by Kaliana Cole
“Like you would be anything else, brat.” He stamped her lips harder but briefly before lifting his head. Bailey watched the possession flare in his eyes as he put the bejeweled collar around her throat. Its weight was a reassuring reminder, not the confining constriction as she had envisioned. “You look beautiful, Bailey. And sexier than hell in that dress. I’m going to burn it when we get home, by the way.”
“That’s okay. I look better in nothing.”
Jory’s deep groan echoed though her. “Don’t say that. I was hoping to get out tonight. These pants can contain a hard-on, but a wet spot sticks out like a sore thumb. Nearly as obvious as your nipples.” He flicked his thumbs over them before pulling away. “Come on, there’s a cab waiting, and if I stand here a second longer you’re going to find out just how much of a convenience wearing no underwear is.”
* * * *
Shivers hadn’t changed much from when Jory had been there two years ago. What had changed was taking his own plaything. Bailey looked cute as hell at the end of the fine chain leash. He’d clipped it on the moment they had slipped through the outer doors. His Kat membership card had gotten them entry. Callum and Connor had reciprocal membership deals with a few clubs in neighboring states. Shivers was one of those.
He wanted a chance to have a look around and let Bailey settle before he headed upstairs to see Craig Weston, the co-owner-manager of the alternative club. At the moment she looked pretty comfortable, curled on a cushion at his feet with her head on his knee and her arm wrapped around his calf, but Jory could feel her tension.
Shivers was the most secure of all the D&s clubs in Denver. The building was part of a large complex with a narrow street frontage, and the fact that most of the club was underground had reassured Bailey. The large foyer area was a long way from the main floor where they now sat, but Jory noticed the covert glances Bailey gave to the only possible point of ingress for a madman in a truck.
She also looked carefully at every man who walked past their perch in the corner. Blond hair and a mustache that could have by now been shaven off were the concrete features Bailey had given in her description, but she had also spoken of a peculiar slant to his features, almost an asymmetrical twist that she could neither adequately describe nor draw when asked. She was adamant she would be able to pick him out of a lineup, though, and for that reason they were at Shivers.
Jory found it amusing to watch all the posturing and little tableaus being played out all around them. It was vastly entertaining. He knew that upstairs was just the wannabes. Higher-membership patrons were downstairs. It had been a long time since he had stayed out in the general admittance area of any club, and it made him feel old and a little jaded to watch all the aspiring Doms try to pick up the fresh-faced young things on the meat market of the dance floor. Most of them looked like they were here on a dare anyway. They were moving too self-consciously to belong.
He didn’t get to sit and watch for long. A tall, PVC-clad woman stalked toward them on painful-looking stilettos. “Jory Raines. What are you doing hiding over here? Come on up, Craig is waiting for you.” Jory watched the woman’s eyes light up when she glanced at Bailey. “Do you want to take your little friend with you, or can I look after her for a while?”
“I will keep her with me, thanks, Latisha.” He felt Bailey stiffen when he smiled at Latisha, and withheld a chuckle. Bailey was a little wide of the mark with her jealousy. He was safe from Latisha. She liked her partners meek and submissive, gender was irrelevant. It also helped if they were total pain sluts. The woman wielded a single tail with the devil’s hand.
Jory followed Latisha up the catwalk stairs and into the silenced comfort of the office. Bailey clung to him like a second skin. He had not once felt weight on the other end of the leash. That told him just how nervous she was.
Leaning back in his chair, Craig had his eyes on the bank of monitors in front of him. “James, section two. Check it out, that guy has had one warning. If she wants away, turf him out.” He lifted a finger from the button and turned to his visitors. “Jory, good to see you again. Cal called and told me you were on the way. I wish it was for purely pleasure.” Jory shook his hand and introduced Bailey.
“I am deeply sorry for what happened to you, Ms. Verne. We do our utmost to keep a safe environment here at Shivers, but this psycho is a threat to all of the clubs in Denver. I am grateful that you found the strength to return to one.”
