For Love & Torture_A Submissives’ Secrets Novel

by Michelle Love

  He lets me go as he shrugs. “I didn’t mean to be rude. And I don’t know that I don’t like you. I just don’t know you,” he crosses his arms as he looks at me. “I mean, we’ve fucked, but I don’t know you on a personal level. How can I say that I like you or don’t like you?”

  Suddenly, I feel very naked. I mean, I am naked, but I haven’t felt it until just now. Climbing off the bed, I hurry to put on my clothes that I left behind a partition in the room. “Well, I know enough about you to know that you’re a dick,” I scoff at him. I don’t want him to know how much his words have affected me.

  His hand is rough on my shoulder as he spins me around. “But you will still do this with me, won’t you?”

  My chest is rising and falling in waves as anger rises inside me. I don’t expect the man to love me, he’s my boss after all, but telling me that he doesn’t like me—or might not like me once he gets to know me—only moments after fucking me is just downright rude.

  Is this the kind of man I want to be doing this with?

  Then I see something there in the backs of his dark blue eyes that I wasn’t expecting. Pain. More pain than I have ever seen before. The anger melts away instantly. “Yeah, I’ll keep doing this. You do fuck me well, Grant Jamison. Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, but maybe I can help you with that.”

  He cups my chin, and that pain in those gorgeous eyes shimmers at me. “I don’t want to get a better bedside manner, Isabel. I want to do what I want to you—what I need to do to you—without either of us getting attached. And I’ll be treating the other women I do the same things with that way too. I don’t want sweet things said between me and any woman. That leads to other things, and I don’t want other things.”

  He has me curious once again, and I have to give him a chance to talk. “I understand our arrangement here Grant,” I nod at him, letting him know I mean what I say, “but I want you to know you can talk to me. I won’t fall in love with you just because you share some intimate details with me. Who knows, I might be able to help you.”

  With a blast of anger the likes of which I’ve never seen before, he grabs one edge of the table with the impact play items on it and flips it over, sending whips and floggers flying into the air. “Can you bring my mother back from the dead, Isabel?” he bellows like a beast, his face bright red, the veins on his neck bulging with the blood that’s coursing through him at breakneck speed.

  His mother is dead, and he is absolutely furious about it. I have that much answered. I run my hand over his cheek in a soothing motion. His outburst might have shocked me, but I’ve dealt with worse before and I won’t cower from him when he’s clearly hurting. “I won’t ask again, Grant. I promise you that.”

  I’m pretty sure I will never ask him that again. Even with my stepfather, I’ve never seen anyone go from zero to flipping tables in such a short amount of time. He turns away from me and begins picking up the things he knocked all over the place.

  Bending down to help him, I only draw his ire out more. “Finish getting dressed. I’ll do this!”

  Hurrying away, I know I’ll have to tread lightly with my boss. He has some inner demons that might plague him forever. Grant and I have good chemistry, but it looks like I’ll need to let that be enough—clearly he’s not looking for anything more, not even a friend. His personal life is his, and I’ll stay out of it.

  After getting my normal clothes back on, I walk out. Grant has his shirt back on and some running shoes too. “I’ll take you home now.”

  I don’t really want to be around the man right now. “I can take a cab. That’s how I got here in the first place.”

  He reaches out, touching the top of my hand. “Have I made you hate me?” Those gorgeous eyes of his seem to droop at the far corners.

  They tug at my heart. “No, I just understand you better now. It’s okay. This is business. What we do isn’t personal, it’s business. I know that. It was wrong of me to try to treat you like a friend. You’re my boss, and we have things to learn together. That’s all.”

  He nods and turns away from me. “I am taking you home, though. You’re not leaving my home in a cab.”

  “Okay.” I’m not about to argue with him.

  Grant Jamison is a strange mix of things. There is a bit of a Dom in him, a bit of a scared boy who has lost his mother, and a bit of a maniac who is mad at the world. I can’t fix all that.

  Maybe no one can.

  Chapter 6

  Grant

  One month later

  It’s the first Saturday in November. Portland is experiencing its first cold front of the season. The temperature is down to forty-seven degrees and a light mist moves through the air in ghostly wisps. I stand on the threshold of The Dungeon of Decorum.

  It’s opening night.

  My dream is coming true. I have accomplished my goal of creating a fortress for people who crave a bit more out of sex and life in general. The stages are set. The private rooms are ready to be filled. The staff is nervously awaiting our members arrivals.

  A soft hand moves over my shoulder as someone comes up behind me. “This is it, Grant. I mean, Mr. J.” It’s Isabel.

  I turn to find her in a long silky black dress with a thigh high slit up the left side. Her ample breasts nearly spill out of the low cut top, emphasizing the red collar she wears. It means she’s unattainable. She belongs to the house, not to be sold or sampled by any of our members. All the staff members wear the red collars to signify that they’re off limits.

  As one of the owners, I wear a ring that shows who we are. A large black stone rises up in the middle of a dragon’s mouth. Red licks of fire are at the bottom of the stone. Red and black, our signature colors and motif.

