Looking straight ahead, I unzip his pants. His semi-hard dick falls out. He left his boxer briefs elsewhere. His cock glistens with come, and with her. The scent of her perfume makes me heave. I cough. Dominic laughs. “Don’t make me tell you again,” he says meanly. I glance up, and he’s smiling like an evil villain. Doesn’t he know that villains never win? Not when Kayla has anything to do with it, at least.
Will the cameras cut to black if I bite off his dick and then shove it down his dirty throat? Surprising myself and him, I put his dick in my mouth. I don’t even wince when I taste the salty body juices. He watches me, completely uninterested, as I swirl my tongue around his dick, watching his face the entire time.
“That’s enough. Stand,” he barks. I leave a ring of pink lipstick where my lips were pressing—the claim overtaking hers. “I’m disappointed in you, Kayla. Displeased with your behavior at most times, actually.” These words would cause extreme shame in a real submissive. I let my head hang, my gaze aimed at his bare feet—I pretend. His fingers slip beneath the smooth leather collar wrapped around my neck. His touch makes me shiver despite the foul taste of betrayal that stings my tongue.
“The punishment room isn’t just for spanking or paddling. I dole out punishment fit for each sub. You don’t respond to that type of punishment. Down on all fours and crawl over to the bench,” Dominic says, looking me directly in the eyes. He’s looking through me. Dominic stands still for a few, pregnant seconds, waiting for me to obey, and when I drop to all fours awkwardly he heads for the wall where the tools and toys are displayed for all to see.
With each step forward on my palms and knees, I think of reasons why I hate him, reasons why I never should have participated in this show. I’ve come to the conclusion that I want Dominic Reed. There’s no question now—as I sidle up next to the bench and let my hair fall in front of my face. I want him. The money is no longer a factor. It’s mine. I can run. I can leave and never look back. Instead, I’m trying to please him in this cold room, wearing a collar, with the taste of another woman’s pussy lingering in my mouth.
They say insanity is doing the same thing time after time and expecting a different outcome. Hey, everyone! Watch Kayla do the same thing over and over because she’s going insane—for a man she shares with other women. For a man who doesn’t understand how to be in a normal functioning relationship. For a man who is about to punish her.
Dominic’s breathing has finally slowed when I see his bare feet approach. He has such manly feet. Symmetrical toes, indents and valleys perfectly placed. It figures that even the man’s feet are flawless. If only his interior matched.
He leans over and cuffs one ankle to a bench. “Lie flat on your stomach,” he orders. Why isn’t he paddling me? Spanking me? Punishing me? When I’m stretched out on my stomach he takes my wrist and cuffs it to the other side of the bench.
Dominic breaks the silence with his commanding voice. “The thing with punishment is that it differs for every submissive. What works for one doesn’t work for another. What forces one into a cowering puddle of submission and acceptance seems to stoke your fire, Ms. Grayson. How best to show you exactly how displeased I am with you and make sure you never undermine me again? I am punishing you because of your actions on camera and off. Do you understand?”
Turning my head to the side, pressing my cheek against the cool floor, I open my eyes. I don’t dare look up at his face. I stare directly at his jeans.
“Yes, Sir,” I say loudly. I don’t fucking agree, but I don’t know where he’s going with this either. It’s just a game. This isn’t real life. Not really, anyways. I keep this sentiment on repeat
“Good. I’m going back to Jessy. She obeys me. She deserves my affections. I’ll come back for you when I think you’ve learned a lesson.” He turns and leaves my line of vision.
He commands the volume in the room louder, turns on a screen on the wall, and disappears out of the room in the same domineering manner in which he entered. That’s it? What a joke. I can stay here all night if I have to. This is his way of taking back control?
That’s when I see exactly what’s on the monitor. It’s a live feed into a playroom. Jessy is strapped to a cross, a sweaty, just-been-fucked mess. I watch as horror fills my stomach and coils around my heart as Dominic enters the room and approaches her. He strokes the side of her face. She smiles a sleepy smile, and he kisses her neck tenderly. He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“I can’t fucking watch this,” I say. Closing my eyes, I turn my face in the opposite direction, but with the volume up so loud I hear every kiss, every single word exchanged, every feather-light touch. I peel my eyes open to watch for a tiny second just to confirm he isn’t kissing her on the mouth. Not like it would make a difference, but he’s not. The kisses I hear are on her body. I feel the bile rising from my stomach, and my head spins. I sweep my head back to the wall and slam my eyelids down.
