Authors: Joey W. Hill
before she
exposed herself to more of his
irresistible persuasion. He
didn’t understand that she couldn’t do
this. Unfortunately,
the rest of her didn’t understand
either, and she had to fix
that. Prove it was a mistake or see if
she was strong
enough to go down the path he’d re-
opened in front of her.
And she wanted to take that test
alone, away from the eyes
of anyone who knew her.
She had no idea what to wear. When
she got home, she
settled for a pair of dark slacks she
thought hugged her
curves in the right places and a thin
white blouse. Under it,
she wore a sexy black demi-cup bra.
Severe blacks and
whites, like her severe state of mind.
Until she’d pawed
through her mostly mundane
underwear drawer, she hadn’t
realized she stil had the bra. It was
something she’d worn
for Cole a few times. It seemed
patently appropriate to
wear something of that life, so that
she could remember
why she couldn’t do this. Which of
course didn’t quel her
wary anticipation, her determination
to go forward with it,
test it under extreme circumstances.
She didn’t know if she
wanted to pass or fail this test, or if it
would be the same
thing either way. God, she was a
pathetic fool.
It was in a seedy area of town, but
that didn’t concern her.
She knew as wel as anyone that adult
clubs weren’t
accepted by the mainstream, fetish
clubs least of al , and
so they were relegated to industrial
districts and trashy
areas frequented by the criminal
element. She had a Taser
and pepper spray in her purse, and
she knew to stay alert.
There were about fifty cars in the
parking lot, and at least
there was a doorman. She saw him
when she pul ed up, a
bouncer type al in black, with the
club logo on his shirt. It
was reassuring, but it was the only
thing that was. She sat
in her car, staring at that door. A
black, one-story
rectangular building with metal sides,
like a squat
warehouse. No windows of course.
The chat rooms had
said the appearance of such places
could be deceptive,
right?
That doorman was approaching her
car. She had a flash
of panic, then she rol ed down the
window. His day’s growth
of beard made him look even more
intimidating. Before
she could speak, he assessed her in
one glance. “You here
to find a Master?”
She moistened her lips. “I…yes. I
think so. I’ve never—”
“Shut up, slut. You’l speak when
spoken to. Give me
twenty dol ars for the cover charge.”
She pul ed it out with shaking fingers.
There were safe
words, boundaries. They would
observe them. This was
part of the role playing, getting into
the atmosphere. She
got out, prudent enough to lock the
car, but then she
gasped as he shoved her back against
the closed car
door. “Put your hands on your head.
I’m going to frisk you
for weapons.”
Okay, now she wasn’t sure. Her mind
wasn’t keeping up
though. He took hold of the front of
her blouse and ripped it
open with one jerk, his gaze crawling
over her breasts,
quivering in the demi-cups. “Nice
tits. They’l like that. Want
to clamp those babies, make them
black and blue.” He put
his hands on them, squeezing them as
if they were market
produce, in an efficient, functional
manner, then worked his
hands down her body, over her hips,
bringing one large
hand up between her legs. “Spread
them,” he barked. “This
cunt is up for grabs tonight. You keep
these legs open for
any Master who wants to feel.”
He spun her then, ran his hands over
her ass. Her heart
was rabbiting in her throat, but she
couldn’t stop him. She
didn’t know how to say no. Which
was exactly what she’d
feared, right? She’d wanted to bring
this into her life so
badly, she would take even this in
silence, for the hope that
something better, something more
“right”, was behind that
door. She yelped as he snagged the
upswept twist she’d
done with her hair and dragged her
by it toward the door.
“When we walk in, you get on your
knees, in line with the
others. You’re late. You must not
have gotten the latest from
Mistress Natasha about the time
change. They’re about to
assign the meat for the night. You
almost missed your
chance.”
There was no time to stammer out a
reply or question.
She was thrust into gloom. Sweat and
alcohol permeated
the atmosphere, as wel as a dank
underside, perhaps from
a past flooding that had gotten into
the carpet, seeping
under the cheap metal wal s. She had
a brief impression of
a narrow stage, where a naked girl
was suspended by her
wrists. She cried out as she was
tapped by what appeared
to be a cattle prod. Sparks flew from
it, and there was a
fresh brand on her flank, the skin red
around it and the
brazier stil set up with ominous intent
in the corner. A
Master fucked her with a large
vibrator. The girl was crying,
yet shuddering with what appeared to
be an impending
climax.
“Knees,” her keeper barked, shoving
Rachel down so
she not only landed on her knees but
fel forward. Before
she could rise, a foot was on her
neck. At close range, the
vile-smel ing carpet added a
combination of cigarette
smoke and other unthinkable bodily
functions.
“You’l obey instantly, slave, or you’l
be up on that stage
next.” A new voice, deep and gravel
y, issued that terrifying
prediction. It was underscored by the
icy tril of a woman’s
cruel laughter.
“This one’s new. Turn her over and
let’s see what we’ve
got.”
