Dark Xanadu Book One

by Sindra van Yssel

  Angela frowned. “I’m not sure if I found out anything that it’d be my business to tell you.”

  Brennan nodded. “If you can’t tell us what’s wrong, at least tell us what we should be doing.”

  She didn’t get Brennan. He took delight in calling Kent “boss,” and now he was practically asking her for marching orders. Yet from what Kent had said Brennan was very much a dominant. Could guys really turn it on and off like that? She shrugged. She didn’t need to “get” Brennan. She was Kent’s girl, at least for the evening, and she’d do her best to “get” him instead.

  “I’ll do my best,” she promised.

  * * * * *

  The party at Dark Xanadu had just started when Brennan and Angela arrived. Genna took her coat and gave a low whistle.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not about to go bat for the other side,” said Genna in response to Angela’s frown. “But if anything could tempt me, it’d be you.”

  Angela blushed. She wasn’t used to getting positive attention for her looks. At work someone always raised an eyebrow when she ate a donut from the break room. Her mom reminded her every visit that she might do a better job of catching a guy if she lost a little weight. Her girlfriends never said anything much about her weight, but then, they didn’t exactly tell her she looked hot either. But the admiration in Genna’s expression seemed sincere enough. “Thanks,” Angela managed to say.

  “Kent’s waiting for you in his office,” Genna told her, and then turned to Brennan. “Charles is monitoring the floor, since he had fun last week. So you’re free unless something come up.”

  “What about you?” asked Brennan. “When do you get to have fun?”

  Genna shrugged. “You know me. I like schmoozing.”

  Brennan’s frown showed that he didn’t really accept Genna’s explanation, but he didn’t press her further. He turned to Angela. “Have fun, Angie.”

  She took that as a dismissal. Five minutes past eight, and there were already people at the play stations. One woman had shed all her clothes and was tied to the same X-frame she’d been at with Gerald. Gerald himself, at least, didn’t seem to be anywhere around. Amid the skimpy latex and leather outfits, Angela didn’t think her dress was particularly racy, but she noticed that there were definitely people watching her as she made her way across the warehouse floor. She was stable enough on her four-inch heels as long as she didn’t try to hurry, so she had to suppress her instinct to flee their gazes.

  What would it be like to be displayed in front of all those people, as part of a scene? If it was with Kent, she decided, she wouldn’t mind a bit. In fact, she’d probably even be a bit proud to be seen with him. It was exactly the opposite of how she’d always thought. Proud to be seen half naked with a man? The girls who felt that way lacked self-esteem, in her opinion. And yet here she was. Right now, with Kent, it was different. No matter who had what clothes on, she knew she’d be showing him off at least as much as the other way around.

  She opened the door to the office and walked in.

  Kent was standing. In fact, she suspected he’d been pacing the floor, from the way his body shifted when she opened the door, and the look of tension on his face. She shut the door behind her, and leaned back against it. “Evening, Sir.” Half of her wanted to kneel. The other half wanted to read him the riot act for sending Brennan instead of getting her himself. She compromised and stood quietly.

  He smiled at seeing her and crossed the room. Suddenly she found herself in his arms, her body yielding against his hard chest. One hand of his was firmly around her back, but the other slid over her bottom until she felt it on the bare flesh of her upper leg. She felt her nipples contract and knew that moisture was forming between her legs as well. He’s going to check to see if I’m wearing panties. All her anger seemed to melt away. As slowly as he was moving his hands, she’d be soaking wet by the time he got to her pussy.

  “Have you ever been spanked, Angela?” His fingers were barely under the hem of her skirt, but he’d stopped moving them.

  Angela blinked at him. “No. Have I done something wrong?”

  “Not at all.”

  She was pretty sure she wouldn’t enjoy being spanked, but she knew that lots of couples enjoyed that sort of thing. That was really the only thing that stopped her from instantly thinking of it as physical abuse. She remembered the spanking bench. Was he going to take her there and spank her? Was her dress going to be covering her, or would he pull it up? What had been a big no with Gerald was making her wet again. She knew she would let him, whatever he chose to do, wherever he chose to do it. “Oh.”

