Club Alpha: BDSM Romance Boxed Set

by Amy Valenti

  “You're after a scene. I don't provide those. You're clearly not here for a Dom. If you're just wanting someone to boss you around a bit, you can get that anywhere. And I'm not judging you for that. Nothing wrong with wanting a spanking, but if that's what you're after, you've contacted the wrong person.” Look at that. Sometimes I surprise myself.

  “Then what is the point of you?”

  Ouch. What a bitch. “The same fucking point as you. Pointless. Do you even understand what you're asking?” I can't get too angry. She didn't know better, but there's a hundred ads, so why choose mine. “The second sentence in my ad was 'I do not play'. It was short because of women like you and their skewed expectations.” I do try not to be a misogynist. To be fair, I found my own gender even more idiotic, but I tended not to want to fuck them.

  “Fuck you. Don't pretend you are any different.”

  “Not pretending. You apparently are or you wouldn't have answered my ad. But, it's not all futile. It seems to be an effective means of weeding out those who want to top from the bottom.”

  “Fuck you.” She'd put on her dress. She wasn't headed for the door yet, and I had no idea why she was lingering. To get the last word? Like that was going to fucking happen.

  “I shall amend my ad to say I despise redundancy.” Beat that.

  “You're such a bastard. It's a wonder you haven't found a woman to put up with this bullshit. It's such a waste.”

  I didn't expect that last bit. She was staring at my bare chest and it irritated me. I knew it was unfair since I didn't have a problem staring at her nipples as she was on her knees before me. I still stood and grabbed my shirt. Double standards exhausted me. “Wasted for you. I just want a girl who desires to take this path with me. A particular path.” I put the shirt on and pulled my hair out of the back of the neck. I was preening at this point, and if she would have lasted a little longer, she would've had the option of holding onto my hair when my head was buried between her legs.

  “Perhaps you should let off a little steam, though.” She leaned her back against the door. She still wanted to fuck me. I'll admit I was a little disappointed. I didn't like to brag, but it happened all too often. I was not exceptionally handsome, but I was aware of how others saw me. I kept fit for work, and I was blessed with my father's height. An inch or two over six feet didn't have me towering over everyone, but two-hundred, twenty pounds of muscle certainly gave that sort of height some presence. The faded tribal tattoos on my arms just made me look a little bit more badass than I really was. I was still badass, but it was work for me, not circumstance. I wasn't born with a sword in a scabbard, but I could fuck up a drunk person with my fists, and my badassery wouldn't be in question.

  My stupid hair didn't help. It was dark brown and too thick, and I kept it long because of laziness. I could keep it short and neat, but it was easier to just tie it back. Honestly, from the back, I look like a girl. A very large woman. But, front and center, women didn't particularly care I was rude. They were salivating, and ceased hearing me.

  “I'm not interested.” I hoped she didn't ask why.

  “Because I wouldn't submit? That's rather...simplistic.” She shrugged like it was nothing.

  It was nothing. “It has nothing to do with whether you could submit or not. Submission or no, my face would still be buried between your thighs right now.”

  She took a deep breath. It took her a bit to compose herself. I was a bastard. “I don't understand.”

  “Instead of telling me you couldn't be on your knees any longer, nor did you safeword, you decided to get up and be rude to me. I was going to take good care of you. I'm not interested in your hindsight.”

  “So, every time you have the opportunity to fuck, you get all self-righteous about it?”

  “Absolutely. I get some primo pussy by being so particular. It works well for me.” I was about two seconds from telling her to leave. She was tedious.

  She shrugged again, and turned the nob. “Your loss. I give really good head. I'm betting I could probably deep throat you.” She looked down at my jeans. “I definitely could.”

  A penis dig. My favorite. She was smiling as she backed out of the room. Shit. Last Word Syndrome was nearly suffocating me. “Thanks for the offer, but my dick is so long I can suck it myself.”

  She didn't say anything, but it took a good ten seconds before I heard the door shut. Point to me. Huzzah!

  And no, my dick wasn't long enough for me to suck. It was close, though.

