by Dani Dundee
“I’m a Dominant,” I tell her with confidence.
“You are?” A familiar voice chimes in behind me, causing me to cringe. “When did that happen?”
I turn to see Grace standing directly behind me. The smirk she’s wearing is telling that she doesn’t care that she’s cockblocking me. I was afraid this might happen, but I never expected her to be so bold.
“I am.” I narrow my eyes at her.
She grabs a chair from the table across from us and pulls it up next to me, straddling it and crossing her hands over the top of the chair back. “Well, that was a quick change. Just last month, I had you tied up in my dungeon.”
“A lot can happen in a month,” I tell her between gritted teeth. It’s taking everything in me not to lose my composure.
“I’d like a minute of your time, Sir Lucian.” She wrinkles her nose and points behind her. I can hear the mockery in her tone.
“Excuse me,” I say to Meera, who now looks confused, before standing to walk a few tables over with Grace. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I ask under my breath, my eyes darting back to the table. Meera is watching us intently.
“I could ask you the same thing.” Grace places her hands on her hips.
“You and I aren’t together anymore, so I’m doing my own thing.”
“One does not simply decide to become a Dominant and then is one.” She gestures into the air.
“There are rules, Lucian. Besides, you don’t have enough self-control to be a Dominant.”
“Like you would know?” I jerk my head back and laugh.
“I would know. You were my submissive, remember.” She looks at me as if I’m stupid.
“I do remember. Vividly.” I glare at her.
“Don’t give me that look. It wasn’t all bad.” She crosses her arms over her chest and shifts her weight.
“I didn’t come here to talk about this,” I sigh, dragging my hand across my forehead in annoyance.
“Then what did you come here to do, pick up a submissive? Last time I checked, you have commitment issues.”
“I know.” I lower my voice, looking around the room to see if anyone is listening in on our conversation. “I’m not looking for a… regular submissive.”
“See? That right there is proof that you don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t pervert the lifestyle and twist it into whatever you want.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” I subtly toss my hands up, trying to control my body language the best that I can.
“To be a Dom, you need to be self-aware. You’re a mess, Lucian. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be a Dom. Just not right now. Not until you can focus on something other than your pain.”
I know she’s giving me good advice, but patience has never been one of my virtues. I’m looking for something to get lost in. Trying to fill some empty space inside of me that will make things all right, at least for a little while.
“I think this is going to help me.” I place my hand on top of one of the chairs next to us, trying not to look too broken as I think about everything I’ve been through and everything I’ve done up to this point.
She’s right. I can’t use the lifestyle as a way to be selfish. It isn’t right. But I can’t let this go either, because I feel like I need it.
“It might help you, but you have to go about it the right way.”
I look down at her. “Tell me what to do.”
A small smile creeps across her lips. “Well, you can start by journaling your feelings. I know it sounds silly, but it will help you to rest your mind. It will also help you to sort out whether this is something you really want to do. Write about your understanding of being a Dom. Write about why you want to do it and how you plan on treating your subs. Research the lifestyle. Read everything you can about it. And when you think you know everything, journal some more.”
“That sounds like a task you’d give a submissive,” I huff.
“It’s a task I should have given you. One that I regret not giving you.” She looks distant for a moment. “Anyway, the whole point of doing it is so that you can become more self-aware and commit what you’ve learned to memory. When you realize that it’s not all about you, that submission is a gift that should be cherished, that someone is trusting you with their emotions and their body and that’s an amazing thing that shouldn’t be taken lightly, then you’re ready to become a Dom.”
“And what happens then?”
“Well.” She shifts her weight again, glancing back at the table where everyone else is chatting happily. “I know you’re probably not going to be ready to commit to anyone for a while. This probably isn’t something I should bring up to you, especially since you’re so green, but Charles Bingham is thinking about expanding his business to include private fetish services for paying clients.”
“Charles Bingham?” I quirk an eyebrow.
“He owns Flesh, the fetish club. He also owns a community center that teaches BDSM education. I highly advise you to go to some of their meetings if you’re truly interested in being a Dom. That’s it!” Her eyes brighten. “If you start attending education sessions at Flesh, I’ll pitch you to Charles as a potential Dom for his new business.”
“Whoa. Back up for a second there.” I hold my hands out. “You’re talking a bit fast.”
“You want to be a Dom, right?”
“Yeah.” I nod.
“Then you need to learn how to be a good one, and the best way to do that is to go to classes at Flesh. They teach rope tying and how to write contracts and everything else you’ll need to know. And that will get you in good with Charles, since he’s almost always in attendance at the classes. It will show that you’re serious about being a Dom, and then I can pitch you to him.”
“All right…” It sounds like an interesting prospect, and it would be good for me to learn more about the lifestyle before I dive headfirst into being a Dom.
“It’s settled then. I’ll email you a list of classes. I’ll expect you to attend them.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. It’s like in the span of one short conversation, we’ve fallen back into being Domme and submissive. She’s just trying to help me, but she could be less aggressive about it.
“Yes, Mistress,” I reply mockingly, not having any idea what I’ve gotten myself into.
