The Dom Games

by Rachel Robinson

  Turning to look one last time, I make eye contact with her. “Yes, Sir. That’s your preference,” she mutters, but I see the fucking smirk on her face as she spreads her pussy with two fingers and dips one inside without breaking eye contact. “And this is mine.”

  My gaze is glued to her face as she takes her middle finger and rubs her clit up and down for a few seconds and then explodes into a full-bodied orgasm. The cameras are capturing it all. Her face in the throes of ecstasy, the side angle of her dipping her fingers into her clenching cunt, and one more view of my face—as I watch in horror as it all goes down. She falls back onto her bed, her hair fans around her pillow, and she spreads her arms above her head one more time. It takes everything in me to close her door and not sink into her and fuck her into oblivion.

  I have it so fucking bad. I’m not even sure who got schooled tonight, me or the snow angel from my nightmares.

  Chapter Seven

  “Love Games”

  Kayla

  “I heard his last submissive left because he wanted to get married,” I overhear a conversation. All of the contestants are sitting in the main area of the sub house. There are sofas, wingback chairs, and beautiful chaises with soft throws scattered throughout. The television is on low, and I pretend to watch a commercial as I eavesdrop on their conversation. It’s the unspoken rule that I don’t socialize with anyone. Actually, it’s odd that I’m out of my room. A couple days have passed since Sir visited my room.

  Dominic is due to visit us this morning. Laurel said he wants to speak to us one-on-one off camera before filming tonight’s episode. If the cameras are off, does that mean I can truly say what’s on my mind and heart? Or will it be a business meeting to discuss limits¸ safe words, and what I can expect from him? I chew on the end of my red painted fingernail. Not enough to damage the polish, just enough to assert my discomfort with this whole situation. I miss my cell phone and social network stalking. I miss the diner and my friends. I even miss goofy faced Jason. What it boils down to is I miss not pretending. I miss me.

  “No. No. I heard he broke up with her because she wanted more than he was willing to give. He’s a playboy. He doesn’t want forever with anyone,” another says. Standing, I casually walk around the room, running my pointer finger over everything as I pass: a console table, the bottom of a gilded frame—the back of a chair. I slouch down into a seat when I reach a chair a little closer to the others.

  When all eyes turn my way I say, “I heard he killed a man. Buried him inside the walls of his sex dungeon. His ex found the body when they were playing one night. Really kinky shit…canes up assholes and pony costumes—then she found the body. She’s been crazy ever since…locked up in an asylum in Jersey.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  Jessy leans forward on her seat. “Where did you hear that, Kayla?”

  “I know things,” I reply. Her wide eyes let me know she may be taking my words at face value. I stifle back a laugh. “Why else would anyone leave him? They have to be crazy. Have you seen the size of his cock?” That question should bring the conversation back where it needs to be.

  “It’s huge,” someone else says from across the room.

  “He’s so attractive that I can’t form sentences when he’s in front of me. When his cock comes out, I might as well be a deaf mute,” another says. That one causes a few chuckles. Nice to know these ladies have some humor, but it’s buried beneath their layers of submission. They say you have to embrace full submission to truly gain control. I’m not a fan of that sentiment, but it’s probably because I don’t understand it.

  I scoff because of how ludicrous this conversation sounds. “Has anyone had sex with him yet?” Jessy asks, her voice loud. My eyes immediately dart around the room. Deep down I’d like to think I don’t care, but my competitive nature is forcing a catty, jealous response. We had the perfect opportunity to have sex. My vagina was basically drooling for him to play dipstick with it. He turned away so easily, trying to punish me with orgasm denial. I showed him. Or did I? Will he punish me again?

  It seems the consensus is no. No one has gotten the pleasure of his massive cock quite yet. Who will be first?

  “I could have,” I say, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger. Nine sets of eyes stare me down like I owe them money.

  Coco, one of the more annoying women, narrows her huge blue eyes. “Could have and did are two different things. There weren’t any scenes on your schedule. Don’t lie.”

