by J Paton
My hand tightened around the plastic bottle and I bit the inside of my cheek hard as the sub was manhandled onto the bench, the Dom seeming unconcerned that he was close to tears.
The longer it continued without anyone intervening, the harder it was to swallow back the bile burning the back of my throat. This place was fucking dreadful. It was even worse than the last place I’d gone undercover in. At least there Macintosh had set some rules for members to follow. Here, there appeared to be none.
Not long after, Riley strolled off to talk to another man and I released a relieved breath, only for another Dom to come up to me.
The guy was about six inches shorter than me, but made up for it in width. There was something shifty about his eyes as they moved around the room before coming back to me. “You’re new.”
I gave a curt nod, trying to keep the ‘why don’t you fuck off’ look off my face.
“Thought so. I’ve been coming here for five years. I know everyone by sight.” He leaned in as if he was about to tell me a secret. “I can always spot a newbie. I’m Gus.” He held out a chubby hand, the one that wasn’t holding a glass of dark-coloured liquid.
I took it, receiving a limp handshake. “I’m Troy. I’m new to the area.” It appeared Gus had no skills for reading people so I corrected his assumption. “But I’ve been a Dom a long time.”
“Oh, right. Sorry, my mistake. How long have you been in the area?”
I offered him a friendly smile. “A couple of months. Long enough to figure out my way around and to find this club.” I took a drink of water. “Looks like a good place, though.” It was anything but. But it was easy to lie to a guy who was evidently clueless.
“It’s fucking great. There’s always some willing sub to play with.” His gaze roamed over me, Gus not bothering to mask his envy. “You’ll have them queuing up. The subs always seem to be looking for someone new to play with.”
That might be because you’re a fucking clueless git.
I kept the smile on my face and my thoughts to myself, my cheeks starting to ache at the pretense of acting friendly. “That’s good to know.”
Gus nudged his elbow into my ribs, pointing to the far corner of the room where a tall Dom stood with his back to us, a sub kneeling at his feet. The man was talking to another Dom I couldn’t see properly.
“That’s Gabe. He’s the one you’ll need to compete with for all the decent subs.” Gus sounded more than a little pissed as he waved his glass in the direction of the man. “He must have a fucking golden cock the way the men fawn over him.”
My eyes narrowed on the men. The sub was fidgeting a little on the floor, as if he was struggling to maintain his position of submission. Gabe didn’t shift his attention from the man he was talking to as he gently stroked a hand over the sub’s head in manner that left me in no doubt that the dude wasn’t a wannabe, but a true Dom.
Gus wittered on and on, and I listened with only half an ear as I kept my eye on Gabe. At the point where he glanced around the room as if he was searching for something, our gazes met. From a distance I couldn’t tell what the emotion was that flashed over his face, but I did recognise him from the picture I’d been shown. Gabe was Phil’s man.
My heart thudded against my ribs, Gabriel inclining his head a fraction as if to acknowledge my presence as I continued talking to Gus.
I left the club three hours later to head to the designated place to meet Tegan. My skin was itching with the need to take a shower, and I wasn’t sure whether I’d be able to sleep with my head so full of everything I’d been forced to watch that evening.
Headlights lit up the dark street. I squinted at the car before approaching the curb. The car stopped and I got in.
“How’d it go?” Tegan asked, his smiling face glowing in the interior light of the car.
“Fucking shoot me now, it’ll be kinder,” I muttered as I slammed the door shut.
Tegan’s laughter sounded strained, but I was too busy wallowing to worry about it. I meant it. A slow, painful death was more preferable to what was only going to get worse. In my head, it felt like I’d been transported back to my hellish past.
Gabriel
Sweat slicked my skin as I brought the whip down with restrained force on the back of the sub tied to the whipping post. I kept him as the centre of my attention, even though my skin was crawling from the feel of the eyes of the audience on me. The pressure of putting on a good show weighed like rocks on my back. It was hard not to bow under the pressure.
