Carla pauses as if shocked, then shakes her head and chuckles softly. “No... at least…” a look of uncertainty comes over her face and she concludes, “I don’t think so.”
If the President of the United States is a member of Club X, I think to myself, then this entire country is going straight to hell.
I have no idea who's going to buy me. Every fucking time I signed a piece of paper to be included in the auction tonight, it nearly made me sick. I'm so anxious and worried. Anyone can buy me. At the same time, it's exhilarating. The only thing that keeps me from freaking the fuck out is knowing that all of my preferences, my hard and soft limits—meaning things I will not do and things I might try—are all in the contract. The contract itself was sixty pages long. Every possible detail and interaction between the buyer and submissive was included. And it must all be followed to the letter as to what my preferences are. The club is strict about filling out all the paperwork Madam Lynn emailed me. Plus, talking to her and Carla gives me faith that this is going to be the fantasy that I want and not some fucked up horror flick.
“Here’s the Sex and Submission store,” Carla says, gesturing as Bruce stops us in front of an opening into a large room along the wall. Inside, there are rows of shelves filled with all sorts of sex toys and BDSM devices. There are dildos, whips, chains, ropes, nipple clamps, elegant butt plugs and every kind of sexual toy you could imagine. I watch as several Doms walk around with their chained Subs, picking out their toys of choice to be used on them later. “Obviously, you’ll be making stops here in the future. Just don’t get too carried away.” There’s humor in her voice and I appreciate it, although I still feel muted in my excitement. My inexperience in this new environment is making me tense, and I feel overly self-conscious.
We continue on the tour and Bruce leads us upstairs through a long hallway filled with rooms on either side. Like the floor below, the hall is filled with opulence, with the same lush carpeting, beautiful painted walls, luxury furniture and upscale art pieces.
As we pass each room, I can faintly hear the sounds of smacking flesh and pleasured cries through the thick, fancy doors.
“Here are the private apartments,” Bruce says as Carla stops, indicating a door off to the right. “This is where... well, you can pretty much guess what goes on. These are safe places for the Dom and his Sub and where they can get to know each other's limits in private.”
There are men in dark suits lining the hallway, and they look like they mean business with their dark glasses and buzz cuts. It’s obvious they're here to make sure no one violates the rules.
As we move through the hallway, I hear more sounds of debauchery that make my pussy clench on air; the crack of a whip followed by a soft cry, and then more noises of smacking flesh as if a man’s low-hanging balls are smacking up against a wet pussy.
I want to be in there, I think to myself, my mind racing with base thoughts. Being dominated. My body tingles with anxiety and heated anticipation. I take in a staggered breath. Soon. I swallow thickly as my palms start to grow damp with perspiration. It’s overwhelming.
We reach the end of the hallway and then Bruce leads us down the steps into another corridor that lets out into a large room filled with Doms and Subs who are in the act of role-playing and even having all-out sex.
“This is the playroom,” Bruce says, nodding at the scene in front of us.
I hardly hear him. My eyes are on a Sub who's on her knees, being face fucked by a muscled, ripped, naked stud in a mask. He thrusts forward, forcing her to take all of his big cock to the ball sack, then he throws his head back, groaning with absolute pleasure.
Fuck, I say to myself as my pussy clenches repeatedly and my nipples stiffen like stone, that’s so fucking hot.
That dark act of being forced is what turns me on. It’s what I crave above all else. It used to shame me to my core, but now it’s the only way I can get off.
My breathing comes out in pants as I watch, imagining being taken by force by someone like this masked man.
“We should go back now,” Bruce informs me quietly, turning to me. He watches me with a keen eye, taking in my flushed cheeks and heavy breathing, and an amused smile touches the corner of his lips. “I’m ready to eat.”
