by Mj Fields
“Well, fuck,” Zandor says, eyes wide. “My bad. You want to be my Yoda man, I will be your Padawan. Gladly. Just show me how to use the Force like that.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he looks like he expects me to. I shrug. Shake my head.
The look on his face is incredulous. “Star Wars?”
“Let me guess,” I say, taking another sip of my drink. “It’s an American thing.”
“Actually, it’s kind of the most epic movie series of all...you know what, never mind.” He nods “Carry on, oh wise one.”
I gesture down to the petite blonde. “What is your flavor?”
“My thing is pussy,” he repeats, like that is helpful. “Warm, willing pussy, in all varieties.”
I sigh with impatience. “No, Zandor. You’re in a bondage club. I mean, what is your scene? What fetish are you into? Are you a top, a bottom, a group player? Dominance is not for everyone, no matter how....” I gesture vaguely at his physique. “Physically suited for it, they may appear to be. Perhaps you yearn to submit. If that is the case, I can recommend some very talented dommes in the area.”
Zandor Steel looks at me like I am deranged in some way—even though he is the one with the porn star name, who is wearing a ‘fuck me, daddy’ shirt.
“Bro, I just like to fuck and not have the chick so enchanted or fucking needy that she pulls out the old sexual harassment card, trying to teach me some fucking lesson. I’m not into really fucked up. I’ll spank an ass and play with some toys.””
“So, no blood play? Animal transformation? Figging?”
“Fuck no.” He looks vaguely nauseated at the thought—even though, I would bet good money he doesn’t know what any of those things mean. “That’s sick.”
“It’s not about mental health or sickness,” I tell him, more patiently than I should. “It’s about control. Losing it, and feeling free. Or maybe taking it, for the first time in your life. Every day, in all aspects of our lives, control is what we seek. Yet most people have no idea how to control themselves, and they don’t try. They are slaves to their urges, instead of the other way around.”
A feeling prods me then, something similar to guilt. What right do I have to be preaching to this stranger about self-control? After all, what am I doing here tonight?
But Zandor seems to consider—genuinely consider—what I’ve told him. “Not sure if you’re being a dick, or sincere, but as I said before,” he points to the blonde at my feet, who is still silently, patiently waiting, “I want something simple. Meat and potatoes. I want ass that goes away satisfied when I’m done and doesn’t sit outside my door banging on it, begging for cock.”
I can’t help but laugh at the visual image he’s created. “Begging is also a very big part of this scene, my friend. I wonder if you wouldn’t be more comfortable at a nice trucker bar. I hear there is one down by the gas station, near the freeway.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he says, rolling his eyes. “At least there, no one would have a chance at knowing who I was. Ever since my family came into some money, that shit has seriously fucked up my game. There’s no such thing as ‘anonymous’ or ‘no strings attached’ anymore. Now, they’re telling me I need to ‘lay low?’ That ain’t gonna happen. So, like I said, teach away.”
I’m intrigued by his story, and want to know more. New money is like blood in the water for a shark like me. But I’m also starting to like this guy, in spite of myself. So I indulge him, for the moment, and play mentor.
“You have to keep feelings out of it,” I look down at the blonde, finally giving her the attention she craves. She is a textbook sub, willing to wait as long as it takes—because waiting for approval only makes her wetter. I point her to Zandor, and she crawls over, instantly transferring her attention—and adoration—on him. “The only thing you ask of her is obedience, until the game is done. Sexual obedience. Release must be earned, and given like a gift. It cannot be taken.”
Zandor slowly smiles, staring at the blonde’s tits. “I definitely like control.”
I nod to the redhead with the nose-to-nipple piercings, and she walks over to stand before me.
“Is Cindy to your liking, Sir?”
“She’s hot,” Zandor says. “So, yeah. I’d like to show her a good time.”
“No,” I correct him. “You want to take pleasure from her. In return, if she does exactly as you instruct, she will be rewarded.”
I look down at the girl. “Present yourself.”
She does as I say, without question. Whether they know my name or not at this place, it doesn’t matter. They obviously know enough to tell a Dom when they see one.
