Nothing doing.
She turned her head again to the mystical creatures and sighed when she saw her boy was up, his back now to her. He was still fully clothed, but it didn’t take close observation to know who’d drawn what straw that night since his boy was now being force-fed cock.
Damn it, she didn’t have a lot of time, and her self-appointed backup needed to quit fucking around, literally, or she was going in alone.
On that thought, she stood and moved their way.
When she got close and rounded them, she saw Molly was involved, back to the seated man’s thighs, mouth full of balls as warlord-sub-for-the-night got his face fucked and warlord-Dom-for-the-night did the face fucking.
Warlord Dom turned his head and frowned down at her.
Yep.
So seriously gladiator material.
“Respect, my man, but I got shit to do,” she told him. “You want to get your rocks off, have at it, but I have to go in.”
He looked down at the handful of hair he was holding, grunted in a deep baritone that thrummed even through Sixx, “Swallow,” then thrust hard, let out a low groan, and jerked a couple of times.
With no further ado, he pulled out and freed himself from the lips latched around his balls, doing this casually, before he tucked himself into his brown suede warlord breeches.
“Keep him hard,” he told Molly. “I want him in pain when I come up his ass later.”
“Yes, my sire,” she murmured, sliding off the guy’s lap to curl between his legs and gobble down his now exposed, impressively massive, distended cock that Sixx saw was trussed tight with a thin, leather cord at the base and around his balls, tethering them and separating them.
This meaning it would be impossible for him to come, all this making his handsome, needy face pained, handsome and needier when Molly started up on him.
Those wings fluttered very prettily when a pixie gave a blowjob.
Nice.
Dom-for-the-night warlord jerked his chin up at her.
Guess in alpha-warlord speak that meant he was ready to rumble.
She moved away, and he fell in step at her side as she tried to remember which of the names she knew the two of them had was his.
It was Diesel, who Molly also referred to as D, or Maddox.
She was thinking Diesel.
“Nice bite,” he remarked over the music.
She grinned.
She loved wearing Stellan’s mark.
“Nice work back there,” she said, also over the music.
“He’ll make me pay,” he replied.
“Bet that’s a fun game,” she noted.
“My boy’s got a monster cock.”
“I saw that.”
“And he fucks like a freight train and can shoot such a huge load I can taste it in my throat for a week.”
Totally had to bring Stellan to watch that.
Like he read her mind, he shared, “Obviously we do audiences. But you wanna get in there, that’s Molly’s call. Owning goes three ways, but a woman gets her hand on our cocks or our asses, only Molly can call that play.”
How sweet.
“I’m taken.”
He looked down at her with heavy brows raised.
She didn’t expound.
She stated, “We’re not exactly incognito with this shit. Like you just said, you’re owned, and my man and me are out, you might not have heard, but others have. So it’s not exactly a natural thing, you and me taking a stroll.”
“Straight up, you’re Mistress Sixx, you got a man but you’re out on your own, that’ll be understood. And you’re Mistress Sixx, even though I’m owned and everyone knows it, no one would question if me or my boy are offered a shot for you to work us over that we’d want it, and it wouldn’t be a surprise Molly gave permission. So you’re covered.”
That was a nice compliment.
However.
“I’m not going to work you,” she hesitated and tried out, “D.”
He gave a brisk nod.
So Diesel it was.
“Givin’ the impression of feelin’ me out works too,” he said.
She hoped so.
Although Beardsley could have no idea she was on his case, in an uncertain situation she’d learned taking precautions every step of the way, though tedious, was essential.
One of the reasons she’d accepted backup.
She and D skirted the dancefloor, and he threw aside the heavy black curtain to expose the door to the play area for her and held it back as he opened that door.
She went in and felt his big body follow her in his heavy, leather riding boots. A big body that, as well as the breeches and boots, at the shoulders with the ragged ends over his pecs were covered with hides that were banded to his wide chest with buckled leather straps.
The play area of the Bolt was very different from the Honey.
The Honey had a comb of connecting hallways with varyingly-equipped rooms, mostly uniform in size, some smaller, like the isolation room Stellan and she’d been in the night before, and some larger, for multipartner or audience play and demonstrations. They all had at least one glass wall so members in the hallways could watch, with the option for the Dom, if they wanted, to lower the white, opaque blind to silhouette the proceedings, or the blackout blinds, for private play.
Membership fees covered a variety of things, including cleanup. So any bodily fluids spilled, unless the Dom required their sub to take care of it, was seen to by staff.
The only additional charge was receiving a monthly bill for the drinks you consumed at the bar. The staff kept track, and the charges were steep, since you were not expected to do anything as common as take out money to tip while enjoying a beverage in the hunting ground or the social room. But also, Aryas paid his staff handsomely, expecting a certain level of service as well as varied duties performed. So yearly membership, guest passes and bar tabs were set at exclusive levels.
The Bolt, you paid at the bar. The background checks were relatively thorough, but not invasive (as the Honey’s were). Guest passes were a hefty fee and required a weeklong wait for the check to go through. But yearly membership fees were nowhere near the Honey’s.