  Club Dishabille was owned by a good friend of mine. I work in security at a club called Eden, and Miranda Marchand worked with me there years ago. We were sad to lose her, and no one since her has been able to run it so efficiently.

  Dishabille was unquestionably a classier establishment, but Eden was nice. It was one of the nicer strip joints in Austin. Gentlemen's Club, rather. I'd be bored to tears working at Dishabille, though. Throwing people out of Eden was sort of the highlight of my evenings. That, and perfecting my condescension kept job satisfaction fairly constant.

  Miranda had a very Domme look about her, and ran her security team like a tight ship. She was head of security, and not just in name only. Most problems were dealt with by her, because that's how she preferred to play it. She had very large back-up, and they were forbidden to speak to the club clientele unless strictly necessary. That was her job. They were just the muscle. They were very effective muscle.

  It was tempting to work for her, but my penchant for mouthing off would get me fired within a week. It would also disallow me to use the facilities, and that would be criminal. I so love the rooms at Dishabille. My favorite in particular was the suite with no visible bed. That told the women sex wasn't a priority for me. It made them wonder what I was really after. Sex was a priority, but if I was going to pay for the rooms at Dishabille, I was not going for quick fuck. Not that I haven't done that, but I try not to make a habit of it.

  The room that was my favorite had an exposed brick wall with decorative shackles, and a chain hanging from the ceiling. It had a blood red velvet sofa, and a small bar. Miranda was ace at decorating.

  There was a door that led to the bedroom, but I'd never used it. I wouldn't consider myself cheap, but I've always weighed whether the cost of opening the door would be worth the hassle of a disappointing fuck. Not that I was so stellar, but I was clear about my expectations. Obedience with no complaints. Questions were allowed, and I found it a little funny, but revealing, that I always got complaints before questions. I was fine with women wanting to play. I was fine with the men who were all about games and the scene. It was just not me. It was not who I wanted.

  I was all about delayed gratification, and the discipline to appreciate it. I didn't want to have to spell that out. The first meeting has always been about me testing patience and simple obedience. I didn't ask for hearts, or even complete control over a body that first meeting. It was probably not the nicest way to go about things, but it was the most effective. It was not a game to me, though I concede it was born of obstinacy. And maybe a bit of a game when I knew heading in the girl on her knees was no submissive.

  I was jaded and probably a bit harsh, but I was just so sick of my time being wasted.

  I've had a couple of relationships that worked for a while. The first was Melanie. We were together after college. I went in for a business degree, then dropped out because Benjamin Stone, owner of Eden, treated his employees very well.

  The cost of living in Austin was the highest in the state, but I've always been fine with smaller spaces. I'd bought a fixer condo, right east of downtown, and now it's worth five times as much, and it was completely paid off. It was a fabulous investment, but Melanie stopped seeing me as a Dominant. I was just some regular Joe who worked as a glorified bouncer and had a shitty apartment in a shitty part of town. She wanted us to buy something we couldn't afford in Hyde Park, but I wasn't interested in a mortgage, nor in finding a so called respectable job. She respected and submitted to me in
the bedroom with an ease I hadn't experienced since, but outside of the bedroom, she thought I was a nobody. I wasn't ashamed of my career choice, nor my choice of real estate.

  Now my condo was in a happening part of town, and only seven years later. The closest taco stand was twenty yards away. Life was good for me, and I think some of my obnoxiousness might just be because I couldn't quite picture a woman fitting into it. It sounded sad and pathetic, but the mess with Melanie made me overly proud of the things I have accomplished. Silly, I know.

  Juliet was all my fault. And possibly the one who got away. She was a rebound and I wasn't very accommodating. I don't like thinking about her because of the guilt. I had sort of taken a break from being a Dom. Not because I was ashamed, but because it felt too intimate. I wasn't ready to share that part of me again so soon. I was still too raw and maybe a bit emasculated by Melanie. That was difficult to admit.

