by Jenni Moen
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Sweet Pain
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2016 © Jenni Moen, Katherine Rhodes, Emily Walker
Down Write Nuts
Cover by Down Write Nuts
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.
Was there anything better than a well-spanked ass?
Abernathy McDowell didn't think so. As one of the lead Doms at The Club, he enjoyed helping women discover their submissive, kinky side. And the cute voice on the phone was looking for someone to help her do just that.
When Gianna Fusillo finally gets him to shut up and listen to her, they realize there's been a horrible mix up. She thought she was meeting up with a john; she needed the money for her fix.
Agreeing to play along with Abernathy for the night, Gianna is introduced into a world she didn't know existed--and never thought she would enjoy.
And that scares her.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Was there anything better than well-spanked ass?
I never thought so. I enjoyed the bloom of red on pale white skin, the gasps and pleas of the women who had asked for it. I enjoyed teaching men and women to embrace their inner sex demons—be they submissive or dominant.
Sex was drug for me. Other people could smoke up or shoot up. I liked to get off. Even more, I liked to watch women come, with a twitch of my fingers, or a ride on my cock. There was a heady power in taking control away from my partners, for just those few moments of bliss.
Blinding screaming orgasms were my specialty. When I met Tally and Mak the first time, I knew I would have a home in their club.
Karim, Texas, was sex starved and I was arriving with a full buffet. I wanted to feed the hungry.
The Club, a simple quiet moniker for a place that could host such magnificent hedonism, was a sacred place. Members were only allowed in through other members. And slowly, the brain child of a wealthy, connected Texan and a masterful Domme from New York grew into a monster. Tally and I were the Master and Mistress of the Floor. If we didn’t like what was happening, the offenders were at our mercy. And not in the good, kinky way. No one crossed Tally. Ever.
Well, save for her husband.
The demand for memberships had grown steadily, and after several incidents that left the members afraid, Tally and I agreed we would need a screening protocol.
And so the Monthly Munch was born at the trattoria.
In reality, it was every week, but each week focused on either male Dom or sub or female Domme or sub. The women reported to Tally, and the men to me.
Some of the men seeking to be a Dom were rejected before they even sat at the table.
That was one of the prospects who graced the table one hot August afternoon. It was tedious, sometimes, to have to them away.
Try as I might to keep an open mind, there were few and far between who made my “Kingsman” list—worthy of the effort to turn them into true Doms, true gentlemen. It was a lot of time put into a single person, and it took months to finally feel they were ready. I much preferred the subs who asked to learn. They had an appreciation for the lessons.
Ill-dressed, my lunch companion dragged his knuckles on the ground and shuffled up to my table. With a jerk of his chin, he smirked. “S’up?”
Oh. One of these.
“Lunch, actually. Far too early for supper.”
“What?”
“I assumed you were asking about my meal. Did I surmise incorrectly?”
“No. I mean, yeah. You did. I was asking ‘what’s up?’ Don’t know about no food.”
“Well, you should probably change your preferred greeting to something more universal, like, ‘hello’.”
“The fuck, man. Are you from The Club or not?”
“I am. And you are?”
Pulling the chair out from the table, this knuckle-dragger spun it around and sat down. I bit my tongue and waited.
“I am the ultimate ladies’ man. And I want to see what this shit’s all about. Because I am all about dat ass.” He made some sexual grunting noise.
Of course, they were all about tagging ass.
“Do you have a name?”
“Hemi.”
I nodded. “Hemi. Is that the name your mama gave you?”
“…no.”
I grunted. “And what name did your mother scream at the top of her lungs when you were inevitably being an insufferable douche?”
“David.”
“Thank you. If you are really here to find out more about the lifestyle, you don’t get to pick a nickname until I say you can.”
“Just let me at all that sweet ass in there and I’ll have you begging to give me one.”
“I do not beg. Ever. Do you know what the lifestyle is?”
“I’m livin’ it!”
I leaned forward and folded my hands on the table. “One does not become a Dom to tag ass. At all. If the goal is to unload your balls in the depths of a woman, the opportunity is usually found on the street corner. I believe we have a few enterprising ladies in Karim who are over on Fourth and Greevey. You, son, are not Dom material. And if you are ever found on Club property, you will be immediately arrested. And you’d better hope the cops get there first.”
“Did you just diss me?”
“Big time, slick.”
David stood and took a few steps back. “Whatevs. I don’t need your club to get me some pussy.”
“Indeed. You don’t. Enjoy those crabs.”
“Whatever. I’m out.”
I watched him leave. I sighed. The problem was that there were women who would buy that crap and never experience the pleasure that could be found when someone worshiped the female form, when they sought as much pleasure from their partner as they were seeking.
Ah, well. Better he ditched than tried to worm his way in.
It looked as though it were going to be one of the odd lunches where I didn’t really have any company, so I opted to order myself one of the lunches that the Trattoria was famous for.