I take deep, full breaths to calm my racing pulse and say nothing as Bruce leads us back to the dining room and to an empty table near the giant stage. As I take my seat, I notice several masked men’s eyes on me, staring me down as if they know I’ll be up for auction soon. My cheeks burn at their gazes, almost wishing one of them would come take me and relieve my throbbing pussy, but I ignore them. I know I’m not supposed to look at them unless they tell me to. Yet I feel that some of them sense the desire that burns in me, the need to be dominated. I wonder if it’s attracting them, like a moth to a flame.
A wave of anxiety washes over me. What if it’s one of these very men looking at me who buys me tonight? Will I be good enough for them? I'm sure that most of them are used to trained Submissives, but I'm new. I'll need to be taught, and I’ll have to learn how to properly behave.
Total surrender is all I need, I tell myself. The wants and needs of my Dom will be my wants and needs. His wishes are my command.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts when a waitress dressed in a black uniform comes up with a gold-plated menu and sets it down in front of me and then looks at us expectantly. Bruce speaks first. “A dirty harry for my Carla,” he says smoothly, “and a shot of whiskey for me.” She nods, and turns to look at me.
“Just a water please,” I say, swallowing thickly. My nerves are getting the best of me. My hands are shaking. Soon I’ll be up for auction, and then I’ll be owned by someone. A stranger. I should drink to calm down, but I need my wits.
Carla waves away my concern. “You’re fine. You’re going to love this.”
That should soothe me, but it doesn’t. She has no idea why I’m on edge. Well maybe she has an inkling about part of it, but she doesn't know the real reason that I want this. I can’t shake my negative feelings. Even when we order our food and start eating, premium steak on a bed of wild rice pilaf, I feel anxious. I’m timid about how I’m going to go through with tonight. And actually, I’m fucking terrified. I’m new to all this, and as exciting and alluring as Club X seems, I’m not sure if I’m totally cut out to be a Sub, let alone being one for an entire month. I mean, what would happen, God forbid, if halfway through my contract, I decide that I can’t take it anymore and want out?
But I can’t, I tell myself. More than the money, I need a Dom who’s going to force me to face my fears. A Dom who’s going to heal me, so I can move on with my life. My blood cools, and I close my eyes. With everything in me, I know that I need this.
Chapter 7
Lucian
The door to my Audi R8 closes with a gentle click. It’s rare that I drive myself anywhere anymore. I need the time to work, and with the heavy city traffic, having a driver frees up a good hour for work. It’s even more rare that I have to self-park. Club X has a valet option, but no one uses it. The clientele here is well known, and members have our own gated parking on the side of the club. The lot is littered with expensive cars all rivaling the collection I have in my garage. Aston Martins and Porsches catch my eye in particular.
It’s practically a treasure chest for men like myself.
I hit the lock, which echoes a small beep in the chill of the night, and stroll toward the entrance. My mask is already in place. It’s simple, and made of smooth, black thin leather that wraps over my eyes and covers the bridge of my nose. Silk ties keep it in place. I actually purchased this one here. The club sells a wide variety of masks. They sell everything you could ever possibly dream of or need for this lifestyle.
As I step closer to the nine foot high carved maple doors, I smile wickedly in anticipation. Inside of this club is another world entirely.
It’s a world of sin and darkness. A world of high-end luxury, an adult playground.
The darkness this time of night only makes the exterior of the club more alluring. The deep red up-lighting along the columns is barely a hint at what’s waiting within. From the outside, you’d have no idea what you were walking into if you weren’t already familiar with the club.
Even when the large doors open and reveal the interior, at first you may be deceived.
Before I can knock, the doors swing open silently. The staff is timed so well I don’t even have to slow my pace. My shoes click on the stone entryway before being silenced by the plush carpeted floors. I walk in easily, feeling the warmth of the club in the foyer. The faint seductive music hums through my body, and a grin threatens to slip into place.
The air itself is provocative and mysterious. Nothing in this world exists like Club X.
“May I check your coat, sir?” the young woman asks at the long black front desk of the lobby on my right. Her voice is soft and even, and she holds my gaze steadily. Very little of her skin is shown other than the deep V cut in the blouse of her black pant jumpsuit. Her professional look is complete with natural makeup, and her blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.
