The Dom Games

by Rachel Robinson

  Number seven takes her place under the round spotlight, and Kayla’s photo lights up the screen behind her. I never would have picked her out in this line-up as they all look the same with their hair pulled in ponytails and their lips painted blood red. Gage announces each woman as they kneel in their final positions. I lick my lips.

  “Kayla Grayson, from San Diego.” I quirk a brow and smile as she hits her knees. She’s using an alternative last name. The false applause fills the auditorium in a roar when the final name echoes, and you would think a million people were watching this live in studio. I wonder exactly how many people will tune in at home when the episode airs.

  “Ladies. Welcome to the stage. In a moment I’m going to have you remove your blindfolds and meet your master,” Gage says, in that enigmatic way he has. It’s why I pay him the big bucks. Plus, I can imagine hosting a show where sex is the main attraction can’t be easy. Talk about acting skills. The average person can’t talk about sex without blushing. Add in the BDSM aspect and you’ve got yourself a full-on taboo subject that needs in-depth discussion.

  Gage continues his speech, and I find my fingers opening and clenching down by my sides. I’m turning into him. The Dom. The master. Sir. Your worst nightmare and your darkest fantasy in one thick, solid package.

  The spinning cameras weave in and out to get different angles of the ten, and the main camera backs out to get a view of all the women as they remove their masks. I wonder how many will recognize me. What if none of them do? I’m in the center of the stage, hidden by a shadow. My own spotlight will come on in mere seconds.

  “Remove your masks, please,” Gage says. The hot light hits me from above, my back to the main camera. The women take off their masks at varying speeds, but I see the curiosity on their faces as their eyes are revealed to me and to the rest of the world.

  I don’t smile, but I let my gaze flick to each one. I see recognition in most, indifference in some, but under spotlight number seven I see complete and utter fear. Her gaze roams the studio, to the women next to her and then to me. Her neck works as she swallows it all down and takes it in.

  “Ladies. Meet your Dom. Dominic Reed, founder, owner, and operator of The Dom Games and Reed Studios. Dominic, meet your harem.” Gage growls, fanning one arm out to the side. He faces back to his camera and speaks to the audience at home. I hear my name mixed in with my accomplishments and my heritage as an oil tycoon’s son. I hate being tied to that, but it’s necessary for the people at home to be able to connect the dots. While he explains the rules of the game, my camera follows me as I walk over to the women.

  I start at number one, Jessy McAdams. She’s young and beautiful, and I can’t fathom that she’s lived this lifestyle for very long. She’ll be fun to introduce to new things. Her eyes are turned to the floor. She’s obviously been well trained. I say a brief hello to the other women, staying in my Dom character, and then take a few steps to stand in front of spotlight number seven. The picture high above her head is at least twenty feet tall and in it she’s smirking. Yes, she’s fucking smirking.

  “Kayla,” I say when I’m directly in front of her. I can smell her perfume. Another rule she’s broken. Her eyes aren’t turned down. No, of course not. She’s staring at my face with a befuddled look on her face. “What am I going to do with you?” I muse. She swallows again and smiles weakly, flashing her white teeth at me.

  “Dominic Reed. No fucking way,” she says. Gage silences his speech because Kayla’s mic is on and her words just echoed throughout the studio and will eventually make their way into living rooms across the nation. She wasn’t supposed to speak. They rehearsed this just an hour ago. How best to handle this? With no time to think properly, I decide on the spur of the moment what my course of action will be. I let him take over. She swore. She was disrespectful.

  “Take her to the punishment room,” I say. My gaze doesn’t flicker from hers, so I see the moment she realizes what she’s done. It’s my turn to smile. She has no idea what this will cost her. She goes without saying another word. I watch her tan, tight ass as she leaves, with a rush of excitement.

  Gage gives the audience the play-by-play, and I continue to greet the last three women and pretend I’m not perturbed, shaken, and fucking furious at contestant number seven. I’m sure Laurel is up in my office shaking her head as she watches this go down. Good for ratings, I remind myself.

