by Dani René
After losing everyone I ever loved—all the people I cared about—I shut down my heart. I hid myself in my depression. If it wasn’t for Theia and Dakota, I’m not sure where I would have ended up. They’ve become like family, the sister’s I never had, as well as Dax and Axel, who became the older brother’s I always longed for.
I’m almost ready for work, just adding the final touches to my make-up, when I hear the knock on the door that tells me I’m being summoned. Adding the final touch of gloss to my lips, I’m ready for what the night is about to bring.
There’s a party scheduled, although I’m not sure if it’s a bachelor or birthday party, and I’ve chosen one of my favorite outfits. Thigh high black stockings clipped to a blood-red garter belt. The panties and bra are white silk—soft against my fevered skin. I’ve just been waxed and my bare pussy feels like heaven against the fabric.
The crimson bow that adorns my bra and panties match the garter. White for purity and red for sin. My long red hair has been styled into large curls that cascade down to the middle of my back.
Rising to my feet, I step out of the dressing room and shut the door behind me. The backstage area is quiet, but I can hear the music booming through the walls.
Guess the party started early.
As I make my way to the bar, I find Theia talking to the staff. She’s something else. Like an Energizer bunny, she’s constantly moving through the club, making sure things are running smoothly. She and Dax make an incredible couple, both strong and independent, but deeply connected. He’s been her Master for a long while and she’s always gushing about how amazing he is as a partner.
Before I reach her, Dakota bounds up to me dressed in a beautiful black corset, the strings are pulled tight around her curvaceous torso, and her cleavage beckons. She grips my arm in excitement, like a kid at Christmas.
She’s incredibly sexy. Her body is sinful and her mouth is wicked. I shake my head to clear my mind of the filthy thoughts of what she and I do when we’re requested by clients.
“You’re rather chipper tonight, Kota.” I giggle, whispering in her ear using her stage name.
She shrugs nonchalantly, her hazel eyes meet my emerald gaze. “I’m just excited, Dax said I can work with you tonight,” she hisses, playfully leaning in and planting a soft kiss on my cheek.
“Ladies, can we keep that for the show?” Dax stalks up behind us, with a smirk on his lips and mischief dancing in gray blue eyes.
He’s a good guy, someone who knows where we’ve come from and is willing to give us a chance to work and choose what we want to do. His body is an ink masterpiece, covering every inch of exposed skin down to his knuckles. Standing at almost six feet tall with muscles that always seem to bulge from his shirts, he looks as if he can kill with one hand. And I’m sure he can.
A trimmed beard adorns his chiseled jaw. With his long hair buzzed short on either side of his head, he reminds me of a tattoo artist rather than a businessman. Tonight he must have a meeting because he’s dressed in a sleek Armani suit, looking every bit a mafia boss oozing professionalism.
“Sure, we’re heading there now,” I respond with a small smile, and he nods curtly, leaving us staring after his solid form.
“Jeez, someone’s in a mood tonight,” Dakota remarks, tugging me toward the private booths near the back of the club which clients can reserve for parties. These can comfortably seat thirty people, with two small stages as well as a bar. To these men money is no object, drinks flow, and the girls are tipped well.
There are two dancers for every fifteen men—we dance, taunt, and tease, and they pay a shitload for it. Dakota and I are two of the four girls scheduled to entertain them tonight.
As soon as we step into the party area, I take note of the other two girls already on the small podium, swaying to the deep bass that vibrates through me.
I feel the hungry gazes on me. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re beautiful,” one of them whispers in my ear. His hand cups my ass, squeezing it hard, and I shudder, turning to find a face that doesn’t look old enough to be in here.
“How about you finish your drink and we’ll talk later,” I wink, shoving his hand away. He smirks, holding up his hands in surrender and I turn to Dakota. “Is he even old enough to drink? Let alone be in here?” I hiss in her ear.
A giggle falls from her plump, shimmery lips, as she regards me. “You do realize you just asked the most innocent looking girl in this place if a client is old enough?” She’s got a point. Dakota could pass as eighteen. Her sweet, angelic face is what always captures their attention, then when they notice she’s built like a seductress, all bets are off. They’ll throw money at her to see that pert little ass wiggling.