  “I promise you if you aren’t enjoying yourself, we’ll stop.”

  Angela smiled. “That simple, is it? Well, I don’t expect to enjoy it, but I’m willing to give it a try. Out there, on the bench? Or one of the crosses?”

  Kent shook his head. “No need. Right over my desk will do fine.” He took her hand, and led her over.

  There weren’t any papers on the desk; she was pretty sure it had been a bit of a mess last time she’d seen it. Had he cleared it off, planning this the whole time? She let him bend her over, feeling the dress hiking up as she did so. Whether he pulled it up or not, she was already exposed. She was glad they were in private, but something niggled at her. “Don’t you need to be out there in order to, you know, run the place?” She regretted saying it the moment she spoke, because she didn’t really want to be out there in plain view. Even though the thought did make her wet—wetter. She couldn’t be more confused by the thoughts and images that went through her head.

  “Charles has it taken care of tonight, love.” His voice was tight. “Let me worry about that.”

  “Yes, Sir.” She took a deep breath, and tried to relax. Her forearms balanced her on the desk, her chest pressing into it. The wood felt cool against the bare skin that bubbled over her neckline. She held her head up, looking at the leather office chair behind the desk.

  He tugged her dress up to her waist. She waited for a blow, but it didn’t come. Instead, his hands glided over her soft flesh. He stroked her bottom, her upper thighs, but avoided the aching lips of her pussy, even when she moved her bottom in an attempt to guide him.

  “How does it feel, Angela, to be there, knowing your bottom is exposed for a spanking? To feel the hands that will deliver it?”

  “Scary.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I don’t have to touch your pussy to know that you’re wet, you know, Angela.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s glistening. Swollen.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir.” She frowned. Fear might be an aphrodisiac of sorts, she supposed, although she wasn’t precisely scared. Anticipation? Something. In any case, pain was definitely not an aphrodisiac, and her body’s betrayal would stop at the first slap on her backside, she was sure.

  “For not telling me the whole truth, I hope.” His voice was stern.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He kneaded her butt cheeks, rolling soft flesh in his warm hands but never pinching. His touch was firm, and she could feel each finger. She laid her head down on the desk, feeling something unclench in her backside. She couldn’t stay on edge waiting for him to swat her forever. Instead she soaked up the feeling of his masterful hands. It brought up a memory of Edward, who had been an expert at massage. For a moment, she felt as though she were being unfaithful to him, but she shook it out of her mind. He would want her to move on, and she finally was moving on. Whatever came of her relationship with Kent, he had freed her from the past.

  She didn’t notice when one of his hands left her, although she’d been trying to keep track of his hands earlier. It landed on her right cheek, barely registering until it continued to press forward after contact. Then his other hand left her and found a new purchase on her shoulder, steadying her but also holding her down. Here it comes, she thought. But the pat on the other side was the same, feeling more like a pushing
than a spanking.

  When he touched her again, he patted her center, his fingers curling to touch her pussy for the first time in what felt like ages.

  “Oh.”

  He repeated the pattern. Right, left, and center. And though his hand made a little more of an impact, it didn’t hurt, as such. And the middle stroke felt downright wonderful.

  The fourth time through, it stung, but she didn’t care. She wanted to feel his fingers caress her sex as his hand curled under. He lingered a bit longer there, stroking her, building the fire that had already been burning to a fever pitch.

  And then he spanked her again. This time she let out a little whimper. She hoped that didn’t stop him. It stung. But it didn’t feel bad, exactly. She couldn’t sort that out at all. Then his finger entered her, and she gave up trying. She was so wet his finger slid in easily at the end of his stroke, the sting and the pleasure so close on top of each other it was hard to tell quite which was enjoyable and which was pain.

