by Dani René
“I take it you’ll be with Savvie on stage for the evening?” I question, not responding to his earlier comment. The club is decked in silver, gold, and black. The furniture is jet faux leather, with delicate silk fabric that hangs from ceiling to floor in the softest shade of pink. The silver tables, along with the bar, offsets the luxurious feel of our club.
“I might take her into one of the rooms as well. Perhaps train one of the other submissives who asked for a female and female pairing,” he tells me as we make our way to the bar. Savannah is Mason’s beautiful blonde submissive. They’ve been together for far longer than I care to imagine, but for some reason, he’s never married her. Granted, being collared means more in this life, but there are times I see how she looks at him. It’s no secret, Savvie wants a ring.
Dylan smiles from the other side of the bar when we reach it. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he says in his boyish tone. Oliver would have a field day with him. But I heard the man has taken on a new slave who’s been on the waiting list for a couple weeks. Yes, Oliver Michaelson has a waiting list of newbies wanting to experience the lifestyle. I can’t wait to hear the feedback from that pairing.
“D, can you get me a gin and tonic, single,” I tell him. Mason orders his normal brandy on ice, while I perch on one of the stools. Each time someone enters the club, my attention is dragged to the door. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but none of the women in the club at this particular moment grab my attention.
Three women sidle in at that moment, all of them giggling like teenagers. Easy pickings. Yeah, I’m an asshole. There wasn’t a day in my life I denied it. And when a quick, easy fuck presents itself, I don’t deny my need. I pick up the tumbler that’s been set before me and take a sip while keeping my gaze trained on them. Perhaps I’m a glutton, but having three women worshiping me for the night sounds like a plan.
“I’ll see you later, Mase,” I tell my best friend and head toward the booth the women have chosen. “Ladies,” I murmur, stopping at their table. All three snap their gazes toward me—blue, brown, and green.
“Hello,” blue eyes mumbles shyly.
“Are you ladies here for the show? Or are you looking for something more . . . particular?” I ask, lifting my glass to my lips, while meeting each set of eyes for a moment, lingering on them. Making eye contact with a woman is a sure-fire way to get into those pretty knickers they wear.
Brown eyes smiles. “We’re actually here looking for . . . well . . . we were told that Carrick Anderson is one of the most sought-after Dominants in the club. Beside the fact that he owns the place. We just wanted to experience a scene with him.”
“I see.” I nod, quickly glancing at the bar, signaling Dylan. Once he reaches us, I look at the ladies once more and offer a nod. “Dylan will sort you out with the confidentiality agreement. He will bring you one drink. Nothing more. If I’m going to have three submissives under my care tonight, I want them of sound mind.”
“You're . . .?” blue eyes gasps.
“The one and only. Nice to meet you, ladies. I’ll be seeing you in about twenty minutes.” I tip my head in greeting and walk away. Dylan knows exactly what I need and want. Every woman who walks into a scene with me signs an agreement. She is to understand there are safe words which she can use at her discretion. She will also be told how to be kneeling when I enter the room, and under no circumstance is she supposed to be high or heavily intoxicated.
“Three?” Mason says when I reach him once more. “You’re slipping there, Rick. I would’ve easily thought you could handle more.” He chuckles.
“I may be a glutton, Mase, but I’m not greedy.” I wink, slapping his back as I head down toward the back rooms of the club.
Whenever I decide to play a scene, there’s one room that’s mine and only mine. It’s draped in black satin and silk the color of graphite. The sofas are velvet. A St. Andrews Cross sits against one wall with leather cuffs for both wrists and ankles. A spanking bench along with some beautifully intricate toys to torture my slaves with hanging on one wall. There’s a small changing room with restroom for the subs to use after we’re done.
Even though my office is my haven, this room is for when I take on multiple subs at a time. Upon entering, I make my way to the wall, pulling off the two whips, along with a flogger I might use. I proceed in setting out the rest of the toys, opening two new butt plugs along with lube. I don’t know their experience, but from their pretty doe-eyes peering at me like lambs about to head to the slaughter, I’d say they’re fairly new to this.