  A red carpet runs from the red door out to the end of the walkway, where our patrons will get out of cars that will soon be parked by our valet service. They’ll come up the walk and step inside the red door where they’ll be greeted by our security personnel. We have everything planned out perfectly.

  Our opening night is strictly for male Doms and female subs. There are other nights set up to cater to other types of Dom/sub preferences. Everything is ready and waiting. My skin is aflame with raw energy.

  Isabel’s touch is only serving to provoke that energy. Taking her hand, I pull it to my lips. “Your mask is exceptional.” Black feathers are the backdrop for emerald jewels that outline her dark eyes, making them pop.

  She moves her fingertips over my mask. “I like the sleek Lone Ranger look you have going on there.”

  “Simplicity is always best on a man, I think.” I take her hand away from my face. Her touch is distracting me, bringing out the animal in me who has begun to lust far too much over the raven-haired beauty.

  More than once since we began our training, I’ve had to subdue that inner beast who longs for Isabel in a way I can’t allow. Thankfully, she seems to understand that, and when I leave her without any explanation, she never follows or asks me why.

  Isabel is a true sub in every way now. Accepting of my short-comings and what I need from her. Not expecting anything more than what I give her.

  And I’ve given her plenty, even though she is not technically my sub. A house in a nice suburb of Portland, a new canary-yellow Ferrari, and a wardrobe of the most expensive sexy outfits she could find. Financially, her salary is above average. And I may have popped a few over-the-top bonuses into her account as well.

  She deserves it all. She is perfect. A refrain that keeps coming up in my mind.

  Isabel is perfect. She is perfect for me.

  But I’m not designed to be with any one woman. I’m not sure what insanity lurks inside of me, or when it might show itself. Just as my father must’ve never known that there was something inside of him that would one day destroy the woman he loved.

  The other owners join us to greet the first arrivals. A Rolls Royce pulls up, and more cars come in behind it. The gates are opened and our security is allowing our members to come
in.

  The outside of the club looks like nothing more than a shack, a nondescript structure that’s small in stature. We built it underground, the way I had always intended. The only large building is the parking garage that’s out to one side. Other than that, there’s very little evidence of any type of building in the area.

  We want it that way. Our world is considered dark and dangerous. Our people like it that way. So we designed it to be what BDSM dreams are made of.

  One by one, our new members arrive. Isabel and I greet them all until the last car pulls away. Then I offer her my arm, and we head inside to see how people are reacting to all our hard work.

  Down the stairs we go, into the main ballroom. Isabel gasps as we see the room full of masked men and women, clad in gorgeous dresses and tuxedos. She looks up at me. “Grant, it’s like a scene out of Dante’s Inferno.”

  She’s right. With the dim lighting and a crowd of anonymous revelers, the scene is one of intense darkness. A thrill runs through me as I sigh and look out at the crowd I’ve helped to procure. “This is what freedom looks like. Freedom to do what others condemn. Freedom to test our limits, take our bodies and minds to levels that have been deemed dangerous. Shall we adjourn to the dressing room to change for our scene? It’s time to show our members how to put on a show.”

  She gives me a nod, and we head off to get ready for the scene we’ve practiced just for this moment.

  Isabel and I will begin what will come to be the highlight of The Dungeon of Decorum. Spectacular sexual scenes that will serve to entice even the most demure of individuals.

  Let the games begin…

  Chapter 7

  Isabel

  The night is electric with so many people in the club. Grant and I will be the first act. I’m so nervous—though we’ve prepared extensively, we have never done the scene in front of anyone.

  I’m a complete mess.

  But Grant seems calm as a cucumber. And damn, he’s looking sexy as hell. Nothing but black silk pants—almost like pajamas—adorn him. A simple black mask hides his identity. His blue eyes shine out from under the mask. His salt and pepper hair hangs to his shoulders in loose waves. Grant is the epitome of the powerful Dom.

  I’m tied in the middle of the stage, my feet not touching the ground. I’m wrapped in an intricate tangling of rope that has been hung over one of the beams in the ceiling, making me look like a fly trapped in a spider’s web.

  It was dark as we set up our scene behind the red curtain that closes us off from the people in the main ballroom. Grant comes to me just before the curtain is raised. “You okay?”

  I gulp. “No.”

  Soft fingertips run over my lips. “Will you be okay?”

  His touch soothes me immediately, just like it always does. “With you, I will be.”

  “Good girl. You can trust me.” His lips touch mine for only a moment. It sends sparks shooting through me, just like it always does.

  He and I have practiced a lot in the months before the club’s opening night. We have watched tons of videos to learn techniques. And we’ve learned about all kinds of kinks. There are tons of them.

  I have worked hard in preparation for this night, creating a website and questionnaire so our members will be able to find the people who are right for them. It was a painstaking process. But so far, financially, it has been worth all that hard work.

  The money that’s in my personal bank account is far beyond any amount I have ever dreamed I would see in it. My business degree is paying off in spades. I graduated a month before the club opened and Grant gave me a crazy huge amount of money as a graduation gift, paying off my student loans.

  I invited him to the graduation party my parents threw for me, but in true Grant Jamison fashion, he declined the invitation. I wasn’t shocked or upset that he didn’t want to come and meet my family and friends.