She was rol ed over by rough hands
and pul ed to her
feet. Her hair had fal en out of the
polished sticks she’d
used to make the style appealing,
exotic. But now it was
disheveled, a rat’s nest fal ing around
her shoulders and in
her eyes. Tears she couldn’t stop
were probably making
her mascara run. With her blouse torn
open, she probably
looked like an attempted rape. Even
as she recognized
that seemed like the preferred dress
code, her chaotic
needs ignored it, kept clawing at her,
making her helpless.
“Nice.” The gravel y voice belonged
to a man dressed in
only a body harness. His cock was
cinched tight in a leather
and silver sleeve. Even semi-erect,
the organ seemed thick
as her forearm, and just as long. “It’l
be my pleasure to
break this one in for you, Mistress
Natasha.”
The woman standing next to him was
clad in latex. She
had fire-red lips and kohl-rimmed
eyes, and fingered a
whip coiled around her waist. “Give
her a good ass fucking
for me, Milo. I want to hear her
scream when you’re deep in
her hole, then we’l put her on the
flogging post and I’l make
that lily white skin red as a split
strawberry.”
“No…” She was breathing fast.
Hands came out of the
darkness, holding her arms, pul ing at
her clothes. “No, I
don’t want…I need to go, I—”
An explosion of pain and her head
snapped back on her
neck. She stared at Milo, stunned, as
he fol owed through
with the backhand. She’d never been
hit in the face in her
entire life, and it hurt more than she
could say, that searing
pain across the cheekbone and lip.
She tasted blood. He
kept the hand lifted. “You want to
sass your Mistress or me
again, little slave cunt?”
Something burst in her then, a
volcano erupting. The
docile and helpless side vanished
and she was fighting,
snarling in terror. She’d known this
was a mistake, but this
was beyond a mistake. It was blatant,
staggering proof that
what she wanted was beyond her
reach, that she’d
devolved into the most unimaginable,
idiotic fol y.
So what the fuck’s your fantasy,
Rachel? Letting me and
my golf buddies gang rape you in an
alley? Leaving you
in some bum’s vomit and piss? Is
that what gets you hot?
“Stop, stop, stop.” She was
screaming at the top of her
lungs, and the hands unexpectedly
released her. When she
stumbled against heated bodies in
various states of
undress, by some miracle she found
her way through them
to the heavy metal door. She pushed
out of it with both
hands, the doorman staring at her as
she staggered onto
the broken and uneven pavement.
She’d left her purse in
her car, with her pepper spray and
Taser, but she didn’t
think she could have used them
anyhow. She was shaking
so badly, she stumbled and fel ,
scraping her hands and
ripping her slacks. It was her favorite
pair, because they’d
always made her feel sexy and
feminine when she wore
them. She was going to burn them as
soon as she got
home.
When hands closed on her arm, she
shrieked and rol ed
to her back, striking out.
“Easy there, it’s okay. Calm down.
I’m a police officer.”
The voice was a new one, and unlike
Milo or the
doorman, it projected firm, steady
authority. Not a roaring
bark that made her stomach jump as if
it had been goaded
by that cattle prod. When she
managed to stop thrashing,
she blinked up at this man. Built with
the broad, solid lines
of a footbal player, he was clean
shaven, with shrewd,
cynical gold-brown eyes. After
taking in the jeans and dress
shirt, she zeroed in on the shoulder
holster for his gun
beneath the open coat. Recognizing
he probably was what
he said he was brought knee-shaking
relief, as wel as
mortified horror, imagining herself
on some evening news
program.
“Are you al right, ma’am?” He asked
it in a tone that, to
her way of thinking, sounded like
“another twisted deviant
hanging out where no decent person
went”. She stared up
at him and didn’t know what to say.
No, I’m lost. So lost, I’m not sure
I’ll find my way back
this time.
He studied her, then crouched to a
squat. “This is my
badge,” he said, pul ing it out of the
inside pocket for her to
see. “I just went off shift and changed
into my street
clothes.”
She should have asked for that proof
herself, but she
wasn’t thinking clearly enough to
manage it. When the
doorman strode toward them, she
shrank toward the cop,
though she despised the weakness of
it. The hand he put
on her shoulder was surprisingly
reassuring, as were his
words. “It’s al right, miss. Cyrus,
what the hel ’s happening
here?”
Cyrus stopped, gave her a look that
was a mixture of
disgust and exasperation. “Natasha’s
having one of her
private parties. Ten girls. I was told
to give them the ful
treatment when they pul ed in. I
didn’t know she’d freak out.
Natasha usual y goes for the real y
hardcore ones.”
“I…I didn’t know it was a p-private
p-party… I just c-
came… Website…” Rachel shut her
mouth, closing her
eyes. She wished she was back on
her cushioned mat in
her studio, Jon behind her. His
simplest command had
made her feel quiet and stil .
Unsettled, in a good way. Not
frightened and humiliated, not like
this.
“Oh fuck.” Cyrus swore. “Kel er,
come on. I didn’t know
she wasn’t one of the guests.”
“Goddamn it, Cyrus, we’ve
discussed this before. You
guys take way too many fucking risks.
She has every right
to bring assault charges against you
and anyone else in
that club who manhandled her, and it
would serve you right.
I’d love to throw your asses in that
jail cel .”
“I don’t w-want…I j-just w-want t-t-