  “Stand,” I command. The women stand shakily in their sky-high heels. “To the playroom,” I say. More applause echoes around us and the music begins a slow descent on first my ears and then my dick. The theme song gives me wood. It makes panties wet around the world, too. The song is everything. When number one, Jessy, gets close I hold out my arm to stop her. She looks at me shyly out of the corner of her eye.

  Leaning down, I take her chin between two fingers and bring her face close to mine. Pressing my lips against her throat, she tips her head back and closes her eyes. I kiss her. “You first,” I whisper in her ear.

  Chill bumps prickle her skin, and she moans a quiet, subdued, “Yes, Sir.” I want her badly.

  I want to punish Kayla more. I can’t be too harsh.

  She did know who I was.

  Chapter Five

  “Red is Reed minus an e”

  Kayla

  I knew exactly what I was saying. I didn’t realize what it would cause. The lights were hot, making my skin dew with perspiration, and the music and the voice of the host were screaming loud. With my eyesight blinded by the mask, I freaked when it came off. Everything was different. We were filming. It was larger than life. It was reality, and then I saw Dominic Reed. The Dominic Reed. I panicked. Unfortunately my go-to to combat panic is sarcastic wit. I’m pretty sure that stems from growing up with an unruly brother in a neighborhood where you were expected to hold your own. My fight or flight response is not normal. It’s panic or subpar comedian. “Fuck,” I whisper to myself after my dear, leather-clad pony friends leave me to my own devices in the punishment room.

  I admire my surroundings from my kneeling position by the door. That much I know just from watching The Dom Games marathon. When in doubt, kneel. The stone walls look medieval. Dark gray, rough to the touch, and jagged. It reminds me of those dinners where you go sit in the stands, wear a paper crown, eat a huge fucking turkey leg that is probably undercooked, and watch pretend actors with pretend accents ride horses, trying to joust each other. Or some other bullshit.

  The sconces on the walls produce a low light, but just as I’m noticing those, the glare of camera light hits me. These lights are different from the massive lights of the stage. This is a spotlight. Like something you’d see while shooting a porno. I close my eyes and breathe, trying to erase the image of Dominic’s face from my mind. His cruel smile stretching across his face like the Cheshire cat when he ordered me to the punishment room.

  Watching the camera crew set up at a quick pace, I sit here in disbelief. How is it possible I get the Dom of all Doms? His beautiful face is always splashed across the tabloids. His dark BDSM hobby went public when he bought Reed Studios and created The Dom Games five years ago. His conservative father is known for not embracing his lifestyle or what he chooses to spend his money on. What deep-seated issues must this man have? Daddy issues? For sure. Gorgeous billionaire punk with a bad attitude? Most definitely. Accustomed to getting what he wants? Yes. A million times yes. I’ve never seen him without a blond woman on his arm.

  Someone clears their throat. “Mr. Reed will come in and the scene will begin,” the woman says.

  I nod, still lost in thought, not because it’s what is expected of me. The woman I don’t recognize flees for the back where the crew is set up, and I have to swallow down the lump of dread in two steps. One deep breath and one teeth clenching swallow.

  The wooden door that’s rounded on top and flanked with iron detail work flies open.

  Someone calls out, “Cameras rolling.” Then silence takes the room.

  I stare
straight ahead, keeping my gaze focused on the camera, or the lights, or the equipment that litters the area. I can’t be sure. His presence fills the room so fully that no one is left unaffected. As if there is any question, he owns this space and everything in it. Including me.

  “Kayla,” Dominic says, his voice a low timbre, sending shockwaves from the tips of my toes up to the top of my head. It doesn’t matter how he speaks, I know the mics hear everything. I’ve learned my lesson. Wait, let me say, I haven’t learned my lesson quite yet. He’s here to remedy that.

  Slowly, I turn my head up to face him. He’s still wearing his black suit and tie. I have to admit, the professionalism makes him seem older, wiser, even more dangerous than I thought possible. “Sir,” I say. I let my gaze wander up and down his hard body. He’s stunning. More so in person than in the photos the media posts online and on the news. I’m not sure how that’s possible, but he’s living proof. If you were to deconstruct the top ten movie actors and rearrange their features and mesh them into one person, Dominic Reed is what would be born. A living, breathing caricature of perfection.

