Longing: Club Inferno

by Jamie K. Schmidt

  “She’s welcome to try, but my lawyers will have her tied up in so many lawsuits she won’t know what hit her.” Colleen started flicking through her phone.

  Anya started to pace. “No, you don’t know her like I do. If you look up ‘vindictive bitch’ in the dictionary, her picture is there. You’re going to have to keep her as a member. And probably Cesare too.”

  “Cesare is going back to Italy at the end of the month. He’s looking for a hookup on this side of the ocean when he comes to visit. He’s not getting it here, right?” Colleen looked at Anya for confirmation.

  “He’s Rita’s problem now. I just went out for coffee with him because I was hoping he could get me into the director’s good graces.” Anya shook her head. “Seriously, I don’t care if you want to take his money. Lord knows he’s got plenty of it. He’d probably bring in a boatload of new clientele and I know he’s friends with some of the more exclusive Italian designers. Just give me the heads-up and I’ll hide in my room while he’s here.”

  “I’m not doing that to you,” Colleen said.

  Shaking her head, Anya plopped down onto the couch. “I’m good. It’s not going to bother me seeing them together.”

  “You don’t have to be brave for me,” Colleen said.

  “She’s not,” Nefertiti piped up. “She’s banging Clint again.”

  Colleen whipped her head to her admin. “Say what?”

  “I haven’t banged him yet at all.” Anya threw her hands wide. “You people. All you think about is sex.”

  “And you don’t?” Colleen asked.

  “What the hell are you waiting for?” Nefertiti said.

  “Hold up,” Colleen said, massaging her temple. “Clint hates you.”

  “No, he doesn’t. It was a misunderstanding,” Anya said.

  “Well, you hate him.”

  “Misunderstanding.”

  “It’s a wonder how a fine ass and washboard abs can smooth over a situation, isn’t it?” Nefertiti said.

  “How did you find out we were back together anyway?” Anya asked her.

  “You were dry-humping him in the dungeon just now.”

  “Oh yeah,” Anya said, looking down at her fingernails. “But how did you know?”

  “Jana mentioned it.”

  “There are no secrets here,” Colleen said. “The subs gossip almost as much as the Doms. Speaking of which, are you all right with his kinks?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about your kinks?”

  “We’re working on that too.”

  “Well, hallelujah,” Colleen said. “One problem solved.”

  “I am not one of your problems to be solved,” Anya said. “You have me on a checklist, don’t you? ‘Get Anya laid.’ ” She pantomimed checking something off in the air.

  “You’re not on my things-to-do list.” Colleen stuck her tongue out at her. “I just want my people to be happy.”

  “Your people?” Anya rolled her eyes. “Since we’re sharing, what’s the story with you and Chase?” Anya said.

  “He’s an ass,” Colleen said, making a face and leaning back in her desk chair.

  “Then why were you dry-humping him earlier?”

  For the first time ever, Anya saw Colleen look guilty.

  “No, you didn’t,” Nefertiti said, and got up to shut the door, almost in Istvahn’s face. “Uh-uh, later,” she said to him. But Istvahn put his foot in the door and eased it back open.

  “Switchblade’s bus just pulled up. I’ve got the area roped off but the Couture guests are lining up,” he said.

  “Okay, try to keep their rooms a secret. I’ll be up to greet them shortly. Can you call catering and make sure they have a buffet set up in their suite?”

  Anya’s stomach growled.

  “You’re not starting that shit again, are you?” Colleen said, pointing her finger at her.

  “I skipped lunch.”

  “I’m going to tell Mallory and have her beat you with a cannoli.”

  “Kinky,” Anya said. “But I actually forgot to eat.”

  “Yeah, her mouth was too full with Clint’s tongue,” said Nefertiti.

  Anya slapped high fives with her.

  Colleen shooed them out of her office. “All right, why don’t you all change into something more rock and roll and you can come with me and meet the band.”

  “Sweet,” Anya said, although she wasn’t sure what Istvahn considered rock and roll.