“Right, okay, Miss Babyface,” I tease, and am rewarded with her beautiful smile.
“Let’s mingle, I feel like a shot before we get up on that thing.” She gestures to the stage, and I nod in agreement. A shot definitely sounds like fun. As we near the mobile bar, I notice the two jean-clad men at the one end. One has a charcoal shirt with the top buttons undone, the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. The sight of his tattoos has me grinning.
“Now we’re talking, baby,” I whisper. Dakota’s gaze follows mine and we burst into a fit of giggles as we sashay up to the bar. The second guy has a light blue shirt on, and when they turn to regard us I’m startled by just how good looking they both are.
“Ladies,” Charcoal Shirt says, in a tone that drips hunger. His gaze flits over me, then scans the little brunette beside me. His tongue darts out, wetting his full lips. I take in his friend and the intense gaze he’s pinned me with holds me hostage. Searing gray eyes tempt me and I square my shoulders and meet his stare dead on, challenging him with a small smirk on my lips.
“Can we get you ladies a drink, or would you kittens like to take this”—he lifts the Cristal champagne from an ice bucket—“and go to one of the VIP rooms to play?”
“VIP costs extra,” I counter, but his face cracks into a satisfied grin.
“I can afford it, darling. Don’t ever doubt that,” he returns confidently. Lifting his hand, he trails a slow, sensual path down my bare arm, causing chill bumps to dot every inch of my skin.
Lifting my mouth at the corner, I nod. Grabbing the bottle, I spin on my heel, hooking my arm through Dakota’s. “Come on then, boys. Let’s go,” I say over my shoulder, and head toward the hallway where our private rooms are hidden away.
Blue Shirt follows me like a puppy ready to play and Charcoal Shirt has an over confident look on his face, as if he’s just hit the jackpot.
“Raven Room?” I ask Dakota, and she nods with a little giggle. Whenever we’re together, this is the one we favor. The four poster bed allows us to play with our cuffs and rope.
It’s dimly lit and the soft glow of candles makes everything seem sexier. Allowing both men inside, I usher them toward the chairs. “My name is Beck,” Charcoal Shirt says.
“I’m Skyla and my brunette princess here is Kota.” I introduce her and she bounds into his lap. The man in the blue shirt stares at me and offers me a wicked grin. “Would you like a dance, or something a little more decadent?”
“Oh, definitely decadent, Red. I’m Jackson, and I’m going to enjoy you,” he growls, and I put my hands on my hips, watching him. With slow precision, he unbuttons his shirt. He’s not sculpted, but he’s well-built. “Come here, I’ve been dying to see those red lips of yours at the base of my dick,” he orders, and I drop to my knees. My partner in crime follows suit and soon we’re both swallowing the men as we work in sync.
The only noises in the room are the dirty sounds of their grunts and our sexually charged, soft moans. Hands fist my hair, holding me in place, as Jackson’s hips thrust up.
Suddenly, I’m dragged off his shaft, and when my eyes meet his, he winks. Pulling me up, he spins me around so I’m facing away from him. Hooking his fingers in the waistband of my panties, he drags them down my thighs. He bends me over and kicks my legs apart
as two thick fingers probe my entrance. A grunt rumbles in his chest when he finds my wetness. “So wet, so fucking beautifully drenched. Come, sit on my dick.”
Quickly, he sheaths himself and pulls me backward, allowing me to straddle him with my back resting against his bare chest. My legs on either side of the arm rests as he bounces me on his thick erection. Beck pops the champagne and orders Dakota to lick the bubbly liquid from my body as he slowly drizzles it between my tits. “Taste her sweetness with the champagne,” he rasps.
Her hot tongue on my clit has my thighs trembling and as I gaze down, I find her face buried between my legs. Beck sheds his clothes watching the erotic scene before him. He positions himself behind my naughty girl and rolls on the condom before he drives his hips against her ass and by her moans, I’m guessing he’s good at that. Four bodies moving in sync and the sounds that echo around the room are primal.