  His brown hair is short on the sides, almost shaved, and the top is long and coifed to the side just a touch. His handsomely squared jaw line is clean-shaven and his wide hazel eyes are fringed with dark, thick lashes. The type that makes you wonder how many tubes of Mega-Ultra Lash it would take to make your own lashes look the same way. His full pink lips pull back to reveal his white, famous smile. His eyes tilt with his smile because the motherfucker can smile with his eyes. Smizing isn’t something men do well. It should scare me. Instead, it makes me wet. My response is irrational.

  A funny thing happens next. I’m not sure if it’s because Dominic Reed is so fucking hot, or if it’s because I haven’t gotten properly laid in forever, or if it’s just pure nerves, but the cameras and lights drop away. We’re alone in this room. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. It’s an apology in vain.

  Dominic drops to one knee beside me. “Look forward, Kayla,” he says, when I don’t turn my gaze from his face. “That’s an order I hope you’ll obey. You’re already in hot water because of your pretty, fuckable, disobedient mouth.” I turn my head and close my eyes. My breaths come quick as the anticipation hits me full force. Hot water. What the hell does that mean? How bad will this be? What did punishment from the past episodes look like? Dominic runs a finger down the back of my bare neck and down my spine. He stops when he hits the hooks of my bra. “As punishment,” he says, raising his voice, “I’m going to paddle you three times. Once for cursing on stage. Once because you need to learn your place when in my presence, and the last one because I want to break you, Kayla. Do you agree with this punishment?”

  “Yes,” I whisper even though ‘no’ is on the tip of my tongue. He rises, and I listen to his footsteps as he heads away from me. I chance a glance and see a large black table, a leather clad bench, and with a press of one large button a wall turns to reveal a menagerie of punishing equipment. My eyes flare open and a tiny noise escapes my mouth. I can’t help it. It’s like I’m looking at power tools from a horror movie except I’m going to willingly let him use these things on me. He picks up a paddle and smacks it against the palm of his hand. Dominic closes his eyes, hisses in a breath, and smiles to the fucking ceiling. Yep, just like a horror movie. Then he turns to me. “Come here. Kneel on this bench. Now.” I slide off my heels and shakily stumble onto my feet.

  He shakes his head. “I never said remove your shoes. You are to wear the heels. Always. Put them back on,” Dominic says. I stoop down and awkwardly slide the shoes back in place and walk to the bench. I want to tell him to go fuck himself, that this whole situation isn’t fair, but guess what? I signed up for this. All of it. It’s time to put on my big girl panties, or take them off in this case, and take my goddamned medicine no matter how bitter it is. “What was that?” he asks.

  “What was what? I didn’t say anything,” I respond, eyes wide.

  He chuckles. It’s scary and beautiful. “That’s the problem.”

  Fuck. “Yes, Sir.” How could I forget the number one rule? His hotness is screwing with my mind.

  He crooks a finger at me. “You seem to have lost your manners, Kayla. Where did they go?”

  “I’m not sure, Sir,” I respond.

  He nods once, lips drawn in a tight line. “Find them.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I reply quickly. I kneel on the bench. The black leather is cool against my knees and shins. Dominic directs me to lean forward against the higher leather table. I try one more time. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “Put your forehead against the padding and spread your legs,” he says. I obey and it’s now that I remember the cameras. The humiliation and degradation of the situation washes over me. I listen to every movement I can. I hear the softness of his suit jacket hitting the table next to my head—the tiny clink his cufflinks make as he places them on a metal table, and ultimately when he straddles the bench next to me and lays a warm hand on my bare ass cheek.

  “This black G-string suits you, Kayla,” he purrs. I sigh, trying to calm my response to his touch. This isn’t fun time. Not at all. I need to check my libido and just hope to survive this.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  He laughs. Not a chuckle, either. A full blown, I just told the funniest joke in the world type of laugh and then he wraps one arm under my stomach and the wooden paddle slams into my ass. Hard. I lunge forward, and I can’t keep my face down any longer. I rise up on my elbows and let out a long, ugly wail.

