The Dom Games

by Rachel Robinson

  I chuckle. “Your hair and makeup? Which look flawless, by the way.” I bite down on my lip. As much as her painted face turns me on, I envision unloading come on her face and fucking up the makeup in the same thought—smudged black eye makeup and smeared red lipstick—the signs of a good time.

  “A few days ago they waxed every hair off my body,” she says, pointing to her pussy. “And yesterday, Dominic, they bleached my asshole. Bleach. Tell me how that sounds healthy.” Now I’m really laughing. I turn my face up to the ceiling and let out a long, loud bellow. “I’m glad you find my pain and embarrassment so funny, but it’s not.” She plants her hands on her hips and crosses one foot over the other. She hasn’t so much as glanced at her surroundings. She only has eyes for me.

  “I’m not laughing at your pain and embarrassment. I’m laughing because you’re telling me this. You’ve never had an anal bleaching before?”

  Her eyes, rimmed in black kohl, flare wide. “No! Of course not. Is that by your request? White assholes for Dominic Reed’s harem? It’s a little racist if you ask me. My asshole was fine before. A nice dark shade of asshole. Just the way it’s supposed to be. My ass is a hard limit anyways.” She folds her arms across her chest, and I see the swell of her breast. No bra. “Needless to say, whenever I get a summons to go to the salon, my heart rate kicks into the aerobic exercise zone. What will they wax or preen next? My internal organs?” Then she goes into detail about how she has to pull up her legs in a certain position to give the technician access to her nether region. How it feels when she’s sitting there getting waxed and bleached.

  “I’m sorry it was that painful for you. I assure you, other things will be much more daunting, Kayla. Anal bleaching is common place in this community. Especially for those regions that will appear on a large screen in high definition. You’re new, so perhaps it’s a lot all at once, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you had to endure that.” My smile is still wide. I can’t control it. “Your mood seems more jovial. You weren’t as friendly before. What’s changed? Oh, and you described the bleaching so thoroughly that I’m sad I missed it, honestly. Sounds like the employee had a beautiful view.”

  She scoffs, but I see a trace of a smile pull across her glossy lips. “She did, the best view ever. Anyways, you called me to your lair. I assume you want to prep me for tonight. That or chain me to a wall. That’s what happens in most lairs in movies. In an effort to create a true friendship, because I think it will be beneficial to both of us, I’ve decided to just be myself. You call it jovial. No games in friendships, right? And also, I’m probably a little nervous.” She tightens the belt of her robe. Her demeanor is lighter—more carefree. I wonder if a friendship might be possible after all. Color me intrigued. I’ve seen a few sides of Kayla by now. This one is by far my favorite.

  “Come sit down,” I say, directing her toward a leather chaise in my living area. She sits down, folding her legs underneath her small frame. “You’ve read over the play scene? Writing on you.”

  Now she looks extremely nervous. “Yes. I read it all. Laurel talked me through it before I came here to see you. Which is why I wasn’t quite sure what you wanted.”

  “You wanted to hang out with me off camera, right?” I ask. Giving her words back to her, I say, “In an effort to begin a friendship, consider this me doing my part.”

  She nods, but unease cascades off her in waves. She fidgets with her hair and rubs her pointer fingernail. “I’m just nervous,” she says, when she notices me noticing her. “I can’t control it. We’re going to have sex tonight and even though it’s going to be filmed, it doesn’t change the fact that we are going to do it tonight for the first time. I don’t want to want you. I don’t want to be nervous, or care one way or the other, but I do. I know my feelings are irrational. I’m on a sex show, for crying out loud, but I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  I sit down next to her and place a hand on her thigh. Her gaze draws down. I swallow. This seems so intimate, so odd. “Let’s warm up now,” I say, leaning toward her, letting my hand slide up and under her robe. “So later tonight when we do it, my touch won’t be so foreign. It will calm your nerves.” I’m taken aback by my own words. This woman has the ability to strip me down, and so easily too. Does she know what she’s capable of? Or is it effortless in her pursuit of victory?

