The Club

by Steele, Suzanne

  “You’re making a big deal of nothing, Antonio Wayne.”

  I will wish I had not said that because he viciously grabs a handful of my hair, jerking my head back to hit the top of the booth.

  “A big deal of nothing? How dare you!” he growls at me. He looks savage and his temple is twitching uncontrollably.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I answer.

  He sadistically smiles. “That’s better, but how could you have dealt with this differently?”

  “I should have told someone where I was going.” “Someone,” he growls in my ear, “someone?”

  “Antonio Wayne, please, you’re scaring me. Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

  “I want to know where you are at all times so these things don’t happen. You know I deal with dangerous men. Do you think it is smart for you to put yourself in these situations?” Though the music reverberating off the walls of this establishment is almost deafening, his message of ownership rings loud and clear in my ears.

  I scream out in frustration, “I didn’t do anything wrong; I was going to the bathroom.” I don’t like the way he is manipulating me with his words. He is turning everything Rico did around on me like it’s my fault. I refuse to let this stranger mentally fuck with my head.

  He sticks his finger in my face, “You had better watch it, little girl. The last thing you want to do is get on my bad side. He takes my face in his hands, scrunching it. “You had better watch it, little girl,” he reiterates but this time with more aggression.

  “Let me out!” I demand. “I want out. I want out of this booth and out of this marriage! I just fucking want out period!”

  “You will never get out!” He grabs me by my throat and squeezes, “You belong to me. Do you understand? You put yourself in this situation by letting Rico back you in a corner and paw all over you and you put yourself in the situation of being my property when you stole from my brother.

  “I refuse to let you go. I mean it, Roxanne. Do not test me. I am a very powerful man and these are very dangerous words that you throw around so frivolously. Your impulsive nature is very unsettling to me. Don’t ever forget that you did this to yourself when you decided to throw that fight.”

  Before I can stop him he pulls me from the booth and tosses me over his shoulder. Curious onlookers gawk at us as he carries me from the club all while my fists frantically beat at his back to no avail.

  He takes me up a set of steps and through a door that houses an apartment. Thoughts of how I can use it to my benefit go through my head at this inopportune time. Really… shouldn’t I be thinking about saving my ass rather than living in this newly discovered apartment and working for the guy who has abducted me? He slams me onto the bed and hesitates when our eyes connect. I use the opportunity to kick him.

  “Damn you!” His hands fist hair on both sides of my head and he shakes me as if it will bring me around to his way of thinking.

  “I won’t fucking stay here, Tony.”

  “My name isn’t Tony. To you, it’s Master.”

  “Fuck you! Nobody owns me!”

  The look on his face is shadowed, dangerous, and ultimately… lustful. It dawns on me that he enjoys it when a woman puts up a fight and I have given him an all-out street brawl.

  He flips me over, removing his belt with perfectly synced timing. I never see the strike coming after he lifts my dress and rips my G-string from my body. I sure as hell feel it, though, when the leather hits the virgin skin on my ass that’s never been subjected to the fierce lash of a man’s belt.

  Ten strikes later and I’m sobbing with tears and snot running onto the mattress. He drops his pants and leans over to whisper in my ear, “if you move those fucking hands of yours from above your head, you’re going to get a hell of a lot worse than the belt.”

  My fingers clench at the sheets in rebellion as he begins to slowly run the head of his cock up and down my opening.

  “Well, well, well, I do believe we’re onto something here, young lady.”

  He thrusts into me in one smooth move and pain sears through my core as my tight opening tries to accommodate the size of his cock. He begins running his hands over my ass as if he is taking in the artwork he has just crisscrossed on my backside.

  “Fucking talking to a pimp. You’re mine. How dare you.”

  I can feel the fluid my body produces for him and I’m confused why I love the touch of a man I hate so vehemently.

  “You’re kinky as fuck and you don’t even know it. I’m watching you, Roxanne,” he whispers. It is more of a threat-laced promise than a statement.

  “Push back on that cock, baby girl. Fuck your man,” he commands me as he all but pulls out of my opening.

  My body betrays me, pushing back onto the cock that has exited my opening. He has left me empty and unsatisfied by pulling out of me and I hate the fact that I want him filling me again. I hate the fact that I push back onto him. I hate him.

  “Oh yeah, that’s it. Now rub that sensitive little clit of yours and come all over my cock.”

  His fingers gently run up and down my back, tracing the welts, as I push back onto him repeatedly. My thrusts become more desperate as my finger finds its way around my swollen clit. A kaleidoscope of colors fills my now impassioned world. The woman I hear screaming out in ecstasy isn’t me; she is some dark, tainted, and twisted alter ego who enjoys what my captor is doing.

  I begin begging as he joins in my symphony of lust and his thrusts become more demanding. He is taking what he believes is his.

  “You fucking deserve to be hurt,” he hisses, ignoring my pleas for mercy.

  “You may hate me… but you’re going to respect me.”

  He unloads into me and then cruelly pushes me away as if he was using me for nothing more than a release, a way to appease the monster residing within him.