The sub moaned low, indicating he was close to coming. His face was a mask of pleasure as I moved to land the next stroke of the whip on the aroused cock protruding from his body. We’d arranged beforehand that he was free to come without any restrictions. I wanted to show this sub that pain could bring pleasure in true submission. That was something that the other Dom’s in this place knew very little about. I’d forced myself to do these demos in the hope that some of the newbies might realise that the Dom’s in this place were bad news.
Of all the men I’d met, there were only a handful who genuinely enjoyed the treatment they received in the club. Some subs craved the darker side, and that was fine when it was consensual, something most of the Dom’s here knew little about.
I’d insisted the music be turned off, so the whip slicing through the air was the only sound in the packed club. The place was rammed with many familiar faces tonight, Riley making sure to have advertised what was happening.
I swept the room for a glance of the elusive man I often saw hiding in the shadows, but there was no sign of him and I was disappointed. I’d been catching sight of him lurking for months. When the man was here, Riley stuck to his side like glue, which was why he’d drawn my attention in the first place. I was yet to get close enough to take a proper look at him. It was almost as if he sensed my interest, which wouldn’t surprise me.
I’d been monitoring his movements. He rarely stayed in the main part of the club for long. I assumed he went down to the cellar. Given my reticence to go down there, I hadn’t been able to ascertain whether he visited that part of the club or not.
The sub let out a cry. I shoved my thoughts away, focusing my attention back on the man who deserved it. His whole body flexed as he hung suspended on the edge of an orgasm. Lifting the whip, I aimed it at his turgid cock, the flange wrapping around the swollen mushroom head. My aim was perfect. He howled, thrusting his head back, his expression one of bliss as cum splattered the stage in front of him, his mind having turned pain to pleasure. He groaned long and low, his body sagging against the post. His eyelids fluttered closed, his chest heaving.
I worked to control my breathing, lowering the whip to rapturous applause. It was hard to meet Riley’s gaze as he made sure to catch my eye. His face was full of lust as he gave me a thumbs up.
I swallowed back bile, working to keep my thoughts contained. With a nod, I placed the whip on the table to the side. Using the sub as an excuse not to give the crowd any attention, I stepped back over to him. He seemed to be floating in sub space, his face an angelic mask, which made me happy. I’d picked the young man because he hadn’t been in the club long enough to be contaminated by the men who thought that being a Dom was all about hurting others for fun.
The sub’s breath whispered across my face as I leaned in and spoke softly in his ear, “I’m going to untie you.”
His eyes were hooded and unfocused as he stared at me. His lack of response said that it would be a while before he’d come down from sub space. I continued to talk to him, offering soothing words as the crowd continued to applaud, the noise level increasing as conversation restarted.
I didn’t bother to acknowledge anyone, releasing the sub’s ankles and rubbing his legs as I checked that there was no broken skin. Then I stood to release his arms. They hung limply at his sides as he swayed on unsteady legs. I wrapped an arm around him, holding him while I reached for the open bottle of water on the table.
“Take a sip for me.�
�� After I placed the bottle next to his lips, his mouth opened slowly. I tipped the bottle, feeding him little sips of water. Even though I felt exposed under the bright lights of the stage, I took my time. I wouldn’t let myself rush, would never become one of the men in Dom’s Haven who showed no care for the sub who had offered me the gift of submission.
He started to shiver, so I placed the water bottle down. He was tiny—only five-foot-two, so it was easy to lift him in my arms. At the bottom of the steps leading off the stage, I received several back slaps from men who stupidly thought I was their friend.
It’s just a job. It’s just a job. I hit the same repeat button in my head as I had for the last few months, each day getting harder to cope with, to act like this place wasn’t sucking the life from me.
In the pitifully small room they’d designated for aftercare, I snatched up one of the ratty towels they left lying around and then sat on the hard bench. The sub lay in my arms, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks to shield his eyes as I cleaned him.
