Chapter 16
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Be a good girl while I’m out.”
Like she has a choice, Damon thought with a grin.
But she was a good girl now. He was convinced of it.
That twenty-four hours spent in the punishment closet the week before had been the sea change. Something had broken in her that day. There was no more fire in her eyes. She understood now that there was no way out. She had accepted her lot. She was his slave, to do with as he pleased.
Yet, while it was intensely exciting and entertaining to play with Callie in whatever way amused him, lately he found he was getting a bit of cabin fever. Flirting with girls on the beach wasn’t enough. A visit to Dark Club would be just the thing.
He had toyed briefly with the idea of taking Callie with him. It would be such a rush to show those players a thing or two. Forget safe, sane and consensual, or even risk-aware consensual kink—Damon Carlisle owned a real slave.
In the end, his cooler head prevailed. It would be too much of a risk. Though she was behaving well at home now, the distracting element of being in public might be too confusing for her. No question, the thrill of showing off his slave’s abject and total submission would be exciting. But in the end, he decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
He eased the Porsche 911 he’d rented for the month out of the garage and headed to the club, which was discreetly located on a private ten-acre beachfront estate about twenty minutes from his villa. He presented his member card at the gate. Once granted entrance, he drove past the main house to the private club at the back of the property.
Damon parked in the small lot adjacent to the club and climbed out of his car. He had chosen black leather pants and boots for the evening, along with a white silk pirate’s shirt. An older couple was just leaving their car at the same time. The woman was clearly the one in charge. She was dressed in a red leather minidress that barely contained her voluptuous figure, with matching high-heels. The man, who had easily a foot and a hundred pounds on his partner, was in one of those leather harness getups that crisscrossed his otherwise naked body, his cock and balls hidden behind a leather codpiece, a slave collar of heavy chain around his neck.
They exchanged a pleasant nod with Damon and made their way to the door. He followed a moment later, watching with disgust as the man got to his knees before entering the club like a dog behind his Mistress. Submissive men made him sick. It was against the laws of nature. The strong should conquer the weak, as he had done with Callie.
He greeted the hostess at the door with a warm smile as he openly ogled her scantily clad body. She was dressed in a see-through gold mesh bodysuit that hugged her curves and left nothing to the imagination. It was cut so low that the top half of her dark nipples were clearly visible. “You look so beautiful tonight, Conchita,” he said to her. “Good enough to eat.”
“Gracias, señor,” she replied with a coquettish smile. “Welcome back.”
He stepped into the large space, which was decorated identically to every Dark Club around the globe. The walls and the floors were painted a deep red, the lighting muted, the piped-in music something soft and classical. The BDSM restraint equipment was of the highest quality, with a dozen or so scene stations set up throughout. There were private rooms along the perimeter of the main space, where the truly intense action took place.
Bare chested young men and women wearing red slave collars glided silently through the room, offering refreshments. He accepted a glass of champagne from a little hottie, sipping it as he moved among the scene stations.
He stopped in front of an Asian woman tied down on her back on a padded spanking bench. She was naked save for sheer red thigh-high stockings with matching red leather heels. Her legs were spread wide on either side of the bench, her ass perched on the edge. A huge black dildo attached to an industrial-strength fucking machine was moving slowly in and out of her smooth cunt.
A man stood at her head, his face close to hers as he murmured in her ear. As he spoke to her, he stroked her small, pretty breasts. She was moaning softly, her body trembling. Her skin showed no marks at all—no evidence she had been whipped or even flogged. As at every station, there was a well-stocked rack of impact toys, including canes, floggers and various whips. Damon’s palms itched with the desire to flick one of those whips against all that smooth, unmarred flesh.
He moved a little closer, catching the man’s attention. The guy glanced up. He flashed a brief smile, and returned his attention to whispering sweet nothings into his slave’s ear.
“Need a helping hand?” Damon offered. “I know my way around a whip, if you’d like to amp up the scene.”
The man shook his head. “No, thanks. We aren’t into pain.”
Not into pain? What the fuck were they doing at a BDSM club? Barely disguising his snort of disgust, Damon walked away.
He moved among the stations for a while, looking for someone to possibly hook up with for the evening. While he was still having an excellent time with Callie, he wouldn’t mind a bit of variation. He had no luck however, as every attractive woman already seemed to be taken.
Maybe he should have brought Callie after all. He could have put a ball gag in that hot little mouth. No one would have batted an eye. Maybe he’d go get her right now. After all, the night was young.
No, he again admonished himself. Leave her be. No unnecessary risks.
He decided instead to check out some of the private rooms. There was an established protocol at Dark Club—if a door was left open, it meant others were permitted to enter and watch, as long as they didn’t interfere unless invited.
He moved past several rooms, some with the doors closed, some empty, until he came to the last room, its door ajar. As he poked his head in, he caught his breath.
A naked woman with long blond hair, her eyes closed, was suspended by her wrists from a restraint rack. Her feet barely touched the floor, which was covered in a plastic sheet. Blood trickled from small cuts on her breasts, belly and thighs. Droplets of bright red had splashed on the plastic sheeting at her feet. A burly man with a shaved head and a goatee was moving around her, a small scalpel in his hand.