Moments later, the door opens, and Dylan escorts three beautiful toys into the room. They’re dressed in silk robes, bare feet, and each one with her hair in a ponytail.
“Thank you, Dylan. That’s all,” I tell him. Once he’s gone, I don’t speak. They move silently as they’ve been instructed and drop the robes. Once they’re naked apart from tiny black panties, all three kneel with their hands behind their back, causing their tits to jut out.
I watch them intently as I unbutton my jacket, shrugging it off and hanging it on the rack in the far corner. My shirt is off in moments, and I’m left with my slacks and socks on.
“Do you understand why you’re kneeling?” I ask, my tone commanding and dominant.
“Yes, Sir,” they respond in unison. My cock jolts at their reaction.
“And you remember your safe words?”
“Red, Yellow, and Green.” Once again, they respond beautifully.
I make my way over to the implements I set out and pick up a small leather crop. Stalking toward my sub toys, I lift the implement and gently stroke it over each of their thighs. Gentle trembles trail through them at the touch of the cool material.
“Eyes up,” I command, and they each lift their gazes to me. “One by one, I want you to tell me your names,” I command them. My confident demeanor emanates from me like a cologne. I’m in charge of three sexy women who are about to do anything I tell them.
More than eight years of torturing willing women—subs, slaves, toys, pets, whatever they’re called—has hardened me. It’s changed me. There’s pleasure, pain, but no emotion. That part of me closed off a long time ago.
“Monica,” says blue eyes. Lifting the crop, I bring it down on her bare tit, causing her to yelp.
“I trust you know how to address me?” I hiss, leaning in, meeting her gaze with one of my own serious glares.
“Monica, Sir.” Her voice is melodic, with a tremble of fear trickling through it.
I turn to brown eyes, and she responds easily. “Jenna, Sir.” My gaze shifts over her, and I nod. When my eyes fall on the last girl, green eyes pierce me. “Alicia, Sir.” Rising to full height, I take them each in. Monica is beautiful, her curves are soft, her tits large with dark brown nipples. Jenna is slim, smaller than her friend, but she has the most incredible set of tits, a handful with rosy nipples. When I glance at Alicia once more, I can’t help taking in the ink that adorns her toned, almost athletic body. She could be a gymnast with her build. All three incredibly beautiful, yet so different.
“Good girls. Stand. All three of you.” They rise easily, and I head toward the large queen-sized bed. Shoving my slacks down, I step out of them, along with my socks. The briefs I’m wearing leave very little to the imagination. “I want you, Jenna, on the bed.” She moves quickly, her hips swaying as she lies back. I proceed to bind her wrists and ankles while the other two watch in awe.
“Alicia, you’ll be kneeling between her thighs.” My orders are swift as the little toy moves in position. “And you, pet, will be sitting on her face, without those panties on.”
The blush that spreads across her cheeks is enough to tell me she’s never done anything this naughty before. But she doesn’t respond, she merely moves toward her friend and straddles her face.
The tiny thong Jenna is wearing, I reach for it and rip it from her hips. “Get to work,” I tell Alicia as she gasps at me. Tentatively, they move in sync while I lift the crop, br
inging it down on Jenna’s exposed tits, stomach, and her legs.
Moans echo through the room along with whimpers of pleasure as I watch the three slaves writhe in gratification. I palm my dick in my boxers while I rain down swats on all three girls. As the rapture heightens, they move faster, losing themselves in the ecstasy of the moment. Small red prints mark their pale flesh, and I smirk in satisfaction.
“Stop.” All three women ceases movement immediately. “Which one of you wanted pain?”
Alicia’s beautiful eyes sparkle. “I did.” I move, undoing the restraints, allowing Jenna and Monica to watch as I take their little friend and have her stand before me. I grab the clamps and lean in, suckling on each of her tiny nipples. They harden for me, and I proceed in clamping them with the metal teeth. She whimpers as the pain sears through her.