“Do you need anything, Tim?”
I wasn’t concerned by his lack of response. I’d made sure to keep my whip strokes as light as possible. They’d been enough to mark his skin, so that those watching would be able to see them. Tim was a proclaimed pain slut, his orgasm evidence that he’d enjoyed what we’d done together. If I hadn’t gotten any pleasure, he didn’t need to know that. When this was over, I’d direct him to The Playroom. I’d have done it weeks ago if it wasn’t for the possibility of raising suspicion. And I hated myself for that, hated that I had to prioritise the other men who were suffering more.
We’d been in the small room for less than fifteen minutes when Riley appeared. His scruffy hair was even wilder than usual, and he wore his usual attire of black leather trousers and a black T-shirt. I’d only seen him without his top on once, and I got why he covered up. Despite the size of his hands and biceps leaving me in no doubt that he could throw a punch, he wasn’t in the best shape.
“You nearly done?” His gaze narrowed as it travelled over the sub nestled against my bare chest.
“Nearly. What’s up?”
He shook his head. “Not here.” He threw a pointed looked towards the sub. “Come to my office in five.”
“Will do.” I kept my voice light, even though my first instinct was to tell him to fuck right off for dictating how long I should give aftercare for.
I waited until the door had shut behind him before moving the young man off me with regret. “I’m sorry, Timmy. I’m gonna have to cut this short. Can you stand for me? How are you feeling? Sore?”
He looked a little more with it, a smile spreading across his face. “You’ve given me more time than the others do. I think I’ll be okay to stand.”
As if to prove his point, he slid off my lap and stood, stretching his arms up in the air. His lithe body was beautiful, but did absolutely nothing for me. “I’m a little sore, but in a good way. Thank you for picking me.” He gave me a shy smile before going over to the locker where he’d left his clothes before we’d started the scene.
“You’re welcome. Don’t forget to put on some of the cream I left on the counter.” I hesitated, wanting to finish his aftercare and smooth the cream over the wheals on his skin caused by the leather of my whip.
He glanced back. “It’s all right, Bobby will put some balm on my skin when I get home.”
Bobby was his roommate and long-time friend, and possibly the reason Timmy had been left alone by Riley and the others. “Okay. Make sure you do. You’ll feel more than a little tender tomorrow.”
His grin grew wider. “Let’s hope so.”
I chuckled for the first time in days as I left the room, feeling marginally better than I had when Riley had asked me if I was interested in putting on a show for club members. The ‘hell, no’ had been bitten back as I’d feigned happiness, a fake happiness that was starting to grind me down. I wasn’t sure I remembered what it felt like to be in that state for real.
Still haunted by the failure of my last visit to the cellar, I headed up the stairs to Riley’s office. I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries as I entered the room. Riley’s expression was much the same as it had been down in the club, the feverish light in his eyes demonstrating excitement as he lounged back in his seat.
“You put on such a great show. I think it’s time we planned a performance in our special club, don’t you?” His grin was feral.
I held back the response I wanted to give by biting the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to nod instead. It was the best I could do under the circumstances.
Riley didn’t appear to notice anything amiss, continuing to talk excitedly about what he wanted me to do.
Tucker
Several days had passed and I was beginning to think that a snail would laugh at the speed the investigation was going. Nearly everyone I’d spoken to at the club appeared either clueless, or to be a wannabe, confirming my initial suspicions and supporting Phil’s information. I’d fed this back to Tegan, along with a report detailing my observations about what was happening to the subs.
It had been difficult to incorporate what Phil had shared into my report without being too obvious. I’d described the suspicious activity around the door leading down to the lower level, where all the real action seemed to be happening.
The place was the perfect front for what was going on in the lower level of the building. The set-up was well thought out, because who’d be interested in a BDSM club past its sell by date? It was this that had kept it under the radar. The investigating team hadn’t found any evidence of anyone reporting anything suspicious or untoward, either about the club, or its members.