Sitting there, looking around, I was amused by the amount of kinksters in Karim. I spotted at least two, and there were several who were Open Night regulars. That was just in the restaurant. Were there so many in Karim because of the Club or were there so many because of the influence of the Club?
I laughed. Creating kinky citizens one naughty night at a time.
I was just about to call for the check and get back to my boring day job when a very unsure young woman popped in the front door, glancing around. She walked to the hostess and spoke quietly. The hostess shook her head, but pointed over to me.
I waited to see what she was going to do. A long stare, a hesitant step, but she didn’t make it. Turning, she was back to the hostess stand and left something with her. The hostess, one of our regulars, shrugged and walked a piece of paper over to me.
“She was expecting someone else. She got scar
ed.”
I took the paper and saw it was a phone number. “Probably just as well. I need to get back to work. I’ll call her.”
The office was four blocks away, plenty of time to make a phone call. Dialing the number, it took only a moment for a small, sweet voice to answer, “Hello?”
“Hello, my little bug. Did I scare you off?”
“I’m sorry. I thought that Beebee was going to be there today.”
“You were there for the Munch.” I imagined her pursing her adorable little lips, and she nodding briefly. “Well, you were here at the right day and time, but you’re on the wrong week. That said, perhaps I can help you?”
“Maybe.” Her voice was soft, scared.
“Why don’t you tell me what brought you there?”
“Iwantedtotrybeingasubmissive.” One word. Too adorable.
“Well, I can help you. The submissive munch is in two weeks, but I can bring you in to talk to Beebee so you don’t have to wait.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I’m only too happy to help. We are, at our hearts, kind people who want to see people happy.”
Once again, I saw that imaginary nod going. “Okay. What do I do?”
“You meet me this evening. We’ll even meet up in public, so you’re not afraid. Greevey and Oak Street, at seven?” I had to remember to ask. She wasn’t a sub yet.
“I’ll be there. Thank you.”
“I’ll be waiting, little bug. Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
As I walked back to the office, I made the mistake of thinking about my nighttime occupation. The hard-on didn’t take long. I shook my head and ignored it.
There really wasn’t much that was better than a well-spanked ass.
Except one that was learning to take the spanking.
This was not helping my dick.
* * *
“Shit.” I slammed my head back into the wall and closed my eyes. My little box sat empty in my lap. The shit was gone. I didn’t even remember shooting it all. A hot hatred for everything and everyone coursed through me. There had to be more hidden somewhere.
“Darnell, wake the hell up.” I punched the guy lying beside me. He didn’t move. It was him, I decided. Darnell did it all, and now he’d left me with nothing. I looked at the clock beside the bed. It was almost five o’clock in the afternoon. We’d been asleep since the night before.”
I jumped up and landed on his chest hard. Slapping him across the face a couple times for good measure, I realized he wasn’t going to get up. Tears stung my eyes as my body shook uncontrollably. I had to find a fix soon.
The pain wouldn’t start until later in the evening, and the withdrawal wouldn’t be unbearable until morning, but I needed a fix like I needed my next breath.
“Darnell, get the hell up.” He still didn’t stir. I slipped his wallet out of his pocket and opened it. Pictures of his kid and a fucking penny. Of course he didn’t have any money. Darnell wasn’t a john. He was a friend. Often he was a bed partner too, and we got high together a lot. Lately, he’d been using with me and not paying. That shit was ending. If there had been any money in his wallet, I would have taken it all. Instead, I knew I had to get ready and go find a date.
Walking into the bathroom of the probably shittiest apartment you could find in Texas, I assessed myself in the mirror. I looked like hell. The little bit of drugs that still coursed through me were not enough. I’d have to fake it with a lot of makeup and hairspray. Turning the water on in the shower, I cursed at how cold it was. The hot water rarely lasted past everyone’s morning showers, and it was almost dinner time. I hopped in and back out quickly, soaping up the important parts and getting a jolt from the cold.
“Get the fuck up, Diana.” I jumped as my neighbor’s voice came through the wall. It was possible he had dope sickness too—or maybe he’d just scored. With that thought, I became consumed with finding out. Pulling on my underwear and a T-shirt, I went outside and over to his apartment.
“Lonnie, leave me alone.” I assumed that was Diana.
“You drank all my liquor, didn’t you?” He sounded angry. A person with control of their life would walk away. Naturally, I knocked.
“Who the hell is that, Lonnie?” Diana barked the words, and I decided I didn’t like her.
The door was ripped away from the jamb, startling me, nearly sending my quickly-crashing ass flying backward in fear. “Jesus, Gia, what the hell do you want?” Lonnie stood in the doorway, sweatpants hung from his frail frame. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and a fresh tattoo of a large black skull bled down his chest. I tried not to look at it. I wasn’t a tat kind of gal. I only had one small tattoo and the blood from the fresh inking made me a little queasy.