He leaves me cuffed, in this room, for hours it seems. Tears pool in the creases of my eyes as the time ticks by. This is worse than a beating. My skin can handle what his tools or hands can give. My heart can’t take this, and he knows it. He’s not trying to punish me. He’s trying to destroy me and every ounce of friendship we’ve accumulated. This isn’t watching an episode in the sub house. This is raw, unedited lust between another woman and the man I’m falling for.
I hear that fucking song so many times while I’m trapped here, that I lose count of how many times they have sex. Tears are pouring down my face when he finally returns. I haven’t turned my head to the other direction for fear of catching a glimpse of the monitor—the noises echoing in the room are torture enough. When I hear the door I stay motionless.
It’s only now that he’s here to release me, that I feel stiff, sore, and completely uncomfortable. I hear his breaths as he works to free my ankle. He rubs the place where the metal was against my skin. “How does that feel, Kayla?” he whispers. How dare he say my name? I lift my head to see the camera crew leaving and the lights dimming.
I merely nod. I’m afraid of what will come out of my mouth if I speak what’s in my heart. I pull my legs up to bend them and scoot so I can sit. Dominic releases my wrist. Holding it close to my body, I cradle the numb, tingly appendage. I’m anything but okay. Standing will be tricky. I’ll wait till he leaves me. I pull my knees in and lean my forehead down to hide my tear-streaked face.
“Aftercare. Let me care for you. It’s important,” he says. Important. He doesn’t know what’s important if it hit him in the face. The noises coming out of his mouth as he played with Jessy pour into my awareness. Delicately, he takes the mic off the back of my thong.
“I need to be alone right now,” I squeak out.
“Look at me,” he says, his voice a little louder than before. Try bossing me around now, asshole.
I raise my head in one quick movement and face him. He winces when he sees my tear-stained face. “Please,” I say, glancing over his shoulder at the crew. They’re watching us, but pretending they’re not. How interesting these interactions must be for an outsider. I suppose that’s the draw for the audience in general. Even the crew is trying to figure out the logistics of the relationships Dominic forms. “Sir. I’d like to be alone. I appreciate your offer to care for me, but the only thing I want right now is to go to bed. I’ll be fine.”
He stands, offering his hand. Shunning his hand covered in Jessy, I stand without his help. “Kayla.” It’s a question.
I want to hurt him like he’s hurt me. The lights are off, and I know we’re out of earshot of anyone else. “Dominic,” I whisper. I don’t even care if it’s true, I’m using it. “I’ll be fine. Seriously. Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself and your fucked up dead brother issues.” His face is stoic, but his eyebrows rise high into his forehead. It’s true. I’m able to determine it easily—his emotions flit across his face like a spilled bucket of paint—streaks of grief and torrid splatters of remorse. Guilt hits me in
spades. Deep down I hoped it wasn’t true—hoped the article was a fiction piece created by a jealous man. I can’t force myself to look at him for another second. Bile rises up my throat and the metallic tang hits my tongue.
My legs are shaky and tingling as I walk away in these fucking heels. I turn my head slightly to the side so he can hear my words. My hope is that they poison his ego and destroy any control he thinks he has over me. “My lesson was learned. Consider me in line, Sir.” I walk from that horrible punishment room and turn around as I heave the door closed.
He’s sitting on that damn bench, hunched over, with his head in his hands.
To be fair, he ruined everything first. I head directly back to the office with the vacant computers and print out the news article about his brother’s death. I march, in black lingerie, mind you, to Dominic’s lair and tack that fucking article on his door.
Shivers rack my body as I read the headline one more time, but I don’t think twice.
I head to my room to sleep soundly for twelve straight hours.
