteered for.

  “Who am I going out there with?”

  “That would be me!”

  A man dressed in a tux waved his hand at me. He had a big, boyish grin and messy light brown hair. His eyes were dark; his skin tanned. I smiled.

  “You’re going to dominate me?” I asked shyly.

  “Unless you prefer to dominate me?”

  “No,” I said flushing.

  He was cute, but I wasn’t sure about performing on stage. What was expected of me? I’m not an actress or an exhibitionist.

  “Don’t worry,” the man said. “Just pretend like they’re not even there. Focus on me. I’ll guide you.”

  “Have you done this before?”

  “More times than I can count. You’re going to be great, I can tell.”

  “Yeah? I’m not so sure.”

  “Let me take control. I’ll take you where you need to go.”

  I swallowed hard. It felt wrong, but this man’s confidence was turning me on. He reminded me of Alex.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

  “Safe word is red. Don’t be afraid to use it. If things get to be too rough, I’ll back down or stop all together. It’s up to you.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re going to have to go out dressed as you are,” the girl from the club said. She was sorting through several pieces of bondage clothing. Apparently, none of it was in my size.

  “That’s fine,” the man said. “I like her better this way.”

  The girl nodded her approval as they both looked over my body. I blushed at their attention.

  “Wait,” the girl said.

  She stepped closer and pulled the pins from my hair. Loose curls fell around my shoulders. She ran her fingers through them, making them messier.

  “Perfect,” she said.

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was wild. I looked like I’d just rolled out of bed. Though, I have to admit there was something sexy about it. I’ve never thought of myself as hot, but there was something in my reflection I liked.

  “Stunning,” the man said.

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nbsp; I shuffled my feet nervously.

  “You better get out there. They’re getting restless,” the girl added.

  I took a deep breath and followed the man out onto the stage. The curtain was closed. A wooden frame with hinges and holes sat in the middle of the stage.

  “Stocks?” I whispered.

  The man nodded and brought his finger to his lips. The show hadn’t started yet. He wanted me to stay quiet until after his introduction. He walked over to the stocks and lifted the hinges. The top half of the wood separated. He motioned for me to come over.

  “On your knees,” he commanded in a low voice.

  I dropped down and bent over the stocks. I placed my wrists in the holes; my head rested in the middle. He closed the top portion down over my neck. Careful not to hurt me, he locked the wooden frame.

  “Ready?” he whispered.

  Before I could respond, the curtain dropped. The crowd of men suddenly fell quiet. Several men sat off in the shadows. I couldn’t make out their faces, but the Lieutenant Governor sat front and center with a girl on his lap. I recognized her from the club. I smiled. At least, I’d have a story to write about.

  “For the crime of adultery,” my new Dom said. His loud thunderous voice startled me. He sounded like an actor delivering a Shakespearean monologue. “You have been sentenced to the stocks! Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

  There was a pause. It took me a second to realize I was supposed to respond. The men watched me expectantly. Cold sweat ran down my forehead. The men wanted a show and it was my job to give them one.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” I said, affecting a girlish, innocent voice. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

  “You dress like a whore. You seduce men into embracing their carnal, low desires and for this you will be punished in the stocks!”

  A part of me wanted to laugh, though I was having fun playing my part.

  “Please, don’t! I promise I’ll change. I’ll be a good girl.”

  “Bad girls need punishment.”

  The man pulled my dress, ripping the straps. I gasped. My breasts were completely exposed to the room. I saw a man shift in his seat with excitement. Every eye in the room was on me.

  My Dom pulled my dress down over my ass. I wore a thong and nothing else. My heart started to race. To my surprise, I was wet. I never would have guessed a situation like this would turn me on, but a familiar warm stirring between my legs threatened to grow and overwhelm me.

  The Dom ran his hand over the curve of my lower back and around my ass. I shivered.

  “Confess your crimes,” he said.

  Would he punish me if I denied any wrong doing? I hoped so.

  “I’ve committed no crimes,” I responded.

  His hand smacked against my backside. It was a quick, short motion. I sensed he was holding back, but it still excited me.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” I moaned.

  He spanked me again, this time harder. I was jolted forward. The stocks kept me in place, but the wood was rough against my skin. The Dom’s hands moved around my chest and squeezed my breasts. He twisted my nipples between his fingers, pinching me.

  “Repent,” he ordered.

  “Never.”

  Light as feather, his fingers moved down my stomach, then back up across my ribs. A shiver racked my body. Was he trying to tickle me? It was absurd, but as his hands made another pass over my ribs it was impossible to think otherwise.

  The tickling had a strange effect on me. My pussy started to pulse wildly. It was as if the sensation mingled with the pain to create an entirely unexpected result.

  The Dom’s hands slid over my curves to my thong. He ripped them at the hip and tossed them into the crowd. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man scramble forward to pick them up.

  Then something caught my eye: A face in the crowd, twisted with fear and anguish. It was my date from earlier. His cheeks were rosy; his eyes wide with shock. It looked as if he was terrified for me.

  I wanted to laugh. The poor guy didn’t understand what he was seeing was fake. Of course the pain and arousal were real, but everything else was theater.

  My Dom rose and walked out of sight. The stocks prevented me from turning so I couldn’t see what was coming next. Not knowing was exciting. It was then I felt something soft and round hit my backside.