  I shrug. “He came to my room.” The schedule is an almighty thing around here. The play scenes are written down, and in Dominic’s small, neat handwriting he writes a name next to it—the person he wants to film the scene with. He’s only written down a couple names and neither is mine. Of course it makes me think I’m a goner.

  “Why would he go to your room? To tell you about the man he killed? Or why he broke up with his ex?” she asks, sneering with her pretty lips. She’s less gullible than Jessy, and she’s calling me out.

  Standing, I brush my skirt down into place and steady myself in my nude high heels. “What I do with Dom is none of your business. Watch the show if you want to find out what happened. Cameras were there.”

  “Did you seriously just use a nickname for Sir? You’re ridiculous,” Coco spits.

  No, she is, but I don’t say that. Laurel appears in the doorway. “Ah, Kayla, good. You’re first. Mr. Reed is waiting in the study. Follow the corridor down and it’s the last door on the left.” She waves her arm to a hallway in the sub house we haven’t been down yet. “No cameras. Don’t be nervous,” she says. I’m nervous because there aren’t cameras. At least when they’re there I know what’s going to happen to some extent. Nodding firmly once, I leave the room with hushed whispers at my back.

  The large wooden door is closed. I tap once, right in the middle, even though she directed me to walk right in. I hear his voice. “Come in.”

  With my hand on the handle, I push down and open the door. The room is decorated in gilded shades with dark undertones like the rest of the house. This room seems more masculine. I’ve never seen this room on an episode of The Dom Games.

  He’s sitting in a wingback chair to my left. He’s wearing a pair of gray slacks and a white button-up shirt. It’s casual because his sleeves are rolled up his arms, it’s dressed-up because his hair is coifed to perfection and because it’s him.

  His gaze flicks over me a few times. “Sit,” he says, nodding to a chair in front of him. There’s no coffee table separating us. Just air—air so thick with his scent that I could drown. “I won’t lie. I’m angry with you,” Dominic deadpans. He leans forward so his forearms are resting on his thighs. His gaze, though? It’s twinkling with anger and mischief.

  Swallowing hard, I cross my ankles. The patent leather material squeaks as the shoes rub each other. “Why, Sir?”

  “Because you do what you want. You have no concept of what it means to be submissive. What you did in your room was unacceptable behavior that can never repeat itself.”

  Sneering, I say, “Of course I know what it means to be a sub. I have no concept of what it means to be your sub. Or how to be on a television show. Or you know, how to handle the multitude of issues that surround our strange agreement that involves nine other women and punishments for what seems like a vendetta against my personality.” Let him chew on those words for a moment. I’m feeling strong.

  He takes a deep breath and blows it out of his large, pink lips. Remembering those same warm lips on my body and mouth causes me to shiver. “Do you have any questions for me, Kayla? Now is your chance.” No response to what I just said? Typical. He’s like a politician.

  I contemplate for a few moments. Do I ask why he broke up with his ex-girlfriend or submissive or whatever the fuck she was to him? Is that a wasted question? Is Dominic like a genie? I only get three? “Why are you a Dominant? What’s your backstory?” I ask, impressing myself.

  His beautiful eyes flare and then close. �
��To the point, aren’t you? Typically I expect questions about the play scenes. You’ve seen the schedule and know what to expect?”

  I lean back and cross my legs properly, slowly, watching his gaze flicker between my exposed thighs and my face. “That’s child’s play, Dominic—self explanatory, really. I want to know things of substance. I want to know the person who I’m trusting with my body and mind. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  He leans up. “I got into BDSM for control, Kayla. Someone has told me what to do for most of my life. What to eat, what to wear, how to present myself, what my college major should be—everything. When I was sixteen my father even told me who to take to prom because the media would be there. He told me who to date. This,” he says, waving his arm around the room and to me, “is how I’ve taken control back. Punishing the bad and pleasuring the good is extremely gratifying. This is how I chose to spend my life.” His mouth, as he speaks, transfixes me. I can’t stop staring. I’m reminded of the tabloids and news channels covering his life. It has to be difficult living in the limelight like that. I mean, to a certain degree. He’s famous, which means he can have whatever he wants.