It showed right there in that large space.
The Bolt had a central, open, communal play area that was sectioned off with stations made obvious by the equipment in them or low partition walls. Bodily fluids outside the natural excretion of sweat were not allowed to be expelled, so every exposed cock she saw was covered in a condom. There were discrete but copious posts providing bleached white hand towels, boxes of large wet wipes and industrial-sized bottles of antibacterial gel.
There were also DMs, or Dungeon Masters, roaming the space, which was not surveilled by copious cameras due to the cost, though there were cameras, just not many of them. DMs kept an eye on the action, making sure Dominants didn’t get out of hand or too in the zone to be at one with their sub. Each DM had on a bright red polo-shirt that had a white lightning bolt stitched over the left chest and a big, white DM emblazoned on the back.
Sixx clocked three of them in that space, which was probably one above necessary. There was a lot of activity. It still said Barclay Richardson liked to take care of his players.
Separated by a wide passageway, all around the outer walls were rooms with varying themes and equipment and glass walls facing the common area. If a Dom wanted privacy, vertical blinds could be pulled over the windows, though Sixx knew the sliding glass doors had no locks seeing as the DM had to have access for regular check-ins. You had to reserve these rooms and pay extra for them above and beyond membership, per use.
As no Dominants or submissives were allowed to play unsupervised at the Honey unless they’d passed the rigorous checks, the intrusive interview and were either referenced in with the experience Aryas required or trained under Aryas’s program, DMs did not roam the halls there. But every square inch was monitored by cameras, and that action was recorded.
As Si
xx surveyed the scenes playing out, she saw a lot of talent.
She and D also got a lot of looks.
She ignored them, and with some judicious touches to the small of her back, D led her to, and slowed their going by, what had to be station seven.
She felt her lips had thinned by the time they passed it and knew D’s mood when he mumbled a deep and displeased, “Unh-hunh, that shit ain’t right.”
“She’s barely conscious,” Sixx mumbled back.
“Yup.”
“How many times has she been branded?” she asked.
“Too many,” D answered. “And word, branding only happens with Clay’s approval, and he’s stingy with that shit. Though there’s three DMs, if they get on schedule together, you can bet Clay’s not around, because all kinds of shit goes down where Clay would lose his fuckin’ mind.”
“Are those DMs on tonight?” she asked.
“Nope. Just one of them. Not the gang. Means Clay’s probably in the house.”
“Where’s Josh in this mess?” she inquired as they made their slow turn to go down the other long passageway between open play area and closed playrooms.
“Wasn’t here, but heard there was a bust-up between Josh and Pete. And it was public. No other details to that but noted since word got ’round about that sitch, blood’s bad between them and stayed that way.”
It seemed her stroll with D had been more useful than she expected.
“How many girls, do you know?” she queried.
“I’d say five, but I’m not allowed in the women’s restroom. We’d have to ask Molly her take on that shit since they do their duty then get their reward and go right there to use.”
“Beardsley doesn’t pay them?”
“Not seen any cash exchange hands but have seen dope do it. A lot.”
Sixx was again enraged.
Forced service as a sex-for-hire worker was bad enough, but they were for hire.
It shouldn’t be happening at all, but since it was, at least they should get paid since Beardsley had to be, considering he needed the money to buy the dope. He wasn’t doing it to be a drug fairy.
So he was pocketing the proceeds.
Motherfucker.
“Did you book a private space to finish off your boy, and does it have a view to station seven?” she asked.
“Planned a long night for him, Mistress. Wanted his balls blue before I took Mad and Molly home and fucked him full of my cum while he eats our pixie until she screams.”
“That would be blue-er,” she muttered as they finished their stroll at the opposite door and stopped.
Sixx shifted back into a shadowy area between door to dancefloor and the last playroom, where there was a dark hall that led to something, probably a storage closet or cleaning cupboard.
She heard the grin in his voice and looked up and saw it on his tanned, rugged face when he replied, “Mm-hmm. But you want, I’ll go to the front, see if they got a station that we can take and put on a show for visiting Mistress Sixx, hopefully in a place you can keep an eye on that action.”
This was actually an excellent suggestion, providing a different kind of cover for her to be at the Bolt when she had no intention to play at the Bolt, and if she kept coming just to hang, something she’d never done, that might be noticed.
It also would open her sphere of observation, giving her an excuse to be where the action was happening so she could keep an eye on what was done to the girls, and as a Domme in attendance, since the DMs were obviously not doing it, stop it if it hit extremes.
However, thinking on it, that night, she might not have the time.
“I wouldn’t want to mess with your plans.”
He gave a truncated bow, head bent splendidly, and if he were her sub, she’d reward him for such a lovely show. “Be an honor to blow inside him for the viewing pleasure of Mistress Sixx.”
Although that would be fun to watch, only if Stellan was around.
How times had changed.
She drew in breath, stared unseeing at the scene and tried to figure out what time it was.
“How often do you kids come and play?” she asked.
“Mad’s not a big fan of waiting for payback, so he’ll be buried up my ass tomorrow night, among other things.”