She’s wearing the same uniform that I recognize from all the years I’ve come here. It’s easy to distinguish the employees in Club X. There’s never a doubt that they’re off limits and not interested in play. The professional touch that Madam Lynn requires is admirable.
Some things never change.
The air of familiarity makes my blood heat with the recognition of what’s to come.
“No thank you,” I state easily and walk through the lobby, the music increasing in intensity. The view of the restaurant calls to me.
Most guests are in awe of the dining area with its high ceilings and dim lighting. The stage takes precedence this late at night. The silhouettes of the go-go dancers are barely visible as the lights flutter around them in beat with the music.
There may be a doubt as to what Club X is if I’d come earlier and stayed for dinner, but when true night comes and the lights dim, the curtains open and the club comes alive. Sin around every corner, and a fantasy come to life.
I take a quick glance at the guests, and see a few familiar faces. I smirk, standing behind a round, tufted booth in the back of the room, the hallway behind me. Familiar faces aren't quite the right words, considering the men are all masked. But I recognize them, regardless. Senators, professors, CEOs… all men of power. My peers.
There may be secrecy in this building, but secrets are only as good as those who can keep them. Trust is something that doesn’t come easily to me. But the contracts we all sign for our memberships are held sacred among us.
Judging by the simple clothing the women are wearing, there’s no theme tonight. I suppose I should have known that. Madam Lynn likes to keep things simple on the night of the auction. One a month. No wonder the restaurant is only half full.
A couple passes behind me, and I turn to watch them walk through the hallway. His crisp, dark navy suit is at odds with the chiffon shift dress she’s wearing that’s practically see-through. Her pale pink nipples show through the fabric, as well as a hint of her pubic hair. She has a thin gold leash wrapped around her neck and held in his hand. It’s a loose hold, and the chain is so thin I imagine it would easily break if she were to pull away from him. Without a collar on her neck, and judging by how quickly she’s moving, it must be a punishment. She’s to obey, or she'll no longer belong to him.
There are two men for security at the entrance to the hall. The restaurant is for anyone, but past this doorway is only for members. I already have the silver bracelet granting me entrance around my wrist, and I easily lift my sleeve to reveal it as I walk by. They nod their heads and remain still, their hands behind their backs.
Madam Lynn has stepped up her game in that department, they look like the fucking Secret Service.
The man picks up his pace and pulls a bit tighter on the petite woman’s leash as they get closer to their destination. She lets out a small gasp and takes a few quick steps to catch up.
The Submissives in the club who are single and not claimed are able to roam, but there are rules. They must always display their submission so they don’t break the fantasy the club provides; any action that disrupts scenes can lead to being banned or potentially punished if a Dom sees fit to take over the Sub and she agrees.
The Submissive’s bare feet pad on the carpet as he leads her past the stairway to the dungeon and down a hall to the left where some the private rooms are.
They can be purchased for a decent price, all things considered. A few hundred grand a month is a reasonable rate. Each is numbered or named, depending on the owner’s discretion; all are expansive, and fully furnished. They’re tempting for the ease at which they can be used.
I’ve never had one. I do have a strong desire for privacy, but not here. I prefer the confines of my own home. It makes things difficult though, seeing as how the Submissive must agree to leave and to play where I’d rather be.
It’s one thing to be consumed by the aura of the club, but it’s another thing entirely to unleash your desires in another person’s care. And without the protection the club provides.
My steps pick up as I pass the divine pleasures of the club and make my way to the stairs so I can do what I came here for. The auction is starting soon.
Upstairs the atmosphere continues, but it’s subdued. It’s far more serious, and the music has vanished. In place of the dark red furniture and luxurious trimmings are simple round tables scattered with only two or three chairs around each. On the back wall is a stage, smaller than the one downstairs, with a podium off to the right. The deep red curtains are closed, leaving the room dark with little to occupy yourself with, but there’s only one thing on every man’s mind in this room at the moment.
