by West, Jade
***
Faye
Stubborn, self-righteous prick. His presence was heavy at the best of times, always had been. He stomped through life with a big old fucking stick up his arse to match the plum in his mouth. I’d forgotten the strength of his moods. If I hadn’t, maybe I’d have called first.
The thought was ridiculous. If I’d have called ahead, all of the locks would have been changed.
To prove the point, the supply drawers behind the bar were locked up tight. Seemingly the years hadn’t mellowed him into any less of a suspicious control freak. Only the bottom drawer was open, filled with novelty dick straws and Explicit membership cards. He’d had the place rebranded in my absence. The red slash of the new logo looked good.
Andrew Morgan, Director.
No mention of me. I was slipping them back in the drawer when I noticed the frame underneath. My heart leapt in recognition, pulling it out with shaky fingers. I wiped off a sheen of dust to find my own face smiling out at me. Opening night, my arms wrapped tight around Andy’s waist, head on his shoulder as spotlights glowed overhead.
I propped it up on the bar with tears in my eyes. So much promise.
Ruined.
But it wasn’t ruined, I was here. He couldn’t push me away forever.
Topaz ferried me to the customer side of the bar as she got the place ready for shift. She didn’t ask me to move, but her body language said it all. I couldn’t stomach another showdown, so took a seat, eyeing up her work as she chalked the specials on the board. “What on earth is a Garnet Crow?”
“One of our more unique beverages. Wanna try one?”
I gave her a smile. “It would be rude not to sample.”
She assembled a brutal looking purple concoction that made my nostrils burn. Exactly what the doctor ordered.
“You like?”
I managed a nod, and she presented a milky white drink with a cherry on top. “People normally follow it up with one of these.”
“A Screaming Orgasm?”
“One of Mr Morgan’s inventions.”
I took a sip. “It’s nice. Mr Morgan’s orgasms are really something.”
I saw the hint of a blush, the lowering of her eyes. She hadn’t fucked him, but she wanted to. She really wanted to. A pang of jealousy knotted my stomach before I shoved it away. Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous.
“Is there anything else I can get you?”
I picked up my drink. “Another of these, please. Dutch courage.”
“You don’t look like you need it. The courage, I mean.” It wasn’t an insult, her eyes were friendly enough.
“Don’t be fooled by the exterior.” I took the opportunity to dig. “Did Andy... Mr Morgan... did he say much about me? Not today... just in general...”
She shook her head. “No.” My face must have dropped before I had chance to restore the mask. “But that doesn’t mean anything...” she added. “He may have talked to other people...”
“Or maybe not.”
“He works all the time. Talks a lot, but only about business.” She slid the next Orgasm across the bar. “If you did stay around, maybe things would be a bit different.”
I met her eyes with a flare of will. “I’m going to be staying around. For good.”
She didn’t comment, just offered the faintest of smiles.
“Does he have anyone?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Sorry?”
“Andy. Does he have anyone?”
Her jaw flapped but made no sound for a long second. “No, um. I mean, I don’t think so.”
“Who is he fucking?”
She shrugged, gawping. “It’s really none of my business...”
I let out a laugh. “He’s got you trained well.”
“I just… I don’t know... sorry...”
“You don’t see him with anyone? In here?”
“Mr Morgan, in here?” It was her turn to laugh. “No. Mr Morgan never comes in here, not when the club’s open.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Well, that’s a fucking turn up.” I downed my drink. “No wonder he’s so fucking miserable.”
I handed over my glass for a refill.
The place was about to get a whole new kind of management. I had it all planned out, ready to roll. Andy would soon see what three years had done for me. Venice had made me, sculpted me into a different animal altogether. The bitch was back with new tricks, and ready to share. A tiny part of me had hoped I’d be sharing with him. Not fucking likely from the looks of it.
The show would still go on.
“I’m going to be putting on some entertainment tonight.”
Topaz looked wary. So bloody wary. “Entertainment?”
“Yes, a show. That’s what we do here, right? We’re a sex club. I want to put on a show.”