  I have underestimated my captor; he is much crueler than I ever anticipated. Tonight I will sleep in his Master bedroom in the cage he purposely placed there for just this reason. He’s letting me know through his actions that I am nothing more than his prisoner… I am his property…

  Chapter Six

  Roxanne

  The next morning I eye my husband in the mirror as he adjusts his cufflinks. He is dressed in tailored pants and a button up dress shirt. He wears a holster with a gun and I can’t help but think that he looks like an important businessman except for that small detail. The man is gorgeous, absolutely fucking gorgeous. Between his GQ looks and his confident, dominate personality, I have my work cut out for me. It isn’t going to be easy to hate this man who is very quickly pulling me into his lifestyle. The only thing that will ensure that I don’t bond with this monster of a man is my escape. He cannot pull me into his web of deception if I am not here. I refuse to become intrigued with a man who kills people for a living, especially when he’s been known to torture them for his own sadistic pleasure first.

  I can’t help but wonder why he is so smitten with me. I have been here less than two weeks and he is absolutely obsessed with my every move. I am never allowed out of his sight without the bodyguard, Diego, or Alexis.

  Diego was sent stateside with me from Guatemala. I presume Ricardo sent him to ensure I arrived safely, or perhaps, to make sure I didn’t escape.

  My husband’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

  “Roxanne, do you know that I torture people for a living in order to extract information? I cause grave suffering and I must say, I enjoy my job. I’m not a man to be toyed with. I am a sadist and from the look of your swollen, wet pussy last night, there just might be a bit of masochist in you. I’m looking forward to exploring that possibility.”

  He turns and grabs my chin between his forefinger and thumb, coldly eyeing me. “You owe me a lot of money and if I thought you were trying to cut out on your debt, I would be very disappointed. You are my wife and therefor, my property, little one. I take that responsibility very seriously. The number one rule you must alway
s remember is that you do not talk to the pimps, players, or bosses in my club. Though I believe my belt on that sweet ass of yours last night should have made my point, I’m going to ask you again. Do you understand you’re to steer clear of men when you are in the club?”

  “I don’t have your fucking money.” I attempt to pull away from his touch but he tightens his grip on my chin preventing it. His statement about torturing people to extract information still hasn’t settled with me.

  He raises a sardonic brow and looks me in the eye. “Excuse me, I did not hear you.”

  “I understand!” I have no intentions of pissing off a gangster who enjoys torturing people but I just can’t seem to resist defying him.

  “Very good,” he states as he puts his suit coat on and confidently strides from the room as if he holds the world in the palm of his hand.

  Rosalie

  I sit on a mattress and cry as I try to process the atrocity that has been thrust upon me. I had never known a man intimately before and this is a tragedy in my life, a tragedy of epic proportions. I grew up in a small village in Mexico where being a virgin when you marry is a necessity and not being one is a scandal. Regardless of the fact that my choice was taken away from me, I am considered damaged goods and no man but the one who has stolen my life will have me now. I know I have no one to look to for survival but my pimp. Perhaps I can win him over and escape the shame that now follows me. No one can ever know what has happened; it is better to die with this secret. Where I come from, there is no mercy for a tainted woman and the blame of no longer being pure will lie solely with me.

  I have no idea that I’m in the beginning stages of what a professional profiler would term ‘Stockholm Syndrome.’ I don’t realize that I’m beginning to bond with this monster of a man, Eduardo. All I know is that I need him to survive.

  Every glass of water, every tray of food, and every prick of the needle, providing the drug that keeps me sane, comes from him. I need a man I know I should loathe.

  Eduardo enters the room to bring me a tray of food. As he turns to leave, I stop him and pat the bed invitingly. “No,” I say, “don’t leave. Come and eat. I’ll share with you.” I smile and once again pat the bed. “Come, eat with me,” I repeat and this time, he does thus beginning my journey of becoming another statistic. I’m just one of many women taken against their will to be bought and sold by people chasing the ever elusive, almighty dollar.

  I am unaware that this is what Eduardo does. He leads naïve women to believe they are attaining the American dream when, really, all they are destined for is a life in hell and full of misery, doing whatever necessary to line his pockets.

  In my third world country, poverty rules. Lives are bought, sold, and traded to avoid its ugly grasp. Only the strong survive and if I am going to be one of them, I will have to align myself with this despicable man who has taken me against my will. Regardless of how dismal my life looks right now, when disaster strikes, the will to survive prevails. I will mourn my innocence but in the end, it is not my innocence that will save me. My inner strength and will to survive will get me through this.

  Roxanne

  My husband acts like he is obsessed with me. He literally stalks my every move. There are times he walks up on me so stealthily that I’m not even aware he is reading over my shoulder if I have my nose stuck in a book. I can’t even have a casual conversation with one of the dancers without him listening in on us.

  “What the fuck is the deal, Antonio?” I question him as he approaches me in the dancers’ dressing room closet.

  He slowly paces his way over to me. He’s so close that he has to look down to look me in the eye as he states, “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, little girl?”

  “I’m talking,” I stop mid-sentence when I see the look on his face. It’s the look of a man who is not only used to getting his way, but becomes dangerously aggressive when he doesn’t.