  The band was really down-to-earth and they played their hearts out. Anya got to enjoy the show from backstage with Colleen, Istvahn, and Nefertiti. The place was packed not only with Couture and Club Inferno members, but also with ticket holders. She knew that there were ambassadors for both sides of the resort cherry-picking prospective members from the crowd. The luckier ones would get invited to the after-party at the Hot Spot, where they would rub elbows with the fashion elite. The real after-party was in the dungeon, though.

  During the first drum solo, the band came back to swig some drinks and take a break. Clint showed up with his camera and talked to the guys for a bit before making a beeline to her.

  “I want to fuck you,” he said in her ear by way of greeting. “Those jeans make me want to wrap your legs around me.”

  “Hello to you too, sexy,” she said, kissing him. “Will you dance with me when they do ‘Whiskey Dreams’?”

  “Only if you dance for me when they do ‘Out of My Head.’ ”

  “Deal.”

  “Can I film you?” he asked.

  She bit her lip and nodded. The smile he gave her was worth every bit of trepidation she felt. “I’m keeping my clothes on, though,” Anya warned him.

  “That’s okay. For now,” he growled her in ear. “I’ve got a present for you.”

  Anya’s toes curled. “Is it what’s pressing into my stomach?”

  Clint laughed. “That’s all yours.” He put his camera on a table by Istvahn and dragged her over to a darkened corner backstage. The music was loud and the beat made her wish she was wearing a skirt, so Clint could fuck her against the wall. She told him so, pulling his head close to her mouth so they could be heard over the band.

  “No one will care if I take your pants off,” he told her, grinding into her against the wall.

  Anya thought about it and then reluctantly shook her head. “Soft limit.”

  “I know.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “We can work up to softening that limit even more. Now, stop distracting me long enough so I can give you your gift.”

  “What is it?” Anya rested her shoulder blades against the wall and rotated her ankles to take the pressure off her feet. She loved her heels, but standing on the hard stage floor was beginning to take its toll.

  He held up tiny jeweled padded clips. Red and white crystals flashed when the light caught them.

  Clasping her hands together, Anya said, “They’re so cute. Are they hair clips?”

  “Not exactly.” Clint pulled up her shirt, exposing her bra.

  “Clint,” she shrieked, looking over his shoulder. No one was looking back at them. She could just about make out Istvahn’s wide back.

  “No one can see you. My body is blocking this.” Sliding his finger under her bra, he raised it up. Her breast popped out of the cup.

  “Clint,” she giggled, half shocked and half aroused. “No public nudity.”

  “There’s no one around. And it’s only for a second.” Tracing his fingers over the curves, he murmured, “I wish we had more time.” And then he placed the clip on her exposed nipple.

  All the air rushed out of her lungs as shock, pleasure, and pressure hit her all at once. Quickly, he attached the other one and fixed her bra and T-shirt.

  “How does that feel?”

  Anya’s eyes were half closed as she tried to process the throbbing in her breasts. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t quite pleasure. If she had to describe it, it was longing.

  “I love watching you experience the beginner clamps f
or the first time.” He smoothed his hand down her hair. “I can’t wait to see you naked with only those.”

  She still hadn’t answered him. Anya wasn’t aware she could speak. Her breasts felt fuller, invaded. It was like he was pinching them lightly. He thumbed over one and her moan startled her.

  “So responsive.” His head lowered to capture her open mouth. Kneeing open her legs, he rested his hardness against the juncture of her thighs and ground into her to the beat of the music.

  Hooking her leg over his, she pressed closer. His chest rubbed the clamps on her nipples even more. Tiny shivers started at the core of her body. She bucked back into him and he slammed her back into the wall. His kiss was amazing, but she wanted it all over her body. The hard rasp of him between her thighs wasn’t enough. She craved skin on skin. The bass of Switchblade’s song quivered into her. The lead singer’s haunting voice echoed backstage. Her hands clenched his shoulders, her nails digging in deep. She came screaming into his mouth, the friction on her nipples putting her over the edge. His hardness pressing into her through their clothes was enough to have her shuddering her release in his arms.