  “Most people grow up and then run their own lives. That’s enough control for most. This”—I wave my arm to him and the room in the same fashion he did—“is not a normal way to manage your control issues.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Are you a psychologist now?”

  “No, but I can read between the lines. Give me some credit. I know what’s normal and what’s fucked up.” I cross my arms.

  He smiles wide, showing me his beautiful, famous grin. “But you’re in this lifestyle, too. What does that say about you?” Shit. “Stop cursing, Kayla.”

  Honesty veiled is my best chance. “We both know exactly why I’m here, Dominic.” He cocks a brow. “I mean, Sir.”

  “Tell me why you fell into this lifestyle,” he asks, folding his arms behind his head.

  I stand, look at my feet, and start walking. “I met a Dom who offered to fund my life, Sir. It was hard to say no.” I turn to glance his way, and he’s deep in thought.

  “It’s a matter of convenience for you, then? Purely monetary?”

  I stop pacing and come to stand right in front of his chair, so he has to look up at me. “Yes,” I admit.

  He looks crestfallen. “I think that says a lot about your personality. My reasons are valid. Yours are opportunistic. I want a submissive who wants to stick around forever. Your staying power doesn’t impress me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I should have lied. This is what I get for telling the truth. Cut from the show before it even begins. “There’s a lot of things about you that don’t impress me either.”

  He stands from the chair in one quick motion. Dominic is towering over me—his body heat overpowering my senses. I tilt my chin up to peek at his face. He’s furious. This isn’t going to bode well for me at all. “Do you want to leave The Dom Games? All signs point to yes at this moment.”

  “I thought I was the one asking the questions,” I say, breathing out. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I tentatively bring my hands up to rest on his biceps. His gaze darts to my hand, but he doesn’t make an attempt to move me. “I want to know you better. I want to stay…forever,” I say, squeezing his muscles.

  He sighs. “What do you want to know about me?” Finally, he rests his hands on my hips. Thank God for small victories.

  In undergrad I got straight As in debate and public speaking. Everyone calls these classes boring and useless, but at the moment I couldn’t disagree with those assholes more. And they say a college education doesn’t teach you real world application. Eat me, naysayers. Dominic peers down at me, his hazel eyes searching my face.

  Clearing my throat, mentally preparing my speech, I say, “You use the word forever so easily. How am I supposed to get used to the idea unless I know exactly what that entails? Will we live together? Do you get to tell me what to do all the time? Forever? Does that mean get married and have children? Can I pursue my own interests and hobbies? If marriage isn’t what you want, and just the Dom/sub relationship is what you need, do I get to date other men to fulfill my own needs on the side? This is what you missed in the contract, Dominic. Feelings. Reality. When the cameras aren’t there anymore. Unless it all really is a ruse, like the other women think? Is forever just your ploy to reel in more viewers? Will you chew me up and spit me out?”

  His grip on me tightens. “That’s what they think? That it’s a ploy?”

  “Out of everything I just asked, that’s what you choose to respond to?” I sigh, dropping my arms to my sides.

  He growls. “No, you cannot date anyone else. That’s in the contract. Did you even read it? Forever means I’m going to choose a woman to spend my life with. Forever. Marriage and children are inconsequential at this point. Perhaps those topics can be broached when forever is attained. Right now, though? It’s The Dom Games. You compete for the honor of having me all to yourself, Kayla. Don’t worry about forever when it’s doubtful you’ll make it through next week.” He releases me and averts his gaze.

  He sits back down. “Anything else?” he asks. “Or am I expected to listen to your ballad of dissatisfaction all afternoon?”

  My heart hurts. Not because of love or even lust—but because I’m going to be embarrassed on television for nothing. No tuition money, nothing to show for my time spent being punished and pleasured. I think of Jason. He was right. I’m wasting my time and possibly dashing my chances of scoring the job of my dreams. I’ll be the scorned, discarded sex worker.

  “Have sex with me first,” I say.