Chapter Twelve
“Strip Poker”
Dominic
I’m so mad I could spit nails. The crumpled article sits on my desk, spread across stacks of actual paperwork that need my attention. When this article released shortly after I bought Reed Studios and created The Dom Games, I was angry. Seeing it again causes a lit fuse to blow. How dare she use this against me? How dare she go against the rules and use the computers? The only logical conclusion I can form is that she wants to go home. The cameras didn’t catch her tacking this to my door, so perhaps she thinks it’s okay. Kayla has a sibling. For her to use this against me tells me that she’s more selfish than I ever imagined. I’m seething mad, and if I’m being honest, I’m also hurt.
I told her I had to punish her. Conventional punishment doesn’t work with Kayla. The audience at home knows this. Resorting to mental torture was the only way to put her in line. She didn’t see past her nose, and now she’s upset. I can’t make sense of any of it. We talked about it. She knew.
It was just as painful for me as it was for her. Knowing she was watching Jessy and I while cuffed in that cold, dreary room caused feelings I don’t want to acknowledge. This is part of the games. It shouldn’t have been as difficult as it was. After the punishment scene with Jessy and Kayla, Laurel assured me it was exactly the convincing footage we need.
Kayla cried. Real tears fell in the name of emotions. Emotions she felt for me. It’s too bad they soured quickly after. I wanted to care for her. I wanted to take her into one of the many rooms and spend quality time with her. The cameras would have been there for some, but they would have left eventually, leaving us to ourselves. Instead, I’m left with rancid words of a blogger who has a vendetta against my family and our wealth. Is his theory correct? Did me watching my brother die force me into this lifestyle? Subconsciously? Consciously? I’d like to think not, but who knows. The little things that happen to you over the course of your life are what forms your personality. The decisions you think inconsequential as a teenager morph into more important decisions as an adult. Maybe if I chose differently as a child, I would choose differently as an adult. For that reason, I can’t say that the asshole isn’t right. I’m not so closed-minded to think that everyone else is wrong. It pisses me off even more because of this.
My office phone rings. I answer it quickly with a short, “Reed.”
“Oh, come on, Son. You’re not a Reed. Let’s be honest with ourselves here.” It’s my father. His forced, jovial laughter makes my stomach turn.
“Did you take away my name now?” I smirk. This is exactly what my blood pressure needs right now. Franklin Reed—the oil tycoon, who has more wealth than anyone in the world. My father took away a lot of things when I decided to shun the family business. I didn’t want to be a part of his conglomeration. I wanted to be the face of my own. Now, I can proudly say the majority of my wealth is my own. Did he help me? Of course. Which is why I still entertain his phone calls. I respect him as a business man, but I don’t love him as a father. He is not a good man. Who am I to judge?
My father clears his throat. I imagine him wearing his smoking jacket in the purple parlor—a cigar hanging from his chubby lips and a tumbler of bourbon in his wrinkled, dry hand. “It’s the bi-yearly family get-together, Dominic. You know your mother would be angry with me if I didn’t invite you. Wait. Let me put it in terms you can understand. She’ll spank me if I’m a naughty boy. Come.” He laughs at his own joke, and my face heats, turning a red shade of violence. Sitting in my desk chair, I lean back and let my gaze wander over the six pages of the article. My family is so fucked up.
I blow out a breath. “I’m filming right now. When is it?”
He ignores my question completely in favor of talking about his most recent conquest and how much money he’s set to gain when a new acquisition is under his management. He does this every time he calls. It’s only a matter of time before he asks if I want part of it. “So, you want in? The earning ability of this one is big, Son. Real big. Ten times what your paltry, play set brings in,” he says, donning the air of the convincing business man.
Play set. If I wasn’t already at a boiling point, his words would do it. “This is my life, Father. I’m happy and my production company is making more than enough.” In his green haze, he’s forgotten I still have more than half of my trust fund.
“More than enough isn’t good enough. Especially if you ever settle down and find a nice girl. Nice girls like nice things. Big houses and expensive jewelry.” That’s what his mistresses want.
I bite my lip to keep from saying something insulting. “When is the get-together, Dad?”
“Next weekend. Your brother is off for spring break. Your mother planned it. Will you be bringing a plus one?” I hear his lighter sparking and the ice ball rattle in his glass. “Your mother would really appreciate it if you at least pretended to be normal. She has to hear from her friends about your sexual predilections. That’s not fair to her. Pretend for her. Do you need the jet?”