She nodded and peered across the expanse but couldn’t see into station seven.
Tomorrow night.
That would have to work for her.
“So regardless of the DMs, shit goes down. It just gets more extreme when Barclay isn’t here but the gang of three are,” she remarked in order to confirm.
“Yup. Always a girl gettin’ herself used, not in a good way, and always one stationed between Pete’s legs, latched onto his junk. Serious as shit, Mistress, it’s a wonder he hasn’t shriveled up. He’s always shoved up in moist. But just to say, he doesn’t keep the whole stable available every night. In twos and threes. Probably easier for him not to get caught, he doesn’t have tons of action happening all over the joint.”
Sixx nodded again.
So Beardsley was a relatively smart motherfucker.
He was still a motherfucker.
“But, of course, the straight-up dealing happens nonstop,” D noted.
She focused more fully on him. “Straight-up dealing?”
He nodded but looked surprised. “You didn’t know?” When Sixx indicated she didn’t with a movement of her head, D continued, “The dude’s full-on a dealer. Smack. Crack. Blow. X. Meth. He’s all-purpose. The convenience store of narcotics.”
“Is he open about this?”
D shook his head. “When Mad and me started noticing shit going down, we started noticing other shit. Safe to say, he’s more out about sellin’ pussy than he is dope. Which is weird ’cause Clay’d get way more pissed about the pussy, though he would not be a fan of the dope. That said, if he’s nailed by law enforcement, right or wrong, it’s fact he’d be more fucked peddling drugs.”
This was bigger than she suspected.
Definitely her stroll with D was a worthwhile use of time. Molly told her they knew something was up and were not real happy about it, but she hadn’t shared this in depth.
Then again, Diesel or Maddox, depending on whose turn it was to be in charge, had more opportunity to keep an eye on things. Molly was probably mostly otherwise engaged.
“Back the way we came, big man,” she said. “Slow. I want another look at that girl. Then we walk up the platform by Beardsley. I want a closer look at him too. And if you’re up for it, we’ll start our show tonight, make it look like a tryout. But I’ll probably need to be leaving in half an hour. We’ll reconvene tomorrow, you tell me the time the girls start working.”
“Uh, at opening?” he asked in order to answer. “They service one after another and it doesn’t end ’til closing time.”
Lord God.
“More than one john a night in an intense BDSM scene?” she asked.
“Yup,” he answered. “Like, three or four.”
Damn.
“Like they have appointments?” she queried.
“Seen some recruiting on the dancefloor, but yeah. Like that.”
This was not good.
“So this is why you haven’t seen money exchange hands,” she guessed. “It happens before the johns get here.”
He shrugged massive shoulders. “Maybe. Probably. Maybe the shit on the dancefloor happens if there’s an open spot.”
“Fabulous,” she muttered.
She was going to have to watch Beardsley closer if the deals were struck off-premises.
Or hope for a fucking open slot.
Damn.
It was time to pull in Sylvie and/or Tucker.
D had been positioned hiding her from view, but he moved out, and they made their trek back, slower, with D walking closer, Mistress and player having come to an arrangement, intimacy being established.
The guy was good. Good enough, in her renewed self, she’d think of calling on him to p
artner up on jobs if she needed it. A little bit of training would undoubtedly be warranted, but he was proving he was a natural.
And obviously he’d be good at taking orders.
Out of the play area, D escorted her up the steps to the platform on Beardsley’s side, and since he was at the table at the very top, her eyes were on him before she made it there.
His attention was on the dancefloor, but sensing movement, it came to her and D, primarily her.
He wasn’t a big guy, but he wasn’t small. He took care of his body, which was a minus. She’d taken down men bigger than him, but they hadn’t been in shape. The in-shape ones, if the situation got physical, you had to be quick, smart, careful and have no problem punching throats, gouging eyes or torqueing the fuck out of gonads.
Though without a lot of effort, Diesel or Maddox could more than likely twist that cocksucker into a pretzel.
Yes.
She was going to keep those boys around.
Domme to Dom, it cost her, but as they passed Beardsley, she tipped her chin down in a show of respect, like she would catching the eye of any Master or Mistress.
His lip curled in a sneer that was supposed to be a smile, and he returned the gesture.
They were well on their way back to complete D’s tribe of three when she heard D mutter, “Need a shower?”
Oh yes.
She liked this guy.
So she let him hear her quiet laugh.
When they arrived back at his partners, he said gently, “Bag of tricks, baby,” and Molly immediately disengaged from Maddox’s engorged cock, eliciting a lovely sound that was half groan, half sigh of relief.
D made a show of getting a chair for Sixx and setting it so she had an unobstructed view of the club and the action they’d be enjoying on the shadowy platform.
Although the shadows were carefully constructed to offer enough lighting to see even when the club lights weren’t dancing their way, but plenty of dark to hide certain things; this was another difference between the Honey and the Bolt.
Subs might get played with in booths in the hunting ground at the Honey, but requisite to the club’s rules, whatever happened to them could not be open to any eyes. You might be able to tell by an expression on a sub’s face, but that was it.
The Greatest Risk Page 45