  That isn’t Grant.

  It never will be, from what I can see.

  Grant’s demons run deep. He fell asleep just once after one of our sessions. He woke, screaming, sitting straight up in bed. Then he left me without so much as a word.

  I didn’t try to comfort him or ask him what was wrong. I knew better than to do that. Things like that only make him mad.

  Complicated doesn’t even begin to describe Grant. He is indescribable in more ways than one.

  The way he makes me feel is out of this world. I want more with the man—how couldn’t I—but I will never push him for it. I worry that one day I will lose him to another woman. Not that I have him now, but I am the only woman he sees fit to fuck. I hope, one day, that it might turn into something more. Even though the odds are so unlikely, I can’t help but hope.

  For the time being, though, I’m content with what we have.

  The curtain begins to rise, and Grant walks away from me to take his place at center stage. I watch as the audience begins to murmur as they turn their attention to the stage.

  Grant opens his arms, greeting them all once more. “Good evening.”

  A few of the men shout out greetings in return. I’m mesmerized by all the people in attendance. People who will soon be watching me get beaten and fucked.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Grant’s hands drop to his sides. “Welcome to The Dungeon of Decorum, a place where anything is possible.”

  Thunderous applause fills the large room. I can actually feel the vibration through the rope that holds me. The energy from the audience is so alive that I can feel goose bumps form on my skin. It is absolutely astonishing.

  With a gesture to me, Grant goes on, “We’re here tonight to show you how a scene is played out. I know we have some videos for you all to watch on our website and some of you may have done this sort of thing already, but we thought a real scene would be in order to get the ball rolling. We hope you all find it enticing and that it motivates you to create your own scenes that you can play out for your fellow club members. The idea is for you all to gain some of our energy and turn it into your own. And one day you will be on the stage, lending us some of your energy.” He turns to look at me. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With a nod to the audience, Grant moves on, “Then let us begin. Music and lights please.”

  The lights over the audience dim, and the spotlight that is on Grant does too. Dark thumping music fills the large room, making it seem even more ominous than it had been.

  Chills run through me as if I haven’t acted out the scene twenty or so times before. It is as if I have no idea what is about to happen, even though I know every move and know I can trust Grant.

  The white spotlight turns to red as Grant pulls the whip off the wall. He pops it a few times toward the audience then he turns and pops it around me. It’s so close to my skin, I can feel the tiny bursts of wind from the tail of it.

  All around me he pops that whip, as if showing me that he can hit me if he wants to. I am helpless to defend myself. I am trapped, vulnerable, and at his mercy.

  The rope is wound around my body, from my ankles to my throat. Grant left just enough room for me to breathe comfortably. That is until I begin to get pumped up and begin to breathe harder.

  My chest feels tight as it swells, and the rope feels as if it is smothering me, choking me much like a giant snake. Just as I’m about to shout out the word that would pause our scene to fix the ropes—yellow—Grant comes to me.

  His eyes dance as he pulls a giant, sharp knife out of the holster on his hip. He uses it to cut the rope from my throat to my ankles and catches me before I can hit the ground.

  Taking in deep breaths as the audience cheers, I whisper, “Thank you, sir.”

  Our lips meet and my body goes limp in his strong arms. I am his for the taking once more.

  Chapter 8

  Grant

  Isabel and I throw in a little of everything as if it is a BDSM buffet. A little paddling, a little flogging, and a little dildo action. Nipple clamps are used, demonstra
ting that technique as well. All in all, we are not only giving our new members a great show, but offering a lot of inspiration to get their creativity flowing.

  The final part of our scene is at hand. The part where I get my release. Isabel has already had five orgasms. It’s important to show that the Dom must get his release as well. All give and no take becomes boring.

  Placing her head and hands in the stockade, she’s in a standing position but leaning over, giving me access to her backside. The corset she wears exposes her ass cheeks. They’re red from the paddle I used last. I give her one good whack with my hand, but she can’t cry out. I’ve put a ball-gag in her mouth, and I’ve blindfolded her as well.

  She asked for the blindfold, not wanting to see the audience watch her get fucked. I understand, and even like the way she reacts more when she’s deprived of sight.

  I stand behind her, shielding the audience from seeing everything. There has to be an air of wonder. Am I really fucking her or merely faking it?

  But I am about to do it. I used the dildo, my mouth, and even a feather to make her climax before. Now I’m going to use my cock. As I enter her, she moans delightfully. She likes my cock inside of her. Isabel likes that more than she likes getting off any other way.

  I smack her ass again to remind her that she’s to be quiet. As much as I like to hear that sexy moan of hers, it stirs feelings in me I don’t want to explore.

  Feelings of wanting more with her. A thing I’m not about to get into.

  Moving into her with a slow thrust, I look down, watching my cock vanish into her pristine folds. My body surges with satisfaction. I run my hands in circles over her ass as I move back and forth.

  Her ass is cherry red from the paddle. I pop it every so often to keep it stinging. She likes it that way. Her ass on fire as her cunt is fucked.

  The music is loud, and the beat is hard. I begin to move with the beat, in and out, in and out. Holding her by the waist, I close my eyes and fuck her hard.