  She moaned when it came out again, but not because she dreaded the sting his hand could and did deliver when it was free. Each sting faded to a warm glow, blending with the warmth in her core, spreading from her center all over her body. His finger—or fingers—entered her again, slipped out, piling sensation upon sensation until she wasn’t sure which order they came in any more. She only knew that a fire was building in her inexorably.

  What kind of woman am I, that I actually like this? The question flitted through her head, but it didn’t even matter as she cried out. Her body shook, her legs tingled all the way down to her toes; even her hands felt as if they were coming as they gripped the desk. Tears streamed down her face, oddly only beginning to fall after the spanking had stopped. He held her, with one hand still stroking her inside. She had no idea how many fingers he had in there anymore. However many it was, her sex had contracted to squeeze them tightly, over and over. She closed her eyes, feeling waves of pleasure wash over her even as he removed his fingers and lifted her up to move her to the couch.

  She rested in his arms, shuddering now and then, not speaking. He didn’t speak either. His fingers stroked through her hair. She felt so warm, so safe, and protected, even though she was with the very man who had just beaten her with his bare hand, and the hem of her dress was pulled up completely indecently. She would have felt self-conscious walking around without panties in a long skirt, and here hers was hiked to her waist, and she felt completely at home.

  When comfort had blended into sleep she didn’t know. She awoke at a knock on the door. A blanket had been thrown over her. He must have had one nearby, because he certainly hadn’t gotten up while she’d been there in his arms.

  “Crap.” He raised his voice. “Busy!”

  “We need you, Kent. Sorry.” It was Charles’ voice, carrying through the door. It made her wonder whether she’d made any noises loud enough to be heard outside.

  Kent sighed. “I’m sorry, Angela, I’ll try to be quick.”

  “Go ahead,” Angela said at the same time. “You need to take care of business first.”

  Kent pulled down her dress, and helped her to her feet. “You going to be okay?”

  She smiled at him. “Horny as hell again. But okay. Thank you for asking.”

  He went to the door and opened it.

  “Sorry for interrupting. We’ve got a bit of a situation here, Kent. I’ve separated the two parties. Genna’s talking to the Domme, Alicia, who wants Master Fred thrown out of the club. Her sub, Jean, has been told to be quiet, because she was screaming.”

  Kent nodded. “I’ll come. Angela, stay here.”

  Angela frowned, but nodded. Last week he wanted her to soak up every bit of knowledge she could. But something was different today. The way Brennan told her to go straight to the office, the way he didn’t come out to greet her, even though he wasn’t doing anything but pacing.

  Was he ashamed to be seen with her? She started to wonder if the dress made her look fat, but no, his eyes had lit up well enough when they saw her, and his passion couldn’t have been faked. Perhaps, worse, he had to keep her a secret from some other woman.

  Dammit.

  Chapter Seven

  Kent tried not to let his displeasure show. Charles knew what it meant to interrupt a scene, and wouldn’t have done so without good cause. It was one of the downsides to owning a place like Dark Xanadu.

  Charles was talking, and Kent really needed to be listening, and not thinking about what might have been. “Alicia and Jean were doing a scene, and it was pretty intense. Jean was physically fighting Alicia, and Alicia was trying to overpower her to get her legs cuffed into the bondage frame. Not actually sure Alicia could have done it, even if Jean’s hands weren’t already quite peacefully tied up top. It’s a good thing Brennan built that thing sturdy, because they would have broken it between the two of them. But in any case, Jean never used her safe word. On that, everyone agrees.”

  “So how does Fred come into it?” He knew who Alicia and Jean were, but he’d not really gotten to know them yet. Alicia was a blonde, a bit on the too thin side for his tastes, but she had muscles and liked to wear sleeveless outfits to show them off. Jean was a couple of inches taller, though, and probably forty pounds heavier, so yeah, if they were fighting with Jean completely free he wasn’t sure his bet would be on Alicia forcing Jean to do anything. He had talked to Fred at length one evening, and he was impressed. The man struck him as a kind Dom, and very much the protective sort.