Leaning back on her heels, Cindy widens her legs slightly, clasping her hands behind her back. The position causes her breasts to jut out, pressing her nipples out against the sheer fabric of her costume.
“You see how she is dressed?” I ask Zandor. “She is wearing lace, not leather. She will be a good partner for your first time. But make sure you agree to the rules, between the two of you, before anything happens. Her presentation shows her desires. She wants to be treated like a lady, but she needs for you to be in control. Like you, she is not so very experienced.”
“What?” Zandor looks at me skeptically. “What do you mean? How can you possibly know that?”
I gesture for the blonde to leave us. “Go over there and wait for your master to claim you, Cindy.”
Immediately, she goes back to where she was sitting before, across the room.
“Everything is in the rules,” I tell him. “It’s part of the world we live in, part of the scene. That is the kind of woman who wants a stranger to spank her and fuck her, but still wants the illusion of romance. She needs someone who wants to dominate her full time, and take care of her. If she asked for my opinion, I would have told her to go somewhere else. This is a place for temporary engagements. Whereas this one,” I point to the redhead, who is smiling at me with open invitation. “Is a submissive of opportunity. She wants to lose control, for an hour...a weekend. But she is experienced enough to be comfortable in the scene, which tells me that she will be looking for something...special. A singular experience she can tuck away and revisit later, in her private moments.”
My eyes burn into hers, and my explanation takes a turn into something else. Something meant only for her and I. “She is looking for an eye-opening, stinging slap that will drive her over the edge at exactly the right moment. She wants a man who will fuck her, mind and body, like pleasure is her only purpose in the world. And when she’s screaming and begging for release, I will pull it out of her reach, at the last possible second. Because, more than anything, she wants the exhilarating feeling of being wildly...totally...helplessly...out of control.”
By the time I am finished with my description, the redhead is almost panting with desire. I have no doubt that underneath her leather harness, she is dripping with need, ready and waiting for my cock to penetrate her. For my body to conquer hers, completely. I glance over my shoulder, toward the entrance to the private lounge area. I raise an eyebrow. She nods, eagerly.
“Damn,” Zandor says.
I turn toward him with a start. I’d almost forgotten he was there.
“So...can I go fuck Cindy now?”
I nod, because I am done mentoring for the evening. I have my target now, and nothing else matters but the slow burn, the build, and the eventual quench.
“Of course. Just remember that control is a responsibility, not a right. It can be taken away, just as easily as it is given.”
“Understood.”
Satisfied that I have done my part, I turn my attention back to the redhead.
“Go to the cross and wait for me.” I get up and slowly remove my jacket, folding it neatly over one arm. “It was nice meeting you, Zandor Steel.”
With a nod, I leave him to his fun. I circle the bar and go into one of the side rooms, where a Saint Andrew’s Cross waits in the center of a dimly lit room. The redh
ead is there, on her knees, already assuming ‘the Position.’
“Get undressed.” I close the door behind me—but not all the way, in case there are any voyeurs who would like to peek in—and hang up my jacket. By the time I turn around, the redhead has taken off her scant leather thong, and is kneeling naked in front of the cross.
She is shaved bare, of course, and I can already see for myself what my words have done to her. She is glistening already, and I have yet to touch her.
Behind me, I can hear whispers, and I don’t have to turn to know a small crowd of watchers has gathered outside. It’s not unusual for me, because I have a reputation, one I am proud of.
“Tell me your name,” I command, not ask, the naked redhead.
“Cherry,” she says. Of course it is. I smile. “Well, Cherry, tonight you may call me Sir.”
“Yes, sir.” Chest heaving, nipples hard, Cherry waits breathlessly in a pool of desire.
Slowly, I unbutton the cuffs on my shirt. Now is my time, and I plan to savor it. Nothing else matters now, but the burn, and the quench, and the rebuild.
When the sun comes up tomorrow, I will rise from the ashes, and do it all over again.