“At the cross,” I order, and she shuffles toward the wooden X against the wall, the chains of her clamps clinking in the silence of the room. Once she’s bound, I grab my flogger. Turning to the other two girls, I tell them, “I want you both in a sixty-nine, right now.” They obey dutifully. Lifting the flogger, I swat Alicia along her stomach. She cries out, and my cock hardens further. I lash her again and again. Her body trembling in the leather cuffs. She can’t move. Tears stream from her eyes, but she doesn’t call red.
“Please, Sir,” she pleads then, her eyes glistening like jewels.
“What? Tell me what you want?” I ask. Her gaze falls to her friends who are in a frenzy on the bed, wet slurping sounds that make my dick needy.
“The cane.” Her words jar me, and I stare at her for a moment.
Shaking my head, I respond, “I don’t use the cane.” Her face falls at my words, but I can’t bring myself to pick the offending item up. Ever. I reach for my belt on the floor and fold it in half. “You’ll get leather instead.” I don’t wait. I lift it easily, bringing it down onto her thighs in a harsh thwack. I continue marking her. The pleasure from doling it out is enough to keep me high for days. When I finally drop the belt, her legs are full of angry red welts. She wanted this. I’m a monster, but I can’t help it. This is who I am.
I unbind her and lead her to the bed. The other two pets are curled around each other, their mouths busily feasting on the other. “Enough,” I order in a gruff tone. My cock is throbbing painfully. I don’t offer Alicia anything more than a smile after whipping her.
It’s not that I don’t care, but once I’m done, Dylan will come in and offer them the calm they need after a scene. Like I said, no emotion. They move off each other, and I settle on the bed, pulling a small foil packet from the nightstand and sheath myself. I’m lying on my back and gesture for Alicia to straddle my cock. Monica is between my thighs. Her wet tongue lapping at my balls and licking her friend’s asshole. I watch the scene for a moment, reveling in the filthy little sluts that are here for me.
“On my face,” I say, pointing at Jenna. She obeys without questions as she straddles me, her smooth, drenched cunt at my mouth as I suck on her clit. Her hips buck, her cries otherworldly as I roughly shove two fingers inside her hole.
The four of us move, fuck, and lick in that position. All I hear are the moans, the mewls of three wanton whores who love my dick. Alicia’s tight pussy pulses around my erection, and her body locks while Jenna’s delicious juices drip down my chin. I’m still hard when I shift a trembling Jenna and Alicia off me.
“Monica, pull that rubber off and show me how much you love my dick. Put that sweet fuck hole of yours on my face.” The command is easy, and the little minx positions herself as a six, and I’m her nine. Her mouth envelops me all the way to the base. Her gagging sounds spur me on, and I devour her cunt, my tongue darting into her like I would fuck her with my cock. Her hips roll as she rides my face, and my hips lift as I plunge into her throat. Each time I do, her heat tightens around my three fingers, and I bite down on her clit causing her to scream around my dick, and I can’t hold off my orgasm anymore. Shooting hot spurts down her throat, I revel in the filthy indulgence of my life.
2
Peyton
“Pey, you don’t have to leave, you know?” My brother sounds so sad. Chance Moore has been there all my life, literally. My twin brother who always teases me that he was the one born with all the looks and I got the brains.
My rock.
As much as I want to stay, I need to do this. It’s been a long while since I’ve done something for myself. And with Michael, my ex-fiancé, locked up for what he did, I can finally move on.
My past is ugly. The pain I’ve lived with for so long has held me back, shoved me into the darkest of depressions. I can’t trust anyone. Only Chance. But no more. I’ll never allow my fear of living hold me back. My parents were always forceful in telling us what we had to do rather than nurturing us. But then again, my father had his dodgy dealings to worry about. With his connection to the mob here in New York, he thought he’d make it out alive, but the night he and Mom were killed ensured that Chance and I were orphans before we hit twenty-one.