  I knew better now. She was naturally submissive in all things, and she was already accepting of my home and career, and I didn't want her to see me differently if she hated being dominated on purpose. She was open to a bit of rough, but I was never ready to ask for her submission. I was never brave enough. I was never ready to show her what I would do with it.

  She was forever meek, but I let it rot my mind. The constant goodness of her made me angry, and I never understood why. I'd heard of self-sabotage, and it made me hate myself more. She didn't deserve it, so I ended it. I told her she was too good to be true, and I didn't know if I'd ever feel worthy of her.

  She thought it was a line, but gave me kudos since it was so original. But, it was clear I'd broken her heart.

  I'd harmed her in such a way I was still not quite over. And it was selfish of me to think so.

  I wish I would've found her after I had exorcised Melanie or even before. I'd look for her, but I wouldn't be able to bear seeing her happily married with children that look nothing of me.

  Chapter Two.

  30. M.

  Patience required.

  Obedience required.

  Redundant conversation discouraged.

  I do not play.

  Serious inquiries only.

  This one was Lucy. Lu-cy, Loosey, Lucy. I would try to remember. She was probably more nervous than any girl I'd ever met at the club. She wasn't as pretty as Sarah, Sally, Susie, but I don't think she'd talk down my boner. I really wanted to get off. It had been weeks. I needed to reevaluate what I wanted after whatshername a couple of weeks ago. I'd come every week, twice even, but I couldn't justify the cost. I could afford it, but I was nothing if not pragmatic.

  She had long dark hair, and her bra and panties were of the practical everyday sort. She probably didn't own anything more decadent. Not that it put me off. It was just an observation. For some reason I found it interesting rather than off-putting. I always gave the option of a blindfold or scarf for first-timers, and I left them in the room. Half chose to wear one. After the first time though, if a second time happened that offer was off the table.

  I might make an exception for poor Lucy. If she wanted to try again. At this point I was indifferent. Except for the needing to get off part. It was clouding my judgment.

  I might need to come up with an alternative plan to get her worked up. She was on her knees, shivering, ten minutes in to me testing her patience.

  “Are you cold?”

  She shook her head. I didn't expect that, and I demanded honestly, but she looked like she was about to do a runner. “Why are you shaking...Lucy?” I placed my hand on her head and caressed it. She took a deep breath and pressed into my hand. “Anxious. Exposed.” I could barely hear her. She seemed to be eased by my touch, though. “You're doing perfectly.” She gave me a relieved sigh.

  I was fairly certain she would last the full half hour, and I wasn't certain how to play it after. She was going to need tons of praise. That was fine with me. My problem was I was thinking with my dick, and that was very unwise. I should've just picked up a girl from downstairs. But, it wasn't her fault, and it was ultimately what I wanted.

  I could be accused of being too soft. I was not. I liked to consider myself conscientious. I was quiet. I observed. It wasn't about displaying my full arsenal of testosterone and deftness of my whip hand. That came later if it was required. I mean, that's fine if you're after anonymous scenes, and honestly, I might try that for a bit if this didn't work out.

  Patience to me was the biggest virtue, no matter how much of an asshole that made me. I can be a complete jerk, but in this instance, for those who wanted to walk this path with me, it was necessary. And in the case of Lucy, she passed patience with flying colors. Her half hour was up, and I was honestly at a loss.

  It was troubling. I was not usually one for psychoanalyzing, but I didn't expect women to pass my initial test. I wasn't interested in finding out more about self-sabotage, but I was interested in identifying it and demolishing it.

  Sounded like I was an asshole after all. Just a clinical one. Everything about this was unfair to Lucy, and I still had a boner. “You did very good. Not many people have the patience you've displayed for me.” I looked for the tell-tale blush of praise, and it didn't come. Curious. “Come up here. I need to check your knees.”

  I helped her stand and sat her down facing me. “Lie back.” She did, without any hesitation. She spread her legs, and I was a goner. I could see a hint of labia her panties didn't cover. I closed my eyes, prayed to whichever god would listen, and placed my palms on her knees. I smoothed the dents with my thumbs and caressed the ridges.