Her eyebrows were heavy. “Mr Morgan was quite clear that he wants a flogging bench on the main dancefloor this evening.”
“Mr Morgan only owns fifty-percent of this fucking club, whether he likes it or not.” I smiled, but it was frosty. “We could be friends, Topaz. Don’t make an enemy out of me, I’ll be here a long time.”
She sighed and shrugged, shaking her head like the world had turned insane. “Sure, whatever you say, Miss Devere. Just tell me what you need.”
I told her exactly what I’d need.
***
Andy
Explicit was heaving by eleven. I tried to keep my head down, oblivious, but the itch for control was too bastard strong. I crept along the corridor by the playrooms, pressing myself into the shadow of the wall to avoid a collision with anyone on duty. The rest of my route was clear. I slipped into the heart of Explicit without fanfare. The main floor was busy enough to skirt the edge undetected. Faye was easy to spot in the crowd, her head was tipped back as she laughed amongst the regulars, her eyes sparkling. Drunk.
Every BDSM club has a superstar dom. Ours is known as Masque, a huge hulk of ripped man-flesh with a big black dragon inked across his chest. He’s like an ancient gladiator throwback, his face a play of shadow behind the mask that gives him his name. I like Masque, for all the theatrics and pomp he’s a sharp guy with a decent brain in his skull. That isn’t what makes him popular in this place, of course. That’s all down to how he looks and how he fucks —rough, brutal, raw. He leaned in to whisper something in Faye’s ear, and she cocked her head, her hand on his arm, fingers squeezing muscle. My jaw gritted, frivolous bitch. I looked to Masque’s fiancée, Cat, but she didn’t seem bothered, she was dancing with Mistress Raven — another club regular — flicking her hair all about the place without a care in the world. Nobody seemed to care, in fact.
That wasn’t quite true.
One of our hostesses, Demelza, drifted close enough that I could tap her shoulder. I pulled her close before she could speak, a firm finger across her pretty mouth. She squirmed in my grip until she registered it was me, and the contact felt strangely electric. Too long without sweet, wet pussy.
“There’s a problem downstairs, Miss Devere needs to sort it out.”
“There is? What kind of a problem?”
“Whatever problem you want. Just get her off the main floor. She’s making a spectacle of the whole fucking place.”
She looked over to find Faye tracing Masque’s tattoo with a finger. “I’ll try my best.”
“Don’t tell her I’m here. Tell nobody I’m out of my office.”
She nodded. “Whatever you say, Sir.”
Sir. It had been a while.
I watched with delight as Demelza made her way across to Faye, but my mood was quashed in a beat as the drunk cow made no effort to deal with the crisis. She waved Demelza away with a sweep of an arm, and kept on chatting. My hostess returned, head downcast.
“Sorry, Sir. She said she would handle it later. After the scene.”
“What scene?”
Faye answered the question for me. As per usual Explicit practice, the lighti
ng changed to signal action on stage, and the crowd hustled into position. My pulse quickened as my business partner shimmied her way through the throng, but Masque didn’t follow her lead. He sought out his fiancée instead, wrapping a possessive arm around her shoulders and guiding her along with the rest of the onlookers. My eyes scanned bodies for movement. It was a thickset guy with a shocking blue Mohican that stepped up after Faye. The one they call Sergeant. Sergeant Sin to give his moniker its full cringe-worthy glory. His muscled neck was dark with ink, military-style art that made him look as though he snapped necks for breakfast. He smiled as Faye took her position, running heavy hands up the toned flesh of her thighs. My mouth turned dry.
She was smiling as he groped at her through the thin fabric of her dress. His hands squeezed at her tits before his mouth clamped onto her, slurping and slopping his tongue all over her perfect skin. She towered over him by at least six inches in her stilettos, rocking gently as Sergeant’s chubby fingers slid her dress straps down over her tanned shoulders. He freed the swollen cups of her lace bra, yanking her dress further still until it gathered around her slender hips. Her body was as lithe and tight as I remembered; a body that screamed to be touched, begged to be punished. I’d never answered its call; more fucking fool me. Business always came first, except it didn’t. It didn’t come anywhere in Faye’s world, clearly, and neither did I. I should have just fucked the bitch when I had chance, pounded that tight little cunt so hard she’d be too sore to leave.
