Longing: Club Inferno

by Jamie K. Schmidt

  “Why me?” he said, crossing his arms. She had teacup-shaped tits. He knew a few Doms who would put caning stripes across them. That would teach her.

  “Why not you? I like your body.” She got up and slunk over to him.

  He threw her back down into the chair and she giggled. “Oh yes, get forceful with me.”

  “Look, Rita. There are plenty of other Doms who would dance this dance with you. Give you the beating you deserve and then bang the shit out of you. I have a girlfriend.”

  Rita sneered. “Anya? Please. She’s just easy.”

  Clint huffed. “You and I have different definitions of ‘easy.’ Now, do you want me to dance or do I leave?”

  “What if I make it ten thousand?”

  “I’m not a whore, Rita. I’m a stripper. I take off my clothes for a lot of money. Before I met Anya, if I liked a chick enough, I would rub my dick all over her. In the dungeon, I’m employed to assist you in getting off. Again, pre-Anya, if I felt like it, I’d fuck whoever I wanted. Right now? I just want to fuck my girlfriend.”

  “I paid for an hour,” she said. “You can damn well dance and I’ll get my own self off.”

  “Or you could go back to Club Inferno and get laid with a bunch of guys who are more than willing to play by your rules. I’m just not one of them.”

  “Dance,” she ordered.

  He walked back to his iPod and put on “Shake Your Lovemaker.” Ignoring her when she pulled a vibrator out of her purse, Clint concentrated on the music. If he were dancing for Anya, this night would end a little different. He danced as close as he dared to Rita, making sure to stay out of her reach. Her little moans and cries sounded too artificial to tempt him, but he gave her two more songs because she’d paid for it. But after she came, he decided to call it quits before things got ugly.

  “Did you like the show I put on?” Rita purred, fixing her clothes.

  This time, he decided it was probably in his best interest to lie. But he couldn’t bring himself to say yes, so he shrugged.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” he asked.

  “Cesare? He’s trying to get into your girlfriend’s panties even as we speak. Maybe he’ll have better luck than I did. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind? Bring that big cock over here and I’ll suck it.”

  “Go to hell,” Clint said, and walked out on her.

  At one A.M., he was done dancing and almost asleep on his feet. At least Rita had left after their session. He had two ensemble dances. They did the requisite “You Can Leave Your Hat On” and “It’s Raining Men.” The only other private dance was for a pretty young thing celebrating her twenty-first birthday. He treated her to Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” and she spent the whole time with one hand over her eyes. It was actually cute.

  He stretched and his back cracked. If it weren’t for Anya—who still hadn’t called him back—he’d have passed off the Truth or Dare to Steve or Dante. He wondered if Rita was yanking his chain or if Cesare was putting the moves on Anya.

  “You made a killing tonight, baby,” Marta said, handing him a fat bankroll.

  Clint grunted. One more step to opening up his bar. He wanted to have a year’s rent and operating expenses to give him some float. Most places didn’t last their first year. He’d be damned if he’d worked this hard to become another statistic. When his phone rang, Clint answered it thinking it was Anya. Who else would be calling him after midnight?

  “Hey, baby,” he drawled.

  “Clinton, mijo.”

  Oh God, it was his mother. “Ma, it’s late. What are you doing up at this hour?”

  “It’s seven thirty in the morning. We’re in Kiev.”

  He winced. “I thought you were coming back to more friendly countries.”

  “Nonsense. Everybody loves the circus. Your father says hi.”

  “Hi, Pop.”

  “How are you? Is New York treating you well?”

  “It’s great,” he said, getting inside his car. He bit back a sigh. He hated lying to his parents. But the truth wouldn’t ease their minds. Once he got the bar going, he could just tell them he’d left the city.

  “Are you eating?”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “Have you met a nice girl yet?”

  “Actually I have. Her name is Anya. She’s a model.”

  “Oh, honey, watch out she doesn’t break your heart.”

  Clint gave a half laugh. “You’d like her.”