“It needs doing. The police don’t even have any suspects. Anything I can do to help catch him, I will. I was lucky. Two people have died and many more have been hurt so far. I want him caught before he gets a chance to hurt anyone else.”
“So do we, love, so do we.”
Latisha picked up a file from the cabinet and perched on the desk. She spoke straight to Jory, soundly ignoring Bailey. “We think it is a would-be Dom who we have refused membership to. All the clubs in Denver are very close knit. Once someone goes on the “do not admit” list, they find themselves denied access to all of the clubs. The same goes with infractions—a month ban here at Shivers applies to all the clubs. We have also added any disgruntled boyfriends, lovers, or husbands who have caused a scene to cover the possibility that it is an act of revenge from a spurned partner. We are looking at all possibilities.”
Jory watched as Latisha fixed Bailey with her heavily eye-lined gaze. “You are the only one who can identify him, pet. No one else has got a look at him at all. Now I know you must have been distraught and more than a little confused, but anything you can remember about this man will help to catch him. Can you look through some photos for us, sweetie?”
He saw Bailey’s jaw ripple and felt sorry for Latisha. She was talking to Bailey as if she was a submissive little sex toy with not a brain in her head. “Will you give me a pat on the head if I find him?” Jory held back a chuckle at her falsely eager tone. Craig didn’t bother, he guffawed loudly.
“Haven’t you clipped her claws yet, Jory?” Latisha ignored Craig’s laughter as she regarded Bailey as if she was some kind of strange but interesting unidentified creature.
“I kind of like her claws just the way they are.”
“It has finally happened. The great Jory Raines has fallen. How long has it taken for her to get her hooks into you?”
“She has been trying since she was five. There comes a time when you just have to give in gracefully before you start to look like a fool. You might be lucky enough to find out one day.”
Latisha shuddered theatrically. “I hope it’s not contagious. I’ll pull up the file and leave you to it.” Her fingers flew over the nearest keyboard. “Tell Craig if you see anything. Darling, give them my key when they’re finished. Let the lovebirds play for a while.”
Craig acknowledged her with a wave, his eyes fixed on the monitors and his finger once again on the button. “James, section six. Kindly inform the woman in red to stay in red, please, no undress on the dance floor.” He took a sip of coffee. “It’s gonna be one of them nights.”
Jory sat in the single chair behind the computer and put his arm around Bailey. She slid onto his lap and started looking at slides. He knew without looking when she had found the guy. Her body stiffened and he could feel her heart thump against the ribs his hand sat on.
“Number five, Craig.” Jory spoke when Bailey made no move to.
“Great. That’s one of the guys we have refused entry many times. He started trying to use disguises and fake IDs. Keep looking. There may be more than one picture of him.”
Bailey found two more definites and one maybe. The last photo was of such poor quality that she had done well in his opinion to recognize it as human.
Craig was ecstatic to get a positive ID on the offender and promised to call the police as soon as he got someone to relieve him at the monitors. He plucked an electronic key from a Peg-board behind him. “Downstairs, last door on the right. You know the rules. Enjoy.”
Jory winked at Bailey when she threw him a confused look
. Downstairs was going to open her eyes up. Jory led her down the stairs and turned right to the discreet door with a uniformed woman standing vigilantly beside it. Jory held up the card, and she nodded and stepped away from the scanner. Jory slid the card into the reader and heard the weighty thunk of the heavy locking mechanism disengaging.
He ushered Bailey down the stairs, with the hand that held her leash sitting on her waist. The play of her bare skin beneath his palm was tempting, too tempting. He took hold of his desires and put them on ice. He had a few things to show Bailey first. “Rules are to keep quiet and don’t interfere. If you want to move along, just give me a nudge.” He kept his voice low, but it echoed in the silence of the carpeted stairwell. The soundproofing in these clubs was second to none. “If you have any questions, save them for later.”