She stepped out of her dress as Sergeant inched it to the floor, and his face was between her legs, flickering tongue soaking her pussy through the skimpy gauze of her panties. His dumb fucking skull obscured my view of her, but I saw enough. A twist of fire in my stomach, spreading down to thump in my cock as Faye moaned for him.
Strong hands tore her panties from her body, then held them up as the crowd cheered. He forced the scrap of fabric in her mouth, and she held it tight as he rammed two fingers deep between her legs. He lacked finesse, pistoning away without skill. I watched the heave of his arm as he rammed her, jerky movements like a teenager at a sleepover. He unhooked her bra and threw it into the crowd, and still they cheered. My eyes feasted on her gorgeous tits, the even tan darkening into the pert little nubs of her nipples. They were ripe enough for a handful. Ripe enough to sink your teeth into, too.
Clearly Sergeant shared my train of thought. He clamped a wet mouth around her tit, sucking like a thirsty traveller. And then he fucking bit her. Hard. Hard enough for her to wail through her gag. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t move, perfectly accepting of his punishment and the slam of his fingers deep inside her pussy.
She’d changed. This Faye was another league of submissive. My pulse pumped behind my eyes as Sergeant released her tit. The bruise was already forming, deep red teeth marks on perfect skin. Faye was trembling, high on adrenaline and alcohol. I held my breath as she offered him her other breast, lolling her head back with her eyes closed as Sergeant provoked the crowd.
Bite, bite, bite.
Another wail as he sank his teeth in again. Surely this one would draw blood. The thought sent me reeling, disgust and excitement rolling into one big fucking typhoon. Sergeant presented her bruised tits to the crowd like some kind of deranged trophy hunter, and they loved him for it.
He shackled Faye’s wrists high above her head, and took hold of a whip from the back of the stage. There was no warning of the first crack, but I heard it loud across the dancefloor. I flinched as she cried out, cursing Sergeant under my breath. The singletail curved around her ribs, catching the soft underside of her bruised tit. The stripe darkened and pooled with blood, and he was straight at it again, incompetent bastard. I took a step forward, but Faye was groaning for more. Sergeant wasn’t even listening to her. He was too busy with his cock in his hand, pumping himself between strikes.
He was too quick with the whip, stealing her breath before she had chance for composure. Her feet twitched and trembled in her heels, but she gritted her teeth and held firm.
Sergeant came to her front, pressed the whip into her tits and pulled her panties from her mouth. “You can thank me now,” he said. Twat.
“Thank you, Sir!”
Her voice was breaking, addictive in its fragility. She was addictive.
She was trained. Highly fucking trained.
My cock was so hard it pained, but my fists were clenched tight.
Sergeant ran his filthy tongue over her lips. “You want more?”
“Yes, Sir! More, please!”
He ditched the singletail in favour of a crop, slapping it hard against the pale, soft skin of her thighs. They marked nicely, deep rosy blotches glistening with her excitement. The ghost of a smile on her face was magical, beautiful. She was high as a kite, drunk in subspace. Floating on a sea of endorphins that’d have her craving his cock, and his fists and whatever else he could aim in her direction. The crowd was rippling, and Faye was loving the attention, spreading her legs so they could see her glistening wet pussy in all its glory. My breath caught in my throat as metal glinted in the spotlights; two neat little rings through her swollen labia. They were new. My tongue twitched in my mouth, swimming at the thought of tasting her.
Sergeant’s grunts were rough as sandpaper. He tapped her pussy with the crop and Faye groaned and tensed into the shackles. “You want cock, don’t you, bitch? Beg me for cock?”
Don’t you fucking dare.
Her eyes were glassy, wet with tears. She was lost in the moment, beyond fucking reason. “Please, Sir. Please, fuck me.”