  Clint rocked her slowly, easing up on the intensity and kissing her lightly about her face. “So beautiful, so damn sexy,” he told her. He tightened his arms around her in a hug.

  “You make me feel like a teenager again,” Anya said when her breath came back. “First we were making out in the car. Now we’re grinding to a rock band at a concert. What’s next? Drinking Boone’s strawberry wine on a mattress in the back of your pickup truck, looking up at the stars?”

  “I can arrange that scene,” he said. “But if you could wait until summer, it would be a lot more fun.”

  Anya held his hand while they walked back to the group. Colleen shot her a knowing look and a smile. Nefertiti just raised an eyebrow but reached out to hold Istvahn’s hand. Clint stood behind her with his arms wrapped around her for the rest of the concert, so she could feel his hardness against her ass. Every so often, his fingers would brush against the bottom of her breast and the fullness twitched into pleasure. She felt owned, marked, and it surprised her how sexy that made her feel. They danced together, and it was tough for her not to drag him backstage for some more kisses. He filmed her, Colleen, and Nefertiti with their arms around each other singing along to the songs. Istvahn made sure he was never in frame, but she caught him almost smiling when he looked at Tee.

  Switchblade put on a great show. When they came back for a quick break before the first encore, Clint kissed her cheek and excused himself to make sure Club Inferno was ready for the after-party.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said, hoping for some alone time.

  “Nah,” he said. “Stay with the band. There are some surprises in the club I don’t want to spoil for you.”

  Anya didn’t think her libido could handle any more surprises, but she was definitely game to try. “See you later.”

  When the band finished two encores, they were riding high. After a celebratory toast of champagne and something to eat, they all went to the Hot Spot club on the fashion side of Couture. The Hot Spot was more dance club than dungeon, but it had spicy alcoves that a couple could go into and fool around. And if you were lucky and had a lot of cash, you could rent an apartment behind the stage for a few hours of bliss.

  After a couple of shots, Anya ducked away to see if Clint needed her in the dungeon.

  She was surprised to see Rita coming out of the studio, adjusting her shirt. Ducking behind a curtain, Anya hid until Rita passed by. As Anya was about to go confront Clint, a hand came around her and covered her mouth.

  “Don’t scream,” Master Dante whispered in her ear.

  Anya squeaked instead, turning around.

  Dante put his finger to his mouth and indicated the scene behind him. Jana was kneeling and blindfolded. She had clothespins on her nipples and a ball gag in her mouth. She held out a silver tray. On it were whips. Two women wearing Switchblade T-shirts and nothing else were spread-eagle on X frames and another two women were naked on their hands and knees.

  “This is for the band,” he whispered. “You’re welcome to stay and watch. I’m just putting the finishing touches on the scene.” His arm pulled her close. She tensed and he immediately released her. “You can try out the whips, if you like.”

  Anya backed away. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’ll just go.”

  “Next time, I might not let you get away so easily,” Dante said.

  Yeah, like that didn’t scare the shit out of her.

  When she made her way to Clint’s studio, the door was locked. She knocked, but there wasn’t any answer. Did Clint film that she-wolf doing the nasty? Anya didn’t like that idea at all. Not that she thought he’d touch her with a ten-foot pole, but she was skinnier and obviously wouldn’t have given him the hard time that Anya did. Rita probably liked getting beat with a cane. Anya had visions of caning her that had nothing to do with sex. Crap, where was Clint anyway?

  The band coming down to the main event distracted her as Club Inferno filled up with every sexual kink and fetish you could throw a PVC stick at. Keeping as close to the band as she could, she caught up with Clint as he filmed some of the videos. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to talk to him except for a brief kiss before he was whisked off to another location. It was just her luck to be horny in a sex club when her boyfriend was working. So she hung out with her friends and made the best of it. It was tough to go to bed alone, but at least she had tomorrow to look forward to. This time, she got smart and turned off her cellphone before bed. No one she wanted to speak to would be up before noon anyway. Trey could stick his diet update in his ear.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The good thing was Clint wasn’t hungover. The bad thing was he forgot he had a shift at Ceili’s. He managed to get there for the lunch crowd. The bar was hopping for a Wednesday afternoon. Clint had to help the waitstaff with orders. Most of the drinks were beers, so it let him off the hook.

