Decadent Master

by Tawny Taylor

Dierk glanced at the clock before he checked the last piece of equipment. Ten minutes and it would be sundown. The club would open. And this room would be full of humans and immortals, tops and bottoms, stripping away their everyday identities to become the Master, slave, Dom, or submissive of their fantasy.

  Rolf rested an elbow on a nearby support. “The private suites are leased by a handful of members, including Master Zane, who has the last room on the right.”

  “Do we have keys?” Dierk asked, standing. Everything looked good. Nothing broken or needing repair.

  “Sure.” Rolf cocked his head to the side. “They’re in the office, bottom desk drawer.”

  “I want to take a look at his suite before he comes in tonight.”

  “Good idea.”

  Dierk headed toward the office, his brother trailing close behind. “What about cameras?” Dierk asked.

  “We don’t have any in the private suites, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I want some installed tomorrow. But I don’t want the members to know. I don’t trust anyone else to handle this but you. Will you find someone to come in and install them for me? We need a mortal company who can be here before sunset.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks.” Dierk unlocked the desk drawer, snatched up a ring loaded with keys, and headed toward the private suites. “You ever watch the sonofabitch play? Is he intentionally ignoring his submissives’ limits or is he just getting carried away?”

  “Hard to say. Like I said, the guy looks like he would take on a demon without thinking twice about it. Hell, he might be a demon, for all we know. He’s immortal, but I can’t say for sure what species. But, as mean as he looks, I’ve never seen him get outta line.”

  Dierk unlocked the door and stepped inside. Behind him, Rolf snapped on the lights. A quick look around, and Dierk had the guy summed up. Hardcore sadist. Among his toys, Master Zane had a large and wide assortment of torture instruments, more than he’d seen in one place before. There was the standard—ropes, floggers, paddles, masks, and leather restraints—as well as needles, nails, enemas, equipment for electro play, mummification, and water torture. This was not a Dom for a new bottom. His taste ran to the extreme side of S and M.

  Dierk was no angel, had in fact tried most of those activities at least once. Some of them he’d liked. Others, not at all. But even he had some limits on what he’d do in a dungeon.

  As the club owner, Dierk couldn’t limit the activities that went on in this room, as long as those three pillars were maintained. Safe. Sane. Consensual. But he would watch this guy closely, and if he stepped even a toe over the line, he’d be out. No explanations. No second chances.

  “We better get going,” Rolf said, moving toward the door. “Alicia the receptionist will be coming in any minute now. We don’t want Zane to know we’ve been in here.”

  “Yeah.” Dierk followed Rolf out, locking the door behind them. He pocketed the keys just as he heard the back door chime.

  He shared a knowing smile with his brother and headed toward his office to view the digital picture files. Rolf went to gather the employees as they arrived.

  After a quick introduction to the staff, Dierk gave a short speech about making sure their guests were safe at all times. Then he sent them off to see to their jobs.

  The club wasn’t just a bondage dungeon. There was also a bar and restaurant in the building, catering to a more mainstream human crowd, which meant there were over fifty people to manage, including cooks, waiters and waitresses, bartenders, dishwashers, and maintenance crew. Human and immortal, both.

  If there was one thing he hated, it was having someone looking over his back, telling him how to do his job. He wasn’t going to be that kind of boss to his staff.

  His staff. Damn, that sounded strange.

  After the impromptu meeting, Dierk settled himself at the small nonalcoholic bar positioned at the front of the dungeon and ordered a yerba mate. He swiveled his stool around to watch the action unfolding behind him, in the dungeon. His eyes meandered through the room, from a Shibari scene just beginning in the corner, to a Mistress training a lovely little olive-complexioned slave girl on a kneeler, to the entry, where a pair of women had just stepped into the room.

  The one on the right he recognized from his quick perusal of the photographs on file. Mistress Raven. The one on the left, however, was new.

  “Looks like Mistress Raven brought in some fresh meat,” Rolf said, taking the seat beside him.

  Dierk grabbed his cup, taking a sip of the grassy-flavored hot beverage. Humans drank it for its health benefits. He drank it to clear his mind. An immortal didn’t need anything to counteract cellular destruction or improve his immune system.

