The women on stage I’ve seen before. The club has regulars, and the exclusive invites rarely allows for new members. It creates an environment of familiarity, which aids in allowing the members to feel at ease.
There are several trainers with them as well. The trainers are experienced in BDSM, another pivotal feature of this club that I played a part in. We needed a safe way for the Submissives and the Dominants to learn. This club isn’t a free-for-all. Although each Dominant has their own way of doing things, their own preferences and kinks, and we encourage the variety.
Dressed in leathers, the trainers are lined up and waiting for the women to choose instruments from the extensive collection. Their sole purpose is to provide a means for the women to explore their limits. One woman, I believe her name is Lisa, is concerned about her positioning. Although she’s dressed in a simple cream chiffon romper, she’s on the waxed floor of the stage, practicing with a trainer offering advice. She’s not very graceful. Poor girl. She’s going to really have to work on her balance.
A quick vision flashes in front of my eyes of how I’d train her. I’d use a flogger, certainly not a cane or paddle. Every unstable waver of her body would earn her a lashing. At first I’d have her balance on one foot, but ultimately I’d have her end up in the position she’s in now. On her back, on the floor, her legs spread and opened for me. And as she worked on balancing herself, the heavy braided tails would whip against her glistening pussy. I can visualize how the skin on her thighs and ass would be flushed red from the punishing strokes. But the ones at the end of her training would already have her on edge. What was a punishment, would turn into a reward.
I glance back at the Submissive, Lisa. I can see it happening, but not with her. She’s not for me.
Most of these women want a Dominant. They want to be able to rely on safe words. I don’t provide that. It’s something I’m not interested in. I want a woman's complete trust. Or at least her utter reliance on me, and total obedience.
I recognize Lilly on the stage as well. She’s fairly new to the club, and she’s yet to find a Dominant. She’s eager to learn and excitable, but her energy is excessively positive. I’ve heard many men talk about how she seems more vulnerable and breakable than even the more experienced Subs in the club. Bubbly is a good description of her.
Oddly enough, she’s the only one walking to the whips on the right side of the stage. Her bracelet is cream-colored, indicating that she’s finding her limits.
I glance at the other screens before coming back to hers. Her fingers trail down the knotted ends of a cat o’ nine tails, and several men in the audience perk up at the sight. I wouldn’t have guessed she’d be a red woman. The women with the red in their bracelets are ones who enjoy pain. Masochists. She may be interested in the whip, but her reaction will be enlightening, I’m sure. Many underestimate the intensity of the pain. It takes time and several punishing hits before the resulting adrenaline rush and flood of endorphins work their magic and turn pain into pleasure. It takes the right partner as well.
My eyes flash to the next screen, and a rough chuckle makes my shoulders shake as Madam Lynn catches Dominic lingering in the large opening between the front lobby and the dining hall.
One look from her, and he’s quick to go back to his place at the front. He may be nearly six and a half feet tall with broad shoulders to match his intimidating height, but Madam Lynn doesn’t compromise. Everyone knows that. Dominic returns to his post while he adjusts his dick in his pants. I snort a laugh. I’m not hard in the least.
Nothing has excited me for years, but Dominic never fails to be aroused. I imagine it would be different if the employees were permitted to play in the club. But there’s a zero-tolerance policy against it. Professionalism is the most valued attribute to Madam Lynn. I'm fortunate she makes an exception for me.
I glance around the monitors, but my sight is once again drawn to the stage. The cat o' nine tails is whipping across the screen and landing with a loud hiss against a dummy. Lilly walks closer to the dummy and runs her fingers along the marks left by the whip while the trainer talks to her, wrapping the whip around his hand and walking toward her.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, but she’s listening intently. She’s showing him her full attention and taking the lesson seriously. The Dominants may not realize it yet, but in the years I’ve been here, I know an excellent Submissive in the making, and Lilly will certainly be one.
