“Mr. Bay is waiting inside for you,” the man working the door said. “He told me your entrance fee was on him. He’ll meet you at the main bar.”
Taylor Bay, Sloan knew, was one of the owners of Checkers. Her men, as she’d come to think of them, had been talking with him for several weeks now.
After they went inside, they bypassed the coat check stand, manned by subs who wore sheer gowns that left little to the imagination. From there they went to a set of double doors that opened into a large room held up by posts every ten feet or so.
Sloan’s mouth dropped opened as she took in the scene. The posts all contained chains at the top and bottom. Several of the spots were already taken, by male and female subs who were being whipped by their Doms/Dommes.
“See something you like?” Chad asked her.
“Um, yes,” she said. “Can we try one?”
“Later,” he said. “Taylor Bay is waiting on us.” He took her hand and they moved through the large crowd of people toward the bar that was the length of the room.
“Two drink maximum,” said a voice as they approached. The man held out his hand. “Taylor Bay. You’re either newbies from Denver, or you’re my friends from Santa Fe.”
The men all shook hands, and Sloan inclined her head to him as they were introduced. Then, as the men talked, she turned her attention to the room. It was much grander than she’d imagined, and she thought about her idea for the Victorian room. If they could do half of what she saw here, the club, which had still not been named, would be perfect.
The sounds of leather striking flesh enticed her, and she shivered as she watched the various places where couples, or triples, played. The sexes were mixed, and she wondered about what it would be like in Santa Fe. How long would it take them to set it up? How long before it caught on? How would they get the word out? She wanted to ask all these questions, but more than that she wanted to play. She wanted her men to take charge of her so they could play.
“What do you think?” Chad asked as he stepped behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him.
“I think I’m wet,” she said.
He chuckled, right before he nibbled on her earlobe. “Let’s take a walk through, shall we?”
“Master?” she asked. She hoped that one word conveyed what she’d wanted it to, that she didn’t want to walk, she wanted to play.”
“All in good time, sweet Sloan,” he said. Ryan came up on the other side of her.
“This place is incredible,” she said.
“I agree,” Ryan said. “Ours is going to be better.”
As they walked, the men shot ideas back and forth. They talked about spanking rooms, and game nights, different gatherings they could host to attract more attention.
“Different rooms,” she said. “A Victorian spanking room, a Japanese bondage room, a card room where Doms and subs can play cards to decide on spankings and other things.”
“I like it all,” Chad said. “Knowing your love for things Victorian and spankings, I asked Taylor to set something up for us.”
This was it, the special event that they had planned. She smiled shyly at Chad, and then at Ryan.
“Whatever you desire, Masters,” she said.
“Then let’s get cracking,” Chad said. He took her hand and led her toward a set of stairs that led to the top floor. Three doors down they went inside a room that Sloan had only thought about in her dreams. The only difference in this room was the color. It was done in a dark blue, instead of the deep purple she’d envisioned.
“It’s perfect,” she said.
“Just like the one you’d designed,” Chad said. “When I mentioned it to Taylor he told me they had similar rooms. This is one of their most popular ones, so it seems others share your love of things Victorian.”
“So it seems,” Sloan said.
“On your knees,” Chad ordered.
Sloan obeyed, excited about what would happen next. She bowed her head and listened as the men walked to the wall, just like the one she’d thought about. She’d seen it out of the corner of her eye when they’d come in, a wall with a wondrous assortment of spanking implements.
“Shall we use the same one, or shall we shake things up and go for different ones?” Chad asked.
“Variety is the spice of life, or so they say,” Ryan said. Their next words were so quiet that she couldn’t understand what they said. Seconds later they ordered her to stand.
“Do you see the kissing chair?” Chad asked.
She turned to study the furniture. It was larger than a usual kissing chair, but the seats were still close enough for two people to sit, facing opposite directions, side by side, and kiss without having to turn.
“You know what to do,” Chad said.
She wanted to say she would do it gladly, but she knew Chad didn’t appreciate her adding commentary to his orders. Once she was in place, on her knees with her ass high in the air and her breasts resting on the top of the chair, and her arms hanging down the back, she swallowed the urge to beg for it. If they were going to spank her at the same time, she knew the feeling would be incredible, just like the one before.
She stayed in place, waiting, her heart racing. Her Doms, for that’s how she thought of them now, even though Ryan was not her husband, started slowly. Sloan knew her spanking implements well, and she knew one of them was using a riding bat, which she’d felt before, but she was pretty sure the other one was a tawse, something that was new to her.
The harsh sting made her gasp with pleasure, and as the spanking increased, the men trading strikes against her ass, Sloan’s clit tightened and her nipples hardened.
She grasped the bottom of the chair and worked hard to keep from begging, from thrusting her ass out in invitation. It was something she’d had to learn early in her relationship with Chad, and it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
The intensity increased, and she knew the tawse was her gift, the thing she’d earned by taking down Bolton. Or so she thought. Her ass and thighs ached beautifully, and despite her best efforts, she started to thrust her ass out in invitation.