No.
“Fuck me... hard… make it hurt, Sir... show them how much I can hurt for you…”
I sprang into life, long paces across the bar without giving a fuck for obscurity. I reached the edge of the crowd in time for a prime fucking view as his fat cock jammed its way inside her. Fuck. White heat pounded behind my eyes, and I was reeling. Too late. Too fucking late.
Irrational anger. At her, at him, at the whole fucking place.
I backed away, disentangling myself from the surroundings. Only Masque looked in my direction. A nod of the head in knowing, an understanding even through the hollows of his mask. I gave him a nod in response, and then I was gone.
***
Chapter Three
Faye
I came down hard, emotions hitting the deck like a fucking lead balloon. Too many drinks, too much bravado, and a seedy fucking meathead called Sergeant fucking Sin. Hardly the Faye’s-back-in-town show I’d dreamt of.
I could still feel him inside me. The sensation churned around my stomach, threatening to rise up and spill garnet-orgasm-screaming-crow all over the dance floor. Sergeant grinned oblivious, shoving his cock back in his jeans and signalling for my phone number. I gathered my dress from the floor, holding it tight to my savaged tits as I made my exit.
I couldn’t face the toilets, too many people. Instead, I dashed out past the playrooms, frantic for somewhere to hole up and compose myself. There were only lockers, lockers and the door to Andy’s office. The window above the door promised darkness inside. He wasn’t in. I took the opportunity and tried the door. It was open, thank fuck. I pressed myself against the wall, catching my breath as my heart slowed.
What am I doing here? What the fuck am I doing?
My eyes welled, emotions still cresting the disaster. I’d wanted to make a statement, show the place I was back in town. I’d shown them something, alright. I’d shown them a fucking train wreck.
It was supposed to be Andy up there with me. I’d thought about it all the way home. If not Andy, then Masque, but time hadn’t been kind there, either.
The click of a lamp, and the glare hurt my eyes.
Shit. Embarrassment flamed, Andy’s disapproving stare battering me across the room. Just what I fucking needed.
He was just as immaculate as he’d been earlier, not even so much as a crumple on his suit. His hair still fell with effortless style, like he’d stepped out of t
he fashion section of the Business Times.
“What the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?” I hissed. “Is this some kind of psychological entrapment?”
“I’m in my office, and just as well I am. The club needs one responsible owner on the premises. And that clearly isn’t you. What the fuck was that out there?”
“I’m getting myself in the spotlight, where it matters. Something you’ve fucking forgotten! Explicit isn’t just red tape and insurance forms, Andy, it’s alive, it has soul. Beautiful dark soul. It needs more than crossed fucking T’s.”
“I really don’t know where Sergeant dumb-fuck Sin falls under the job description. You must be so proud of yourself. Were all your shows as highbrow as that one?”
“Fuck you, Andy. Just fuck you.” I pulled my dress over my head, tugging it down as quickly as I could manage. “Masque wouldn’t play, and neither would you.”
“I never play in public.”
“Or at all, from what I’ve heard.” I tossed him a smile full of spite. “I’ve heard all about it. When was the last time you even got laid? It wasn’t here, was it? Too good to get your rocks off in your own club these days, is that it? Don’t you dare judge me, Andy, don’t you fucking dare.”
“Mind your fucking tongue. You know fuck all about this place, or about me.” He stood from his chair, jabbed an angry finger in my direction. “If you work at a bakery every day of your fucking life, the last thing you want to fucking eat when you get home is a jam fucking doughnut.”
I shook my head. “Keep telling yourself that. It’s completely different.”
“Is it? Like you’d fucking know.”
I took a step towards him. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past three years? Shacked up in some twee little nunnery somewhere? I’ve been working the scene, same as you. Only I didn’t turn my back on my own fucking sexuality. I embraced it... I learned from it...”
“Felt nice to have his dirty fucking mouth all over your tits, did it? You’re supposed to be senior management, not a cheap little slut off the street. You’d better start acting like it.”
