KING (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (17 page)

“What are you thinking about?” He gazes at me in curiosity. No doubt wondering why my eyes are glowing with need, my expression is changing with my thoughts, and my cock is punching out the front of my pants. Dress trousers are a hard-on
’s worst enemy. I’m positively indecent.

“I’m trying to name my fictitious gay club. I bet it would be a success.
” I imagine standing on a stage and making all my male dancers suck my cock- one right after the other. It’s good to be a Whittenhower, with our endless ability to stay hard as long as we’re aroused. I can cum ten times and I’ll still be hard. On the negative side, a stiff breeze has me popping. I guess it’s a wash. Unless you have a cumbucket for a lover, like my Dalton- he loves messy.

“Cocks,” is his parting remark.

Dalton grows a ginormous set of balls and walks right in French Kissed Kink. He bypasses the line, and the bouncer tries to stop him. Dalton flips security off and points at his face- circling his middle finger as if he’s demanding
look at me
. The bouncer takes the hint when the cold, dead stare gazing back at him looks just like a younger, male version of the owner.

I go
back to my musings.
Cocks?
Nah… It should be something that flows with Restraint and French Kissed Kink.

Oh! Oh! OH! I’d have a room dedicated to tats. Jesus, blowjobs and tats- I’d be in heaven.
Inked Up Cockgobblers!
  Just from the thought alone, an erotic shudder rolls down my spine and hits my dick like a shot of heroin.

If Grandfather could hear my thoughts right now, he’d flay me. All those years of schooling and training to become a mogul, and here I am
, leaning against a BDSM club while staring at a whorehouse, and envisioning myself owning a gay club that has a tattoo parlor.

It’s laughable.

Too bad, it sounds like heaven.

I could serve energy drinks and have black decor to make Dalton happy.

“Lovely view, isn’t it?” Ezra seductively whispers in my ear and I nearly cum in my pants.

“
You been in there?” I ask, never taking my eyes off the eye-sore.

“Not quite my tastes,” he
says in disdain, eyes glued to all that pink.

“Because it’s a whorehouse?”

The
no
is sharp on his tongue. “Is it too much to ask for some guys?” Ezra arches a brow at me and stares at my lips. My cock wildly punches in my trousers. I look like I have a couple of pissed off cats fighting in my pants. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed; my erection eagerly soaks up Ezra’s hungry gaze. Ezra’s brow arches higher, if that’s even humanly possible, and then he salaciously licks his lips. I’m a thought away from telling him to gobble my cock, but I fear I’d spurt all over my pants before he even got a chance to touch me.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I muse, seriously thinking it’s a good idea.
We could still have girls, just girls that like other girls. We could also have guys and girls that like both, like Ezra kinda does when Master Ez is being demanding. Best of both worlds.
Alt.
Alt- alternative lifestyle. Hmm… possibilities.

Alt
…

Dalton stumbles out of the front doors
of FKK like he was just spit out the bowels of hell and he has to run before he’s sucked right back in again. Dalton’s mouth is rapidly moving, and after years of reading Jamie’s lips, I’m an excellent lip reader. It must be French, because I’m coming up empty.

“Wow,” Ezra says
, impressed. “Balls of fucking steel. My mother is in the same house as me and I walk the opposite direction. He voluntarily went into an all-female strip club just to see that crazy bitch. Serious balls on that one.”

“Have you seen what he’s packing?”
I turn to Ezra and smirk.

“I. Have. Not.” Ezra’s
eyes track Dalton’s path, hungrily eating the sight. Dalton is a vision: pissed off, sputtering French curses, and definitely not aroused. Track pants are even less forgiving than trousers.

“They don’t fit in my palm,” I mutter out the side of my mouth as Dalton walks up to us.

“D u d e…” Ezra draws out, eyes bulging from their sockets as he stares at Dalton’s crotch, begging it to rise so he can have a look.

We catch sight over what made Dalton so pissed “Lipstick, really?”
Ezra bewilderedly murmurs.

“Want me to shank the bitch? I know a guy with a walk-in freezer.” I repeat what I told the members of Restraint when I came out of the closet and declared Dalton my switch. Dalton brightens instantly, remembering the moment. He gives me a heart-stopping smile that has Ezra
’s snicker drying up in his throat.

Not many are used to Font, as his family calls him- Dalton
Anthony Fontaine Marconi. We were used to the drab asshole, Dalton Thompson. Everyone still looks a bit awestruck when they see the real Dalton. No one knows how to take him yet.

“
The problems is… she knows a guy- the same guy,” Dalton grumbles. “My freezer is getting a little full.”

“Mommy issues?”
Ezra asks and Dalton nods. “Don’t we all,” he sighs. “Make our match one a.m.,” Ezra says to me as he walks away. A moment later he calls over his shoulder, “I’m flexing my nature this evening. I’m tying my spouses down and taking out my frustrations.”

“Good luc
k with that,” I yell back at Ezra as he disappears into the side door of Restraint. A flick of his hand is his only response.

“What was that about?” suspicion laces Dalton’s voice.

“Therapy and training. Ezra’s helping me out. I’ll explain later. Speaking of… You owe me an apology.

~Chapter Fourteen~
The revolutionized Restraint

This chapter is dedicated to description, so the reader may reacquaint themselves with the layout and functionality of Restraint. Comparisons will be noted on the differences of before and after the riots.
This section is narrated in the voice of Restraint.

One must learn from their
past mistakes.

Riot insurance: o
nly three quarters of the occupancy that the fire code specifies are allowed inside the building at any given time. This lowers the chance of future riots.