***
Many hours later, as I am finally leaving the club, I find Zandor waiting for me in the parking lot. I am physically exhausted, and too burnt out to deal with his questions at the moment. I pretend not to see him.
“Wait up, Cross!”
At the odd name, I stop.
“Sabato,” I correct him.
“Fuck, man,” he says, ignoring my response. “Shit, that was intense!”
“Intensity is the point,” I say, too spent to fully explain. “You can’t have combustion without fire, and fire burns.”
“Sure, man.” He follows me to my car. “Whatever gets you off. I’m just not sure it’s my scene.”
I stop, feeling personally offended by Zandor’s ignorance for the first time since I met him.
“It’s not about what gets me off. It’s about what gets her off.” I glare at him, as he continues to miss the point. “If you’re so obsessed with your own pleasure, taking all for yourself and giving nothing back, then you’re right. Bondage is probably not your scene.”
Zandor only shrugs. “Just dipping my toe in but I can assure you I have always gotten the chick I’m banging off. Just dipping my toes in and hell yes I like how that shit feels. Hey, I’m starving. I’m gonna go grab something to eat. You wanna come?”
I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”
“After all that,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “you’re not hungry?”
“No.” I turn to walk away. Of course he watched. So did a lot of people at the club. I put on a good show.
“Shit dude, just wanted to show some appreciation.” He backs off, turns in the opposite direction.
I reach into my pocket for my keys, and grab my phone while I’m at it. There’s a message from my man Franky:
Zandor Steel is a known associate of Benito DeLuca.
Right. Fucking great. I don’t have time for another minion of my father’s, meeting me by ‘accident,’ pretending to be my friend...it’s like the saying goes, something about not being paranoid if everyone really does want to fuck you over.
“Listen,” I say, my voice low, but still loud enough to carry across the empty lot. “I don’t know what the game is this time, but you call Benito and you tell him that if my father wants to know what I’m up to, he can fucking come down here and tell me himself. At least that way, I’ll get a good, close look at his ugly face before I bash it in.”
“Whoa.” Zandor stops in his tracks, standing frozen for a moment, before turning to look at me. “Wait, what? What the fuck do you mean, your father? How do you know Ben—”
Suddenly, comprehension dawns, like a lightning bolt across his face. “Oh. Ohhh.”
Now I am the one who is confused, all over again. “What do you mean, ‘Oh?’ Are you climaxing, or do you really mean to pretend that you didn’t know whose son I was?”
Zandor shakes his head. “No man, it didn’t—I mean, now that you mention it, I guess I should have, since, well...the name...but yeah. Sorry. Guess I had one, like five, too many drinks before I went in there.” He holds up his hands, once again backing away. “I should have realized, but no, you’re right. I thought you seemed cool, but...yeah, we probably shouldn’t mess around with family chemistry like that. Talk about combustion. Damn.”
Somehow, I can’t let it go. “What do you think I am, some kind of moron?” I gesture with my phone. “You work for Benito, and you want me to believe this was an honest coincidence?”
“Wait, work for Benny?” Zandor laughs. “Oh, hell no. That guy’s a fucking dick!”
Eyes narrowed I size him up, trying to figure out if he’s telling all—or just part—of the truth. True, everyone knows Benito is an asshole. But if you worked for him, you’d know that better than anyone else.
“And what do you think of my father?”
“Shit, man. Nothing. I think nothing. He’s the leader of the fucking Cosa Nostra.” He makes a loud snorting sound. “I’m all for head in bed, but I piss him off, and I’ll wake up cuddling half of a fucking horse. I’m not sure what your beef with him is, but I’d rather not get involved.”
He starts to walk away, and it’s like I can feel the rest of the night stretching out in front of me, endless and empty. Even if he is lying, how bad of an idea could it be to find out more? Besides, he’s right. I am a little hungry, after spending so much time and energy on Cherry.
“Hey, Steel....Wait!”
***
Tonight, I invited Zandor to my club, Privato Desedario, in Milan.
