Lib Novel Page 10
“That much money?” I ask with disbelief in my voice. “You’ve got to be kidding!” I can’t believe they’d pay that much money.
Carla shakes her head. “I told you, these men are powerful and wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. For some of them, a million is like a dollar bill. But that’s not even half of it. They pay a hundred grand a month already for their membership; these men are absolutely fucking loaded.”
I’m too stunned to speak. Everything that I could ever want is right at my fingertips… if I could debase myself enough to become someone’s sex slave for a month. It’s an idea I should find shameful, an idea you’d think would repulse me to my very core even, but I find myself… craving it.
I need this.
Years after my traumatic experience, I’d grown up with the desire to be dominated. Which is ironic, because my uncle was never harsh or rough. He held me down, but then I gave up. The things I need to get off are highly specific.
At first these feelings brought me shame, but I couldn’t help myself. I needed to be controlled by a powerful man to get off. There was simply no other way. This caused friction with some of my partners. My first boyfriend couldn’t understand why I wanted him to force himself on me, why I wanted to be choked and slapped around while being fucked mercilessly. He could never know how I’d been violated, and how the very act had perverted me in ways I didn’t dare say to anyone. I didn’t understand either. I felt sick after every sexual encounter with anyone. With the help of a therapist, I started to cope with everything, past and present. I need to be dominated, but I need to know it’s for pleasure and know that I have control. That I can stop it at any time.
“Some Subs and Doms wear masks to protect their identities,” Carla explains, cutting into my thoughts, “so you can even opt for a mask if it makes you feel more comfortable.” She grins deviously. “It adds enormously to the spice and sizzle of a sexual encounter.”
Unconsciously, I think about being dominated by a masked man, held down and fucked until my insides are raw. The uneasiness from my memories starts slipping away. This could be good for me. This could help me in a way I’d never considered. I’m broken. I know I am. No matter how many times my therapist says otherwise, I know I’m broken. I don’t want to live like this, but I don’t have a choice. And maybe this is just what I need. A Dominant who knows what he’s doing, someone who can give me exactly what I need. I can picture it, and all the dark things that make my pussy clench and nipples harden play before my eyes.
“Dah?” Carla asks.
I snatch my hand away from my neck, which I hadn’t realized I’d been clutching while I was engaged in my fantasy, and shake my head. “This club sounds so crazy.”
Carla flashes a wide smile. “’Cause it is! Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
CHAPTER 5
LUCIAN
Asmall grin slips into place as I take in another look, making sure I’m prepared. When I built this house, I made sure to have this playroom made. Its sole purpose is pleasure. My pleasure. Whatever kink I want access to, it’s here. The walls are painted a deep silver, and the wood furniture is all black. It’s masculine with clean lines, but it’s the details that matter.
Hooks line the ceiling; for the sex swing, for chains. For whatever the fuck I want. And they’re scattered in various places. If I want my Submissive dangling from the ceiling with no support, I can make that happen. I can have her arms secured above her head while I’m fucking her from behind, and there’s nowhere she can go, no place to hide, nothing to lean onto except for me.
My eyes linger on the Saint Andrew’s Cross in the far corner. It’s one of my favorite tools for punishment. My dick hardens in my pants just imagining a sweet Submissive secured to it, pleading for her forgiveness. Yes. I fucking need that. I need that right now. The sling stand and spanking bench are next to it, but I hardly ever use those. Although I know some Subs prefer them, and I’m always willing to compromise.
I run my hand down the leather-lined paddle and look at the other tools in the drawer. All of them are new. Never used, not even once. I got rid of the ones from my last Sub and bought new ones for this auction. Nipple clamps, plugs, paddles, whips, ropes, canes, cuffs, blindfolds, the works. Everything my Sub could possibly need.
I gently set the paddle back where it belongs and shut the drawer, feeling as though I’m prepared.
At first I wasn’t sure I’d be ready to have another. I wasn’t sure I even wanted one. But the more I pictured how the evening were to go, the more I decided I need to buy one at the auction.
If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right. And for me, that means absolute control. I want a contract in place, and I want the privacy of my own home. I know some of the other Doms, my close friends included, prefer the company of the club. They have their private rooms there, and they leave and go about their lives as though it’s just a hobby. But for me this is so much more.
It becomes a borderline obsession once I’ve met the right woman. One who wants her needs filled, needs that complete my own.
I take a seat on the bed in the center of the room and pull out the mask from my pocket. I’ve worn a mask every time I’ve entered the club, like most of the high-powered men do. I learned the hard way that there are consequences to being open about this lifestyle. More than that, when I started my company, I realized very quickly how much my personal choices could impact the company.
Back then, when I was just getting started, I was a fool. I should have known better, but I was careless. I was angry about my family, and overwhelmed with women wanting to please me. It was more than flattering, and I was eager to enjoy their company. I was young and stupid. I shouldn’t have been so reckless. It wasn’t worth it, and if I could take it back, I would.
I quickly made a name for myself as a playboy in the tabloids. It was then that Zander introduced me to the club. It was a way to sate my desires, but still remain anonymous. My company no longer had to take a hit for my personal preferences, and it got the stockholders off my back. Not that they matter anymore. They can’t do shit to me now.
Either way, it’s best to be as private as possible. I have to avoid scandals and negative press at all costs. My livelihood is at stake, and women simply aren’t worth it. The image of my wedding picture that used to hang in my living room flashes before my eyes. One failed marriage is all I need. She blindsided me and fooled me into thinking she felt something more for me. I should’ve taken a note from the Club X playbook and had her sign an NDA.
At least she took a paycheck to sign one after our hideous divorce. I don’t know why I’m surprised. She just wanted a paycheck all along. Just like everyone else. They all just want a fucking paycheck.
I rise from the bed, feeling the need to take the paddle out again, but not having my Submissive at hand. I crack my neck and forget about the past. It’s where it belongs. Tonight is about right now and needs that must be filled. I’ve put this off long enough. I deserve this.
I huff a laugh and smirk as I think about Zander’s reaction to my text. He’s the one who introduced me to this lifestyle. I learned to enjoy the release and the control gained as a Dominant. But it’s more than that. It’s the fulfillment of providing for a Submissive. Of training her and watching her become truly sated with pleasure. Earning her trust and devotion. It’s a thrill, and a deeply satisfying one at that.
I’ve been craving it, but putting it off. It’s difficult to put that faith in another person. The faith that they’ll listen, and learn to trust you. It’s even more difficult building trust that is real. But you can’t hide your body language, or your primitive needs. My last Submissive tried to hide hers. I think she just wanted to play. But I don’t do pretend and make-believe. I require perfection. I give this my all, and I expect every bit of the passion and energy that I put into this in return. But my last Sub didn’t give me that. She was defiant and just wanted to be punished. Always. And each time she wanted it harder and more painful. I don’t have a fetish for pain. That doesn’t interest me. And she knew that. I took my collar off of her and never set foot in Club X again.
It’s been almost a year since I’ve been to the club, a year since I’ve had a Submissive and given in to these baser needs. I’m more than ready to delve into my desires and put this room to good use.
I pocket the mask with a grin on my face. It’s show time.