Although she won’t be mine. She’s not my type. None of these women are. I’d rather be picky and choose one who is meant to fit my desires, just as I’m meant to fit her needs. I’m not interested in a quick fuck; most of the men here aren’t. It’s better to find a match that you can grow to trust. Someone who can help you delve deeper into your darkest desires.
“Poker on Saturday?” Joshua’s deep voice distracts me from my thoughts. I turn in the swivel chair to face him. The room is a mirror image, and he’s been in charge of monitor display of the second floor, while I’ve taken the first. The screens behind him flip among the other rooms as he looks over his shoulder at me.
Joshua is a co-owner of the club with Madam Lynn. We went into business together with security, and his relationship with Madam Lynn created all of this. They’re good friends and nothing more. The ring on his finger and the collar on his wife make that more than apparent.
“Yeah, Saturday,” I answer. I’ve been hosting the card games the last few weeks now. My cabin’s on the outskirts of the city with no neighbors or wives, or in Joshua’s case, children.
It’s empty, which I used to enjoy. I’m fond of privacy. The only time I hear a voice at home besides my own is poker night. It hasn’t bothered me much before, but now that most of the men seem taken with their partners, the halls seem quieter in a way I find slightly disconcerting. Especially this last week, with Lucian being quieter than usual and preoccupied with his Submissive.
I crack my neck, feeling the stiffness of my muscles. I’ll hit the gym in my basement and take a shower before bed. I need to do something to get out this tension.
“How much you planning on losing this week?” I say and smirk at him.
Joshua’s face scrunches as he focuses on a screen. He visibly winces as he watches one of the red rooms in the dungeon. I’m surprised anything gets to him anymore.
Finally recognizing my words, he answers, “I’m taking every chip you got, Rocci.” I snort a laugh and hold back my yawn.
I stand up and stretch, picking up my worn brown leather coat off the back of my chair. It’s time to go home anyway. I’m going on a fourteen-hour shift here. Derek called out unexpectedly, and I covered for him on his short notice.
I think about what’s waiting for me back at home.
The mess is still on the table in the game room from last week’s poker game. A few bottles and cigar wrappers. Nothing worth bitching about; the maid will clean it up tomorrow anyway.
I watch the monitors in front of Joshua, consumed by the image that’s holding his attention. A Master and a Slave. They’re a rarity here. The red rooms in the dungeon require the most attention, for obvious reasons.
I’ve seen Masters come and go in the club. Many are Sadists and that creates serious problems, so we don’t allow many. I’m one, although my desire to use pain is only to enhance pleasure. And that’s not the situation that’s occurring on the screen at the moment. Joshua looks tense and concerned, but there’s no reason to be. Becca loves the pain. She doesn’t need a safe word because her limits are much higher than her Master’s. She arches her back toward the cane, accepting the blow and greeting it with a look of ecstasy etched on her face. She’s the only Slave here, and she’s collared. I don’t even know why they come here anymore.
It’s been a long time since a Slave has arrived. Someone who’s capable of trusting so wholeheartedly that they’re willing to give herself completely over to a Master. Who’s willing to give over to a 24/7 power exchange.
Maybe that�
�s why nothing has interested me. My tastes are specific. A Slave. I crave the power being a Master allows me, and the desire to control and provide her every need.
Across the hall from the game room in my home is the door to a room I created for one sole purpose. A room fit for my match.
I shrug the leather jacket on my shoulders, trying to remember when the last time I even opened it was.
Too long. It’s been far too long.
Chapter 2
Katia
I can practically hear the clock ticking as I go about my daily routine. Tick. Tick. Tick. It’s a quarter past five and I’m running behind schedule. I’m usually on time, but I had difficult time sleeping last night, tossing and turning for most of the night. I frown at the memory as I pull on my faded wash jeans over my hips, and tug down my cozy red sweater.