He stopped before the door at the end of the stairs. Her skin felt like the finest silk, warm beneath his palm when he wrapped it around her nape. The press of the collar gave him a deep satisfaction. “One kiss, baby, and then you have to behave.” The eager lift of her chin made him smile. Bailey loved her kisses. Actually, she loved damn near everything. He knew that if he even touched her neck she was awash, an involuntary response. Her little squirm told him today was no different. “So eager. You’re in trouble tonight, brat.”
“Jory?”
“Mmm?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He obliged, being mindful of her lipstick, pulling back when she made to take the kiss deeper. Wearing clown makeup could seriously undermine his reputation. “Come on, brat, let’s find out what’s going on down here.”
He pushed open the door.
* * * *
Bailey felt like Alice down the rabbit hole. Music thumped, deep but relatively quiet. Occasional screams and shouts lifted above the throbbing bass. There was a desperate quality to the screams, one that spoke of need and want rather than purely pain. Her breathing lifted in sympathy, the same want flooding her system. For the first time she felt a tug on the leash. Her eyes flew to Jory, and she saw the same sentiment echoed in his icy blues. His smile made promises for later before he headed straight ahead. Bailey followed eagerly.
The short corridor opened up into a dimly lit space with a bar, dance floor, and comfortable seating arrangements scattered about. There was a relaxed quality to the patrons that hadn’t been visible up in the other area. A comfortable assurance that made the try-hards above appear exactly what they were. Bailey shuddered to think that upstairs was where she had hoped to find what she had been chasing. No wonder she hadn’t gotten anything but trouble.
She spotted Latisha stalking about. Her PVC glistened as she had a word here and there. She watched as a fat man in a florid shirt passed the leash he held to her. The shirtless young man on the end of it was buff and handsome in that preppy, barely legal way. Latisha led him to a passageway disappearing on the other side of the room.
Bailey gave Jory questioning eyes. He leaned down until she could feel his mouth against her curls. “Latisha likes to play with other people’s toys. We’ll swing by after she gets him warmed up. Just don’t get any ideas.”
He moved on before she could query him on the cryptic remark. He led her to a revolving stage in the corner and took a vacant seat. He tossed a cushion on the ground, and Bailey sank onto it, winding herself about him as she had upstairs. She had thought sitting at his feet would be degrading and make her chafe, but she had no problems. This was Jory, and she knew where she really stood with him. He wanted a strong woman at his side, and for that, she was happy to play at his feet.
Well, she certainly got the better part of that deal. Not once during play had Jory come. She’d had countless orgasms stretched out and bound for his pleasure, but he had not partaken. Afterwards, when the scene was finished and she had recovered, she had to beg to get him to make love to her or to let her suck him to completion.
The scene on stage captured her attention. Two men had a pretty, chubby woman restrained in a standing cross. Chains suspended from the ceiling held her hands high and wide. Her ankles were similarly chained to the floor. One man stood before her, masked and dressed in black leather pants and vest. The other man was shaven headed, tough looking, heavily muscled and tattooed. He was a little coarse for Bailey’s taste, but she knew she would have played with him without a second thought before getting caught up in a madman’s revenge.
And before Jory. No man held any real appeal for her now except the one she twined around.
She watched as the masked man took a length of rope and began to bind the big breasts exposed above the demi-corset the brunette wore. He bound the base of the pendulous breasts tight until they sat up like bloated balloons, red and swollen. Despite the pressure, the large, dusky nipples were hard.
Bailey tightened her thighs when he began cruelly flicking the nubs, bringing them to even greater heights. She loved harsh treatment on her nipples, thrived on it. Pinches Jory dealt out for punishment only sent her higher and looking for more. His fingers stroked along her collar, and she glanced up to see a mocking little smile playing around his mobile mouth. Yep, he knew what she liked.
The brunette’s breathing came in harsh pants when Tattoo Guy picked up a flat strip of wood. A two-foot ruler. He gave a sharp blow to each bloated breast, leaving white marks that quickly filled with livid red. One vicious blow landed atop the woman’s bare lower lips, and Bailey watched with startled awe as her clit poked out between the shaven folds. She had never seen the like.
