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  “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

  A small 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 p
ainful. 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.

  Chapter 6

  Dahlia

  Club X.

  I suck in a sharp breath as I step through the club’s doorway past the lobby and into a darkened ballroom that I can only describe as pure luxury. The floor is covered with plush, royal red carpet that is intertwined with breathtaking intricate designs, and the clicks of my heels are muted against the softness. The walls are painted a soft purple and are lined with gold trim, while golden sconces give off a red glow, suffusing the room with a sultry ambience.

  High ceilings give the place depth as well as an airiness that makes my skin prickle with excitement. I touch the bracelet at my wrist. This one is temporary, but everyone is wearing them. It’s just cream-colored rubber, but it’ll look like Carla’s when I join. If I join. The rubber is joined by three interlocking metal rings, with the center ring being black. She said it shows the other members that I’m a Submissive and that I prefer carte blanche, so the Dom has free range with me. The very thought makes my core heat with desire. Right now my bracelet is color is limited to cream because I’m learning. It will be apparent to everyone who sees it that I'm a BDSM virgin. There are other colors, but they aren’t for my tastes. The knowledge makes my breath still in my lungs as men pass, glancing at my wrist with interest, but I’m still taking in the splendor of the club.

  There are scores of finely set tables throughout the large room, as well as booths with velvet seating lining the walls. At the end of the room sits a stage, the large red curtains closed, hiding the secret of what lies beyond it. On the far left side, there’s a high-end bar illuminated by neon blue light and outfitted with what looks like every drink known to man. Soft, elegant music plays over surround speakers that are artfully hidden, only adding to the luxurious vibe.

  But the most exciting thing about Club X isn’t the extravagant finery. It’s the people. I walk behind Carla and Bruce, in awe of it all. My eyes dart this way and that, trying to take in everything, and I try, unsuccessfully, to calm my nerves. I settle my eyes on Carla’s backside and my cheeks grow rosy as I admire the view. She looks fucking hot tonight. She’s wearing a short dress that barely covers her butt cheeks and hugs her body, showcasing every delicious curve. In fact, every woman here has on a dress that barely covers her ass.

  They’re everywhere.

  Beautiful young women and masked young men that are dressed in slick high dollar suits fill the room. Even though their faces are hidden behind masks, I can almost feel the ambition, drive and authority radiating from these men, and it makes me weak in the knees.

  Power. Wealth. Sex. It’s all here, under one roof.

  Looking around, I don’t see a single man without a mask. Some are black and simple. Others are silver and themed with animals. The men sit at tables or booths alone, watching the room with an almost predatory gaze, while other men sit in groups talking amongst each other quietly. Other Dominants are accompanied by a beautiful girl or two, but it’s clear who's in charge. Nearly all the women are in Submissive poses or in the act of being led around.

  I watch as a tall man in a dark suit, his face hidden behind a metallic mask, walks past me holding a chain that clinks as he walks. It’s attached to a dark-haired girl clothed in a silver shift dress. As she moves I can see the gown is nothing more than thin slits of fabric stitched together, her skin exposed in between the gaps. My eyes widen as the Dom tugs slightly, and the leash pulls at the collar around her throat. The Submissive tumbles forward slightly and the man catches her, pulling her into his hard chest and whispering into her ear. She smiles against his suit jacket as he chuckles and she nods her head slightly, looking up at him and responding with a soft, “Yes, sir,” to whatever he’s said.

  He releases her and walks easily to a table where another man is already sitting.

  The seated man, a tall blond, is eyeing the Dom’s Sub with intense interest, his legs planted out wide. He mutters something to the Sub, and she blushes at whatever it is.

  “Answer him,” I hear the Dom command, looking at his Submissive with a heated gaze.

  The Sub looks hesitant, although lust is easily read on her face before uttering something too low for me to hear and nodding slightly. At this, the Dom takes a seat at the table next to the blond man, and pulls his Sub into his lap, spreading her legs out wide and placing the balls of her bare feet on the leather-covered bench on either side of his thighs. The blond man moves in close and lowers the top of the Sub’s dress, taking out her right breast. My lips part in disbelief. I watch as he takes her nipple into his mouth and as he slides his hand up between her legs. Her head falls back against her Dom’s shoulder, and she moans softly with pleasure.

  My breath hitches, and my eyes widen.