Sweaty skin. Grunts of pleasure. Moans of desire.
“You’re so tight, kitten,” Beck coos at my girl, “eat her pussy. I want to watch you lick his cock while he fucks her.” Beck grunts and Dakota pushes her ass back against him. Her tongue laps at my pussy while Jackson slams into me. He has one hand around my throat, squeezing, and the other twisting and tugging on my nipples. An orgasm tightens low in my belly as heat floods my veins. My blood is on fire and my clit throbs. “Fuck, your cunt is squeezing me. Make me come with that perfect little pussy, kitten.” Filthy words echo around us, both men grunting and growling like rabid dogs.
“You feel fucking amazing, Red, take it. Every. Fucking. Inch,” Jackson hisses, as his teeth sink into my neck, sending me spiraling into darkness as an orgasm shudders through me.
The squealing sounds of Dakota coming are enough to send me reeling into another earth-shattering release.
“On your knees, little one,” I growl at her. She’s turned eighteen and been given to me to train. There’s no way to refuse. It’s the family business, so I do as I’m told. Her body isn’t as stick thin as the other girls. With womanly curves, no one would ever guess she’s barely legal.
Her body trembles in the dank room. I’m sure she’s close to freezing. Dressed in only a pair of skimpy panties, her breasts jut out, and I have to stifle my groan. I can’t allow my emotions to get the better of me. All the girls are disposable. That’s what my father—the head of the Wolfe household—has taught us.
“Please.” Her soft plea sends desire coursing through my veins.
Heat burns my skin. Hunger boils deep in my blood.
As much as I hate this, the control and power I have over them is enough to have me rock hard throughout the process.
The only rule—don’t fall in love.
That’s easy because this isn’t dating. There are no feelings involved. It’s purely sex. Lifting the rope by the pulley, I watch her arms stretch. She glances up. Big mistake. “Do. Not. Look. At. Me,” I hiss. It’s an order, but she’s a feisty one. It’s only her second day, but I know once the week is over, she’ll be as submissive and obedient as a little kitten. Her eyes will be trained to the floor at all times, unless I order them up.
Stalking around her, I watch her tremble. The smooth skin on her back slowly dots with goose bumps and I smile because I know I affect her. I wanted to be an artist, but my father forbid it, telling me I’m a Wolfe, and I must accept my chosen path. So he dragged me into the fold.
It’s been three long fucking years and here I am, Dominant or Master to five girls. This beautiful fiery one is my fifth. I have to get her ready for the shit that she’s going to endure while she’s working and living at Caged—the premiere underground BDSM strip club, where men come to fulfill their darkest and filthiest desires.
The things I’ve seen here are atrocities, but my father has contacts in law enforcement so they turn a blind eye. The clients we have are elite, well-known men—everyone from celebrities to politicians.
They all walk in here with the faded white circle on their ring fingers. Gold or silver bands hidden in shirt and jacket pockets until they shower and leave. Of course, they shower the filth off before they go home to their wives to have sweet, romantic, vanilla sex. You know the kind. The soft touches and feather-light kisses.
At Caged, we offer them what they crave.
What their dark souls that inhabit them crave.
Whips, chains, and pain.
They love inflicting pain.
So here I am, a twenty-five-year-old man who loves to see pretty girls cry. I don’t do anything those fuckers out there do. But I get the girls ready, strengthen them to handle what happens when they walk into the lion’s den.
As much as I want to leave, I can’t.
Grabbing my paintbrushes and palette, I stare at the canvas. It’s blank, just like me. There’s nothing coloring my world. My inspiration is in the fucking drain. A knock on my front door has me dropping the offending items and stalking to open it. As it swings open, I find my best friend on the other side.
“Hey man, what are you doing?” He ambles into the living space and flops onto my sofa. As soon as I shut the door, I join him.
I shrug my response. “Nothing, it’s like my fucking brain and arm don’t work anymore.”
We both stare at the taunting white canvas.
“I know what you need.” He jumps up suddenly and I stare at him expectantly. “A muse,” he says easily, like I should have figured it out on my own. “You need a woman to bring you back to life.”