  There are so many things wrong with this situation. She’s in my space, talking to me in a capacity of friendship, touching me as she pleases without rules or boundaries. It doesn’t resemble a newly minted Dom/sub relationship, that’s for sure. I told Laurel I wanted something different. This could be it. If the other women approach me for similar attentions, I have to say yes. This could be misconstrued as unfair. I pride myself on being fair. Equal dick time for all who want it.

  The others haven’t showed an interest, or have the balls to ask, because that’s not the natural way. Typically even off camera subs stay in character. When an exclusive relationship is formed, rules relax, and personalities bubble ever so slightly to the surface.

  Kayla lays her small hand on mine. “I’m a fucking shark in the sack. A real champion. Warming up is what all true athletes do, right? I need that.” Pressing her glossy lips together, she brings my hand higher up her leg to rest on the outside of her silky panties. Her gaze doesn’t waiver now. She’s emboldened by my touch, or by me.

  I laugh, but my thoughts are already dialed to sex. Her body. Her face when she orgasms. Not around her own fingers, though—around my hard, throbbing cock. Leaning toward her, I press my lips against hers and pull on her bottom lip with my teeth. She tastes like cherry and skin. “You need a warm up, then,” I say, my lips moving against her mouth. My fucking cock strains against my slacks. He can’t come out to play. He needs to perform on camera tonight and last a long, long time. Warming up for her is a good thing. For me? Not so much.

  Kayla nods, her soft cheek brushing against mine. “I mean, if you think you can. It’s not like you make me wet or anything.” She spreads her knees, drawing her mouth back to mine. She leans up to hook her hands around my neck. With the dexterity of a surgeon, I slide her panties aside and slip my fingers insider her extremely wet pussy. I rub her clit between my fingers, rolling it until she squirms, inching forward, closer to me.

  “You’re warmed up, Kayla. I’d say you’re ready to be fucked properly. You want my cock in here?” I rasp, sliding a finger deep into her core. She squirms, tilts her head back, and closes her eyes. I stroke her G-spot back and forth with the pad of my finger. “It’s not going to be like this tonight,” I whisper. Kayla is tight. She grips my finger like a vice and my dick throbs in response. What it will feel like to be rutting inside her—connected and sweaty and pure nirvana.

  Without missing a beat, she says, “I’m not an idiot.” She writhes down on my hand to put pressure on her clit. “Rub a little harder. I’m going to come so fucking hard,” she pants out, almost a breathless plea. I should take my hand away, but curiosity and vanity force me to rub her G-spot harder. She slumps over my shoulder and braces herself as she screams out. Kayla’s legs shake as she comes hard around my finger. I feel her teeth lightly graze my shoulder. She had an orgasm, and I’m the one shuddering.

  Kayla wraps her arms around my neck in a tight hug. “That felt amazing,” she says, her mouth at my ear. I slide my hand back out of her robe. It leaves a trail of her wetness on the inside of her thigh. “I like being your friend.” She giggles. The sound makes me smile. A real, happiness-glowing smile. I’ve confirmed this is definitely the side of her I like the best.

  I hug her back, folding my big arms around her tiny frame. It feels odd. It feels right. I like being her friend, too. Suddenly, I understand that I’m the one who is going to be chewed up and spat out, and I need to do something about it.

  I lick my finger.

  ****

  The lights are hot on my back, and Kayla is cuffed by wrists and ankles to a round, black leather bed. She’s pulling at the restrai
nts in an effort to get to me. She’s collared, blindfolded, and gagged with a rubber ball. Marker is covering most of her body with all the things we’ve done to each other. My writing is small and neat. Hers is loopy and cursive. She wrote sweet things like kiss me here, tickle me while bound. Given her current appearance, the things I wrote were a touch more nefarious. She’s loved every single second. Surprise, surprise.

  I smell her arousal. It’s overpowering all of my other senses. By this point in the scene we’ve done everything except direct penetration. I almost shot the wad when my cock was in her mouth because the back and forth, torture and tease of this scene is fucking intense.

  An episode is an hour long, but the beginning is comprised of the subs in a room, talking to a camera by themselves about their feelings before and after a scene. They have scripted questions to answer, but most end up rambling and giving us gold to work with. It’s also when we cut subs and send them home if it’s required. All of the random footage shot of the women in the sub house is edited in, and then the host, Gage, does his recap of the former week’s episode.