  Rolf sighed. “What a sweet little thing she is,” he mused. “Obviously scared out of her mind.”

  “Yeah,” Dierk agreed, tracking the petite brunette as she followed her hostess, almond-shaped eyes wide, little heart-shaped face pale. Her lush lips, coated with a layer of deep pink lipstick, were slightly parted in a sexy pout. He suddenly ached to kiss that pink lipstick off, smear it all over her sweet face.

  “My money’s on that one leaving before the half hour’s up,” Rolf said, extending a hand. “What do you say? Wanna bet me…a thousand?”

  “I say you’re not very sure of yourself if that’s all you’re willing to lay on the table.” Dierk gave his brother’s hand a shake, hoping Rolf was wrong, and not because he’d lose the money. It had been a long time since he’d watched an innocent get broken in. There was no greater rush than watching the training of a new bottom.

  The brunette’s hostess waved in their direction and Dierk glanced back, realizing she was signaling Rolf. Clearly, his brother hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said he spent a lot of time in the club—which begged the question of why he’d turned down the offer to run the place.

  Dierk made a mental note to ask him later.

  “She’s heading this way,” Rolf stated the obvious. “Maybe she’s looking for a Dom for her friend.”

  “And I’m the man on the moon,” Dierk said, noting the newbie’s tight expression. She wasn’t nervous like the average new submissive was. There wasn’t a speck of curiosity in those deep mocha-hued eyes of hers. Only fear, mixed with a little…hostility?

  Interesting. What was her story? Dierk couldn’t wait to hear it.

  Wynne had never been so petrified.

  Hello. She was in a real, honest-to-God bondage dungeon. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so out of her element. Not even that one time when she’d gone with Kristy to that freaky art exhibit downtown, where people wearing plastic clothes handed out free samples of condoms, and rows and rows of tables loaded with sex toys lined the enormous warehouse. That had been years ago, when they’d been in high school. Catholic high school. She hadn’t even known what half those sex toys were for.

  Maybe she should’ve known then that her friend wasn’t exactly cut from the same cloth as she. But like her therapist had said, she’d probably just wanted to believe what she’d wanted to believe, rather than seeing her friend as she truly was.

  It had taken both her therapist and Kristy two weeks to prepare her for this. Already, she was ready to go home. There was only one thing, or rather two, keeping her from turning on her heels and saying sayonara to Twilight forever. And that thing, or things, weren’t the ones she’d expected.

  Instead of staying to find out more about bondage, or more specifically why anyone would want to seek out a Master, she wanted to find out a little more about the godlike men Kristy was waving at.

  “Hi, Master Rolf,” Kristy said, reaching behind her, no doubt to catch Wynne’s hand and coax her up closer.

  Master Rolf. Guess he wasn’t an employee. Wynne was happy to stay where she was for the moment, thankyouverymuch.

  Kristy motioned to the second man. “It looks like we’ve both brought guests today.”

  Now, that raised Wynne’s hopes. If the second guy
—who was jaw-droppingly gorgeous—wasn’t a regular at the club, then he might not be a part of the scene yet.

  “Hi, Raven.” Master Rolf smiled. “This isn’t a guest. He’s my brother, Dierk. He’s taking over as general manager of the club.”

  Manager. That was acceptable.

  “I see,” Kristy responded, nodding over her shoulder at Wynne before cranking on the charm for the new manager. “It’s good to meet you, Dierk. Dierk and Rolf, this is my friend Wynne. And I’m sure you can tell this is her first visit to a bondage club. She’s totally new to domination and submission, so she’s a little nervous.”

  Great. Thanks, Kristy, for pointing out I’m the new, clueless kid on the block.

  She pasted on a smile, hoping they wouldn’t all look at her like she was a freak. How humiliating. Maybe they’d even make her wear some kind of special badge or something.