“I have my own. Tell Mom I’ll be there.” I hang up the phone. Hearing him take one more breath is too much to handle. I call Laurel into my office and tell her of the schedule blip. She says it can easily be worked around. A weekend away is probably a good thing, she says. My father’s words about bringing a plus one rattle in my mind.
The episodes are airing, so the chance of them recognizing one of my harem is probable. Laurel assures me she can find a girlfriend for me to bring, but my father’s words about a nice girl ring in my mind.
“You know what? Don’t worry about that, okay? No plus one.” I hand her the stack of crumbled papers. “Do send him a cease and desist for defamation, please.” She takes the papers, glances quickly, and nods.
“Sure, I’ll have the legal department get right on that. Anything else, sir?” Laurel isn’t my assistant, but I wish she were. She’s more thorough than anyone else. “The episode we filmed last night may be the best one yet, Mr. Reed. It’s in the cutting room right now if you’d like to watch before we send it to the sub house for the women to view.”
Wincing, I shake my head. “No, thank you, Laurel. That will be all.” She scurries, carrying away my anger in her right hand. I tell Van to keep the cameras off me, and I leave to find Kayla. I can’t include anyone in this anymore.
The real reason I placed Kayla’s room at the end of the long hallway is because it has a hidden elevator across the hall. I can get to her without anyone else being aware. My intuition back then was spot-on. Deep down I knew I would get into this mess with her. Was it because of her beauty, her charm, or was it something more? I can’t quantify what it is about her that keeps drawing me back despite anger, disobedience, and her salty mouth. I don’t crave challenges, I conquer them. Kayla can’t be conquered.
I knock on her door swiftly, looking to the right to make sure no one is around. Kayla’s voice is quiet from the other side of the thick doo
r. “Come in!”
Trying the knob, I realize she’s left it unlocked. Who is she expecting? Surely it’s not me. When I open the door she looks shell-shocked to see me.
She pulls her robe around her body a little tighter. As if I haven’t seen her naked up close and personal from every fucking angle already. “What are you doing here?” she asks, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. She’s still angry. Good. Let our angers collide and burn.
Closing the door behind me, I make sure to lock it. “Don’t leave this unlocked. It’s not safe. I wanted to see how you were today. Were you expecting someone else?”
She runs her hands through her tangled hair and fidgets with her hands. “I figured I wouldn’t see you again. Outside of the glamour and lights, that is.” She looks down at her bare feet and then back at her reflection. She’s barefaced again. Fuck. “No, of course not. I assumed it was one of the girls or Laurel. Didn’t know the compound had wild tigers and rapists running loose. I’ll keep it locked from now on.”
I nod. “Don’t make jokes. I’m pissed, Kayla. Extremely angry. Last night I could have burned down a city and choked you with the ashes.” But it’s fading every second I’m in your presence. “The stunt you pulled with that article was bold and childish. Laughably so. That’s why I’m able to look at you and not combust into particles of rage. I’m chalking it up as an immature stunt because I hurt you.” I stand behind her in the mirror. She keeps her sad gaze focused on her face. “You knew what needed to happen. I warned you, Kayla. This is what I had to give the audience. I needed to distance myself from you.”
She blinks once. Twice. One last time slowly—her guard coming down. “You never could have prepared me for that, Dominic. That was a low blow. So low I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive you. Sure the article was childish and a stupid move, but the content is real. That’s about your real life. Why hide it? Own it. The games you play with me aren’t real. They are a façade to please the masses. My feelings don’t matter. Hell, your feelings don’t even matter. I don’t even know why I’m still here. Tell me why I’m still here. This life isn’t for me. You don’t want me. You’ve convinced the masses you don’t want me, so just let me go. What you did was despicable. I had to hear you touch her and kiss her.” She raises her arms out to the side and lets them fall back down by her sides, defeated. “You like the idea of me. In the end you’re going to pick someone who can give you what you want…what you need. You’re mad, you say. Well, I’m furious.”
The Dom Games Page 10