Goddamn, I needed a hit.
My voice didn’t come out nearly as strong as I’d wanted either. “I wanted to see if you scored.”
“Oh, really?” He grabbed my arm and yanked me into the apartment. He wasn’t gentle, at all, pinching the skin of my arm hard. I couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. “You think I need to supply your fucking addiction, too? Isn’t Diana’s enough?”
Diana sat on the edge of the couch shaking, her mascara smeared all over her face. She kept rubbing her eyes violently and smirked at me, missing one of her front teeth. I’d made a huge mistake. I realized as Lonnie slammed his door.
He got right into my face and got way too loud. “You good for nothing bitches think I’m just here to supply you with dope. I got my own problems, you know.”
“I’m sorry, Lonnie. I’m hurting.” I avoided eye contact. “You know how that is.”
He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. “You think you know me?” He pushed his lips painfully against mine, biting my lip hard.
“No, Lonnie! I don’t know you! I’m sorry.” I looked at my feet, wanting to run, the taste of my own coppery blood building in my mouth. The hell did he bite me for? But shit, there was still a small part of me that thought he might still give me a fix. Without warning, he shoved me to my knees.
“You want some dope, you suck my cock.” He grinned at Diana, who had started rocking back and forth on her perch on the couch arm.
“Lonnie, you ass. You said you weren’t holding.” She whined. God, the tone of that whine. It almost made me run and forget all about a fix.
“Shut up, you bitch.” Lonnie backhanded her, causing her to roll off the arm of the couch, down onto the cushion and on her back. She moaned like a whore. Accurate.
I jumped to my feet, my knees wobbling from the pain of hitting the floor so hard it hurt. It was clear that he wasn’t holding, and I needed to get the hell out of his apartment. I ran to the door with him close behind me. Once the door was open and I threw myself into the hallway, I knew he wouldn’t follow. Lonnie didn’t do anything outside of his apartment. He was too paranoid about what the neighbors would do. All those upstanding citizens who shared our lovely crack home.
“Screw you, Gia! Don’t come looking for handouts.” He slammed the door.
I breathed hard for a few minutes, fighting waves of nausea before going back to my apartment to get ready.
Dumping all my makeup into the sink, I proceeded to start painting over my red splotches, acne, and dark circles. It took a few tries and a few coats, but I finally looked half alive. Darnell continued to snore. He wasn’t worth the effort anymore, so I just left him alone and pulled on a small skirt with a thin halter top. I slipped into some tall heels and slid on a few bracelets.
Decorating the junkie.
As I stepped out into the hall, my phone let out a shrilling ring. A john I sometimes visited flashed on the screen—and my night was saved! I liked meeting up with them and knowing the plan ahead of time. Finding them on the street corners made me feel so second rate.
A deep male voice greeted me on the phone. “Hey. I haven’t been out with you yet. My friend gave me your number.” He was using my regular guy’s phone to call. How cute. “How much for the ni
ght?”
“Five hundred, half up front. I need to make a trip out before you get yours.” I was almost giddy. My fix was so close I could taste it.
“All right. I’ll pick you up on Greevey and Oak. Be discreet, okay?”
“I’m always discreet.” I hung the phone up and would have danced if I hadn’t thought I’d fall right the hell over. The dope sickness crept on slowly. I’d have to walk to that corner since Darnell usually gave me rides. Another effect of the dope sickness was sweating excessively. Middle of August in Texas, saying it wasn’t cool outside was like saying water was wet. I hoped I didn’t start sweating too bad.
As I walked, my thoughts became completely focused on getting the money. Greevey and Oak took about ten minutes if you weren’t wearing heels.
Being careful not to draw attention to myself, I slipped up to the street sign and looked for the guy’s car. I realized I should have asked him what he drove. If I wasn’t careful not to draw attention, the other girls who worked the corner would taunt me—or worse, try to start a fight. They didn’t like girls who were able to work for themselves. Without a pimp, I’d been hurt more than once just because they felt like attacking me and accusing me of stealing. Like I really wanted to do this shit? It paid for my drugs. That was it.
As I stood next to the building, pressing myself against the wall, a Toyota pulled up, and the driver rolled down the window. Bending over, I was able to peer into the car, and there was a handsome, strong jaw and chiseled cheekbones. I thought this might not be such a bad evening after all.
Chapter 2
With the excitement of an Induction Night thrumming through my veins already, I rolled my understated car, a high-end Toyota Solara to the corner.
I had opted for the lesser of my two cars so as not to frighten the woman. And it was a lesser car—my preferred vehicle was a gorgeous, overpowered flame red Aston Martin.
The Cop Catcher. It caught all of the Rangers’ attention. It was so noticeable, I’d been pulled over doing to the speed limit. He assumed I had been speeding.