I haven’t had a night that bad in a while. I cover my mouth with a yawn and try to ignore the unsettling feelings as I make my way to the bathroom sink. But I’m hoping it’s just a fluke. It is just a fluke. I won’t let things get back to the way they were.
Pushing the unpleasant memory away, I swipe on my favorite lipstick in a shade reminiscent of crushed rose petals, and smoosh my lips together. Then I peer critically at myself in the mirror. The quick ponytail I coax my hair into is going a long way to hide my disheveled blonde hair, but when you’re the owner of Paws Apartments, a doggy day care and shelter, your hair doesn’t need to be pretty. You just need to show up and be there.
I’ve found dogs only care about two things. Well, three. Food, exploration and companionship. I love it actually. Working and caring for these dogs fills me with purpose and gives my life meaning. It’s the one thing I look forward to every day. Just thinking about the excitement on their fuzzy little faces when I walk in to greet them warms my chest and brings a small smile to my lips as I reach for the small tube of thick concealer.
Another part of my routine.
My smile slowly vanishes as I run my fingertips along the scars littering my neck. No matter how much time passes, they barely seem to fade. It’s been four long years, but they’re still there, reminding me of a darker time in my life. As I stare at my neck in the mirror, a weight presses down on my chest, but after a moment I push it away in defiance.
I survived all that, I think to myself, dotting the concealer on my neck and right shoulder and then reaching for my foundation. And I’m stronger now.
He didn’t ruin me. I won’t let him hold any power over me anymore.
Straightening my back, I swallow thickly and square my shoulders as I delicately press the foundation onto my skin and smooth the concealer on the scars on my neck until they’re all gone. After I’m done with my face, I toss the foundation into the decorative velvet-lined box where I keep my makeup, the memories already fading. Coffee is the next thing on my agenda.
Tick, tick, tick. The small ticks echo in my head, reminding me how far I’m behind already. I grit my teeth. Crap.
I almost call out, “I’m coming, Roxy!” as I make my way to the kitchen, but then I catch myself, a feeling of sadness coursing through me. I take a deep breath and rub under my tired eyes. It’s a habit I have yet to break. I’m so used to Roxy being there every time I turn around that I still haven’t gotten over the fact that she’s gone.
Tears prick my eyes as my bare feet pad on the linoleum and I start the coffee maker. Two clicks, and it’s brewing. I should grab something to eat, but instead I find myself lost in thought as the sounds of the water heating fill the empty space. The quiet space. Quiet because she’s not here anymore.
Roxy, my Golden Retriever, was such a lovable dog. She was always there for me whenever I needed her. She was so happy. I swear dogs can smile, and she was always smiling. We were practically inseparable. And she didn’t give a rat’s ass that I had scars all over my back or that I was scared of things I couldn't see, of dark memories that I desperately wanted to leave in the past.
She just loved me unconditionally and only wanted to comfort me. I clung to that love, fostering it. She was my therapy, and I came to depend on her for so much. I can’t count how many times I woke up out of a night terror, frightened out of my mind, only to find Roxy sitting right there, nuzzling against me and whining with true pain from worrying over me. Her calming presence would almost always soothe my anxiety. It’s times like last night, when I’d been plagued by a particularly dark terror, where I miss her the most.
It hurts so badly to think that she’s never going to lay with me in bed again. To think I can no longer hold her close and pet her with long strokes as I whisper, thank you into her thick fur. She’d done so much for me, more than anyone else has: loving me, healing me, that even if she were here now, I’d never be able to repay her for it.
I try to lean against the counter and my elbow knocks the plastic travel mug off the counter. I try to grab it but miss, the plastic hitting the tips of my fingers before falling onto the floor with a loud clatter. I wince from the loud noise and wait for it to settle before picking it up.
“I guess it’s just going to be one of those days,” I mutter out loud to myself, wiping at the tears in the corner of my eyes with the back of my hand. At least it’s not broken. I bend down, scooping the mug up and finally resting against the counter as the smell of coffee fills the room. Since Roxy’s death, some days have been harder than others, with me nearly overcome with emotion. Unfortunately, this was shaping up to be one of those days. I suppose that’s just how grief works.