  That cry has barely left my lips when he brings the paddle across my ass once again. The pain is searing at first, but dulls to a pleasant numbness when he rubs me with his hand. “Beautiful,” he says as he caresses the damage. A tear sneaks out of the corner of my eye when I realize there’s still one paddle left.

  “Usually I’d rather be fucking this ass instead of spanking it, but you’ve made me so angry and there’s honestly nowhere else I’d rather be than right here,” he explains.

  I try to stuff my emotions down, but they rear, and like a little baby girl, I cry. “It hurts.”

  “But you enjoy a good spanking, right?” Dominic asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice. I said that in my interview video. He remembers. Oh, God. Is this his way of calling me out? Does he know that I’m pretending? He can’t, there’s no way.

  “One more,” he says, and I hear the wind as he brings the paddle back to my raw skin with a twack so loud that it echoes in the large room.

  I cry. Not because it hurts that bad. I mean, it does. I’m angry, and my stupid tear ducts get confused. They leak when I’m pissed. Right now I could kill someone, so basically a river is cascading down my face, destroying the makeup that took the artist an hour to apply. Dominic’s warm hands rub and circle the raw skin and then he pulls me back against him. We’re both straddling the bench, my back against his front. His sleeves are rolled up to expose his large forearms. His hands glide over my thighs as he leans his face into my neck.

  He kisses my ear. “So we’re clear, I would actually rather be fucking you.”

  I turn my tear filled gaze down to his hands on top of my legs to hide my face from the cameras. A tear drops onto his hand and then another.

  “Turn around,” he says. I do. I kneel on the wide bench, facing him front on. The hot lights are behind me, and I know the camera is getting a shot of my ass right now.

  “This won’t happen again, Sir,” I say, without taking my eyes off his. Dominic quirks one brow, trying to figure out how to interpret my double entendre.

  He licks his lips and gently swipes at a tear on my face. I’m nearly naked with a man I just met, and I don’t feel anything except anger and confusion. I want to fuck him and kill him at the same exact time. I don’t believe in love at first sight, but perhaps lust at first sight is real.

  Dominic rises, takes my hand, and leads me to a large gothic style mirror. He doesn’t let my hand go, and for that I’m actually thankful
because my backside is stinging and my shoes cause me to wobble. He turns me so my back is facing the mirror. “You’re perfectly red. Look,” he commands.

  I peek over my shoulder and see the large, raised red spots where the paddle punished me. I nod, because when in doubt, be quiet. My eye makeup still looks fresh, and I realize the artists knew this would happen. Waterproof makeup must be covering my face.

  “As it heals, I hope you remember why you were punished, Kayla. What can I do for you?” I notice he doesn’t apologize. Apologies aren’t in the Dom’s handbook. Just pain and orgasms.

  What can I ask for that will shock him and not get me in trouble? I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. Where’s the fucking instruction manual now? Dominic just punished me. Is this considered aftercare? I chance it because I’m feeling emboldened, and I’m grasping at whatever control I can reach. I turn my face from the mirror back to face him. “Kiss me,” I say.

  For a fraction of a second I think I’ve made another mistake, but his hazel eyes droop a little, his lips twitch with a small smile, and he takes the sides of my face in his large hands. As he lowers his head, I close my eyes and tilt my head up. His wet, warm lips land on mine, and I forget why I want to kill him. I melt into his hard, strong body and twine my hands around his neck and up into his hair. Clutching the top part of his hair, I bring him to me harder. His smile knocks into mine, and I feel his erection pressing my stomach through his pants.

  “I want you,” I say against his lips. It was a phrase that just slipped out because I meant it—because with his stunning beauty no warm-blooded woman could say anything different. I regret it the second it leaves my mouth. He doesn’t hear, or he pretends he doesn’t hear, and continues kissing me, his hands wrapping around my ponytail. He yanks a little, tilting my head up so he can kiss the side of my neck and shoulder. With his lips busy elsewhere, I wonder if this will be it. Will I have sex with him right now? On the first episode—with anger still tapping its fingers on my shoulder? No, that never happens. This never happens on the first episode. Why is he doing this to me? He’s supposed to let me retreat to my room after a punishment session, not this.