Drake Hart
“Good morning, Drake.”
“Hi, Margaret, I have an appointment with Billy. Is the ass around?” I asked with a smirk and put out my cigarette in a nearby crystal bowl.
“No smoking in here,” Margaret said condescending, with an obviously fake smile and a stare that could only be described as a mother who caught her kids stealing a cookie from the cookie jar, all the while emptying out the bowl in a nearby trash can. “You know better.”
Margaret had been my dad’s assistant and now my brother’s since before I was even born. I was sure she knew more about our business than we even did. She also had our backs. She would take a fall for any of us any day. So she was one of the few I would take lip service from.
She motioned with her hand for me to have a seat. I pushed off her desk and picked up a magazine lying on the entry table. It had been ages since I had been to my brother’s office. The reception area was post-modern with a touch of old-world class. I guess Billy let his wife have her way with the designing. His taste sucked. But I had to admit the room suited him.
So I guess by now you were wondering who in the hell I was? I was known by most as Sir, and to a few very lucky girls as Master. See it is not my style to give my name out to strangers but what the fuck, Drake Andrew Hart at your service; a twenty-six-year-old sex god, the best damn private investigator around, and if you crossed the wrong person, I’ll become your worst nightmare.
“Drake.”
I heard come from behind my shoulder, and turned to catch my brother standing in the foyer with a cigar dangling from his smile. I thought it was a no smoking office building. I snickered; the rules had never applied to Billy Hart.
“Jackass.” I picked up my briefcase and followed him down the hall toward his office.
When we got there, he locked the door behind us. I took a deep breath, a locked door was never a good sign, and had a seat in front of Billy’s desk. Pulling a manila envelope out of my briefcase, I said, “The pictures from last night.”
I slapped the envelope onto his desk, and without opening it, he placed it in the top drawer. I never asked any questions. Honestly, I couldn’t care less why he needed the damn pictures. I was just relieved he never looked at them. But then again what man wanted to see pictures of his brother’s dick shoved into some random whore’s ass.
“I’ve got a challenge for you,” Billy said as he leaned back in his office chair.
Challenge? No woman has ever been a challenge for me. I’ve yet to meet a woman who didn’t want my cock pounding so deep inside them they see heaven.
Our clientele ran the gamut. However, most of my personal customers were men looking to get out of their marriage to some money grubbing whore. I did whatever it took to get the pictures of the cheating bitch, and if there were none to be taken, I would seduce her into the bed myself. See I was the man no lady could say no too.
Most men didn’t have a clue what women truly wanted. Men thought women wanted flowers, walks in the park, talking about feelings. Truth be known, women wanted to be fucked so hard they feared they would break. I knew the truth, and I also knew they wouldn’t break.
While most men fantasize about having a certain lady, I was the one who got her, used her, and got paid a pretty penny in the process. But I was growing restless and needed a break from just another fuck.
“What job?” I started to roll up the cuffs of my shirt as Billy pushed a file folder toward me. I pulled out a photo of my next target; her deep brown hair was swept back into a loose ponytail, t-shirt, yoga pants, the perfect mom uniform.
Cherry Webb
Most of these women couldn’t even get my dick hard without a pep talk and the big payday when the job was complete. But this one was different. Even in her picture she had a radiant light coming from somewhere inside her body, and I might add a hot body at that. She had curves where every woman should have them.
This one might actually be enjoyable. Why in the hell did any man want to cut her loose?
“What’s the story with this one?” I stood up and walked over to the wet bar to pour a glass of Jack and Coke.
“She’s taking her husband for a ride in the divorce,” Billy said and shrugged his shoulders. “I guess he wants to prove he is not the only ass in the relationship.”
“Lucky for her, I’ll be the one to explore her ass,” I choked back my drink and glanced down at my watch. “I’ve got an appointment in an hour across town. Where is this little cutie?”
“She works for some unknown newspaper. Her editor is sending her to interview you about being Master of The Dungeon.”
I spit out the gulp of drink I took. “Her boss is in on this.”
“Yeah, apparently she is fucking the husband. Only the wife has no idea.” Billy smirked. “With bosses like that, I’m glad I don’t answer to anybody.”
I glanced back down at Cherry’s pictures. “With a story like that, I’ll make sure to give her a chapter she can brag about in the nursing home.”
Cherry Webb
“You didn’t find your husband with his dick shoved up your best friend’s ass.”
Holy hell. I slapped my hand across my mouth and turned a bright flaming red. Did I really yell that out to my boss no less? Yes, I did. I was sick of people telling me to cheer up. That I was better off without him. It was his loss. No, it was mine. I had been married to that man since I was twenty years old and spent the last sixteen years in total bliss with whom I thought was my soul-mate. How was I to know he had spent every one of those years shoving his dick into every hole that was open and willing?
“I’m sorry, Amy. It’s just I feel . . . lost . . . I’m still raw.” I tapped my fingers across the steering wheel and blew a wayward strand of hair off my face.
“Listen, he has been doing everything with a pussy for years and treated you like shit,” she chimed into the telephone. “Hell, he was crazy. You’re the sweetest and most giving person I know.”