  “Fred intervened. He didn’t touch either of them, just went over and told Alicia to back off. Alicia stopped, and told him to get the hell out of her way, and Fred moved between the two of them. Jean kicked him, and then they were both yelling at him for interrupting their scene.”

  “He should know better than that. I can see why they are pissed.”

  Alicia and Jean were talking to Genna in the far corner of the room, in what seemed to be a very animated conversation, although at least no one was yelling anymore. Fred stood in another corner, arms crossed, a full-figured redhead next to him in nothing but her underwear.

  “Yes. But I’ll tell you, I was one tick from stepping in myself. It didn’t look consensual, or like playacting, at all. It looked like Jean was trying to hurt Alicia, when she was resisting, and I was wondering if she’d forgotten her safe word.”

  It happened. In the heat of the moment people could forget the most basic things.

  Charles continued. “She was yelling for Alicia to stop, and everyone could hear her. All part of the fun, according to Alicia, but it was really hard to stand and watch, even for me. If I had intervened, things would have gone better, I think.”

  “Maybe.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Kent spotted Angela slipping out of his office. She didn’t come over to him. In fact, she didn’t look as if she knew where she planned to go, from the confused look on her face. But she definitely wasn’t staying put as he’d directed. He’d deal with that later.

  He walked over to Fred, since he was closest. “Heya, Star,” he said to the redhead. It wasn’t her real name, but then, it didn’t pretend to be. A lot of people felt more comfortable at a club like his using an alias. “So, Fred. Tell me what happened.”

  Fred shrugged. His head had lost a lot of its hair. Kent guessed the man was only ten years older than he, but of course people didn’t go bald at the same time. His leather vest left enough muscle uncovered to show that Fred was in excellent shape. “I got in the way of their scene. All I can say is that if they hadn’t been playacting, I would have never forgiven myself for not doing something. We get intense here, and that’s a good thing, but what they were doing just didn’t look like a scene. I’ve seen hundreds, probably thousands of scenes.”

  “Did Jean use the safe word?”

  “That’s the submissive? No.”

  Kent shook his head. “You can’t interrupt a scene because someone was yelling stop.”

  “No, I agree. What set me going was wh
en the submissive—I don’t know her name—”

  “Jean.”

  “Thanks. Jean called her top a ‘fucking bitch’ at the top of her lungs as she tried to kick her face. I wasn’t sure which one of them was going to get hurt at that point.”

  “’Cocksucking-whore-fucking-bitch’ was the full quote, I think,” offered Star.

  “But Alicia didn’t use a safe word either, did she?” Wouldn’t that make everything simple? It was pretty rare for a Dom to safe word, but if the scene got to the point where she felt in danger, she’d certainly be justified.

  Fred gritted his teeth, took in a sharp breath, and then opened his mouth again. “No, but—”

  Kent waited. He was convinced Fred was a good man, but there was a rule against doing exactly what he did. He really wished Alicia and Jean had found a different way to play. Or that Charles had intervened. Or, if only he’d been on the floor at the time instead of having fun with Angela. But there was a reason he was in his office. He wouldn’t put it past Mario to quiz the people leaving the club, and he didn’t want to be seen in public with Angela again until he was sure Mario was out of town. Or dead. Since he recovered, he’d been trying to track Mario down, but he had nothing to go on since the vampire had no established base of operations.

  “I was out of line,” Fred said. “I’d be happy to apologize if Alicia and Jean would like. And even submit to some sort of punishment from them, if the dungeon monitors would carefully supervise.”

  Kent nodded. A gaggle of onlookers had gathered, not crowding them but wanting to know what was going on. Angela was one of them. He appreciated Fred’s offer. Between the incident with Gerald last week, and this, how problems were resolved would set the tone for the club for weeks to come. “I’ll convey that,” he said. He gave the man a nod and headed off to talk to Alicia and Jean.