  “Would I?” His mother sniffed. “What are her people like?”

  “I don’t really know.” Clint scratched the whiskers growing in on his chin. One o’clock shadow. “She’s from Las Vegas.”

  “Really?” She perked up. “Was she a showgirl?”

  Clint almost lied again but sighed. If he didn’t stop it, he’d forget what stories he’d told. “She worked all over. She’s up for a part in Some Like It Hot.”

  “I loved that picture. Is she going to be Marilyn Monroe?”

  “I think so.”

  “For your girlfriend, you don’t seem to know much. What are you doing with your time? I’m not going to have grandbabies, am I? You need to be married first.”

  “Ma,” he said. “We just started dating. We both work a lot of hours. In fact, I’ve got to get going. It was nice talking to you.”

  “You take care of yourself, mijo. There’s always a job here with us.”

  “I know. I love you. Tell Pop I love him too.”

  “I will. We are so very proud of you.”

  Christ, if that wasn’t a dagger in the chest. “Thanks,” he said. Hanging up, he tossed the phone on the passenger seat. The way his day was going, Anya wasn’t going to be in Club Inferno. She’d be out with her Italian count. Cesare was probably fucking her right now. Rubbing his hand over his face, Clint forced those thoughts out of his mind. That’s what Rita wanted him to think. Anya hadn’t been kidding when she said Rita was a ballbuster. There was a good reason why Anya wasn’t picking up her phone and he’d damn well get it out of her tonight.

  He drove back to Couture playing music by Disturbed at top volume. It fit his mood. Storming into the dungeon, he leveled a few black looks at a couple of submissives who might need a stronger hand. Busting into the room he reserved for Truth or Dare, something in his gut eased when he saw Anya sitting up on the table. She was wearing a white leather skirt—bless her—and thigh-high white boots. If she was going for angelic innocence, she’d blown it with the lace tank top she wore under a diaphanous white shirt. He could see the outline of the nipple clamps he’d given her, and it almost brought him to his knees.

  Aside from Anya, there were six other people in the room. He put them in pairs and kept Anya for himself.

  “Hello,” he said, his hands on her thighs. “Missed you today.”

  She placed her hands on his and squeezed. “You’re not going to believe the day I had.”

  “We’ll talk after class,” he said.

  “Aren’t you tired?”

  Clint was afraid his neck muscles wouldn’t support his head, that’s how tired he was. “I’ve got some life left in me.”

  And this group wasn’t going to run itself.

  “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to play a little Truth or Dare with your partners. You know how this works. We’re going to do a round of truths as a group and a round of dares, and then you’re on your own. We’ll start it off. Anya, what do you want first, truth or dare?”

  “I’m playing it safe,” she said. “Truth.”

  “Who else thinks the truth is safe?” He eyeballed the crowd and the laughter was half nervous, half anticipatory. Clint could be a real bastard with this one. But he wanted to be on Anya’s good side more than he wanted to Dom her in class. That was a switch for him. If she had been anyone else, he would have asked her one of the forbidden questions, like “How old are you?” or “How much do you weigh?” But weight was a trigger for her and he wouldn’t shame her in public. So he asked the
question that had been on his mind all day.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you return my texts or calls?”

  She frowned at him. “My phone never rang—oh shit, I never turned it back on from last night.” Fishing around in her clutch purse, she showed him the phone. It was turned off.

  “Good answer.” He rewarded her with a kiss. “Your turn.”

  “Truth or dare?”

  He considered saying dare, just to see what she’d do, but he wanted to give a good example to the group. “Truth.”

  “Did you film Rita naked and having sex?”

  Clint blinked. She pulled no punches. “Yes,” he said, and then held up a hand when she went to follow it up. “Next group.”

  An older woman with shoulder-length white hair turned to her partner, a much younger man who was naked except for a sarong and his nipple piercings. “Truth or dare, Alex?”

  “Truth,” Alex whispered.

  “Who do you want to fuck the most in this room?”

