I look up in the lounge and stare at the rows of framed commendations and degrees lining the wall, all neatly cornering the study area into its own space, and sigh. All that work, all that hope, gone in an instant, along with the reason I risked it all for.
“You ready?” Cole asks from behind me. I just keep staring at the walls, remembering the daily lectures and the enthusiasm the youngsters had, all the time wondering if it might ever be possible to rid myself of the guilt, perhaps go back to teaching again. The thought makes me snarl at myself, lowering my gaze and taking a final glance around the space. I won’t be coming back again anytime soon. We should have been heading home instead. My own home. There’s nothing here but old memories and pain. Pictures still litter the surfaces. Cushions I now despise lay unused on the sofa, a book on one of them, her perfume still lingering on its pages, no doubt. I smile a little at the image of her reading, her glasses perched on her nose as she licked her finger to turn a page. “Blaine?”
I turn, shaking my head at the vision of her in my mind and barely missing barging into Cole as I walk out towards the door then down the steps.
“You called a cab?” Cole asks.
“You can ride the subway like any other human,” I reply, jogging down the steps to the pavement and buttoning my suit jacket. “You trash your car again, this is what you get.” Cole snorts behind me, his feet halting.
“You’re the one who denies the money, Blaine, not me. Fuck you and your subway rides.” I swing round to watch him hailing a cab at the side of the road, my own jeans and t-shirt sitting as comfortably on Cole as they always do. Fucking idiot. He’s like a pubescent schoolboy—horny, lazy, and without cause or hope.
“When are you going to grow up, Cole?”
“Never. You should try growing down, brother,” Cole shouts back, clicking the handle on a waiting cab and stepping inside. I cock a brow again, smirking at the connotation of being less sensible with my decision making process. “Fucking something without thought would do you good.” Without thought. Not something I’ve done in a long time, and certainly not fucking something without it. “Get in the cab. Spend some of that fucking money you’ve got holed up doing nothing. Christ, Blaine. I’m not the only eligible bachelor in town. You’re not dead yet.” I flick my gaze to the road again, watching the rush of traffic going by, and then stare up into the sky, hoping for a sign to wing its way down from above. “You coming?”
No, I’m not, but I want to. I want to fuck and come. I want to live. Perhaps it’s Alana Williams’ words, or perhaps its Cole’s words—I don’t know, but for the first time in a long time I want to live. “You clearly don’t know how to live.” Those were the words she used, her contemptuous mouth smiling around them as she snarled out her scorn.
“No, you go. I’ve got something to do,” I reply quietly, my strides already heading in the direction of Drake’s club. I don’t know what it is that I want to do, but it doesn’t involve Cole, and I can’t be bothered with the tedium of looking after him either. “Stay awake,” I call back as an afterthought. Family duty or not, this feeling inside is making my feet wander of their own accord, reminding me of desires that simply take hold without thought. And the sight of Alana is still firmly imprinted, her lips trembling as she sat on the step, unsure of what was coming next.
“Can you even fuck without hurting someone?”
The thought pops into my mind as I amble the pavement and stare blankly into the clutter of people coming at me. It was Cole’s continued discussion in the car before the crash, regardless of the fact I tried every way of shutting the fucker up. “No.”
It had been my only response to the question. It was honest. Truthful. Sure, I can fuck, but I can’t come, never have been able to while fucking. There isn’t a debilitating story to tell about old injuries or abusive behaviour. I’ve had a normal family, normal upbringing. Loving and comforting. I shouldn’t be any different to Cole, but I am. I can jack off, be jacked off. Sucked off. But fucking, letting my seed go inside someone else? Impossible, unless they either screaming or nearly unconscious. Years went by with me thinking I was a pervert, or that something was wrong with me. I fucked everything I could in college, hoping to find one it worked with. I even tried men, but that didn’t worked either, not until it was a man who wasn’t sure if he wanted it or not. It had been a struggle, both of us almost fighting our way through fucking. It was the first time I’d ever come in anything, bringing with it a sense of discharge I’d never found before.
I continue onwards, my hands in my pockets as I wander the avenues letting the memories come and imagining the smell of the guy as I’d held him against the locker room wall. It was some high-end dick, one who came from wealth, shorter and weaker than me at the time, and one who was too friendly for simple friendship’s sake. Not that I’d given a fuck about friendship at the time. Or rights and wrongs. The guy had been a hole, nothing else, just something to try on for size.