But never the prettiest. That was my ex’s problem with me all along. I was never good enough for him. Enough of this.
“Back to the subject at hand. I’m already trying to find a way out of doing this article on Sir. I mean who only gives Sir as his name?”
“An extremely hot and fuckable ass. Now, you are doing this assignment. Maybe he’ll even give you a demonstration,” Amy said before the phone line went dead. Yeah, like a fuckable ass wants a big lard.
I threw the cellphone onto the passenger seat and screamed. I had not done an interview for The Showcase, a local magazine for places to go and people to meet, since I left my husband two months earlier. Luckily, Amy, the editor, had understood. But why she thought an interview with the most talked about Dom in the whole city of Memphis was the perfect way to get-back-my-groove was beyond me.
I pushed the pedal to the floorboard. I had thirty minutes to get to the other side of town and the warehouse district. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. James, my soon-to-be-ex, would have come apart at the thought of me running around alone in that part of town. On top of that, I was meeting with the town’s most elusive Dom, and I didn’t even know his name. All Amy gave me was a time, an address, and that this man had the ability to control even the strongest lady.
I pulled into the parking garage outside an old warehouse, and my heart pounded. The side of the building was covered with graffiti, but the front was all curved glass and steel. Glancing down at my watch, I stumbled out of my car unsure of what lay ahead for me that day. I had made it with ten minutes to spare. It had taken Amy nine months to arrange that particular interview, and she threatened me not to be late.
I walked in and was immediately greeted by a stunning brunette. She had on a form fitting charcoal-grey suit. I was surprised and a little satisfied that a sex club would have a brown haired beauty as the greeter. After all, James always said no man in his right mind would want to sleep with anybody other than a blonde.
“You must be Amy Richardson.�
� She reached out and firmly shook my hand.
“Actually, it’s Cherry Webb. I’m here to see . . .” I went blank. I had no idea what his name was other than Sir.
She chuckled. “The Master will see you.” She stood up, and I realized why any guy would forget the brown shade of hair. Damn, she was hot and oozed of confidence.
“I’m Kelly, by the way. I’m one of the main submissives around here.”
My mind started to be bombarded with so many questions; the utmost being why a woman like her, so beautiful and self-assured, would allow any man to abuse her. She handed me a badge that clearly stated visitor in bold print. Surely it was beyond obvious that I didn’t belong in a place like this. James was correct. I would never be any man’s fantasy.
She escorted me to a set of elevators and hit the up button. The door slid open, and as I stepped in I was greeted by a security guard who was dressed in a well-cut black suit, black shirt, and black tie. I was getting even more nervous about meeting Master as Kelly called him. If his security looked that sharp and well put together, I could only imagine what he looked like.
The elevator reached the top floor and opened. I found myself in a rather large lounge with what appeared to be two king beds mushed together. They stood proud, taking center stage in the middle of the room. The north and west facing walls were floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased a spectacular view of downtown Memphis. It was a stunning view but was soon eclipsed when he walked in the room. He commanded the room like no one I had ever come across. He was dressed in a tailored three-piece suit. That suit was hot, but the tall, muscular, and powerful body inside it was what sent a prickling across my skin. Still as magnificent as that body was, it wasn’t until my eyes traveled up to his face and incredible mane of blond hair that I went weak in the knees. His crystal blue eyes flamed with an unwavering force that knocked the breath from my lungs. A man that was so perfect, it was almost painful to look upon him. My head automatically lowered and focused on his luxurious oxfords. Oh, damn, he is . . . devastating.
“You’re not Amy,” he snapped, causing my nerves to shatter.
I took a step back, tripped on my heel, and tumbled flat on my ass. Damn, he is going to kick me out now. He extended a thick, manly hand, and I breathlessly accepted it.
Drake Hart
“But, I think I’d rather have you. She is rather, how can I put it nicely? A bitch. You, on the other hand, look like you can be fun,” I said and winked at her. “A lot of fun.” Note to self: send Billy a thank you card for sending me this one.
Clasping a small, fragile hand, I pulled her to her feet. She was embarrassed; her milky-smooth skin flamed. The image of what that skin would look like striped by the bite of a cane crossed my mind. I was restless, but that sweet lady was there for business not my pleasure. I could at least have a little fun while she’s here.
“And I have to admit I rather like you on your knees,” I added, trying to use my amused tone to put her at ease.
It took a few seconds for her to finally find her voice to speak. “I’m Cherry Webb, and I’m so sorry for the rude entrance, Sir.”
I was highly aroused and entertained by that submissive little look she was giving me. I didn’t believe her eyes had looked higher than my knees since she tripped over those red six-inch heels that showcased those long legs of hers. The loose-fitting skirt, however, did nothing to flatter her. She adjusted her white blouse to cover the small smidgen of her breast she was showing. She’d been hurt. Every move she made screamed that she believed she was less than. Her husband, I was positive, had hurt her and had taken away her self-worth. I slipped on my impassive expression. I could never let her know how she affected me, but I wanted to prove to her that she was a beautiful treasure, make her believe in herself and be proud of that amazing, curvy, hot body. I hit the button on the remote in my pocket that controlled the East facing wall. As it started to slide back to expose a sitting area, she stared in amazement giving me a moment to adjust the bulge she was causing in my pants. She looked back at me confused, so I waved the remote in my hand. “Take a seat, Mrs. Webb.”