“Listen to me,” Chance implores, and I drag my gaze to him. “He was wrong for you, we all know that, but he’s paying for what he did, and he’ll never hurt you.” He tells me something I knew anyway. With a life sentence without the chance of parole, I know Michael can’t hurt me, but deep down, I feel like I need to finally spread my wings. “You, running away, that is not what Mom and Dad would’ve wanted.” The mention of my parents only solidifies my choice.
When Savannah called me up and told me to spend time with her in Chicago, I jumped at the chance. Her boyfriend, Mason, owns a club there; but I know she’s into the BDSM lifestyle, and something about hearing her stories makes me want to see what the fuss is about.
When I told her I wanted to try, she agreed to help me through my journey to find out what I want. When she told me there’s no strings at the club and I can walk away at any time, I booked my flight.
“You’ll make an awesome lawyer one day, arguing your cases, but I need to do this. I spent two years mourning our parents and what that asshole did to me. I can’t do it anymore, Chance.”
He sighs, his green eyes that match mine shimmer with emotion. “Fine. But if you find me some hot man, I’ll forgive you for leaving me.” He chuckles.
My brother has loved and lost. He knows how broken I feel. Learning the man that you love is a murderer does wonders for your self-confidence. I was blinded. So were my parents. But now, choosing someone to be with, let alone start a relationship with, is becoming a task I’d rather not embark on.
I was engaged to Michael since I was eighteen. For years, he doted on me, on my family, but when the truth finally came to light, I watched him get cuffed and lose his plea for freedom in court. Even now, nightmares haunt me of hearing those metal gates shutting him inside and me on the other.
“And don’t you worry your pretty little head about me, chicken. I’ll not be alone for too long,” he teases, shoving my suitcase closed with a loud whoosh.
“You need to stop falling for every pretty boy you see,” I tease, throwing a pillow at his face. He’s been lying on my bed, his hand holding up his head watching me pack.
“Then find me some hot, older guy, and I’ll kneel for him,” he tells me with a wicked grin on his face. He’s handsome, with blonde hair and green eyes, and a smile that can have any woman falling for him. I was convinced my brother was gay; then he told me he’s bi. He loves both sides of the coin. I love how free he is about his sexuality, while I’ve only dated Michael, and the worst of it is, I’m still a damn virgin.
Daddy wanted me to be with Michael because he had a good head on his shoulders. It was utter bull crap. He was only doing what he could to get into my family’s money.
“You know, I have no idea what I’m getting into,” I confess, flopping on the bed beside him. Staring up at the ceiling, I play scenarios in my head. All the while I’ve been with Michael, it was what Savvie calls vanilla. The word alone sounds boring.
Michael and I would make out, he’d touch me, and then he’d let me make him hard with my mouth. Other than that, he never took the next step to make love to me.
“Pey, if there’s any advice I can give, it's that you need to start living. Feel rather than think. Perhaps you should just indulge while you’re there.”
I turn my head to face him. My twin brother. “So, you want me to turn into a slut?” I giggle, rolling my eyes.
“Hey, if that will get that stick out from up your ass, I’m all for it.” He goads me into another swift slap on his shoulder. “Hey!” We collapse in a fit of hysterics. I’ll miss this. Miss him.
“What if I get there and I hate it?” The fear of trying something new causes anxiety to twist itself in my stomach, twirling itself around me like a vine of thorns.
“What if you get there and meet a handsome, successful Dominant who’ll take you to new heights? And maybe even teach you a thing or two about having an actual orgasm?” Chance utters, and I know it’s a dig at Michael.
All the years I was with my ex-fiancé, the only time I actually felt something remotely close to an orgasm was when I touched myself. Granted, my father wanted us together. He was thrown at me without so much as an explanation other than he’ll be able to look after me. I didn’t realize what it meant until I found out what Daddy really did behind closed doors.
But I wasn’t what he was looking for. No, he needed the fortune my father had. Only, when my parents were gone, and he realized there wasn’t a family inheritance, Michael turned sour. For days after the funeral, I wondered what happened to him, but then I overheard his conversation, and the truth struck me like a slap in the face.