  There were murmurs of appreciation. Clint was impressed. This was going to turn out to be more interesting than he’d thought. “Still think the truth is safe?” he asked Anya, who was scowling at him.

  The man pointed to a redheaded woman down the row from him. She was wearing a collar and her partner held the leash that was attached to it.

  “Truth or dare?” Alex said.

  “Truth,” the older woman spit out, obviously not happy about his answer.

  “How old are you?”

  Anya winced.

  “Fifty-three,” the woman said proudly.

  The next four couples also chose truth and the questions were banal. What do you like during sex? Which actor would you fuck if you could? Clint had to force back a yawn. And then it was their turn again.

  “You don’t have to say ‘dare,’ ” he said to Anya. “Truth or dare?”

  “Dare.” She leveled a warning glare at him.

  The Dom in him wanted to push a soft limit, maybe the nudity-in-public thing. But he was feeling possessive. He didn’t want anyone to see those nipple clamps until he got to enjoy them. So what could he send his darling off to do? He checked his phone; it was past two A.M.

  “I dare you to call your ex and tell him to meet you for a booty call at a place of your choosing. Then turn your phone off again.”

  The room clapped, and Anya bit her lip. “He’s probably asleep.”

  “Don’t care,” Clint said. “Which brings me to the consequence portion of our show. Club Inferno’s rule is if your partner lies or refuses to answer or complete the dare, they have to perform a sex act of your choosing on you.”

  The clapping added wolf whistles this round.

  Anya waited until the noise subsided. “Does it have to be a public performance? Or can it be a private one?”

  “Ladies’ choice,” he said.

  “I’m not calling Cesare,” she said.

  Clint nodded, the blood rushing from his head in a direct path to his cock. “Come with me.” He held out his hand. Anya jumped down from the table and took it. “Carry on, with truth questions. I’ll have another Dom in here shortly to oversee the dares.”

  Two o’clock in the morning; you’d think everyone would be asleep or busy. But he got Master Micah to cover in no time flat, though Micah made him promise to help out in an electrical-play scenario. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do, but frankly he would have agreed to anything. Clint wasn’t about to let Anya go. He took her up to his room.

  “We’re leaving the dungeon?” she asked.

  “We’re not coming back tonight.”

  “Hot damn,” she said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  His hands were shaking with anticipation when he unlocked the door. Throwing his keys on the table, he stepped out of his shoes.

  “Tell me about Rita,” she said, crossing her arms.

  “She’s a pain in my ass.” Clint tossed off his shirt and started unbuttoning his pants.

  “Hold on, buster.” Anya held a hand out. “Who was she fucking while you were filming?”

  “Not who. What.”

  “What?” Anya repeated.

  “Before this devolves into an Abbott and Costello skit, she requested to try out the Sybian and the dick in the box.”

  He could tell that threw her. He wanted her to ask. So he waited until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Anya’s face cleared while she tried to fake that she knew what either of those things was. He had to control his smile when her brow furrowed. She was obviously still thinking about it.

  “What?”

  Laughing, Clint explained. “The Sybian is a big vibrator, basically. You pick the type of friction you want against you and you straddle it. The dick in the box is basically a dildo on a motorized pole.”

  She stood there, stunned.

  “I can order them up here if you like, but I guarantee I can fuck you better.”

  “I was counting on it, actually.” She was in his arms. He wasn’t sure if she moved to him or if he moved to her. But it didn’t matter. Her lips tasted like peppermint from the gloss she’d put on. The sweet mint invigorated his tired brain.

  Peeling the see-through blouse off her, he smoothed his hands over her silky shoulders. “I see you’re wearing my present.” Easing the straps of the tank top down her arms, Clint pushed it down to her waist. Her full breasts were weighted down slightly by the clamps.

  “I like how they feel,” she said. “They make me think you’re tugging on them all day.”

  “Does that get you wet?” he asked, reaching his hand under her skirt.

  She wasn’t wearing panties.

  Smiling, Clint rubbed a finger across her slit.