  “Are you crazy?” he asks. “What makes you think you can ask things like that of me? Who do you think you are? With such a childish request.” Now he’s the callous playboy the media depicts him as. All you have to do is piss him off. “What is it exactly that you want? Be specific.” His words spoken in such a tight, controlled manner are an order.

  I walk away. Turning back, I say, “It was merely a request to make me feel more comfortable. That’s the least you can do as you’ve chosen the chew me up and spit me out option. Is that childish? Also, I’d like a friendship with you when the cameras aren’t around. I enjoy this.” I motion between us. Getting to know him may not be the best idea given our strange circumstances, but perhaps getting closer to him off camera will help my chances on screen.

  “I’ll fuck you first, Kayla. Happy? So you’re prepared? It’s probably going to be directly after I punish you…again.” He leans his head to the side to rest it on his fingertips. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters. “You infuriate me, yet I keep coming back for more. I’m the crazy one.” He closes his eyes. “Yes. I agree to meet with you off camera if that’s what you need.” I make a mental note. He gives me things he thinks I need. Check.

  Can it be true? Do I have the ability to get under his skin? All it takes is being myself. I smile. “It’s just a game, Sir. One that you so wisely and precisely crafted.”

  A knock at the door signals the next woman has arrived for her meeting. I tousle my hair, un-tuck my blouse, unbutton a few of the buttons so my lacy black bra is visible, and turn once again to face him. His fingers steeple in front of his face, his eyes like lasers glued to my exposed skin. His lips are slightly parted, and he looks like mouthwatering perfection.

  “Remember that,” I say, pulling the door open.

  Coco stands in the hallway. She looks me up and down once, narrows her eyes, and sneers. “I win,” I whisper. She bristles with unease.

  She brushes past me and into the room. When I chance one more look his way, he hasn’t budged, and he isn’t looking at Coco. He’s looking at me. Readjusting my blouse, I wink at Dominic and then close the heavy, very soundproof door.

  His face is that of pure fury and sexual arousal. He wishes he fucked me right then. I’m immediately wet at the realization.

  And that’s no game.

  Ch
apter Eight

  “Rule Bending”

  Dominic

  I asked Laurel to leave an envelope pinned to Kayla’s door requesting that she come to the Dom’s lair. She should be here any moment. During the one-on-one sessions the rest of the contestants asked simple questions about the games. Not a single one asked anything similar to Kayla’s line of questioning. She demanded answers I wasn’t prepared to give. My stomach sinks. I feel hot—feverish at the memory. In a multitude of ways her questions caused me to think about things I haven’t confronted yet. What does forever entail? One thing is sure, I’m sick of searching for subs and messy breakups that leave my pocket lighter. The aggravation of it all is tiring. Marriage and kids, though? No way. Fuck no. A friendship off camera is a good idea. It’s a damage control of sorts.

  She wants me to fuck her first. Because of that I need to change the schedule and write her into this evening’s scene. It’s a scene I like to call ‘writings on the wall.’ I will write on her naked body the things I want to do with her and to her. Kayla will also write what sexual favors she desires from me. This is one that gives the sub a little more control. Something Kayla fucking Parchet doesn’t need. I had someone else in mind, but all scenes end in sex, and she wants the D first. Because it will make her more comfortable. Funny, because when I push my cock into her wet cunt she’s going to feel everything but comfortable.

  “Ms. Parchet is here to see you¸ sir,” Van, my security guard, announces. I tell him to show her in and wait outside. This is my lair. Women aren’t supposed to be in here. But I’m bending all the fucking rules lately. I figure why not let her come to me instead of meeting with her in an uncomfortable conference room? Let her exist in my space, taste it, sense how much I posses it. Maybe it will instill a sense of fear or respect in her.

  Kayla appears. She’s wearing a silk robe, flip flops, and a full face of makeup. Her brown hair is pulled back in the front, but still waving down her back. She stops short about six feet away from me. “Do you know what they do to us in the salon?” She air quotes when she says the word salon. Her emerald green eyes play peekaboo as she bats her huge, thick eyelashes.