  An episode always ends with fucking. The second my dick slides home, the phantom like music starts and the cameras cut. I’m counting down the seconds in my head until I can fuck Kayla.

  “Are you ready?” I ask, placing my palm on her sweaty stomach. She’s so petite that my hand spans her entire stomach. It rises and falls with each deep breath she takes. This power I feel right now is utter heaven. She’s mine in every way possible, and no one can deny it. Fury of possession and lust hit me. I don’t want to hold back any longer.

  Kayla nods. Gritting my teeth, I unfasten her gag and pull it away with a long strand of spit connecting it to her mouth. Her lips part and close a few times as she adjusts to the new sensation.

  Lips. They’re such innocuous things in real life. They speak and laugh. They kiss babies, and are responsible for filtering or not filtering every word you ever speak. In my world, this world, they’re the most erotic, beautiful, stunning part of a person. Lips praise. They suck and kiss and worship my body. Kayla’s lips worship me. I am obsessed with lips, but especially hers right now because I know that this isn’t her life, nor is it something she would pick for herself, yet her lips are asking me for more. Words passing her lips about how good I feel, how wet she is, thanking me for filling her with a vibrating dildo. It’s uncomplicated in here. She obeys. She wants more.

  Removing the gag does give me pause, because she could potentially say something un-sub like and ruin the scene, but at this point I wouldn’t even care. I’ll still fuck her. My cock is heavy and dripping with pre-come. I glance at the large, digital clock to my right to make sure my timing is on par and catch sight of the crew.

  “Please, Dom…Sir. Please, will you release me now?” Kayla asks, her breathing rapid. Cameras pan around to catch different angles as I kneel down between her legs and release one wrist and slide over to unfasten the other one. I kiss her when her arms are free. Automatically her hands wind around my neck and into my hair.

  In my peripheral I see a camera closing in on our faces as we kiss. A close-up of lips. They won’t show my face, it will be hidden by shadows, but they will see my mouth. Kayla pulls my bottom lip with her teeth and then lets it slap back in place. I don’t close my eyes. I watch her long, black eyelashes flutter as she kisses me—her tongue entwining with mine.

  With her hands on each side of my face, she breaks the kiss. “Fuck me first, Sir?” she asks, smiling. I can’t help it. I really, truly can’t because if I could I would fold her small, fuckable body over my knee and spank her—instead, I smirk. She’s still wearing her blindfold, but she’s so comfortable with it, that she doesn’t make a move to remove it.

  Leaning up, I rub the inside of her leg where she has written the words ‘Fuck me here’ and she’s drawn an arrow pointing up toward her cunt. It’s smeared with her desire. I trail my finger over the arrow, and she bucks her hips. Kayla presses her hands down against the leather to brace herself. The heat from her palms marks the cool leather with condensation.

  “My legs. Please take the cuffs off.”

  I wasn’t planning on it, but I do, and I take off the blindfold, too. I don’t stop to think why, or what it means, because this isn’t part of my usual routine. She bends her knees but keeps her legs wide for easy access. I place the head of my cock at her entrance and push it in. Her pussy is tight, but it’s so wet that the head pops in, sending a thrill of pleasure down my spine. She throws her head back and moans, grabbing her knees to expose herself. I growl and thrust hard once to hit home. The music cues and the camera lights immediately go out. It’s dark and cool in comparison. She kisses me while I rock into her, and I kiss her back. I touch her face. She pulls my hair and glides her hands down my back to my ass. Her whole body tenses before she comes, her pussy clenching me in glorious waves. I muffle her cries with my mouth, and then I fuck Kayla so hard and loud that I actually call out her fucking name as I come on her stomach, exactly on the spot that says ‘I want to flog your ass.’

  Good thing the cameras didn’t catch that.

  Or did they?

  Chapter Nine

  “Lip Locked”

  Kayla

  The playback from his scene with Coco is flashing on the screen in the shared living room. They put the episodes on loop after they’ve been edited and before they air. My nails are digging into my palms and the jealousy coursing through my body watching Dominic with her makes me wild. Wild in like the me-Tarzan-me-kill type of way. Before the games started, if you had told me I’d be jealous of the other women, I would have laughed you out of the room. Right now I feel like doing anything but laughing—rolling detached heads out of the room, maybe.