Crossing by the lights, I find myself smiling at a woman as she gazes back, a sexy little half smile telling me of anything but the meeting she’s heading to. I hover her there for a minute, just letting her stand in those few seconds and remember she’s attractive, relatively anyway, and then I let her go as I turn away. The magician’s trick, Delaney calls it. “You’re like a fucking magician.” No, just a good professor of the mind, one who enjoys to taunt every now and then. I care little for the mechanics of people’s everyday life anymore, relegating them to ineffectual content. They all long for something more intriguing than they have, all the time wasting themselves away in their drone of monotony. That’s why I do what he do, I suppose. I make money teaching and labour forward, occasionally stalling with something of partial interest and offering them a new vision. Not that I need the money, Cole’s right, but that isn’t the point. I feel comfortable in this guise, enjoying the way my type of people open themselves up, accepting each other’s foibles and relaxing in them. It’s the psychologist in me, I assume—that or the sadist who wants to taunt and taint the world.
I watch more ordinary humans pass me by as I turn the roads, all of them limited by their inability to question themselves. Not one of them will grow without conscious effort to strip and be stripped. I doubt anything makes most of them groan or cry in pain, other than the daily grind of bills and life. Nothing makes them suffer consequence as a primal act or real fear should. They just keep filtering past, restricted in their outlook, and all bound by the constructs they build around themselves.
By the time I reach Drake’s club, I’ve had nothing but visions of Alana haunting me again. It’s annoys me as my mind reels over the possibilities of another sense of companionship. Perhaps Drake’s will be a good detour for a few hours. I can sit, drink. Perhaps get drunk and watch the world go by so I stop imagining her constantly. Or maybe I’ll beat something and continue imagining her face instead. Maybe that will dull my cock’s enthusiasm. Long legs, full breasts, tight ass. Lurking evil eyes behind a soft frontage, ones she switches to a devil’s glare without too much effort. I suppose if I couple that with the way she riles me, tossing her holier than thou attitude around and making our people appear dirty somehow, I’m not surprised she’s become all-consuming to my world of analytical problem solving.
My own fucking fingers fumble with the lock as I envision her ass high in the air, or her hands bound into cuffs. Writing a fucking book about me and my people? How fucking dare an outsider even attempt the thought let alone call me at a club and ask for guidance. I eventually walk in and travel through the back corridors, a sneer on my face and not understanding why I currently ache for her so much. Nothing else has been as interesting since Eloise, and yet here she is, sparking something of consequence and waking my cantankerous cock up again. It pisses me off, enough so that I head straight for the bar, hoping to douse the feeling with Scotch and rid myself of it.
When I arrive, the cavern of back corridors eventually breaking out into the main rooms, I hear sniff
ing coming from a corner. I ignore it for the first few minutes and reach for a bottle of Drake’s finest, assuming it’s a sufferance something has been put under, but it eventually turns my head as I sink my first glassful. A woman’s there, huddled beneath the stocks, her legs tucked into herself as she tries to get further into the shadows. I look back to the room, searching for an owner or someone of significance who can tell me why she’s there. Nothing seems interested in her. No one watching or caring for her endurance. I tune the rest of the noise out and listen to her murmurs. They’re fearful, not remorseful. She isn’t apologising; she’s frightened. It makes me stand and wander over, unconcerned with anyone’s reaction to my involvement.
“Adam,” Drake’s voice says before I make it another step forward. I twist my head to look at the guy, a brow raised for explanation. “Got a bit carried away, apparently.” Did he. I snarl at the thought, ready to tear the little shit a new asshole for this kind of behaviour, then walk on to crouch in front of her. Bruises litter her skin from collarbone upwards, her make-up, what’s left of it, is barely covering a scrape to her cheek. She twitches in my hold as I tip her chin, her fingers scrabbling for grip on the blanket she’s tugging closer. So I pull it away slowly, briefly noticing the fingerprints around her throat before she grabs it back again.
“And you thought you’d just leave her here like this?” I ask, as infuriated with him as I am with Adam for such disrespect. “She needs care, Drake. Look at her.”
“It’s not my responsibility to manage this,” the guy says, walking past me and away from the scene towards the next set of rooms. “I balance the books. That’s it. I fucking pay you for a start and you do worse than this.” I spin on the guy, ready to tear him another fucking asshole, too. Never once have I done something in here without being asked, apart from last night. I teach; that’s all, and this is apparently the result of last night’s teachings. “She’s just another pain slut. Let her weep, Blaine.” The thought sickens me as I stare back down into her eyes, perhaps trying to calm her down as I push the rest of the blanket towards her. One show of true sadism from my own hands for the benefit of learning, and this is what has come of it? One small weakness. One moment of captivating blindness to show the possibilities and Adam has acted without sense? Fuck. The vision causes me to shake my head at myself, chastising my own flaws and castigating my inability to control them. I’ve made this happen, regardless of Adam’s involvement. This woman quivering in front of me, frightened for her life and in pain, is all because of my sadism, not Adams.