  I let out a small yelp of surprise. The men in the audience laughed. A second round object hit the back of my thighs. What was going on? It was then I saw a half-rotten tomato roll across the floor. He was pelting me with rotten fruit and vegetables just like they did to people in the stocks during medieval times.

  I’d read about how some people in the BDSM community were turned on by humiliation; I’m not sure I’m one of them.

  “Do you repent, whore?” the Dom asked.

  “Yes,” I said, hoping he’d take it as a cue to move on. I wasn’t to the point of using our safe word, but I was eager to move on.

  Another piece of fruit hit my backside. It was hard and fast. I winced. The pain was nice, but I didn’t appreciate the laughs coming from the crowd.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw a figure move in the audience. I saw the flash of a black tux as a man moved to the opposite side of the stage and started to climb the stairs. What was going on? Was a man in the stage interrupting the show?

  I scanned the audience for my nervous date; he was nowhere in sight.

  “Great,” I mumbled.

  I hoped he didn’t grow a spine and decide to ‘save me.’ I could tell by the look on his face that he was convinced what he was witnessing was real. What if he thought I was in danger and decided to storm the stage? I would die from embarrassment and probably be kicked out of the party.

  “Excuse me-” my Dom said in a low voice. “We don’t allow-I see.”

  What was the man saying? I couldn’t make out his words. The men in the audience began to talk among themselves. This was apparently an unusual occurrence. I gathered that most of the men preferred to watch. Seeing one of their own rush the stage excited them. They squirmed in their seats and talked animatedly to one another.

  “There appears to be a change in the programming,” the Dom said. “This man has volunteered to punish the whore himself.”

  I rolled my eyes at his insistence on staying in character. On the bright side, at least this man who’d rushed the stage wasn’t trying to stop the show. Had my date grown curious and decided he wanted to participate? No. He was too timid.

  I tried to turn and see my new Dom, but the wooden stocks prevented me from looking. I watched my previous Dom leave the stage. He looked upset like a child who’d had a toy taken away from him. When he saw me staring, he nodded to me and winked. What did that mean? Was he trying to assure me everything would be fine? Did this new Dom know the safe word?

  I heard the man’s footsteps approaching me from behind. The audience grew quiet. Beside me a cat o’ nine tails unfurled. The leather straps hit the ground with a low slap.

  I’d never seen a cat o’ nine tails this close up. The long, black leather braids had tiny, metal hooks on the end. It looked frightening and my new Dom was giving me plenty of time to get a look at it. Was he trying to scare me or warn me?

  My chest felt tight. The leather braids moved over my face and around the stocks. The man was careful of the hooks. Still, they passed treacherously close to my face. I closed my eyes until the cat o’ nine tails was away from my head.

  The man’s shadow loomed large on the stage before me. He was tall and muscular; his shoulders wide set; his waist slim. As the cat o’ nine tails moved away from me, I caught a glimpse of the man’s hand. A small, hook-shaped scar caught my eye. I recognized it instantly as belonging to Alex. He’d received the injury when we were on a family vacation years ago. While fishing, a hook passed through the skin between his thumb and index finger and become stuck. I’ll never forget watching the doctor remove the fishing hook with a pair of pliers.

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sp; I wanted to laugh. Alex. Of course. I suspected he’d be at the party, but he had a way of finding me that I found suspicious. Did Ivy tell him I’d be here? It wouldn’t surprise me. I should have known. Too late now.

  The leather braids passed over my naked back. I could feel the metal claws graze my skin. I held my breath. They were sharp, but they didn’t break the skin. Not yet, anyway.

  “Punish her!” someone in the dark shouted.

  Laughter and whistles echoed the man’s sentiment. Alex wouldn’t like that. It went against what he believed was ‘good’ vs. ‘bad’ BDSM. He believed in building tension; BDSM was a seduction, not a free-for-all.

  He ran the claws over my lower back. In spite of the abrasive crowd, I enjoyed his touch. I’d recognize it anywhere.

  Gently, the leather braids slapped against my ass. It didn’t hurt; he was simply giving me a taste of what was to come.

  The crowd settled back down. Alex moved to the side. I couldn’t see his face, but his presence was comforting. I could see the muscles in his thighs tense beneath his pants. It was then I knew he was about to start whipping me in earnest.

  I held my breath. The first blow took me across the back of my thighs and ass. The whip stung, but the claws carried a bite unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

  I was scared to move. If I took away an ounce of control from Alex, it could spell trouble. He wielded the cat o’ nine tails with perfect, measured discipline. If I moved, it might cause the whip’s metal claws to catch my skin the wrong way. I’d end up with deep gashes instead of deliciously painful cat scratches.

  The whip cut through the air. I felt a rush of air against my bare skin then the sting of the leather braids. The bite of the claw followed on a delay. Three lines across my lower back screamed with fire. I knew then we’d begun in earnest.

  A second blow followed soon after. This one caught me across the thighs and ass. Sparks of light flared in my vision; the pain was intense.

  I inhaled sharply. I tried to stay still, but I couldn’t help squirming. My wrists were already raw from my previous encounter with Alex; the wood cut into my sore skin painfully. It was almost too much for me.

  A third blow from the cat o’ nine tails hit me and was quickly followed by a forth. I moaned loudly. I was wet and achy all over. Could the men in the crowd tell? They may not have been able to see how wet my pussy was, but there was a shift in the audience. They were tense; their eyes wide. It was like they could sense my arousal.