I was one of the stars of a reality television show, aired on the surgery channel. ‘Beverly Hills Reconstruction,’ was all about keeping the stars glamorous and camera-ready at all times. My job paid amazingly well, affording me a lifestyle most only dream about.
Fancy cars, houses, and vacations that would rival that of a king’s were what filled my life back then. The only thing I was lacking was female companionship. My brain wouldn’t allow me to believe women wanted me for me. Inevitably, my insecurities would bubble up to the surface and ruin anything that was beginning to form.
I had a little secret that I kept from everyone. Each summer, for five years in a row, I’d vacation in Portland, Oregon. I told those who asked a lie about my grandparents being from there and how I liked to get back to my roots once a year.
That wasn’t the only lie I told people.
Being a member of an exclusive club in Portland was the real reason I went to the town. I’d purchase a submissive partner for myself every year and keep her in the confines of a small but lavish apartment that was inside the massive underground club. For three months, I’d have a woman who I could do anything to.
It was hard to hold in the fantasy that I craved, but I managed to do it nine months out of twelve. It was the eighth month, and I was getting antsy like I always did.
I needed my fix, I needed the vacation, and I needed a woman to do it with. My secret could never come out, or I’d be dragged through the Hollywood mud so badly that it’d leave me destitute and banished. Of that I was certain …
Part One
PETRA
With my brow furrowed, I look at the unbelievable amount next year’s classes will cost me. An audible groan slips out of my mouth and draws the attention of the tall, slender, gazelle-like young woman who’s in line behind me. “Troubles?” she asks.
I’ve shared a few classes with the woman. She’s not a big talker, so the fact that she’s asking me anything is a miracle. “Financial troubles.” I put the paper away in my bag and nod in gesture at the one she has in her hand. “Is next year’s bill pretty steep for you too?”
“It’s high, yes. But nothing I can’t cover. You seem a bit distraught, Petra. Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee? I’ll let you bend my ear about your problems if you like.”
Leticia is a complicated woman, in my opinion. She drives a nice car, wears expensive clothing, and lives in a very nice apartment, from what I’ve been told. And she’s always kept to herself. No one knows much about her. She’s a real enigma at Ohio State.
Long, dark curls hang in spirals down her back. Her tall frame reminds me of a Native American and her dark eyes are hauntingly beautiful. She’s more than a knock-out—she’s stunning in every way.
Even the way she speaks, with an odd accent no one can figure out, is mysterious and sexual. And she wants me to join her for coffee and will allow me to whine about my problems to her.
Why?
“Leticia, that’s sweet of you,” I say as I walk away and find her walking right next to me. “I’d hate to bore you with my financial woes.”
“I won’t be bored, Petra. And I may have answers that might help you.”
I don’t see how she could unless she wants to pay next year’s tuition. But she seems set on helping me and that’s nice of her. I can’t be rude and blow her off.
“Sure, let’s get some cheap coffee,” I say as I head to the student cafe. “It doesn’t get any cheaper than our very own Hub. You can’t beat free. I’ll treat.” I laugh at my joke and so does she.
Then she reaches out, taking my hand, and pulls me toward the parking lot instead. “I tell you what, let’s go to lunch. Somewhere insanely expensive. My treat, Petra.”
“No,” I say as I shake my head. “I can’t let you do that.”
She tugs at me to go with her. “I insist. Come, it’ll be fun and I’m sure I can help you with your problems.”
I can’t help but ogle the fire engine red Mercedes convertible she drives. “Leticia, can I ask you a personal question?” I slide into the buttery leather of the passenger seat as she gets behind the wheel and nods. “Do you come from a wealthy family?”
“No,” comes her quick answer. “I made all my money on my own.”
“Yet you’re in college. You’re majoring in English Llit, right?” I ask, as it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. If she already knows how to do something that makes her so much money, why go to school?”
“I am majoring in that. You see, I want to be a writer someday. Not anytime soon though. I’m happy with what I’m doing now to get me by for the next few years. But one day I’ll have to put that behind me and then I might write about my adventures.” She pulls out of the parking lot and heads toward downtown.
Curiosity forces me to ask, “Adventures?”
“That’s how I like to think about what I do to make money.” She stops at a red light and pulls out a couple of pairs of expensive sunglasses. She hands one to me, then puts the other pair on. “You can have those. I have lots of them.”
Looking the aviator-style glasses over, I see the word, ‘Cartier’ engraved on the side of the ear piece and know they cost more than the POS car I drive. “I can’t possibly …”
She clucks her tongue at me as she shakes her head. “You can. They’re yours. You know, Petra, you have a rare beauty. With that long, silky, straight black hair, your brown, doe-like eyes, those thick lashes that surround your gorgeous eyes, and caramel lips, you’re a natural beauty. When you add in that coffee-with-just-the-right-amount-of-cream-colored skin and your curves, well you make an exotic specimen many men would love to have.”
Leticia exudes sex. I mean she’s just like some kind of a goddess. But I think she has the wrong idea about me. Easing the sunglasses on, I take a look in the mirror on the opposite side of the visor and think I look pretty damn hot. When I look back at Leticia, I see a sexy smile on her face. “Um, look, I’m not into girls.”