  Coco smirks, flips her hair, and crosses her legs in my peripheral vision. I don’t give her the satisfaction of glancing her way. Her commentary is enough to piss anyone off. “That felt amazing. See what he’s doing with his tongue right there? He knows I like that,” she purrs. Someone else groans. Good. I’m not alone in my seething jealousy. One of the girls huffs as she leaves the room. Coco cackles. I wish Dom would beat her. Not the type that feels good, either. The type that brings tears and bad feelings.

  I can’t stay quiet any longer. Usually I’d keep my mouth shut because we’re being filmed, but the jealousy is so thick and my anger so valid, that I let it rip. “Shut the fuck up, Coco! No one wants to hear the play-by-play. If we can’t tell what’s going on by watching the screen, then we have bigger problems. Are you that self-conscious?” I pause, waiting for her to argue. When she remains quiet and stoic, I go on. “Get a fucking life, okay? Dominic does that with his tongue to all of us. You aren’t some special fuck doll. Alert the media—Coco gets a reality check. Dominic fucks one of the ten. Go twiddle yourself, would you?” The camera is right in my face. But Coco fuck doll gets up and leaves the room without saying one more goddamned word.

  “Thank you for saying that. I was about to lose my mind,” Jessy whispers from the couch next to me. I merely nod, keeping my gaze focused on the screen—my anger justified by someone else. I’m only watching Dominic. I’m analyzing his every move. His every reaction: the way his hand caresses the curves of her body, the set of his scruffy jaw, how he avoids kissing Coco at all costs. The tongue thing he’s doing on her neck and jaw line is to avoid kissing her.

  “He doesn’t kiss her,” I whisper. I lean forward and continue watching out of morbid curiosity. Although I say it to myself as a realization, Jessy overhears.

  “He doesn’t kiss me either, Kayla.” I quirk a brow at her. How is that possible? Why haven’t I picked up on it yet? Granted he’s only had scenes with us three, but Jessy’s was rough, so I never picked up on the no-kissing, assuming it was part of the role play. This scene with Coco, though he has ample opportunity, he doesn’t do it. I’m having a hard time reconstructing our play scene in my mind because I was so overwhelmed with pleasure and him. God, it was rapture. Having
sex with him was unlike anything else. Jason isn’t even on Junior Varsity level in comparison. Dominic and his skills are incomparable to anything else. When I think about his touch on my skin, I shiver and my core clenches. I plan to soak him up, cameras or not, for as long as I’m here. The BDSM aspect rarely even enters my mind, because it all feels good. I was floating on a cloud of perfection for the next few days after the scene. Watching his episode with Jessy really killed that buzz fast, and now this with Coco. My shaking hands are about to give me away.

  I tell Jessy I’ll see her at dinner and excuse myself from the room as Coco’s loud orgasm echoes in the room and into the hallway. I close my eyes and run down the hallway. I need the solitude of my room to make sense of my feelings. I’m not only mad at Coco, I’m mad at Sir. I turn around to make sure the cameras aren’t following and run directly into someone.

  “Tim,” I say when I see his ill-fitting sleeve and hand reaching down to help me up.

  “Ms. Parchet. You have mail,” he says, handing me a stack of letters. I may not be able to access my social media accounts or talk on the phone, but I have snail mail. It’s a most welcome distraction at the moment.

  I sigh. “It’s Kayla.”

  Tim smirks. “If I call you by your first name, I’ll lose my job.”

  “Says who?”

  He looks over his shoulder. “Listen, okay. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I came to deliver this. Let me leave, please,” Tim says, eyes pleading. He shuffles from one foot to the other.

  “Laurel? Who do you take orders from?” I ask, raising my chin in question.

  “I’m an intern. I take orders from pretty much everyone, but Mr. Reed doesn’t want me talking to you more than is necessary. I got chewed out for going into your room. I gave you your mail and left, okay?” The fucking nerve. He’s going to take my small piece of normalcy away from me? My Tim? The guy who reminds me of the outside world? The geek who shuffles his feet and has a goofy smile? He’s taking a purely platonic dude and making him my enemy.