His Filthy Game: A Romance Compilation

by Cassandra Dee

  “A job?” I asked, puzzled. “This is a job?”

  Shelly sighed and for a moment, I was afraid that she might think I was too dumb to comprehend anything about BDSM, like some kind of clueless child that couldn’t be taught.

  But then Shelly continued.

  “There’s this agency. It’s called Seductive Subs. There, a Dominant will search among all the subs listed and choose who he wants to play with. There will be contracts that need to be reviewed, and the agency takes care of all the financial agreements.” Shelly looked at me with a smile. “It’s easy money and a win-win for people like me. You’re not only pleasured but also paid for it.”

  My brain couldn’t process her words at first. Seductive Subs? BDSM? A Dominant? Masochism? I didn’t know how to absorb everything she’d just said.

  Shelly stood up and then looked down at me. “So what do you say?” was her impatient demand, one foot tapping on the floor.

  What was I supposed to say? “I don’t know.”

  Shelly nodded. She seemed to understand my confusion and disbelief regarding her work. “Well, do you think you’d be up for it?”

  If her explanation still confused me, then how could I be up for it?

  “I think I’ll just have to keep working at the grocery store,” was my slow reply. “Delaney’s, just on the other side of town.”

  Shelly nodded and turned away silently, opening the door to her apartment. But halfway in, the blonde turned back to me. “Look up the site, Kitty. You might change your mind. If you do, come talk to me.”

  I couldn’t even say anything as the woman disappeared. Because what in the world?

  BDSM?

  Dominant and submissive?

  Were there actually people who found pleasure in pain?

  How was that even possible?

  Slowly opening the door to my apartment, I let myself into the small space. And once inside, my head spun from all the information Shelly had just told me.

  Because what was this all about?

  Resolving to put it out of my head, my hand reached for the fridge door. And then my stomach sank because it was nearly empty inside. A can of grape soda and half a block of cheese. God. I closed my eyes, and for probably the hundredth time that night, sighed again before closing the fridge.

  I needed money.

  What Shelly had suggested couldn’t be the answer to my poverty. For one thing, I couldn’t even begin to understand how someone could find pleasure in torturing another person.

  That was insane.

  And for another, I was a virgin at the ripe old age of nineteen.

  It wasn’t to save myself for the man I would marry someday or anything like that. It was because no one had ever found me dateable. Not that there’d been time for dating while working my fingers to the bone just to survive.

  So how could a virgin like me even sign up for that kind of thing?

  What Dominant in their right mind would even want someone who was not only inexperienced in that kind of sexual lifestyle, but also clueless about sex in general?

  Me, the curvy girl. The big brunette who knows nothing about boys, much less pleasure and pain.

  And resolutely, I put it out of my head. Because I’d find some way to pay my bills … without selling my body for money.

  Chapter Two

  Connor

  “Teresa, what’s the next thing on my schedule?” I asked my secretary through the intercom.

  Her clipped voice answered me back. “That was your last meeting, Mr. Cartwright. You’re free for the day.”

  “Okay. Thank you. You may leave now too if you don’t have anything else to do,” I told her. Teresa always ended up asking me if she could leave early anyway.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. Enjoy the rest of the day!” she piped happily through the connection.

  I rubbed my temple and yawned. It had been a long week.

  With a sigh, I closed my laptop and finally loosened my tie. My reflection stared back at me from the glass wall that gave a stunning view of New York City. I kept my dark hair neat and my clothes well-tailored, but shit, I was a wreck. My eyes were tired. Yeah, these “piercing blues” that the tabloids loved to talk about were dull and glassy.

  Because to the world, I was Connor Cartwright, CEO of Flagstone Real Estate Group. A real estate mogul, a man who came from nothing and now boasted a net worth of $2.56 billion.

  But actually, I was simply a man who had decided to work his ass off and made just the right bet to land me at the top of the mountain.

  I stood up from my seat and poured myself a glass of scotch from the table across from the bay of windows. Once, the naïve and younger version of myself used to fantasize about how once I reached the pinnacle the whole world would be in the palm of my hand. But younger me didn’t realize how exhausting it would really be.

  FML.

  Worse, I couldn’t be convinced to take a vacation from work—even if exhaustion followed me around closer than my shadow. But today, I was actually craving one. The problem was that even if I flew to the other side of the world, my mind would always come back to work. So how could it even be relaxing if my body was in one place, but my mind would still be thinking about the new apartment building that was currently being built?

  No one understood why vacations didn’t appeal to me though.

  Except John.

  John was my closest and oldest friend. A billionaire just like me. He made money by selling a game he’d developed that had everyone hooked. Something called Feather Crush or Feather Fun. It was crazy how kids and adults loved it, playing non-stop on their phones.

  It was also funny how the two of us used to just be gangly high school kids who used to dream of becoming filthy rich. Skinny boys with scrawny arms and legs, our heads filled with dreams.

  Now, the two of us were on Forbes list.

  I grabbed my phone, pressing John’s name and waiting for the call to connect.

  “Hey Connor!” John growled the moment he answered his phone. Music pounded in the background, mixed with people talking in loud voices. Judging from the noise, I assumed John was at a bar.