Her laughter peels through the air. “I’m not asking you out, Petra. I’m not exactly into girls myself. I am into making money. Lots of money. If that means exchanging some bodily fluids with another female, then I do what I have to.”
Whoa! Did she just say she gets paid for sex? Cause that’s what I got out of it!
Sitting in awkward silence, I look away from her. I have no idea what the hell she wants with me, but I know she wants something. So I spit out, “I’m not about to become a hooker. If that’s what you are and that’s how you make your money, I want no part of that. You can take me back to campus if that’s what you’re after.”
Pulling into a parking garage downtown, she eyes me over her sunglasses. “Petra, I’m not a whore. I value my body. And the men who pay me do too.”
“Shit!” I hiss. “That’s the definition of a hooker, Leticia. You may be a high-priced one, but you’re nothing more than a call girl.”
With a shake of her head, she picks up her cell and taps in a web address. I see some kind of a landing page that says ‘The Dungeon of Decorum’ on it. There are some ropes on either side of the title, and then at the bottom there are lots of shadowy figures. “This is a place I’ve gone to every summer for the last few years. I like to think of it as an adventure. A sexual one, where I get paid very well. You see, there are people in this world who like certain things they don’t want anyone to know about, or very few people to know about anyway. And that’s where places like this come into play.” She giggles a little and I frown at her.
“Leticia, what the hell is this place?”
“A place where people who want to venture into the misunderstood world of BDSM come to meet and play with one another. It’s completely safe,” she adds as she looks at my horrified expression.
“BDSM and safe don’t belong in in the same sentence together,” I whisper. “Leticia, take me back to campus. Please. I don’t feel comfortable.”
“You’re feeling this way because that’s what society has made you f
eel about this thing that is so misunderstood. It’s insane. People are made to hide their little kinks, and we all get that. No one wants to be known as a freak. But there are many little fetishes that people have.”
Horror is replaced with a scowl on my face. “Beating women is not a fetish. It’s a crime!”
“That’s not all there is to this,” she says as she rolls her eyes. “No one ever has to do anything they don’t want to. And not all men want to hit their partners. There are so many other things that are done. You can make a list of what you will and will not do. You can be auctioned off for the summer months. Your owner will cover all your expenses the whole time. The best part is the huge amount of money you get at the end of it all. And you get to have an adventure while you’re at it!”
I gulp as I watch Leticia’s expression grow into that of pure joy. “You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m not. The things I’ve done have helped me. You’d be shocked at what all you can learn from some of these Tops, or Doms, as you might’ve heard them called. Those who do like to administer pain do tons of research and are trained to do it just right. There are points all over your body where pain can bring you to a state that you can’t get any other way. And these men know how to get you there.”
“You make it sound like they’re brilliant instead of evil,” I say as I open the door. “Are we going to eat or what? I’m suddenly starving.”
Leticia gets out of the car and comes to me, taking me by the hand and leading me to wherever the hell it is she wants to eat. All I know is that I’m getting a free meal out of this trick!
Threading her arm through mine, she leans into my side as we walk. “Petra, you need money, and this is the only way I know for you to make what you need in such a small amount of time. And you’ll learn so much from this experience. The club is always only a phone call away if the man who buys you does anything to make you feel uncomfortable or hurts you. They’ll swoop in and get you, and you get to keep the money the guy paid for you. There’s nothing to fear. I promise you that.”
Being quiet, I try not to think about my money problems and the solution Leticia is offering me. I’m not a prude. I’ve had experience with guys. I’ve had gentle ones, rough ones, and even dominating ones. But the thought of being out of control is scary to me.
We walk into some place I’ve never even heard of and are quickly seated by some man in a fancy suit. I listen as Leticia speaks in French, then the man leaves us alone in the far corner of the elegant establishment.
Looking around, I ask, “Is this how you always eat?”
“Not always. I wanted to give you a taste of what can be yours if you want. For just three months a year, you can have the same security I have, right from the very start. After your first time, you’ll come into the new school year as a changed woman, mentally and financially.”
The waiter brings us some tall glasses that are filled with yellow bubbly liquid. “Champagne?”
Leticia nods. “Yes. I took the reins here and ordered us some of the most decadent things on the planet. Well, in Ohio anyway.” Her laughter is quiet and subdued as she gives me a wink.
I wait for the waiter to leave us, then lean in and whisper, “Is there any way I can do this but not get hit?”
“If you put that down as a hard limit, then the answer is yes. You only have to do what you want to. But I wouldn’t rule that out. It can take you to a place …”
I interrupt her, “Yeah, yeah, a place I can’t get to any other way. I get it. But I don’t feel like being beaten into bliss at the moment. I’m thinking in baby steps, if I did do this. What kinds of things can I say I’ll do?”
“There’s a list and there’s a place where you can write in things that aren’t on the list. You simply check the things you’re comfortable with and leave unchecked the ones you’re not. The men who bid get the stats on each woman in the auction. They know ahead of time what you will and won’t do. So things are upfront from the very beginning. No surprises, ever.”