  There are some people who are all talk and they don’t scare me but this man is different. There is a troubling undercurrent to Antonio Wayne. It isn’t just his reputation; it is his presence. He doesn’t just watch me; he literally stalks me.

  “What do you want from me, Antonio Wayne?”

  He leans in to whisper in my ear, “That’s Master to you.”

  “No one owns me.” I resist the urge to spew out ‘Antonio Wayne’ again just to prove my point. My ass is still sore from last night and my mind is still reeling about being turned on by it. Maybe I am twisted.

  He makes his way over to lock the door and the sound of it is as sinister as the look on his face. “I’m not kissing your ass, Antonio Wayne.” I see a flash of danger spark in his eyes. I can’t help it; I cower to no one. I’m a fucking cage fighter. I mean, really, what does this guy expect? A doormat? A wallflower? What I haven’t fully realized yet is that this guy gets off on a good angry fuck and he most definitely gets off on a resistant and noncompliant redhead.

  He approaches as I continue to back away, “Get away from me.”

  “Get away from me,” he mocks me.

  He grabs a handful of my hair, tugging and pulling my head back. “Shut up, slave.” He intentionally draws the word out to antagonize me. He covers my mouth with his and passionately kisses me. His tongue slowly probes and explores my mouth, retreating every so often to seductively chew on my bottom lip.

  “My little virgin, untainted by any other,” he says as he unbuttons my shirt, removing it and unclasping my bra.

  “No, Antonio Wayne,” I repeat in an effort to enforce some type of control. “Not here.”

  I have to look away from his piercing, black stare.

  “I say where, I say when, and I say how, Roxanne! Now, remove the rest of your clothing,” he commands.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Be a good girl and do as I say.”

  “I’m not a good girl.”

  “Well, there is always this option,” he removes a knife from his tailored pants and challenges me with a stare that is an obvious demand for compliance.

  I obey and stand before him nude with my arms crossed and feeling very vulnerable.

  “Spread your legs like a good little girl for me.”

  “I don’t want to and I’m not a good girl,” I spew. He jerks on a little tuft of red hair hair between my legs and I immediately feel the moisture begin to pool in my core. What is it about this guy that makes my body respond to him the way that it does?

  “Do it!” he commands.

  I obey him and he plunges a finger into me.

  “Roxanne,” he says as he cocks his head and slyly eyes me.

  “I can’t help it,” I say, flushing.

  “Lie down” he says, placing me on a fur rug. “Roxanne likes her new owner, doesn’t she?”

  “No one owns me,” I say and lock my knees together in defiance.

  He forces them open with his hands and glares at me. “I have so much planned for your kinky, little ass. You have no idea the debauchery that hides within your soul, do you?” He gives me no time to answer as he continues to speak. “I’m just the fucked up individual to not only show you the darkness hiding inside you, but to bring it to the forefront for my pleasure.”

  He explores my moistened folds with his finger as he talks to me, completely ignoring my comment about not being owned.

  “You are never to let anyone else touch you! No one! No one else, Roxanne. No man is ever to touch you! In fact, I don’t think I will permit women to touch you either.”

  “I’m not like that, I state defensively. “I’m not dirty; I don’t sleep around.”

  He stifles a laugh. He knows I’m telling the truth.

  He jerks a little tuft of hair again.

  “Ouch!” I exclaim and attempt to pull away from him.

  “My little closet freak,” he teases.

  “I don’t know what that means,” I say.

  “It means you enjoy my dominance, young lady.”

  He starts
to taunt me when he hears the women in the dressing room. “Those girls out there know what I’m doing to you in here.”

  “You little closet freak, you’re an exhibitionist.”

  “I don’t know what that means either.”

  “It means you like to be watched but you better limit that to only me. You are to never let anyone else watch you!”

  “I’m not dirty,” I answer defensively.

  “Oh, you are most definitely a dirty girl,” he teases.

  “Then I’m your dirty girl,” I say. He slips another finger in me and lightly nibbles at my nipple.

  “My innocent little flower,” he croons.

  He pulls his pants down, laying his entire length down on me and slowly entering my depths as he studies the myriad of emotions running across my face. His desire to read my every reaction is evident.

  “Don’t hurt me.”

  “Are you sore?”

  “I don’t know how to explain.” I’m embarrassed by the direct questions he asks me about sex. He is so comfortable with all things sexual, but me? Not so much…

  “Just tell me,” he demands.

  “Well, you’re big down there and if you go too fast or hard it hurts.”

  “Do you like it?” He asks me in a tone that suggests he is actually concerned and wants me craving his sexual deviance.

  “Yes,” I mumble, hating that I do and hating that I can’t lie without him seeing right through it.

  I’m suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy. “Do you like your other women better than me?”

  He chuckles, “Why do you ask that?”

  “Well, I don’t know. You have access to so many beautiful women.”

  “Look at me,” he commands me. “I like no one better than you.”

  “Really?” I ask, inwardly pissed off at myself that I feel flattered to some extent.

  “Roxanne, could you ever love me?”

  “Oh no, I can’t fall in love; I’m broken.” I reinforce my statement when I see he doesn’t get what I’m saying. “No really… I’m broken and fragmented so people only get pieces of me.”