  “I’ll have a Bloody Mary.” Rita climbed up on the bar stool.

  That figures. Clint didn’t let his aggravation show, just got the celery, the lemon, and the rest of the condiments from the kitchen.

  “My boyfriend and I liked the video you shot of me.” She wore a tight sweater dress that just barely covered her ass. Coming close to doing a Sharon Stone, Rita crossed her legs and hiked her skirt up so Clint could see her tattoo of a devil holding a pitchfork. It seemed appropriate.

  “Rita, shut up,” Clint said in a lowered voice while he rolled the tomato juice–and–vodka mixture back and forth. “I’ve got a bar full of vanilla clients that don’t need to hear about how the other side lives, if you get my drift.”

  “I get you, hot stuff. I’d like to get you.” She leaned across the bar and whispered, “What’s it going to take?”

  He got in her face and said in a harsh whisper, “I told you last night. I’m a stripper and a Dom. You want to get laid? I can arrange that. It’s not going to be with me.”

  She pouted, which reminded Clint that they should probably put in an order for some more cod for the fish and chips.

  “Didn’t you get off at all watching me ride that sex machine?”

  Clint weighed his answer and decided honesty was the best policy even though it would probably cost him a tip and any return business in the dungeon. “No.” He put the finishing garnishes on her drink and slid it over to her.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.” She licked her lips and took a big sip of her drink. “Here you go, baby,” Rita said in a loud voice. “Thanks for everything.” She slid a hundred dollars across the bar to him. “See you later.”

  “Not if I see you first,” Clint muttered, and cashed her out, pocketing the $80 change. They hit a lull around three P.M. and he texted Anya, but she didn’t respond. He had enough time to jump in the shower and change before driving over to Tricky Ricky’s.

  “Hello, baby,” Marta said, slapping hi
m on the ass when he walked into the dressing room. “You’re booked in the VIP room already.”

  “I just walked in,” Clint said.

  “Get your G-string on and get into room B. The lady wants an hour of private dance and she’s got deep pockets, so make it look good.”

  “Fine.” This shit was really getting old. But he couldn’t beat the tips. He was getting $250 out of the $500 this rich chick paid to take up an hour of his time.

  “Think about the tequila,” he told himself. “Nah, think about Anya.”

  Checking his phone one last time, he was bummed she hadn’t called or texted him back. Hopefully, she’d gotten his message to meet him in Club Inferno around two A.M. for Truth or Dare. He guzzled a 5-Hour Energy drink and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. He was dressed in a zoot suit with tear-away pants. He had been planning to dance to “Zoot Suit Riot” by Cherry Poppin’ Daddies tonight. Looked like he’d be doing the whole album instead.

  “What a day,” he groaned. Loading up the playlist on his iPod, he went to private room B. The lights in the room were dimmed but he could see an outline of a woman sprawled on the chair. She had her skirt pushed up and her fingers already stroking her pussy. It was going to be one of those nights. Normally, he’d have been getting hard right now, but he just felt tired. Turning on the music, he lost himself in the rhythm and shed his clothes to the beat.

  In the silence between one song and the next, she spoke. “Very nice. But this isn’t Dancing with the Stars. Take off the G-string and come rub your cock all over me.”

  Clint turned the iPod off during the opening lines of “The Ding-Dong Daddy of the D-Car Line”—which was a shame because he could rock the hell out of that song. “Rita, what the crap are you doing here?”

  “I want to fuck you and I’m willing to pay for it. Five thousand dollars. Right here. Right now.”

  Clint blinked at her. “Prostitution is illegal,” he told her, just in case she was setting him up.

  “I’m not a cop and I’m not wearing a wire.” She ripped her shirt open. She wasn’t wearing anything under her blouse.