After wrestling with my paranoia and my past, I’ve decided to get over his ties with Benito. I like Zandor. He seems like one of those Lost Boys in that story my Mama used to read for me when I was young. All he wants in life is to have fun, and experience new things. He doesn’t need my money, he doesn’t want a job, and as an added bonus: he doesn’t like Benito.
“Ciao,” I answer my phone when Zandor calls.
“Listen bro,” he says. “You spoke English to me the other night, which means I now have expectations. So don’t fuck it up.”
I laugh, glad that he’s once again comfortable telling me off.
“Fine, but don’t show up here with expectations, and for god’s sake, leave those dancing shoes at home.”
I try to joke back, but I’m not very good at friendly banter. Or having friends. I think I’m pulling it off. So far, at least.
“Listen. I’m not gonna make it tonight, and I’m not gonna pull any punches and say some shit like, ‘I have my period’ or ‘I need to wash my hair,’ and I hope you don’t take this personally, but... I have a family I need to protect. I’m not comfortable with the idea that some Tony Soprano type is gonna get pissed cause I have a bigger dick and take it out on the people I care about.”
Well, shit. I guess I was paranoid for a reason. “I see.”
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. After doing some more research into his family, it makes sense. A lot of money, a lot of publicity, and twice as many fist fights. It sounded like my childhood, but a lot more fun.
“Sorry, Sabato, but I had to put it out there.”
“Forget it.” My voice comes out sharper than I meant. “Like you said, it isn’t personal. It’s business. In this town, it all comes down to business, in the end.”
“Shit,” he says, and it sounds like he’s laughing. “You think the Mafia is bad, you otta take on Momma Joe.”
“Nice knowing you, Steel.” I start to lower the phone away from my ear.
“Actually, fuck that. You’re right. You know what? Business is business, and this isn’t about that. Like I already told you, I’m not looking to get involved in that side of things.”
“So?”
“So maybe,” he sighs. “Maybe we just don’t talk about it. Maybe we just act like
...I don’t know. Friends?”
“Friends.” I don’t know what to say to that. “Friends who do what?”
“I don’t know,” he says. I start to wonder if maybe he doesn’t have a lot of those, either. “I’m heading back to the US soon. They need me. But first I would love to tour the scene for a week or so, you in?”
***
“What do you mean, ‘you’re taking a vacation?’”
My father looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.
“You started seven clubs in seven years. I gave you the money to start them, and they’re just finally starting to pay off. And now you wanna walk away?”
“No,” I repeat, as calmly as I can. “It’s like I said. I’m taking a vacation. The clubs have paid for themselves, father. They aren’t rented, or in any danger of going under. You gave me a loan, no different than you would for anyone else who was willing to agree to your ridiculous—and illegal—terms.”
He opens his mouth to interrupt, but I jab my finger in his face.
“And I paid it back, along with the forty percent interest you charged me. You’re controlling interest is zero. My businesses are legit. You have no say in what I do now.”
“That’s what you think,” he snaps. “You’re my son. You will do whatever I need you to do, and nothing else, without my permission.”
“Well, I wasn’t asking permission.” I turn my back on him. “Besides, the only thing you ever ‘need me for’ is a place to launder money, so the police don’t—””
He grabs my shoulder, spinning me back to face him. “You had better watch yourself, boy!”
I get up in his face, refusing to back down, or fully lose my temper. “And you better remember that your threats mean less than shit to a man who doesn’t value his next breath, or fear losing it. You have the combinations to my safes, so use them. I have people to manage my clubs and surveillance cameras making sure they don’t fuck up their jobs. You’re the only one, other than me, who knows where the cameras are and how to skirt around them. You’ll be just fine. I’m sure you’ve done it before.”
I turn back around, and this time, he doesn’t stop me. I zip my suitcase and pick it up, preparing to leave. My father’s face is incredulous, more surprised than if I had slapped him. It is not often I see defeat in his eyes, but over the past seven years I have given him very little to be disappointed in me about. I might even have made him proud, if he and I were both different men. But in all that time, I have never let him think, even for one second that I looked up to him. Now that I have shown how little I respect him, the illusion is over. I don’t fear him. I never have.