*
Charles Bingham is a serious man. Serious about BDSM. I doubt there’s anyone more passionate about it on the face of the planet. He’s a Dom to the core, and it takes a lot more to impress him than Grace’s recommendation.
I tell him my story, and he frowns, giving me a similar lecture to the one that Grace gave me about not perverting the lifestyle for my own selfish needs. He appreciates that we’re both businessmen though, and once he realizes that I’m genuinely interested in the lifestyle, he seems to want to see me heal and grow as a Dom. I like him a lot. He’s educated, refined, and easy to talk to. That’s part of the reason why I decide to attend every class that I possibly can. He teaches most of them, and he’s very good at making sure that everyone understands the subject matter.
One of the first things I learn is how screwed up my perspective was on the lifestyle. It’s not just about sex. It’s not just about pain. It’s about providing an experience based on trust and doing things that open up a plethora of emotions. Control is just a part of it. Being attentive to someone else’s needs, watching their facial expressions and body language, learning how to control their pleasure and bring them to the height of their subspace: it’s a fucking art.
I feel like a sponge. The more I learn, the fuller I get. This is the most alive I’ve felt in a long time without having sex. Not that I’ve stopped having sex. I still hit up the clubs as frequently as I can, drowning myself in vanilla sex that’s not even satisfying to me anymore. My lessons come first though. Flesh comes before sex, and I haven’t been able to say that about anything in a long time.
Charles is impressed with my commi
tment to learning. After a few months, he decides to trust Grace’s judgment in me and offers me a position as a Dominant for his new fetish service at Flesh. He gives me a trial run with half a dozen clients, and I find it absolutely liberating. I’m more self-aware than I probably ever have been. And being a servant to someone else’s pleasure while also fulfilling my own needs seems to fill that gaping hole inside of me that was cut out with the loss of my family. There’s still something missing. There always will be. But I know that nothing will ever take its place. This is as close as I can get to feeling whole again, and I’m grateful for it. Grateful that I can fulfill my desires without having to commit to someone else. Grateful for this escape from my everyday life.
Once I pass my probationary period, Charles promotes me by allowing me to take on the clients I want. This works well for both of us, because the clients I want are the ones into extreme pain. Being a plastic surgeon, I’m better equipped to handle needle and knife play than a lot of other Doms. With Charles’ guidance, I learn the common practices and it quickly becomes my specialty. I fill in a niche that most of the other Doms and Dommes would prefer not to work with, expanding Flesh’s list of services. Eventually, it becomes the only thing I do, because I get off to cutting people open while they’re awake. It’s a sick fetish, and I know that, but everything is done in a safe, sane, and consensual environment.
My second-favorite thing to do… beating clients bloody and then fucking them raw while they beg and scream. Still, all consensual. There are safe words for when I get out of hand, and I have enough control to acknowledge them in the rare cases when they’re used. My clients almost never use them though. I’ve gotten good at reading body language, at knowing when the pain is too intense for someone to take. Typically, I’ll dial it back on my own if I think it’s getting to be too much for the client to handle. And many of them thank me for it, tell me that their experience was perfect.
*
I have two rules for taking on clients. They either have to want pain or they have to want sex. If they want sex, I’ll do just about anything. It’s not as great of a fix as doing all of the hard stuff, but it’s still a good distraction for my mind.
Charles just left the office. Grace and I are sitting around, waiting for our appointments later in the afternoon. There’s a client in one of the rooms waiting for her Dom. He’s late.
“We’re going to have to give that girl a refund if Bruce doesn’t show up soon.” I twirl lazily in my chair.
Grace looks down at her cell phone and the lines in her face harden. “Fuck. Looks like you’re right.” She holds up her phone. “He just sent me a text. Says he had an emergency and won’t be coming in.”
I stop my chair by putting my hands flat on the desk in front of me. “The client is going to be pissed.”
She screws up her face, dragging the client’s file in front of her before flipping it open. “Eh, maybe I’ll just take her.”
“Be my guest.” I lounge back, staring at Grace’s cleavage while she leans over the desk. Gotta love those corsets.
“Shit.” She scrunches up her nose and pushes the file at me. “I can’t. She’s strictly dickly.”
I lean over and look at the file. My eyes instantly scan down the client’s list of kinks to the few checkboxes that matter to me. None of them are marked. “Not even sex. How lame. And new to the lifestyle too. Boringville.”
Grace rolls her eyes. “Should we tell the front desk to let her know that her Dom isn’t coming? I doubt that Bruce called the front.”
I inhale deeply and blow the breath out through tight lips. Charles will be upset if I don’t take her, knowing that I had an open slot this hour. Much as I’m not interested in teasing a noob who doesn’t want anything particularly exciting done, I don’t want to let him down.
“I’ll go.” I drag myself up off of my chair, feeling a bit stiff.
“Knock her dead, tiger.” Grace winks at me.
I take another quick glance at the file. “I’m sure this Amy Underwood will be completely uninteresting, but I’ll make sure to give her a night that she’ll never forget.”
***
You've read about how Lucian Reddick got into the lifestyle. Now read the best-selling series about his encounter with Amy Underwood.