Tattoo Guy walked around to her rear and started laying a pattern of stripes down her ass and thighs. Bailey could see their lips move as they talked to the woman, but the words were lost to the music. Mask Guy picked up a huge vibrator, the bulbous external type. The appliance cord looked as if it was made for heavy ampage. Bailey’s clit quivered just thinking about that kind of power.
They worked as a well-oiled team, one bestowing pain, the other doling out reward. Bailey’s eyes lit up when Tattoo Guy reached for a paraffin candle. She had always wanted to try wax play. He dribbled it across the brunette’s shoulders and then on her striped buttocks. The white wax was startling against her ruby-tinted skin.
Bailey couldn’t watch the clothespins being applied to every inch of her folds without wincing. It was a little too close to what she had experienced. But Jory’s hand stroked her neck again, and she settled in to watch. The way they had pinned the woman actually opened her and exposed her further to the torment of the industrial-sized vibrator. The revolving stage gave all the audience a prime view from every angle. Her cries had reached a pitch that put them above the music. A needy wail that echoed down Bailey’s spine and pushed her nipples even harder against the stretchy white dress.
Time became irrelevant. Bailey didn’t know if they had been sitting there for five minutes or five hours. The scene culminated in a scream that was equal parts pleasure and pain as Tattoo Guy gave her five of the best with a rattan cane across her plump buttocks, raising welts that wept, while Mask Guy pinched a nipple and ruthlessly squashed her clit with the powerful vibrator.
The last view Bailey had before the curtain dropped was of both men holding the woman between them, bodies pressed tenderly to hers while their lips kissed her bared shoulders. A pang of jealousy took her by surprise.
Jory’s hand wrapped the whole back of her neck, tipping her head up to him. “Can you walk, brat? Or do I have to get a bucket and mop you up off the floor?”
He definitely read her too well. “I think I’ll manage.” Bailey accepted the hand he offered to help her up.
“We’ll go and see what Latisha is up to. Remember—no ideas.”
That only made her more curious. Jory headed down the hall the woman in black had taken earlier. Bailey sucked in a breath when he stopped at a Perspex room with a sign on the wall reading “The Wet Room.” Every surface looked like it could be hosed down. The slave was on all fours on the rubber floor, one needle-point stiletto resting on his ba
ck. It looked like he’d had red wax dribbled all over his back. Latisha’s attention was on the many-lashed whip in her hands as she untangled a snarl. The infamous cat-o’-nine-tails.
The young man was obviously well hung and more than a little excited. His erection rubbed his belly button. Bailey didn’t know how he was remaining still until Jory led her past another couple watching and she could see why it was so.
His balls were caught in a humbler—a bar behind his thighs that had an opening to trap his testicles. Any attempts to straighten his legs would pull at his balls. The sight titillated Bailey. She had never watched a male sub be dominated before, and while she liked to be the one on the receiving end, the thought of having a man under her power picked up her pulse.
Latisha got her whip sorted out and gave a few teasing lashes up under his belly to stripe his cock before letting him have it across the width of that muscled back. Bailey was fascinated right up until she realized the red on his back was not wax but blood. She blanched and dropped her gaze, turning away and pressing her face into Jory’s shoulder. He needed no further encouragement. He led her along the corridor until they came to a dead end. He swiped the card and let her into a darkened room. Lights came on, but Bailey just buried her head in Jory’s chest and clung.
“Too much for you, baby?” His hands rubbed soothing circles on her back.
“I don’t understand how she could do that. He was bleeding.”
“But still as hard as only a twenty-something can be.”
“I couldn’t do it.”
“I know, baby, and for that I’m glad. I couldn’t either. I like to see red marks, a welt or two. Bruised, not broken. I don’t need to see blood to know I’m having an effect. But some subs need it. Need more than their masters are willing to dish out. That’s when Latisha steps in. But you saw that boy. He wanted every bit he was getting. I’m glad she didn’t have the single tail out, though. I don’t have the stomach to watch her using that if she is going for blood.”