I can’t help chuckling. “Fuck off, man. That’s the last thing I need. This contract is worth a shit load of money and I can’t be fucking around. I need to work.”
“Work? Are you actually working? You just told me you’ve got painter’s block or some shit.” He gestures to the non-existent painting I’m committed to finishing in three weeks’ time, but it’s not only that, I have another seven to finish over the coming six months, and I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do. “Why don’t we head to Inferno? We can grab some drinks, check out some dancers with those spanking sexy asses,” he quips, amused.
Narrowing my eyes, I cock my head to the side. He can’t seriously be thinking I’m going to head to that place. “Why on earth would I go to Inferno with you?” I question slowly.
He stalks over to my kitchen area and pulls out two beers from the fridge. Snapping the caps off with the opener, he heads back to me and hands me one. I accept thankfully, taking a long draw. “Firstly, there are pretty women who shake their asses on stage and do all sorts of fun things backstage. Secondly, you need inspiration, and they have tons.” Groaning, I roll my eyes at his suggestion and grab my remote control for the sound system. Thirty Seconds to Mars blares through the speakers. It’s an old song—“The Kill”—but the lyrics resonate with me. They’re about finding yourself, finding out who you really are.
These past five years have seen me lose my way. Become someone for everyone, but I know deep in my gut I’m not happy. How can I be when I killed someone? Maybe not her body, but her soul? My greatest fucking achievement, I think with remorse choking me.
“What have you got to lose?” I stare at Axel.
He’s serious.
What have I got to lose?
Not much. I don’t have anything anyway.
The image of her flits through my mind again, but I push it down. The one woman I loved yet could never have. I glance at my friend and nod. “Fine.” He looks like a kid at Christmas who just got told he’s getting a brand new bike.
“Fuck yeah!” He lifts his bottle, clinks it against mine, and downs every drop of liquid. “So, how about you meet me there tonight?” He chuckles and I nod. There’s no way I can refuse him. He won’t give up until we are sitting front row watching some chick shake her ass. “I need to jet, but I’ll see you later, yeah?” Nodding my head, I push up from the sofa as he leaves my apartment like he owns the goddamn place.
After I left Caged, I found myself in New York trying to start the business I always wanted
—painting, being an artist. It’s been tough to forget what I witnessed in that place, but the biggest regret I have was losing her. Finishing my beer, I head into my room to pull on a decent looking T-shirt, a pair of black ripped jeans, and pull my long hair into a bun. It’s been years since I last laid eyes on her, but she’s so deeply embedded in me that I remember every curve, each beauty spot that adorned her skin, and I remember her taste. That sweetness she gifted me with all those times.
Only, she didn’t know me. I’d never taken the mask off. I couldn’t because I knew that if I ever got to see her again, I didn’t want to see the hate in her eyes from what I did to her. My heart stutters at the thought of seeing that face, looking into those eyes. I wish she’d walk into my life and tell me she loves me. That the year we had wasn’t just training. It was real.
Shaking my head, I make my way out of my apartment. If I’m going out tonight, I suppose I should get some new jeans and a shirt. The sun beats down on me as I head to my Wrangler. Jumping into the drivers’ seat, I head out to the the main highway and toward the mall with thoughts of her on my mind.
“This is going to be epic, I’ll get you a private dance.” Axel smirks as we walk into the club. He’s been working here for as long as I remember. I met him after I left Caged and our friendship has strengthened as the years moved on.
Even though I’ve never set foot in this place, he’s never once questioned me about it. Accepting that I was still in love with someone else, he allowed me to wallow in self pity and when he had a day off, he’d swing by mine with beers and we’d get drunk talking about random shit.
Nearing the welcome desk, a pretty woman with long, chestnut waves, dressed in a tight fitting bright pink tank top, glances up and offers Axel an eye roll, but me a small, shy smile. She’s beautiful, innocent looking, yet elegant.
“Axe, it’s your night off and you decide to spend it here?” She grins at him, then turns her attention on me, “have you been here before?”