The men laughed, and then she heard the sound of something hitting the floor. She wasn’t near ready for the spanking to end, so when Chad, or she thought it was Chad, put his hands on her hips and started to lift her from her from the chair. She struggled to get away and he pinched her bottom.
“You can’t spank her when she’s being bad, because that’s what she wants,” Chad said. “Stand up and behave, or go without.”
Sloan stood, spread her legs, locked her hands behind her back and lowered her head.
“Such a beautiful sight,” Ryan said.
“Your surprise is two parts,” Chad said. “The first is to tell you that Ryan and I have had a discussion, and we think the three of us should move in together, in Ryan’s house. How do you feel about that?”
Still in her submissive position, Sloan smiled. But she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips.
“She’s happy about it,” Chad said.
Sloan looked up and grinned. “Yes, I am,” she said.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Chad said. “We’ve discussed what it was like adding a third to our bed. Now we’re adding a third to more than that. Right now we’re just sort of playing house. Are you ready to have two Masters?”
Two Masters and one husband? It was a strange situation, but one she was willing to face.
“I am,” she said.
“You sound concerned,” Ryan said. “We need to make sure we set strict ground rules, that when one of us has a concern we talk about it immediately.”
“Agreed,” Chad and Sloan said, almost at the same time.
“Then let’s finish our surprise,” Chad said. He pointed to a large bed in the corner of the room. “Take off the skirt, babe, but leave on everything else.”
Sloan undressed slowly, and as she did the men took off all their clothes. They were a
lready hard, and she had a pretty good idea what the surprise entailed. When Ryan went to the bed and lay down on his back, she knew she was right.
Following Chad’s orders she mounted Master Ryan and took his cock deep inside her. She rocked back and forth, savoring the feel of Ryan’s dick. When the bed dipped and she felt Chad come up behind her she closed her eyes and readied herself to take him in her ass.
He moved slowly, stopping when the tip of his cock had pressed into her anus. She felt fuller than she ever had before, even when they had played with plugs and dildos when Chad was inside her. He moved in small increments until he was buried deep inside her. She savored the fullness, the feel of having both of them inside her at once.
As they started to move she shivered, her body savoring the feeling of her Masters taking her so completely. They rocked together, one in the other out. It didn’t take long for Sloan to come, her body tightening around her Masters, and she heard them groan as they, too, went over the edge.
They collapsed in a heap, the men caressing her sides and kissing her shoulders. When she’d married Chad, she’d thought her life was set. But now it was different, and it would be incredible, she was sure, for the three of them together.
“We’re partners in life, and in business,” Chad said. “We just need to come up with a name for the club.”
Cuddled safe between them, their fluids mingled and their arms doing the same, Sloan whispered, “Jaguars.”
“What?” Ryan asked.
“Jaguars,” she repeated. “Chad’s first name and the first three letters of Ryan’s last name, ger. Merge them together and you get Jaguars.”
“It’s perfect,” Chad said. “As are you, my love.”
“Jaguars will be perfect, too,” Ryan said. “It’s the start of something beautiful, in more ways than one.”
Vibrations
Dark Redemption - Book Two
Chapter 1
Tatum Jensen pulled back the clutch and kicked the bike into fourth gear. The wind whipped around her face and a sweet shudder ran through her body. Straddling this bike was like riding into heaven. Tingly tendrils of power crept up her legs and shot straight to her core. For about the hundredth time that day she fought with her decision to sell the chrome beast humming between her thighs.
Just as soon as the idea appeared, though, she kicked it out of her brain. She already had three motorcycles of her own. She didn’t need a fourth one. She especially didn’t need this one, reminding her every time she looked at it that her uncle was dead. Well, he wasn’t really her uncle, not technically. He was the brother of her stepfather, which would make him her step-uncle. Or he had been until her mother had divorced her stepfather and moved on to her next husband.
When Tatum had heard Craig Margouse had died in an accident she’d been devastated. During her mother’s eight-year marriage to Craig’s brother, Patrick, Craig had seemed like more of a father to her than Pat. He’d taken her under his wing, protected her from Pat’s temper and taught her to love the outdoors, especially riding motorcycles.
He’d taken her on her first ride when she was nine; taught her the finer points of braking when she was twelve; and let her pilot his Honda when she was fourteen. When she turned sixteen he presented her with the pink slip to that bike, and told her that no matter what, he’d better never catch her without a helmet on her head.
She still had that bike, sitting in her garage. When she’d heard about Craig’s death, she’d jumped on it and ridden for hours, stopping only for gas, or to sit at a roadside table and cry. She’d been furious with him, madder than hell, when she’d found out that he’d crashed his bike, and had not been wearing a helmet at the time.
Her mother had been less than helpful in her daughter’s grief, reminding Tatum that Craig wasn’t even a blood relative. But Tatum didn’t care. He was a blood relative to her. She went to the funeral and sat in the back, her tears flowing freely as his friends recited poems and told stories of Craig’s life.