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Hold on,” he yelled through the phone before the background noises faded and John spoke again. “Some of my employees wanted to go out for a drink. Our latest video game just ranked number one, so we decided to celebrate,” John explained. “You wanna come out?”

  Even when my buddy knew what my answer would be, he still asked. Because I haven’t been out in ages. Yeah, my social life was in the pits while we worked non-stop on this deal.

  But John’s never been like that. The guy’s an Energizer Bunny, working ten hours a day and then partying until two or three a.m.

  There’s no way I could keep up. So I shook my head even though he couldn’t see.

  “Naw,” was my grunt. “But I need to talk to you.”

  “Yo, yo,” he said breezily. “I’m your man. This club fucking sucks anyways, and it’s just around the block from your office. Give me five and I’ll be right there.”

  True to his words, John showed up in fifteen, carrying a six-pack of beer and grinning that shit-eating smile. As usual, my man didn’t look anything like a billionaire. He wasn’t decked out in a suit and tie, but rather jeans, a plain shirt, and leather jacket, with his hair completely unkempt.

  Sometimes I envied how relaxed this dude was all the time. He could be in a hurricane, and yet still be cool as a cucumber.

  “How was your day?” the man grunted.

  I shrugged and cracked open the can of beer, my scotch long gone by now. “Not bad,” was my drawl. “Yours?”

  Usually, guys don’t make this kind of small talk. But for my oldest buddy? It was fine.

  He laughed. “Well, my day was amazing. But I won’t get into it.”

  Suddenly, John’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, eyes scanning the Caller ID. And I swear, that dude got excited seeing who it was.
Placing the cell to his year, he raised a finger at me in the timeless gesture of “one minute.”

  “Hello, baby,” he said to the mystery person on the other end of the line.

  Shit. Who was on the other side? Because my buddy’s not exactly a sweetalker.

  The disheveled man ignored me, carrying on with his conversation, “Hmm, I’d like to see you lying on my bed, sprawled naked and pleasuring yourself. Moaning and screaming my name while you do would be nice too. I want my whole hand pounding into that sweet, tight pussy of yours, watching it go in and out. Yeah, fisting, baby. It’ll feel nice, I promise.”

  Holy fuck. Fisting? What the hell? My eyes narrowed in disbelief. Plus, was this motherfucker really doing this right in front of me? It’s not that it made me jealous, but seriously. I didn’t need to hear the details of his dirty sex life.

  Unfortunately, there were two more long minutes of nasty talk, the dude going on about all sorts of kinky shit. Holy fuck. Where did he pick this shit up? Some kind of bizarre sex club?

  Finally, my man hung up and smirked at me. “That was my submissive.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t care who you fuck, John.”

  “Ooh, you’re not jealous?” He feigned hurt. Sometimes I wondered why I even bothered to put up with this asshole. But then again, he was my only true friend since high school. With what I was worth, it was hard to find anyone sincere. Most people had dollar signs in their hearts, just wanting a piece of my empire.

  “So, what did you want to talk about?” John asked nonchalantly, like his phone call had been no big deal. He sat down in front of my desk with an open expression, waiting to hear what I had to say, blue eyes glinting.

  Fine, we’ll play it your way, motherfucker.

  I cracked open another beer and took a sip before saying, “I think I need some time off.”

  “Oh!” John exclaimed and abruptly stood up. He leaned closer to me, cupping a hand to his ear. “Did I hear you right? Connor Cartwright wants some time off? I don’t believe in miracles, but you just made me a believer!”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious, asshole.”

  “And I am seriously surprised too, Connor,” John said, sitting back down as he looked me in the eye. “Since you started with this company way back as an asset manager, you haven’t taken a single day off. Not even on Thanksgiving or for your brother’s wedding.”

  I turned away. My brother’s wedding was a touchy subject still. “I just thought it would be good to take some time off now. I don’t need to go anywhere in particular. Maybe I could just retreat to my apartment on the outskirts of the city. Be away from all the noise and stress.”

  “All by your lonesome?” John asked with a small grin. “Look, Connor, I’m thinking of having some time off too. But what are you gonna do? Trust me, vacation can get boring if you don’t have someone to spend the time with. Someone beautiful, sexy, and female, preferably. Capiche?”

  I stared at my friend.

  “Unlike you, I don’t have a girl on speed dial,” was my surly retort.

  He shrugged carelessly.

  “I don’t either,” was that off-hand reply. “Well, sort of. I mean, I’m paying my sub, it’s not like she’s a real girlfriend or anything.”

  I knew of John’s preference when it came to sex. He didn’t like the whole vanilla sex where you had to date and form an attachment. That wasn’t his style. When he’d started dabbling in that world, he introduced me to the basics. I’d tried my hand at it, but wasn’t the hardcore Dom he was either.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a submissive, John,” I rasped. “That shit wasn’t for me. You know that.”

  Because when I was still an asset manager, working my way up and making risky bets, BDSM had helped me release the pent-up stress from work. But somehow, it left me empty. Hearing the girls scream and watching them come like a massive volcano was a turn-on for sure. But somehow they always got attached, and that was bad.