  I glance around the room and then focus back on them. No one around seems to notice or think this out of the ordinary, and I feel my core heat at the erotic sight. Seeing as how this is a BDSM club, I expected to walk in on a wild orgy, where Doms would be fucking their Subs into submission, but the vibe is much more high class than that, giving off an almost secretive and seductive feel. But I’m still shocked to see something like that. My blood heats with desire, and my body feels aflame.

  As I continue to watch the blond man suck on her tit, my nipples pebble and my breathing becomes ragged. I tear my eyes away, my cheeks burning with shame, when Carla whispers in my ear, “Sexy, isn’t it?”

  Carla is gazing at me, her breasts heaving as her eyes dart past me to the couple and then back to me. I can’t get over Carla’s dress; it looks expensive, and it’s covered with glittering sequins. Both sides have long slits that show off her long legs, and nearly expose her pussy. Her hair is styled into a sultry deep side part, and her makeup is flawless. A Sub collar adorns her neck, and serves only to enhance her sexiness. It’s a thin leather strap with a polished gold tag.

  She leans in and whispers, her eyes still on the scene to our left, “Bruce doesn’t share me. That’s not our thing.”

  Her boyfriend and Dom, Bruce, looms behind her, his metallic mask glinting in the red ambient lighting, his dark, vested suit fitting right in with all the other wealthy men in attendance. He doesn’t have a leash on Carla, and a lot of couples don’t seem to have them either. Tonight, he let Carla be free of her chain, which she’s told me she customarily wears, but has forbidden her to walk more than a few feet from him. I was there when he told her the rules, and I couldn’t believe how eagerly she accepted them. She wants to please him. She craves his authority and his conditions. It’s a dynamic that’s foreign to me. I’d only met Bruce once before this. They seem like an average enough couple. But this is different. Much different. Here in Club X, he’s the master of Carla’s world.

  Even though I know the basics of the dynamics behind a Dom and his Sub, it’s going to take me awhile to get used to seeing Carla so subservient since she’s such a hands-on, career-driven woman. I didn’t expect this. It’s one thing to fantasize about the lifestyle. It’s quite another to be immersed in it.

  But that’s what being a Sub is all about, I tell myself, surrendering all your control and power to another person and letting them take the reins.

  In that light, Carla is the perfect Sub.

  I’m doing my best to fit in and copy Carla’s behavior. I’m wearing a backless black dress that rises up to mid-thigh and the front side is cut low, showing off my ample cleavage. Salon-perfect hair, sultry makeup, spandex pantyhose and glossy nude pumps complete my look. I feel sexy, but at the same time I’m extremely nervous since this is my first time here. All the women present seem to be playing their roles f
lawlessly, and I’m unsure I’ll be able to fit in. The thought brings my anxiety back to the forefront. I wish I could calm down, but I’m struggling to relax. Especially knowing the auction is tonight.

  I can’t believe I could be bought by someone. Five hundred thousand dollars... or more. The thought is surreal. I’m literally shaking in my heels.

  “It’s crazy,” I breathe, making sure to keep my voice as low as possible and my eyes in a safe place. Carla warned me that even if I’m not claimed, I have to play the part of a Submissive. I can't do anything that would disrupt the fantasy the club provides. I don’t want to offend anyone, and I don’t want to get kicked out. Looking out among the sea of masked men, my heart pounds. These are men of power, men that could dominate me just like I want. An image of being held down by one of them flashes in front of my eyes. Before I realize it, I’m trembling with a mix of arousal and fear. “You were right about this place.”

  “Told you,” Carla whispers so low that I can barely hear. She turns toward Bruce, looking for permission, and he gives her an imperceptible nod. “Come,” she says quietly, gesturing at me to follow. “Let Bruce show you around before we grab a seat.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she begins following Bruce, leading me down a walkway on the right side. There’s security detail as we leave the dining hall and go to the hallway where the rest of the club awaits. They check our bracelets and nod as we go through. Their presence only adds to the tension in the pit of my stomach. Bruce splays his hand on the small of Carla’s back, and she looks up at him with obvious appreciation. My gait is awkward as several masked men turn their heads my way, their eyes boring into me. I feel self-conscious under their gaze, unsure about my place here. These are powerful men--doctors, CEOs, lawyers, senators, and I’m just some silly girl whose problems have led her here. But they don’t need to know that. No one needs to know the reason I’m here.