When the lawyer had called two days later to tell her she’d inherited everything, Tatum had been shocked. The shock quickly gave way to anger. She didn’t want the responsibility of going through his personal effects and deciding what to do with what. That chore should have fallen to Patrick.
Then she’d gone to the lawyer’s office and he’d given her a short letter written by Craig just two months before his death.
You’re like the daughter I never had. Do with it all as you will. If you sell the bikes, please make sure they go to good homes. Behave yourself and take care. And always remember to wear your helmet. Oh, and take care of Fred.
Fred. Tatum exited the highway and shifted down into third. The damn dog had almost died right after Craig. The vet had said the dog was in mourning. Tatum thought he was just pissed because, not only was Craig gone, he now had to share his space with her two cats, Ashley and Rhett.
Plus, he’d gone from a house-sized yard to a duplex-sized yard. For a large black lab, that was quite a difference. It had taken four months before the dog was back to normal. Now, eight months after Craig’s death, Fred had settled in and become very submissive to Ashley and Rhett, until they left food in their dishes. Then, all bets were off.
Tatum came to a stop at the light and settled her feet on the pavement. She ignored a catcall from the idiot driving the car behind her and tried to remember how many blocks down she had to travel before turning left. She usually traveled to Margaret’s new house from the other direction. Margaret had promised her that the man who was thinking about buying the bike was a good person, that he loved motorcycles, and would care for Craig’s baby as if it were his own, which it would be, if he bought it.
What had she said his name was? Something different, Tatum remembered that. Tank? Frank? No, it was Knox. Knox Keaton. Margaret said he worked with her at the hospital. Tatum figured he was a doctor, which meant he could meet the exorbitant price she was asking for the motorcycle.
“Hey, baby! Too busy thinking about me to watch the light? It’s green!”
Tatum fought the desire to flip her fellow motorist the bird, popped the clutch and sped through the light. The asshole sped behind her, following so closely that Tatum knew if she hit the brakes he’d slam into the back of the bike. She flapped her left hand behind her back in an effort to get him to back off. In return, he tooted his horn to the shave and a haircut tune.
Why did a woman driving a motorcycle seem to attract all the loonies? She had a few more blocks to go, and there was no other lane to get into. Besides, figuring this guy for the jerk that he was, she knew that he’d just follow her if she did change lanes.
She let off the accelerator and the bike slowed. A few minutes later she downshifted, then looked at the speedometer; she was now going fifteen in a thirty-mile zone. When the horn came this time it wasn’t the friendly tune of shave and a haircut, but a loud bleeping sound that made Tatum grin.
“Move it, sister.”
“Back off, asshole!” She screamed the words, and then took the next left, this time shooting him the bird with her left hand pressed against her thigh where he couldn’t see it, but she could get the satisfaction of letting her feelings be known.
A few blocks later she took a right. She’d only been to Margaret’s new house one other time, but the gathering of motorcycles and cars in the street guided her to the right spot. She slipped the bike into the driveway and turned off the engine. She undid the strap for the helmet, praying the metal hat hadn’t done too much damage to her hair.
Once the bike was secured, she followed the noise to the backyard. When Margaret had said they were having a ‘small barbecue’, Tatum figured there would be five, maybe ten people. Judging from the number of bikes in the yard and street there were at least twenty people already here.
She stepped through the gate and surveyed the gathering. Make that twenty-five. She searched the crowd and found Margaret standing in a group of people she didn’t recognize.
Tatum greeted several of her friends as she made her way across the yard. She wondered which of the guests was her prospective buyer. Several of the men looked as if they were biker enthusiasts.
Margaret saw her coming and broke off from the group to meet her.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry, I took the bike for a last spin. I changed my mind about selling it several times. But, here I am. Where’s my buyer?”
“Over by the trees. Look, if you don’t want to sell the bike, Knox will understand. He’ll be disappointed, because that’s all he’s talked about all week, but I think he’ll understand.” Margaret put her hand on Tatum’s arm and tilted her head, a sad look on her face.
Tatum thanked the powers that be for her high school friend, who had always been there for Tatum, through thick and thin.
“No, I have to do this. I can’t afford to keep paying insurance on four motorcycles and a car. The insurance on Craig’s bike is more expensive than the others. My bill almost doubled when I added it to my policy. So, in an effort to meet my bills, the bike has to go.”
“You don’t have to ride it. You could just leave it in the garage.”
“To leave that gorgeous bike in my garage would be a crime.”
“To my way of thinking, asking $25,000 for a piece of metal with only two wheels is a crime.”
Tatum laughed. “It’s a fully decked-out 2000 Indian Chief. It’s a gorgeous bike that deserves to be taken care of. He needs to make sure it’s garaged and not left out in the elements, and that he rides it gently. It’s a show-quality bike. Are you sure this guy is reliable?”
Dark Redemption Page 7