She pulls a small iPad out of her purse and hands it to me. The club’s website is already pulled up on it and I look over the list of things. Bondage is first on the list, then there are a billion ways one can be bound. Suspension has a long list underneath it too. There’s flogging, whipping, and spanking, and the list just goes on and on.
I look up at her as I shake my head. “I don’t know how to do any of this and I’m not sure I want to. I can’t sign up for something with no clue if I can handle it or not.” I shake my head again, not sure why I’m even contemplating this.
“I can train you,” she says, then takes my hand. “I can teach you how to get out of your own head and let your body feel things you never dreamed could be so rewarding. The best part is that no one will ever know what you’ve done. Everything is confidential. This can’t come back to haunt you. Only you and I will know what you’ve done, and I’m bound in writing not to tell a soul about any member of the club.”
I look back at the website and scroll down, finding a woman who’s cuffed, blindfolded, and spread eagle on a table, where a man has a long needle-like thing he seems to be about to insert into her somewhere.
What kind of slut does this shit?
Owen
April is always the hardest month for me. I’m so close to the prize that it’s frustrating, yet I have a month’s worth of work left before me. My mind gets frazzled, as do my nerves. I hate how this always happens!
I left the operating room after a harrowing twelve hours of surgery on a woman’s face that was already perfectly fine, and came to find solitude in my office. The routine facelift had changed into a life-and-death situation when her heart stopped beating. Thank God for my staff and their endless knowledge. The woman, who’s a model, turned out just fine, but I was left a bundle of nerves.
It’s days like these when I wish I had a permanent bottom. Someone I could go to. Someone who’d just be quiet and let me do what I needed to, and then I could leave without so much as a word said between us.
That’s why I need my summer vacations at The Dungeon of Decorum. That is where I find what I need to help me make it through the year.
No cameras and no producers asking if I can possibly make the surgeries bloodier. Just me and my purchase who waits in the room I left her in.
My privacy is precious to me. As a celebrity of sorts—I’m one of the plastic surgeons on a reality television series entitled, Beverly Hills Reconstructions—I can’t let my little fetish become headline news. Nor can I expose the fact that I’m a member of a BDSM club in Portland, Oregon. I buy women for the summer months and keep them hidden away. They never see my face or know me by anything other than sir.
It’s best that way. No one can ever come back to haunt me.
I turn on my personal laptop and pull up the club’s website. Scrolling through the women who are already signed up to participate in this summer’s auction, I check them all out.
It’s not that I have a type, really, but I do like to have a few girls chosen before going to the auction. I’ve had various females in the last five years. Tall, short, curvy, thin, and one was an amputee. That one was interesting, to say the least.
meal I let her tell me is that she had lost her leg in some accident. I prefer not to know anything about my bottoms. I like to keep things with them strictly sexual. Not that they get a lot out of it. I mean, some of them might’ve, but I don’t ask about things like that. I’m in it to get my rocks off, not pander to the female.
It’s crass, I know. That’s why I pay highly for what I want. I don’t treat the women I date that way, but I hardly ever date anyone for more than a month or two at a time.
My work has made me quite wealthy. I’m also pretty damn good looking to boot. I work out, so my body is on point. And that’s what makes me insecure.
Stupid, I know.
But it does. I mean, I’m smart as shit, a thing I feel like most women don’t pick up on. They all think of me as the air-he
ad who fixes other air-heads’ faces and bodies. Being a plastic surgeon who specializes in maintaining the beautiful doesn’t garner respect from one’s peers.
I think my personality is charming, and even that has me wondering if the woman I’m with likes me for me or for what I look like, drive in, live in, or any of the other things that money can buy.
The blindfolds are used so the women I purchase can’t see me. I keep her hands tied back so she can’t run them over my muscular body. I don’t talk much so they can’t fall victim to my charms. They get me in my most basic of forms. They get my cock and that’s all they get.
So far, no bottom has ever fallen for me. And I’ve never fallen for one of them. When the summer is over, the contract is up and we go our separate ways, the woman none the wiser of who she just had sex with and me with no remorse or guilt about walking away from her.
It’s clean and easy, about the only thing in my life that is that way.
My parents are divorced. Even though my brother, three sisters, and I are grown, they still use us against each other. We’re they’re weapons and they use us every chance they get. I hate it!
So I moved as far away from New York as I could get. Los Angeles called my name after I finished medical school back east. And now Mom and Dad have a hell of a hard time using me to hurt my siblings. It’s great.
Moving down the screen, I look at one pretty face after another, but none are jumping out at me. It shouldn’t even matter what they look like, but somehow it still does.
A quick knock on my door has me closing my laptop. “Come in.”
One of my fellow plastic surgeons, Dr. Dena Dion, comes into the room. “Owen, come with me to dinner this evening. My old friend from college is in town and she wants me to meet her husband. I don’t want to go alone.”
“No,” I say, then sit back in my high-backed chair.
She comes around my desk and plops down onto my lap, then runs her arms around me. “Please, Owen. I’m begging you. I hate to show up to meet a married couple all alone. You can do this for me. It’s the least you could do, really.”
His Beautiful Revenge: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 167