  Because I’m CEO of a Fortune 500 company. There’s no time for attachment in my day-to-day life.

  But maybe a month of stress-releasing fucking was exactly what I needed right now. Especially if I could pay the female to go away afterwards. So slowly, I raised a black eyebrow.

  “Maybe if your girl knows one who’s willing to play, then I might just sign a month-long contract with her,” I told John. Yeah, a submissive might be exactly what I needed. Maybe a little fun with a masochistic woman would ease all the tension and tiredness.

  “Lucky for you, I’ve never stopped playing in that world.” John grinned, chugging his beer then pulling out his phone to show me. “And, that world has evolved. Look.”

  With a few taps on his phone he showed me a website that had pictures of girls in seductive poses with a description of how they could provide their Dom’s pleasure. Holy shit. This stuff was fucking rancid in some cases, the shit they were into.

  But it wasn’t my place to judge.

  Besides, John couldn’t stop grinning.

  “Bless the poor fuck who invented this site,” he growled. “Because this shit is amazing. You pretty much browse for someone who interests you and bid for them. Get it? And once the submissive accepts your offer, the site arranges everything, including the contract and payments. It’s like freelance submission.”

  WTF?

  “How legit is this?” I asked suspiciously. Because billionaires have to protect their backs. You can’t be too safe sometimes.

  John shook his head. “It’s legit, I swear. I’ve been using it for nearly a year now.”

  I grunted, surprised. “Really?”

  “It’s easier,” the rumpled man shrugged. “Everything’s taken care of for you, and in the end, it’s just a transaction,” John explained with a shrug. “Perfect for business guys like us. In and out, no fuss no muss.”

  I stared at John’s phone. It did seem easy and efficient. I didn’t expect someone to actually be serious enough about BDSM to create a site that would help others with the same preferences.

  “So what are the disadvantages of taking on a sub for a month? You know there are always advantages and disadvantages.”

  John nodded slowly.

  “Fore sure. I’d say the main disadvantage is that you might get attached.”

  Me? Please motherfucker. I don’t get attached. I haven’t gotten attached in forty-five years, and it’s not gonna happen now.

  So my snort was rude.

  “Yeah, right,” was my sarcastic grunt.

  He chuckled.

  “You never know,” the asshole said off-handedly. “If you sign a contract that lasts longer than a month, feelings might start to flow and you could actually feel something. Before you know it, you might fall in love with your submissive. That’s why I never go longer than a month. Never.”

  Fall in love? Me? No. I couldn’t, and it wasn’t a choice issue; I just couldn’t form an attachment that deep with a random person. That’s why one night stands were my preference. I wasn’t the kind of man who wanted something distracting and annoying, a woman clawing at my arm for the rest of my life.

  “I don’t think that would be possible for me,” I told him with a light chuckle.

  John raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Fine then. I’ve done this more than a few times and it’s always left me satisfied. I usually just sign a month-long contract. No feelings, no nothing. It ends amicably and formally, like a business deal.” He tossed his empty beer can into the trash.

  My eyes scanned the site again. It was tempting, for sure. A month’s worth of BDSM style fucking with a girl who was truly willing. A contract deal and payment all handled by the company. My only job was to look for the right sub. Someone who’d be sweet and sexy, ready for no strings play.

  Hell yeah.

  Sign me up.

  Because this was what I needed. A sexual release for all the stress coming my way recently. Not just a simple vacation to try to get my mind off work. That wa
sn’t enough anymore.

  And just like that, the decision as made.

  “All right, what’s the name of the site again?”

  John smirked, knowing that he had me. “Seductive Subs. Look it up, bro. You’ll like it, I promise.”

  Shit. Was I really gonna do this? Was I really gonna find some sweet thing to torture while watching her explode in a torrent of pain and pleasure? Hell yeah. Game on. And suddenly … I couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Three

  Kitty

  “That’s the third time this week you’ve purchased cream for your feet,” Miss Wells said as she counted the sales we had for the day. “You’ve bought more of that than I’ve ever seen you buy of any food.”

  I sighed and paid for the lotion before stashing it in a plastic bag and turning to my manager. “My only pair of sneakers gave up on me so I have to wear slippers every day,” I explained slowly.

  “That doesn’t explain anything, Kitty,” the manager told me pointedly. “You have a car.”

  Unfortunately, just like everyone and everything else in my life, even inanimate objects had given up on me now.

  “It broke,” was my short reply. “I have to walk to work every day.”

  Miss Wells was unperturbed.

  “Why not take a bus?”

  I looked down. People like my manager couldn’t understand. “It would cost too much if I did it every day. Walking is convenient,” I lied. “Plus, I could use the exercise.”

  The middle-aged woman stared at me before rolling her eyes, like she didn’t even want to be bothered by my absurd logic. It didn’t matter. I knew that Miss Wells would never understand how I needed to save money.

  “Well, you need to get your car out of that parking space if you’re not driving,” she sniffed imperiously, standing up and fetching her coat and bag. The woman turned to look at me. “Have it towed to your apartment or sell it to a junkyard if you need money that much. But you need to clear the parking space, hear?”