They both looked familiar, though Damon couldn’t immediately place them. The woman opened her eyes as Damon softly cleared his throat. She murmured something inaudible to the guy, who looked up at Damon with a smile.
“Small world, yes?” the guy said to Damon in a German accent.
At the sound of the man’s voice, Damon suddenly recalled where he’d last seen this couple.
“You’re Master Wolf, is that right? We met in Berlin.”
“That’s right. And you are called…?” the man trailed off, clearly not remembering.
“Lord Demon,” Damon replied.
“Lord Demon, that’s right,” Master Wolf repeated with a nod. “You’re not the first Dark Club member we’ve run into during our travels. Do you live in Costa Rica?”
“Just visiting,” Damon said noncommittally. He lifted his chin toward the woman, whose name he couldn’t recall, if he’d ever known it. “That’s a pretty intense scene you’ve got going. I’ve always been curious about blood play.”
“Please, join us if you’d like,” Master Wolf said with a gracious wave of his hand. “Greta loves the intensity of this particular sort of edge play, don’t you, Liebling?”
“Ja, I do indeed,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “Please continue, mein Herr.”
Master Wolf laughed. “See? As I believe I told you when we last met—Greta is the one who’s really in charge. That’s as it should be at the core of any D/s relationship, don’t you agree? The sub must hold that final card—her safeword is sacrosanct.”
Maybe for players, Damon thought with an internal sneer. It takes a real Master to enslave and train a sub to understand there is no final card for her to play. Her Master’s word is law.
Aloud, he only said, “Of course.”
He stepped into the small
room. He could smell the woman’s sweat, the slightly metallic scent of blood and the musk of her arousal. He couldn’t take his eyes off her bloodied body. The fact that she wanted what was happening made the experience a little less intense. If it had been against her will, the scene would have been a thousandfold hotter, but of course he kept this sentiment to himself.
It was still super exciting to watch as Master Wolf moved around the woman, drawing small, careful lines with his scalpel over her skin. The blood was such a vivid, bright red that it almost didn’t seem real. It beaded along the cuts like holly berries in the middle of winter. In spite of the consensual nature of the scene, Damon’s cock stiffened in his pants, his balls tingling.
Imagine if these two could see what a real slave looked like? Sure, Master Wolf gave lip service to all that consensual bullshit, but Damon wasn’t fooled. What man didn’t secretly crave total domination over a woman? Poor Wolf—he could only pretend to be in control, whereas Damon had made it a reality. Now that Callie had finally accepted her lot, there was nothing he couldn’t make her do.
It would be so fucking sweet to invite this pair back to his villa for a private scene. To show them how much more intense D/s could be without the safety net of consent.
Even as the idea occurred to him, he dismissed it. He’d gotten away with the arrangement so far, but it couldn’t last forever. Why tempt fate?
On the other hand, it would be so fucking hot and empowering to show them how far he could take his slave, now that she was properly trained. Callie wouldn’t dare to cross him. She knew what would happen if she did.
It was too bad he couldn’t keep her as his personal little cunt. He could take her back to Chicago and keep her sequestered in his penthouse. Even as he toyed with the idea, he rejected it. He’d known from the start this was a temporary thing. He’d already made contact with a guy on the Dark Web who was interested in buying trained sex slaves for a hefty fee, no questions asked. Damon stood to make a substantial profit on this whole deal, on top of the intense rush it had provided.
Too bad he couldn’t tell his fucking brothers about that. Damon Carlisle knew how to make money, not just spend it, no matter what they said. His ways were just a little less…conventional than his uptight, boring father and siblings.
But Master Wolf understood about intense BDSM. The guy would be awestruck by Callie’s total submission. To demonstrate his absolute control, Damon would make her do things that even Greta the pain slut wouldn’t try.
Of course, he’d have to properly prep Callie in advance. While she was a good girl now, bringing other people into the mix definitely amped up the game. She had to understand—to truly believe—that he would kill her if she tried anything stupid. And, he’d keep her mouth duct taped the whole time, as an added precaution.
The thrill of the added risk made him come alive. Yes! He would do it.
“Would you like to try it?” Master Wolf said, yanking Damon back to the moment.
Damon moved closer to the couple, excitement fizzing through him. “Sure.”
“It doesn’t take much,” Master Wolf said. “The scalpel is very sharp. You really just touch the skin with the blade—a whisper of a touch.”
Pushing up the sleeve of his black knit shirt, Master Wolf exposed his muscular forearm. “Try it on me, first, so I make sure you know what you’re doing. Just the lightest kiss of the blade.” He demonstrated, touching the scalpel to his own skin. A few droplets of blood appeared along an invisible cut.
Damon regarded the man’s hairy arm with distaste, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. “All right,” he agreed, flashing a smile to Greta as Master Wolf handed him the scalpel. “I think I’ve got it.” She smiled back.
He touched the sharp blade to the man’s skin. In spite of it being a guy, the sight of blood that he, Damon, had purposely drawn thrilled him.
Master Wolf winced slightly as he dabbed at the cut with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “That was a little too hard. Try it again, with a lighter touch.”