And that made no fucking sense. None at all. Not when I knew damn well that Phil had given information to McHart weeks ago linked to his missing person case. Why wasn’t that being shared with me? I didn’t believe for one minute that the men Phil had said were in the lower level, or those taken for… No, don’t think about it. I didn’t believe that none of those men had been reported missing. The law of averages said that one or more of them had to have been reported to the police. So where was the information?
It couldn’t just be lost in the system, could it? Was that possible?
I made a note to ask Phil. After all, he was the IT genius.
Had the team done any cross checks on missing people that matched the age bracket for Ferron?
I added it to the list of questions I’d started when I’d woken this morning, frustrated as fuck by the talk I’d had with Tegan the night before. There was little to no info coming my way, and I wasn’t completely convinced it was because there wasn’t any. I’d been at this game a long time. Did they think I was fucking stupid? They had to, or why else would they think I wouldn’t notice the obvious gaps?
During the early stage of any investigation there was usually a ton of information to go through. Ferron’s interview alone would have given them a huge number of leads to follow up on, including Devon and his home. Had they requested a court order to access his property?
The court case, which I was no longer going to be able to give evidence at, started the next day. Were they waiting for that to be over first? It was a possibility. Devon was charged with kidnapping and assault with grievous bodily harm. Given the evidence, I was sure he’d go down. The question was whether anyone had approached him about Dom’s Haven and offered him a deal in exchange for information?
I scribbled more notes on the nearly full page. I hated the fact that I was questioning my colleagues, but there was no other option. Was McHart a crap cop? I hadn’t met him before so I had nothing with which to judge him against except this case. And so far, everything pointed to him being sub-standard.
Was I being too harsh due to the information Phil had supplied?
I ground my teeth together. Phil had found connections between the club and Immanuel. Then there was the link to Devon Critchlow and the same club. There were the two guys, the Dom’s, who
were also members of the club, the ones who’d attempted to grab Ferron in the underground car park.
I sucked the pen between my lips as irritation built. Was it a coincidence that there hadn’t been any mention of the incident with the two men again?
Why was that?
I flipped the page, considering how to go about questioning Tegan. The itch in the centre of my shoulder blades that had developed days ago, had worsened. The feeling I was being kept out of the loop nagged worse than a toothache. Who the fuck was I supposed to trust?
Tegan was new to being a handler. Did that have something to do with what was happening? I dismissed the thought. He’d shared the fact that he’d been working undercover for several years. He’d know what I was expecting of him. In that case, why wasn’t he questioning the lack of information?
How do you know you he’s not?
Blowing out a breath, I dropped the pen and rubbed my temple. The information Phil had shared was both a curse and a blessing. While it was useful, it left me frustrated that I wasn’t able to share it without it causing huge problems. Had I not had that information, I would have been going blind into a situation, the past similarities leaving me at risk of blowing my cover.
Over the past week, I’d spent hours observing the patterns of behaviour of the many Dom’s roaming the club. What I’d seen supported Gabriel’s feedback to Phil. The men were supposed to watch out for trouble and ensure no one got overzealous with the subs, but that wasn’t what was happening. They were more like bouncers—there to kick out anyone who got too rowdy.
Any hope that Gabriel had over egged the pudding had been dashed. The Dom’s, if you could call them that, just wanted to get their kicks from giving pain in a place where no one would report them. To my eyes, they were just sadistic arseholes. How the fuck was any poor unsuspecting sub supposed to challenge something they were clueless about? The club was an ideal place to abuse men under the guise of a lifestyle that shouldn’t be about abuse.
Whatever I’d thought of Macintosh’s business, at least it had been classier, bearing a polish that Dom’s Haven lacked. It made me doubt Macintosh’s involvement in this club. Phil, though, hadn’t confirmed whether he was giving up on establishing a link.