  Dierk the manager gave her a long, disconcerting once-over. Down went his gaze from her face to her toes and then slowly it meandered back up. She could almost feel his gaze as it swept over her body. Her skin felt tingly all over, her nerves twitchy and raw. “Hello, Wynne,” he said in a low, rumbly voice that reminded her of a cat’s purr.

  The man was like sin incarnate, the very opposite of what John had been, with his sun-bleached hair and boy-next-door good looks. Dierk had dark hair, almost black, cut in shaggy, messy layers. His face was all hard angles, his eyes too dark to clearly make out the pupils. And his body…He was huge, built like a professional athlete, all muscles and sinew and raw power.

  Kristy jabbed her in the ribs, and she realized, embarrassingly, that she’d been standing there, mute and stupid, staring like a groupie at a rock concert.

  She didn’t need Kristy to make her look like an ass. She was doing that well enough on her own.

  Too nervous to trust her voice, she merely gave him a weak, shaky smile and nodded her head, then turned her gaze to his brother.

  Master Rolf wasn’t far down the gorgeous scale from his brother. There was most definitely a family resemblance. He also had that dark, wavy hair, although Rolf’s was a little longer, the bottom layers skimming the tops of his shoulders. His face was as hard edged and fascinating as Dierk’s, although it wasn’t identical. And his body was just as big. And just as breathtaking.

  Rolf offered a hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Wynne. If there’s anything my brother or I can do for you, just let one of us know.”

  “Th-thanks.” Staring into his eyes, Wynne placed her trembling hand into his, expecting him to shake it. Instead, he raised it to his perfect mouth and brushed his lips over the back.

  It felt like her skin was on fire, both on her hand and on her cheeks. Sure he could see the blush that had to be radiating from her face, she tugged her hand free and dropped it in front of her, flattening the other one against it.

  God, she had never felt this way around a guy before, not even John. She was tongue tied, witless, practically falling over her own feet. What was wrong with her?

  Nothing was wrong, she reasoned. Not a thing. It was this place that was making her all jumpy and skittery. And the knowledge of what these men probably did here.

  She hadn’t even dared let her gaze wander around the large room yet, although she could hear voices and the occasional snap of a leather whip.

  Adrenaline pounded through her body, fueling her instinct to run, making her stomach twist and palms sweat. She swallowed hard a couple times.

  “…which is why my friend Wynne is here today. She’d like to watch, learn a little about the lifestyle, why people choose to play domination and submission games,” Kristy explained. “And she’s looking at it from the submissive side, which is why I’m not much help to her.”

  Geesh, Wynne hadn’t even realized Kristy had been talking that whole time. She’d been distracted by the two gorgeous brothers. Or maybe it was the loud pounding of blood in her ears that had muffled her friend’s soft voice. She could only hope that Kristy had stuck with the plan. It was simply too embarrassing to admit she was coming here to find out why her fiancé had dumped her for a gay Dom. So instead, they’d cooked up this story about her writing a romance novel about a woman’s first experience with BDSM.

  “I can show her around,” Master Rolf volunteered, “since my brother’s going to be busy all night, handling some important general manager–type things.”

  Something flared in Dierk’s eyes. Wynne wondered what it was. But he didn’t say a word.

  “That would be great! I was hoping you’d offer, since I have an appointment in a few minutes.” Kristy gave Wynne a gentle shove, making her feel like an unwanted little sister.

  Wynne turned a scowl at her pushy friend and whispered, “Stop that.”

  Kristy gave her an encouraging nod. “I’ve known Master Rolf for years. You’ll be perfectly safe.” Then she hauled her huge tote over her shoulder and scampered off, leaving Wynne with the wicked-looking Master Rolf and his equally dangerous brother Dierk.

  Dierk promptly excused himself to handle those “important general manager things” Rolf had mentioned.

  Rolf stepped forward, crowding her personal space, and placed a hand on the small of her back.

  Her muscles instantly tightened, from the waist up, and her breath hitched in her throat.

  Totally ignoring her reaction to his touch, he leaned closer, murmuring, “So tell me, how much do you want to know about domination and submission?”

  Nothing. Not a single thing. “Only enough to make me dangerous,” she said, trying to sound at ease but failing, big time.