It’s even worse considering Roxy was the first pet I’ve ever had, and that she was the only companionship I had when I first came back home. I pause as I pour cream and sugar into my coffee cup. Maybe it’s not right to call this place home. I’m still hours away from what used to be home. The small suburbs of New York will never be home again. I just can’t face the constant reminders. I feel guilty about distancing myself from my family and the life I used to have, but it’s for the better. It’s the only way I’ll find happiness after everything that happened.
I take a deep breath, setting the mug on the counter and inhaling the smell of fresh hot French vanilla coffee, doing everything I can to let go of the painful reminder. Losing Roxy was very difficult, but I can’t keep going on like this. I’ll always love her, but she wouldn’t want me living with this constant negativity. I just know in my heart she wouldn’t.
Closing my eyes, I take a small sip of the coffee and let the warmth fill me, comfort me. When I open them a moment later, they focus like a laser onto the clock on the microwave.
5:45
Shit, now I’m really running late. Sighing, I take another sip of my coffee, trying to relax. I’m only behind by fifteen minutes, but the dogs are there and waiting. I don’t want to disrupt our routine. They need it just as much as I do.
A low ding from my phone draws my eyes over to the kitchen table where my laptop is sitting open from the previous night, and I see my cell screen lit up on the edge of the lap top with a text. I let out a sigh and quickly grab it off the side of the table, hitting the keypad and waking the laptop to life. I don’t really have time for this, but I can’t not answer it. Before I can check my message, I see a notification pop up in the lower right corner on my laptop screen.
Darlinggirl86 has come online.
My phone dings again, but I ignore it as my last DM with Kiersten lights up with a message. I smile as I read what she’s typed.
Darlinggirl86: <3 you girl. You were right! I should’ve gone shopping. It made me feel so much better. I finally got that red dress that I’ve been eyeing for like a month now. And you wanna know the best thing? I look damn good in it too!
Smiling, I type a response while huffing out a small chuckle.
Katty93: <3 you too! I bet you look damn good in it too!
It always makes me feel good to talk to Kiersten. I consider her to be one of my best friends, even though we’ve never met. I’ve never even seen her face. We’ve spent the last four years b
onding over this support group message board, engaging in conversations about how messed up our lives were, sharing our dreams, hopes and aspirations. And most importantly, moving forward.
I wait for a response, but after almost a minute passes, I type in that I have to go. I really hate being late. I don’t like making the pups wait for me. I finally take a look at my phone and let out a heavy sigh when I see who it is. Mom.
Katia, I miss you honey! When are you going to come home?
Seeing the message gives me mixed emotions. I’m lucky to have my mother, to have a loving family. But they’re a part of my past I just can’t come to terms with. In this new city, with a new life, the past doesn’t matter. I can be anyone. But with them, I’ll always be Katia, their daughter who was taken for four years. And worse, when I look at them, I see how the years changed them.
Maybe it’s wrong of me, but when I think of her, I want to see the mother I knew. Seeing her reminds me of the time I was away. All the times I missed. When I last saw her, before they took me, she was happy, young and vibrant. That was over eight years ago.
I want to see her blonde hair that looks just like mine, not the silver shade that’s taken its place. Her gorgeous smile that I always envied, and blue eyes that sparkled with laughter. She tries, but the pain is still there. And it hurts me too much to see it.
When I was gone she never stopped looking for me, never once gave up on finding her precious daughter. I hate that I caused her so much stress, so much pain. Even if it wasn’t intentional, I still feel responsible. I still feel fucking guilty. I hate that she had to worry about me night after night, hoping, praying that she would one day find me alive.
But she couldn’t save me. No one could. I had to save myself.
And looking at her only reminds me of that.
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