“For you, sir,” a man on my left says as I take in the room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I give the man a tight smile and accept the pamphlet he offers. My dick starts hardening, knowing my new Submissive’s details are waiting for me inside. My body hums with desire, and my blood rushes in my ears.
“Lucian,” I hear a deep voice call out in front of me. My eyes are drawn to a table near the back of the room and a small hand waving me to come to them.
A smirk slips into place as I pass Senator Williams. Although he’s masked, I recognize the sharp features of his jaw, and the pale blue eyes peeking from the silver mask. I give him a nod, but he doesn’t see. He’s tapping the pamphlet on the table and staring at a man across the room. I don’t recognize him, but I imagine it’s someone on the senator’s shit list judging by the look on his face. The knowledge makes my smirk widen into a grin.
“Interesting to find you here, Lucian,” Isaac says in a smooth, lowered voice as I approach. The tables are separated enough for a bit of privacy. I unbutton my jacket and sit easily on the opposite side of Zander and Isaac. Two men I know well. Two men I trust.
“It’s been a while,” I say easily, taking in the sight of them. My eyes travel along Isaac’s suit. It’s light grey, and he’s even wearing a striped silver tie. I’m not used to the look on him. The men in here are expected to be dressed in black tie attire, but it’s been nearly a year since I’ve been back, and seeing Isaac in a suit is something that’s more or less a rarity. Even though it’s custom tailored, he looks like he doesn’t belong in it. His rugged demeanor and casual stance offset the clean lines and hard edges the suit is meant to enhance.
He’s simply not a man to wear a suit. If it were up to him, I imagine he’d be in jeans. Although I’m sure he’s found ways to use the tie around his neck to his advantage. He’s a contractor for private security, and you’d think he’d be used to dressing up. But he looks like he’s itching to get out of his suit. Although I know the silver watch on his wrist costs a fortune. I suppose we all desire a bit of luxury, it’s just a matter of personal taste in choosing how to go about it.
I glance around the room, the memories of the club
coming back to me, but I stop when I see a man I recognize. It's not because I’ve seen him here before. Joe Levi. He has a mask on, but his sharp features are distinct, and his mannerisms are the same. He’s a crook; a mobster, a villain. This room and club are filled with men of power and wealth, but a membership isn’t something that can simply be purchased. There’s a background check and a training course that must be completed first. Madam Lynn is out to protect the women here just as much as she aims to profit, but seeing Joe makes me question that.
I gesture slightly toward him, catching Isaac’s eye.
“He’s been here about three months now,” he answers, and his voice is low.
“Are his tastes what I’ve heard them to be?” I ask soft enough that our conversation can’t be heard by anyone else. Zander can hear, but he lets Isaac answer.
“He only comes to the auctions.”
I nod in response and look back over to him.
“He’s yet to buy anyone.” Isaac's words settle in me as I take in the other buyers. Some I know, some I don’t. The only one I’d rather not have in this room is Joe. But that’s not my call.
“Are you suddenly in the buying mood?” Zander asks me. He’s a man who fucking belongs in that suit. He was practically raised in it. Zander’s from wealth; he oozes high class, and his neat black bow tie is the cherry on top. As a wall street mogul and heir to a sizable fortune, the designer look and gold cufflinks fit him well. With sharp cheekbones and piercing green eyes, his classically handsome look makes him fit in with this exclusive crowd. Isaac belongs here as well, but his suit is caging in a beast who wants out. That’s the difference between them.
“I need a distraction,” I finally answer.
“It’s good to see you back on the horse,” Isaac says with a smirk.
I huff a small grunt of a laugh. “I’ve just been busy.”
Zander smiles at my response and looks as though he’s contemplating opening his smart mouth for a response, but he doesn’t. Instead he rests his elbows on the table and looks to the stage.
Bought: Highest Bidder Page 5