  He grinned, the expression a fairly good interpretation of the Cheshire cat. “Hmmmm, I like that answer.”

  And she liked the way he’d said those words. His voice had a gritty edge to it, a sensual just-rolled-out-of-bed tone. It made her feel warm inside. Soft and feminine, too.

  “Have you read anything on the Internet? Do you know anything about the lifestyle?” he asked as he steered her around a piece of furniture she couldn’t name with that hand pressed to her back.

  “Absolutely nothing,” she said, musing at how amazing it was that a gentle exertion of pressure, shifted to the right or left, could guide her, kind of like a bridle on a horse.

  “Then we’ll start with the basics.” He stopped in the center of the room. “This is our general bondage dungeon. In this room, our members play domination and submission games. During play, there is one general rule that must be adhered to by all participants. The activities must be safe, sane, and consensual. Safety is always the primary concern, and as you will see, we have personnel positioned throughout the building to make sure no one is hurt while on our property.”

  “That’s good to know.” Her gaze skipped past the pair of people standing next to a huge wooden cross thingy, to the big guy standing in the corner, wearing a black shirt with the word Twilight scrawled across the front.

  “No one is ever forced to participate in a scene, ever,” Rolf continued. “Our members are carefully screened, and no one who has had a criminal conviction is permitted access to our facilities….”

  She nodded, following Rolf’s lead as he continued toward the back of the room. He pointed out the various pieces of furniture, naming them. He explained the general rules of bondage play. To her relief, he didn’t make her stand there and watch the people who were playing. Whether it was because he sensed she was still too nervous and shaky about this whole thing or because it was a courtesy issue to the people playing, she didn’t know.

  “Also, there are limits to what kinds of activities are permitted in our dungeon. We have private rooms available for members to rent, and some members lease private suites, in which they can participate in more intimate activities. But out here, we don’t permit any exchange of bodily fluids, including sexual intercourse. Members sanitize all equipment when they’re through. In addition, our staff goes through at the end of the night and does a thorough cleaning.”

  This was nothing
like the free-for-all kink-fest she’d imagined when her friend had tried to describe it. Quite the opposite, it seemed like the people who ran Twilight were very conscientious, responsible, and professional.

  Finally, when they’d come full circle, back to the bar, he motioned to a stool. “How about something to drink?”

  “Sure.” She could use a stiff drink right about now. Might help her relax. “Do you have a wine list?”

  “No, I’m sorry, this bar serves strictly nonalcoholic beverages. But we serve wine downstairs in the restaurant. I’d be happy to take you down there if you like.”

  “No, no. That’s okay. I’d be just as happy with a cola. Thanks.”

  As he ordered her drink, she glanced at the clock, surprised to discover that her little tour had taken almost an hour. She wondered how much longer it would take Kristy, aka Mistress Raven, to finish up her appointment. Since Wynne hadn’t seen her friend during her little excursion, she assumed the appointment was in a private room or suite. She tried to imagine what her friend might be doing.

  Her cheeks burned.

  “There you are, one cola.” Rolf set the drink on the bar.

  She swiveled her stool around to face the bar, and glancing sideways at her host, gave him a grateful smile. She lifted the glass, taking the straw between her lips and pulling in a mouthful. Ahh, cold. Refreshing. “Thank you for taking the time to walk me around. I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from…anything.”

  God, how lame did that sound?

  “It was my pleasure.” His gaze was razor sharp, piercing, as it captured hers. He held a glass in his hand but didn’t lift it to his mouth. Instead, he simply sat there, staring into her eyes, watching her. His lips curled into a teasing grin. “Now that we’ve covered the basics, are you ready to get down to business?”

  Oh God. What was he suggesting? She eased the drink from her mouth, thankful for the fact that she hadn’t spewed cola all over his face.

  “I…um…” If her face hadn’t been roasting before, now her cheeks felt like twin electric burners, cranked up to high.

  He chuckled and the sound vibrated through every cell in her body, or at least it felt that way. He plucked the straw out of his glass and set it on a napkin. “You know what they say about writing, ‘write what you know.’”