I motioned over to a large circular, black-leather sectional. The gleam that sparkled from her eyes let me know she knew that space was entirely too spacious for one person; because it was not used for one person but an orgy of people. It was a sex club, after all.
She arched a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. “Before I sit, what all has happened on that couch?”
I laughed. Oh, Babe, if I told you all of that, you would be running for the nearest exit. “I slept on it last night. Want to massage out the crick it left me with?” I wrapped a hand around the back of my neck and kneaded my fingers into it.
A ghost of a smile darted across those luscious, lickable lips of hers before she composed that professional journalist face. She took a seat and glanced up to see that I had moved directly in front of her, placing my groin in line with her face. She unconsciously licked her lips. Oh, Babe, you’ll get a taste soon.
I tilted my head and judged her expression. I was getting to her. Her eyes were fixed on my obvious semi-erection as a pale rosy-pinkness crept up her neck and across her cheeks. Pushing my fingers through a messy blond cowlick on the crown of my head, I sank down on the couch across from her, stretched out my long legs in front of me as I reclined, making sure my foot tapped against hers, and propped my elbows on the back of the couch.
Her cheeks flamed as she started to fumble in her purse until she pulled out a digital recorder. She wouldn’t look at me.
“Stand up, Cherry,” I said making sure I rolled each letter of her name off of my tongue. She didn’t move. “Now, Mrs. Webb.” I wanted her to look at me, but in all honesty, I simply wanted to look at her.
She stood without thinking and started fidgeting with her ill-fitting blazer. I would fix those nervous jitters. With my finger, I motioned for her to come closer. She bent at the waist and brought her face within inches of mine. Her eyes caught my attention and halted me still. They were downcast, and the depth of sadness in them was mind-blowing. Maybe, if I brought a few moments of bliss to Cherry, it would make up for a small portion of my sins.
“Green, the color of fertility, nature, money, envy, and lust,” I said then scraped my tongue along my top teeth. Please smile.
“What, Sir?” she asked, still leaning over me. I rubbed my fingers together, dying to actually touch her.
“Your eyes. They’re green. They match the caramel tones in your hair.”
She stood up and combed her hands through her thick mane of hair. Something about that statement bothered her.
“Turn around,” I said and cupped my own chin, trailing a long index finger over my lips. She stared at me and then fell back onto the couch.
“I’m here for an interview, not a modeling gig.”
She slid a pen out of the top of a notepad and opened it. She still had a spark in her. I wanted to show her the tremendous value and power she held within herself. She was, after all, extremely beautiful. She was older than me but could hold her own against any woman. Yes, she's affecting me. A true submissive. One who needed to learn her value.
I had to rein in my thoughts and remind myself why she was there.
She finally raised her eyes but not her head. I pictured her naked at my feet giving me that same heart-stopping stare. Fuck, get your mind off of her and onto this god-awful interview.
“Do you prefer blondes?” She blurted out before she even turned her recorder on, but it caused her to hold her head up.
I bit my tongue not to laugh. That question meant something deeper to her than my preference in hair color. “Your first question is about hair color?”
“Just curious.”
She blinked, and her eyes appeared even more lost. I couldn’t stand the fact I had put that look on that exquisite face.
“No, I don’t. I think blonde is highly overrated. My personal favorite is red.” Fuck, she quit looking at me again. She had tucked tha
t beautiful face against her shoulder. “But a close second is brown. There is something about a brunette. They are dark and mysterious.”
That smile I had been hoping for slowly ran across her face. She hit the record button on the digital recorder and pulled out a set of questions.
“What’s your real name?”
Oh no, Beautiful, I don’t trust you enough for you to know that name. I only give out my name to those I care about. “Sir.”
“No, not what you want me to call you, but your real name?”
“I’d love to have you call me Master, but Sir will do for now.” I glared at her. “Due to my real job and personal life, I’m not willing to entrust my name to anyone.”
A name holds too much power, and I hold all the power here. Her eyes widened, and I witnessed her wither under my stare. She slumped deeper into the couch cushion she was sitting on and that exquisite shade of pink spread across her face. Oh, yes, you will be so fun and easy to control.
She rattled the sheet of paper she was holding out of nerves. “What led you to this lifestyle? Why did you choose to become a Dom?” she asked in a soft and shy voice but arched that perfectly shaped eyebrow at me.
“I didn’t choose it. I found who I truly was through it,” I answered, knowing that was the truest answer I’d ever given. Billy, my older brother, introduced me to this life, and I’d never looked back. It was the one place where I could freely give myself over to someone and not worry about the problems in my life.
“Is it a power thing?” she continued expeditiously. She adjusted the collar on the shirt she was wearing. Oh, Babe, I want to stop that fidgeting. You should walk in a room and own it. Why do you feel so bad about yourself?
Cherry Bomb Page 2