  I was rather obsessed with pussies. I loved watching them swell and glisten. I loved watching a hint of clit peak out waiting to be sucked. I especially loved the uncontrollable grip keeping you close when they are coming all over you.

  My hands wandered up her inner thighs and she spread wider. “You are making things very difficult for me. Perhaps I should punish you.” That got me a blush. A gorgeous one. My thumbs stroked her pussy on either side of panties. She bit her lip. I wanted to bite her lip. Her other lip. Finally. God, this was going to be so good. This girl was making my balls ache. “Definitely going to punish you.” I wanted to spank her pussy, pinch it, bite it, smell it, taste it. Fill it. Christ. I was so fucking hard. I didn't even care about anything but fucking her, but it wouldn't be fair to her. She'd come to be dominated.

  “I'm going to check if you're wet. If you aren't wet, I'm going to paddle your ass until you are. If you are wet, then I'm going to test your patience even further, and you are going to spread your legs so wide for me, until it hurts, but you won't care.”

  She sucked in a breath and I moved the crotch of her panties to the side. I already knew she was wet; I could see it, but I still needed her to know I was in control, no matter how much my dick begged to differ.

  I stroked my fingers over her slick labia before pressing two fingers inside. “Very wet.” I took her panties off. “Spread for me, Sweetheart. Left foot flat on the floor and hook your right leg over the back of the couch. Oh, very good.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. I was going to wreck her pussy. I was going to whip her thighs first, though. There was a low table behind the sofa that I kept few things. Condoms, lube, massage oil, restraints, feathers, floggers, whips, and paddles. I grabbed a small switch and struck each one of her inner thighs.

  She gasped, and I continued in a criss-cross pattern she would definitely feel and see tomorrow. I would also rub them raw when I fucked her.

  After a minute or two, her thighs were trying to instinctively press together, and it was taking some effort for her to keep them apart. “You are a natural at this.” I leaned down and licked one of the angry stripes, and let my hair tickle her thigh and bare pussy. Her hips undulated just a bit, and I licked another stripe.

  I unbuttoned my jeans and palmed my leaking cock. I pressed it against her thigh, then lower, watching as her hips rose to meet it. I should punish her for that, but she wasn't disobedient. She was still doing ex
actly what I'd asked.

  I reached back and grabbed a condom and opened it quickly, but before I put it on, she spoke. “No condom. I'm clean.”

  Fuck. I was almost there. I blew out a breath. “How do you know I am?”

  She was expecting the question. “With how quickly you opened that condom wrapper.”

  “Then how do I know you really are?” I zipped my jeans back up. It hurt.

  “I've been checked recently.”

  “Oh, well, that's okay then. I'm assuming you're on the pill then? And ready for a relationship with me? I only go condom free when I'm in a committed, monogamous relationship.” I had no desire to try for any sort of relationship with her at this point. Something felt all wrong with this.

  “I don't think I'm ready to commit to a relationship at this point.”

  Of course she wasn't. Neither was I. “That's sorted, then. I'll get another condom.” I was totally lying to her to see what she would say.

  “Um...I'm not in the mood anymore.” She put her knees together and sat up. I stood. “I'll leave you to get dressed, then.”

  How surreal. I grabbed my phone, and turned to look at her. She looked devastated, and it couldn't be because I wouldn't fuck her without a condom. Why would she be so upset over it? Oh. Oh. That's...

  “Oh my God. You're certifiable. If I had fucked you, and got you pregnant, were you planning on telling me about the baby?” It was concerning that I wasn't sure if I'd want to be told.

  She shook her head. “No, I hadn't planned on it.”

  At least she was honest there. She was using me as a free sperm bank.

  “So, you just go through the photos in the ads online? Or are there other criteria?” I didn't know why I was asking. I didn't really want to know. It's not like I chose an ugly photo, and of course she'd be particular. I can't fault her for that. Just the deception. It was insane.

  “I do read the ads. I try to suss out some level of grammar and cleverness. Or anything that tells me you might not be an idiot.”