  She sighed, spreading her legs wider. “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure what to do with you first,” he said, helping her out of her clothes. Anya was wearing the boots—because it would be a crime to take those off—and his clamps.

  “I bet I know what sex act you want.” Sinking to her knees, Anya unbuttoned his jeans.

  Clint could only stare as she pulled his pants down. He stepped out of them before he tripped. His hand went to the back of her head. He could easily guide her mouth over his cock and let her suck him into oblivion. In fact, she was leaning toward it herself.

  “No.” He pulled on her hair so she looked up at him.

  He would probably regret this, but as much as he wanted her lips around his cock, he wanted her more. “I want you to strip for me.”

  “I’m already naked,” she told him.

  “I want to sit on that chair and watch you dance. Just like you did for Switchblade. Only without clothes. It’s just you and me. I want to see the sway of your body. I want you to feel the pull of those clips when your breasts bounce.”

  “That’s not a sex act,” she said shakily. Her arms crossed over her breasts defensively.

  He knelt down next to her. “It is,” he said. “And it’s more intimate than the blow job you were about to rock my world with.”

  She gave a half laugh. “You’re the only man I know who would turn down a blow job.”

  Gripping the back of her head, he forced her to look at him. “I’m not turning it down. I’m taking a rain check. Tonight, I’m claiming my dungeon prize. You’re going to strip for me. And if you do a good job, I’m going to fuck you.”

  “What if I do a bad job?” she asked, her white teeth biting her plump red lip.

  He brought her in close so he could breathe into her ear. “I’m still going to fuck you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anya should’ve felt ridiculous—this hot guy was telling her to put her clothes back on—but she didn’t. She felt naughty. He was still naked and his cock was erect, so maybe he was really into her. She shrugged on the tank top, feeling the clamps tug on her nipples. She shimmied into the skirt and buttoned up her shirt. Clint was sprawled in a chair with a pair of handcuffs dangling off his finger.

  “What’s that for?” she aske
d.

  “Cuff my hands behind my back. Men aren’t allowed to touch the strippers.”

  Anya liked the way this was playing out. She had spent the whole day going over Fierocity with Colleen and mainlining diet cola. Then Nefertiti had joined them and they pretty much bought out the baby section of Gucci. No one appreciated her going “Gucci, Gucci, goo.” But she had a great day. She hadn’t thought about food or dieting, that stupid play, or that bitch Rita. And now it was going to end in the arms of the hottest man she’d ever seen, and it seemed he wanted her all for himself. She kept waiting for the punch line. She had tried to keep her head and say that she only wanted casual sex. But Anya had been lying to herself. She wanted Clint with an intensity that scared her. It was only the thought that he didn’t want her back that was keeping the fence around her heart from being breached.

  She moved behind him and cuffed his wrists together. “It’s not like that in male revues. You’re encouraged to touch the dancers.” She slid her hands up his arms and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I’m aware of that,” he said with a half laugh. “I try to keep out of hand’s reach of the grabbier ones.”

  “Oh yeah.” Anya smacked her forehead. “I forgot you’re a stripper.”

  Craning his head around, he stared at her. “How could you forget? That’s where I was tonight.”

  “I don’t know,” Anya said. “You’re such a presence here at Couture. I see you more as Chuck Norris and Quentin Tarantino all rolled up into one.”

  “You see me as a martial artist and a filmmaker?” He had turned around, but his voice was incredulous. Clint swallowed hard and shook his head. “As if I needed any more proof how perfect you are.”

  “I said that, didn’t I?” She nibbled on his ear.

  The handcuffs clanked as he pulled on them. “You’re taking advantage of me being tied up.”

  “You bet your sweet ass I am.”

  “Just remember, turnabout is fair play.” He sent a smoldering glance at her.

  She leaned in to rub her hands down his chest. Turning his head, Clint nuzzled her breast and she let out a soft moan. “So are you going to help me through this?” she breathed. “Since you’re the expert?”