“You’ll be alright,” I say, smiling slightly and trying to control the lecture that wants to propel me away from her towards wherever Adam is. “Do you know where he is?” She shakes her head, tucking the blanket higher to her chin and trying to back away from my hold. She’s lying; she knows exactly where he is. She’s just too scared of the man currently holding her to say anything at all. I’m not surprised, but her fear of me isn’t necessary at this time. I don’t own her. She has nothing to be scared of. “Up you get. Come. I’ll show you some magic.” She frowns, her head still shaking as I pull on her arm and force her to her feet. “’Shall I let him know what it feels like?” She looks around nervously, her body shivering as she slowly balances her feet and covers herself with the blanket. “You can watch.” I need to beat something anyway, and this will be legitimate. I can imagine Alana’s eyes instead. “Just tell me where he is.” She nods slightly at the stairs, slowly, her face quickly lowering to the floor again in submission as her feet scuttle her away from me. “You have nothing to be scared of here, not from me,” I say, swiping the bottle of Drake’s finest, along with the glass, and heading in the direction she’s indicated. I pour her a large shot as we climb the stairs, handing it back to her and letting her keep pointing the right way.
“Sir?” she says, her voice barely a quiver. “He won’t touch me again?” No, Adam won’t be touching anything for a while. The thought makes me smile, possibly amusing myself with the potential image of what has happened to her, even if it is unacceptable. She looks a mess—rightly so if owned, but she isn’t, and I told Adam not to touch anything aggressively without me present. “You... You’re a trainer, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice finding itself after a sip or two of Scotch. I nod in reply, knowing they all know who I am and what I do. “Then, you taught him to do this?” My feet linger on the landing as she passes me, anger working its way through me again at the thought. “He hurt me, and you showed him how to do it?”
She quivers there in front of me, her lips trembling around the words as she asks me for answers. It infuriates me further. Enough so that I nearly grab her and show her real pain.
“Where is he?” I bark out, unable to answer the question and growing more incensed because of it. She jumps backwards, my hand reaching for her at the same time before she falls down the damned stairs. “Where?” Enough with the fucking pleasantries and coddling. I snap her to me then push her in the direction she’s already indicated as I point at the doors. “Which one?” She cowers instantly, her body lowering to the floor, presumably attempting the crawl she’s been trained into by some other Dom. I couldn’t care less for crawling, or kneeling. I’m certainly not charmed by its positioning beneath my feet. I just want Adam. That’s all.
“There, Sir,” she says, her voice beginning to sniff out sobs again.
I roll my eyes at her, bored with her melodramatic reaction to my question, and then open the door leading to one of the dens. The light’s dimmed, only just basting the area with a low red gloom. And the stench is intense. It’s come filled, the salty tang of it permeating the room as I gaze across the languid bodies looking for Adam. I find him in the corner, his hand ferreting about in something of no importance as they all roll over each other, an orgy carrying on regardless of this girl’s discomfort. I turn back out again and grabbed her from the floor, dragging her in and upturning a discarded chair in the far corner for her to sit on.
“Stay there and hold that,” I snarl, handing her the bottle and covering her with her blanket again.
Three strides across bodies and I heave on Adam’s half naked frame, my fingers digging into the cunt’s ass the moment I’ve got him upright. The surprise is clearly enough to give me a few second’s grace, and that’s plenty of time for me to have chained the little fucker face down on the table in the middle of the room before he gets a chance to move away. The clunk of the third lock wrenches the bastard’s right leg wide, my own hand helping the momentum by way of the pulleys. The whole fucking thing makes me chuckle as Adam grunts and I keep manoeuvring the locks into place, all the time avoiding his thrashing arms.
“The fuck are you doing?” Adam shouts. The sound of his voice rouses other bodies to begin turning. Good, they can all have a little fucking show about how not to get on the wrong side of me, too. Most of them are degenerates anyway, from what I can see, and they’re all in need of discipline one way or another.
“You disobeyed me, Adam,” I reply, kicking a woman by my feet to get her to move out of the damn way. “What did I say to you?”
“What?”
“The exact fucking words I left you with last night—what were they?” Adam goes still on the table, presumably thinking. It’s not quick enough, though, causing me to walk back over to the girl and offer my hand, asking for the bottle, which she hands over slowly. “What were the words, Adam?” There isn’t much of a response, not one worthy of my consideration anyway. Some irate mumblings maybe, but nothing more, so I pull the guy’s pants down until one leg comes off, yanking on the left pulley at the same time to spread him wider. “This is going to hurt, Adam.”
There really isn’t any more to be said. Nothing I care to say anyway. Entering a man’s body is as easy as a woman’s, as long as you know where to aim for. Unluckily for Adam, it’s been a while since I’ve invested in the act, which just means the yell that sounds through the air is louder than expected as I begin shoving the bottle in his ass.
People stare. I don’t give a fuck. In fact, it turns me on as I keep twisting the fucking thing and shoving. It’s a show. That’s what I do. Entertain and teach I’m glad they’ll fucking enjoy the lesson. Perhaps it’ll make the lot of them think fucking twice before they decided to hurt something in their care.
Once Upon A Page 11