Damon complied, barely touching the skin with the blade. This time the blood beaded as it had on Greta’s skin, just a few tantalizing droplets.
“Much better,” Master Wolf said with a condescending smile that infuriated Damon. The guy obviously had no idea who he was dealing with. “Now, you may try it on my darling Greta. If that works for you, Liebchen?” he added solicitously to his partner.
“Ja, bitte,” Greta replied eagerly. She said something else in German Damon didn’t catch.
Master Wolf smiled indulgently. “She says you look like Alexander Fehling, her favorite German actor, only better. That’s high praise indeed.”
This mollified Damon a bit. Though Greta was a little old for his taste, he still wouldn’t mind fucking the shit out of her, especially while her so-called Master stood by watching.
He made a mental note to look up Alexander What’s-his-name on Google. He liked being compared to a movie star, even one he’d never heard of.
He moved closer to the naked woman, his balls tightening with excitement. Heart beating fast, he grazed her breast with the scalpel’s edge, just to the left of a perfect nipple. More blood beaded along her skin, making Damon’s cock throb.
She moaned, fixing him with a sluttish gaze as she ran her tongue over her lower lip. Master Wolf didn’t seem to mind a bit that his slave was so openly flirting. Who knew, maybe they were into swinging. That could be interesting…
He handed the scalpel back to Master Wolf, his entire body thrumming with excitement. If only he’d brought Callie along. Then he could have shown these two how domination really worked.
Damn it, he was tired of being so careful. What was life without risk, after all? It seemed a terrible waste not to show off his toy, at least once, before he had to get rid of her.
Even as he continued his silent argument in his head, he already knew he was going to do it. This awareness sent a jolt of adrenaline through his system that was almost as good as a snort of fine cocaine. It was all he could do to keep his voice steady, his tone nonchalant.
“Say,” he said casually, as if the idea were just occurring to him. “How about you two come back to my place one evening soon? I’ve got a highly-trained slave girl at home I would love for you to meet.”
Chapter 17
Callie’s eyes flew open as the light was switched on overhead. A moment later, Damon sat heavily on the bed bedside her, still dressed in the white silk shirt and black leather pants he’d put on before leaving the house earlier that evening.
He’d allowed her the special treat of lying in his bed while he was gone, instead of forcing her into the cage. Even better, he hadn’t trussed her up at the foot of the mattress, swaddled by a sheet. Instead, she was resting in reasonable comfort on her back, her head cradled by a mound of soft pillows.
True, he’d forced her to spread her arms and legs wide so he could tie off her wrist and ankle cuffs with rope, which he’d secured to the bedframe. But it was way better than being confined in the cage, or worse—the dark, dank punishment closet.
She still had nightmares about her confinement after she’d had the audacity to strike her Master. She still wasn’t sure how long she’d been down there. A day? Two? As the hours trickled by in the darkness, she’d descended into a kind of strange fever dream, not always sure if she was awake or asleep. In the worst of her nightmares, rats and cockroaches filled the tiny closet. They crawled down the walls and up through holes in the floor, swarming over every inch of her body.
Caught in the dream, she would flail wildly, trying to bat them away. As they continued to fill the space, she tried desperately to crush the roaches and frighten the menacing rats with her cries.
But it was no use. They would keep coming—armies of them. As a rat sank its sharp yellow teeth into her breast, her thigh or her throat, she would howl in pain and terror. Then the roaches would swarm into her open mouth, choking her as they skittered down her throat.
She would wake suddenly, jerked back to consciousness by her own cries, drenched in sweat and shaking with terror.
When he’d finally come for her, she’d been so grateful. He’d been tender with her, carrying her upstairs in his strong arms. He even let her sit at the table and eat and drink her fill. Then he’d given her a lovely hot bath, letting her soak as long as she’d wanted.
Yes, she’d learned her lesson. She would do anything to stay out of that closet. It was best always to obey, no matter the pain or indignity.
Yet, there was still a small voice in her head that refused to be completely silenced. It kept nagging her that she needed to keep her eyes and ears open—she needed to find a way out before things went too far. But it was exhausting to always be on her guard. It was so much easier just to let go and give in. After all, what choice did she have?
And really, ever since her time spent in the punishment closet, he’d been so much nicer. When she behaved well, she was rewarded. Yes, he still kept her in chains and controlled her every move. He still regularly whipped, spanked and raped her. But she was becoming much better at “leaving the premises” when it became too hard to take.
Breathing helped. When the pain threatened to overwhelm her, she would breathe in deeply, hold it for several seconds, and then breathe out slowly, letting the pain go along with the air. Breathe in… One, two, three, four, five… Let it go… Breathe in… … One, two, three, four, five… Let it go…
It didn’t always work, but when she was successful, it was easier to bear. Yes, she would still feel the pain, but she was somehow able to process it differently. The room would fade away. She would leave her body and float away to a happier time.
She would go white water rafting with Harry, or kayaking with her girlfriends back home. She walked through her favorite museums, stopping in front of the art and letting it draw her into its world. Sometimes she would go fishing with her dad or bake a batch of cookies with her mom.
Tricked Page 12