The
group of thirty ex-cops, ex-military, and ex-cons is in full force. They are highly trained professionals who believe loyalty is king. They can’t be bought because we pay them an outrageous salary- housing, vehicles, and entertainment. Note Gunner’s wide-assed, satisfied grin from his trip into the den of iniquity known as French Kissed Kink.

T
wenty of the thirty guys on our security staff are on site. The others are protecting the high-profile members. Six security personnel are at Misery Castle, they are dedicated to specific members. When one leaves the house, they have a shadow. Master Dexter and his submissives, Monica and Tobias, have a bodyguard. Another guard is stationed at the Brownstone for Master Alex and Master Dalton. Lastly, the Edge building, where Master Devlin and Sebastian reside with their guard, Levi, and when Master Ez and Mistress Katya are in the building for work, Roarke watches. These men stay at the residences with their hosts, and the rest live on the fourth floor of this building. Off duty guards are inside French Kissed Kink under the guise of pleasure, but in actuality, they are watching Master Fontaine.

Restraint had a huge following before the media explosion. During the riots
, bodies were packed inside the club like sardines in a tin. We couldn’t keep track of who the members were and the dungeon was filled with trespassers claiming to be guests of the membership. This hazard almost resulted in Master Dalton’s death.

Rule change-ups
were made during the time Restraint was closed for renovations. It now costs a hundred-thousand dollars to become a member and two months of training and classes via Master Dexter. Anyone paying that kind of cash and spending countless hours hearing the sadist drone on wouldn’t throw it down the toilet by bringing a guest who misbehaves. Only two guests per member allowed, and they are here to dip their toes in the water of potential membership. We capped the membership at one-hundred, with no more than fifty allowed on site at any given time. We haven’t grown that large yet, but it will be by reservation when we do.

No more people sneaking in
the dungeon either- the door has a fingerprint scan for access. If you’re not a member, your ass isn’t getting in.

There is a winding line spanning two blocks from the entrance of Restraint.
Roarke is being very vigilant on who he allows in. Master Aaron stands off to the side, scanning IDs into his tablet. Queen Regina created a program that background checks the patrons in an instant. Restraint has no clue what their red flags are, but for every five people, only two walk through our door. Master Aaron’s neck has a crick in it from nodding
yes
and shaking
no
. The process moves rapidly and successfully. The club is near our max-capacity. The overflow is strolling over to FKK, if they can afford the cover charge.

Restraint
’s interior décor isn’t the blacks, grays, and reds of the past. Before it felt like every other club in the city: booths, dark corners, and inebriated customers staggering around. You wouldn’t have known it was the front of a BDSM dungeon. The slate tile floor has been upgraded to a mirrored glass- excellent for up-skirting.  The walls went from their original flat gray to diamond plate and concrete, giving off the cold, industrial feel of the dungeon. The seating is no longer booths. Low padded benches with round, steel tables are bolted to the floor. The edges of every table have been padded against violence. You can lean up against it for fun activities or you can have your skull smashed into it and bounce right back off- riot protection.

Restraints hang from the ceiling, way above the reach of misbehaving patrons. Chains, ro
pes, leather straps, and cables sinisterly dangle, catching light from the dance floor. A large circle in the middle of the club is the lighted dance floor, which is inset several feet, so that dancing drunkards can’t stumble into the crowd or trip over the benches.

The bar is a half-moon
that crescents the center of the club. The arc is nearly seventy-five percent of the dance floor. Two-sided, so that revelers can belly up to the bar from the dance floor or the seating areas. The bartenders are safely ensconced by the twin arcs. The only access to the bar is over it or at the ends. No one would attempt to enter since we placed sinister looking security at each port and three spanning the length. Three bartenders, Kristal, Mistress-in-training Sarina, and the new hire, Judah, are flanked by five of our toughest security. We didn’t want a repeat of the final riot where Mistress Syn was rendered unconscious protecting submissive Fate from two potential rapists.

Restraint’s mission
for our clientele is to have safe, consensual fun. The smiles on our patrons’ faces and the relaxed poses of our employees scream loud and clear that we’re surpassing our mission. Everyone is having the time of their lives.

The new dungeon is unrecognizable.
It’s no longer the immense, oblong room that lacked comfort and style. Previously it was reminiscent of an industrial warehouse. The cold was replaced with warmth. The cavernous feel was oppressive with equipment lining the walls. Now every station is dedicated to voyeurism.  Raised daises showcase the equipment and the tools of their trade. The theme dictates the feel of each station, whether scary, warm, cold, or soft. Each station is cordoned off and surrounded by padded benches for the voyeur in all of us.

Don’t like being watched? Have a specific kink that needs fed? J
ourney down the hall of horrors and pick a theme room that feeds your hunger: the school room, the Victorian bedroom, the vampire lair, the jail cell, the medieval dungeon, the torture chamber, the tack room, the padded cell, the doctor’s office, and Master Ezra’s brainchild- the therapist’s office- where you lie on a sofa and Master Ez tears into your psyche.

The second floor of Restraint is for business:
Master Aaron’s office, where he manages every detail of the club. Roarke’s office is the command center, where he controls the security team and the surveillance control panel. Master Dexter’s domain is several training rooms, where he creates the next generation of Masters, Mistresses, submissives, and members. There is also a large meeting room and break room for the security detail.

The third floor is the Mistress
es and Masters of Restraint’s private rooms. Several are available for purchase by the membership and fully customizable. Private rooms are perfect for the shy dominant or submissive, or for those who have secrets to hide.

The fourth, and final floor, is
the private quarters for the employees of Restraint that live on site.

Now that you are reacquainted with Restraint, please enjoy your stay. Remember that BDSM should be exercised through responsible, safe, and consensual fun.