FLESH: PART ONE
See FLESH: PART ONE at:
Amazon
About Sky Corgan
Sky Corgan is a USA Today Best-Selling author. When she's not typing away at her next steamy romance novel, she's busy planning for future vacations.
Originally a horror author, sex scenes and love stories kept magically creeping into her work, so she decided to make the switch to romance. Now she enjoys writing stories that make your heart flutter and your inner yearnings awaken.
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Table of Contents
Red Hot Candy
Table of Contents
The Things I Never Said by Jo Raven
Perfectly Equipped by Lacey Silks
Billionaires in Disguise: Rae, Kidnapped by Blair Babylon
A Fan-TAB-Ulous Night by Olivia Rigal
Take it Easy by Daisy Prescott
Before Flesh by Sky Corgan
Scorched into Submission by Daizie Draper
Pandora's Box by Sarah M. Cradit
Braving Love by SJ Mayer
Always Enough by Molly McLain
Mine In Dreams by Olivia Hardin
Like Home by Mira Bailee
Unshakeable by JC Valentine
Yearning to Yield by Pavarti K Tyler
First-Class Scoundrel by Liv Morris
Mated in Bearfield by Jacqueline Sweet
Le Moulin by JC Andrijeski
Jesse's Girl by Alison Foster
Dude by Gillian Cherry
Biker Billionaire's Bitch by Layla Wilcox
Swaying Fate by Irma Geddon
Gender Studies 101 by Dani Dundee
Disclaimers and Copyright Notices
HOT HOTEL: SCORCHED INTO SUBMISSION
by Daizie Draper
HOT HOTEL: SCORCHED INTO SUBMISSION
by Daizie Draper
HOT HOTEL: SCORCHED INTO SUBMISSION © Daizie Draper 2015
When Divine Sweeten gets stood up by her mystery online sexter for their first face-to-face meetup, she figures her night away from her toddler twins is all shot to hell. But the sexy Dom she meets at the hotel bar has the power of command to totally turn her bad mood and evening around, as long as she’s willing to play by his rules.
The delicious smack, smack, smack in my head killed Kenny G and rendered my panties useless. Frantic Kenyan beats hijacked my pulse after I passed floor five, which increased the tempo of the flesh-meets-flesh percussion. I sucked in air to try to calm my close-to-exploding heart. “Buck up, Divine,” I muttered. I took another deep breath and slowly exhaled through the tiny O of my lips.
When the elevator opened, I stood frozen in my damn loafers, holding my key and overnight bag, unable to move closer to fulfilling my fantasy. I hate flats. Can I just say that? Or anything with less decline than running shoes. Heels elongate my legs and make my ass look sensational. I have a nice ass regardless, but the added lift gives it more pertness, which gets me compliments shouted across parking lots. But, TigerBlood wanted a “schoolgirl” to spank, so I’m compromising on my must-haves to get the slaps I crave. Yeah, maybe I could be the slutty kind of student who’d show up to school in heels, but with my first spanking ever, I didn’t want to press my luck. Then again, maybe I should. Maybe adding real infractions to my fake ones would only make the punishment hotter. Hmmm. Damn. Now, my choice of shoe seemed lame and wimpy, way too safe.
The elevator started to close, and I launched forward, stopping the door with my arm. It bashed me with a thud but bopped back open, allowing me to blast through with a klutzy stu
mble down the carpet that took four baby-giraffe steps to correct. Following the direction on the sign, I hustled to my room, slid the keycard down the slot, and let myself in.
When the door shut behind me, I spun and leaned against it and breathed and breathed and breathed. Why was I so fucking nervous? I wanted this. More than anything. I did everything for my toddlers and always squelched my own needs and desires. After a very hot massage on my honeymoon that got my foolish hopes up for long-lasting wedded bliss, my newly titled ex-hubbie chucked me into a near-drought and never did anything special for me. So, I deserved something for me for once, dammit!
I dropped my stuff where I stood and waited until my lungs no longer sounded like they were about to claw out of me and run away. I stripped off my coat, letting it sail to the floor, then stepped forward, spun, and flopped back onto the bed with a groan. My skirt flipped up around my pelvis, and I scratched over my white panties. My light touch turned to rough rolling on my clit and down further between my thighs. I closed my eyes and drank in the internal music that would soon be very, very real.
My naughty behavior? Hmm, let’s see.
I was late for class. I jacked my English paper off the net. And I fucking wore heels to school! Yep, I’m switching to heels. I wanna be a whore, a really, really bad girl. I also gave my Chem teacher, Mr. Myers, a peep show up my short skirt. The white lace of my thong wasn’t wide enough in the crotch to block everything, and his gaze kept prancing along my pink, shaven hills. I lost count of the tongue strokes across his bottom lip.
Bad. Girl.
“You’ve been a very bad girl, Miss Sweeten,” Headmaster Powers sternly says in his office. Ha! Back to my own name, not my loser ex’s ... even officially on paper. I’m finally free, free from his selfishness, free from his wandering eye, free from his gambling problem, and thank goodness, free from his damn sawdust personality. I am also free … to get spanked.
