by Lila Dubois
“What’s this?” He was holding it up, examining the back.
“That’s the symbol for the BDSM community.”
Damon sighed, then nodded and slipped it on. Tasha eyed him—with the leather vest on and his muscled arms crossed over his chest, he looked dangerous and not at all lawyerly. He looked like the kind of man that would, and could, do serious damage in a fight as well as in the bedroom.
“You look different.” Marco said. “You look like a thug.”
“You look like a gigolo.”
Tasha smiled to herself, enjoying their easy banter. It was clear the men loved each other. She doubted they’d classify it that way, but Tasha knew how powerful a loving relationship between two people could be—whether those people were lovers, family or friends. It was both the hardest and easiest of relationships to manipulate.
Tasha took out the items she’d bought for herself and ripped off the tags. She slid the cuffs around her wrists and buckled them into place but didn’t connect then together with the clip that now dangled from her right wrist. They weren’t the subtle, simple kinds that might be mistaken for jewelry. She’d gone for the heavy reinforced-leather and metal ones that were padded on the inside and closed with four separate buckles. They weighed nearly three pounds each.
As she lifted the collar to her neck Tasha was suddenly aware of their attention on her. She looked up.
Damon and Marco were both leaning forward, their focus unnerving.
Tasha put the collar on. Holding it in place with one hand, she slid onto her knees in front of Marco and bent her head, exposing the back of her neck. “Will you fasten it?” she asked quietly.
His fingers brushed her skin. “Tasha, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“This will be simple.” She knew better than to promise him she wouldn’t get hurt. Kneeling like this was making her aware of the bruises that were forming on her knees from falling in Vegas.
“You shouldn’t have to do this.” Marco took the collar and tossed it onto the seat beside Damon.
Tasha sat back and tried not to get irritated. “I shouldn’t have let you come.”
“There’s got to be another way to get information. We can wait until the morning and go to Jennie’s house. You found Sandra’s address, you can find hers.”
Tasha didn’t have time to explain that a place like a club—designed to strip away inhibitions—was much better for gathering information than someone’s residence, where they would be more cautious.
She looked at Damon. His jaw was set, his expression shuttered. Tasha shifted to kneel in front of him. She didn’t say anything.
Damon picked up the collar, slid it around her neck and locked it in place.
“Damon, what the hell?”
“She knows what she’s doing. I’m not going to insult her intelligence by assuming she needs my protection or advice.” Though he was speaking to Marco, Damon was looking at her.
Tasha blinked as she sat back. Before she could stop it, she smiled. “Thank you.” Even experienced intelligence agents had sometimes looked down on her when she used her gender or age to get information. Damon’s trust and respect felt good. It made no sense that she liked both Marco’s protectiveness and Damon’s respect for her abilities, but she did.
Tasha took the keys to the collar, looped them through pieces of black leather and handed one to each man. Damon slipped his over his head while Marco tucked his into his pocket.
“Close your eyes,” she said, going back to her seat. Marco did as she asked. Damon waited until she’d pulled the leather bikini top out of the bag. Once he realized she was stripping to replace her lace bra with black leather, he closed his eyes.
Tasha suspected they were both peeking.
The limo pulled to a stop as she put her shirt back on and stuffed everything into a bag.
“My name is Ashley,” she told them. “If you’re asked, you’re Doms or Masters. I’ll refer to you as Sir or Master, depending on what the situation needs.” She handed each of them a chain leash. “Keep these with you, playing with them will give you something to do with your hands, but don’t agree to play with anyone in there. Don’t give anyone your names. If someone asks, ignore them, they shouldn’t be asking. Avoid speaking if you can. I’ll do the talking for you. If either of you recognizes anyone tug your right ear.” Tasha should have spent less time thinking and more time giving them instructions on the way over. She’d just have to hope they could do this.
“Don’t we need wires or cellphone videos or something?” Marco asked.
“None of that would be admissible in court.” Damon was looking out the window at the front of the club.
“Court? The legal system doesn’t exist right now.” Tasha tucked her ID and a few hundred dollars into the waistband of her tight shorts and then got out. “Coming?”
The men shared a look and then followed her out of the limo.
*****
Marco was grinning. He couldn’t help himself—this was fun.
Due to his relative fame and Damon’s need for privacy, their sexual exploits usually took place at a party Marco hosted. Going out like this wasn’t an option. They were fine clubbing, but nothing overt could happen in public.
Safe behind his mask, he was able to take in everything that was going on. He’d considered himself jaded and had even occasionally played with some bondage, but nothing near what was represented here. His eyes were being opened to a whole new level of kink.
The inside of the club, which as far as he could tell didn’t even have a name, was lit with alternative cool-blue and warm-gold lights. A circular stage in the center of the dance floor sported a large structure shaped like an X. A woman with a shaved head and plenty of piercings was strapped to it. She wore a thong and black tape over her nipples. A man wearing dark jeans and a leather harness circled her, a long whip in his hand. He’d occasionally flick his wrist, the thumping whip against her belly and legs. One wall was glass, and on the other side of it were three gold-lit rooms that reminded Marco of the red-light district in Amsterdam. In one of the rooms, a woman in pink lingerie dangled from the ceiling, her body cradled in a net of ropes. In the next, a girl in retro-style panties and a polka dot bra straddled a two by four, her calf and arm muscles straining to keep her body weight off her pussy. In the third, a woman wearing cat ears, a leopard-print teddy and mitts turned in a circle, showing off her tail.
“Damn,” Damon muttered.
“I agree.”
“Shh,” Tasha whispered to them. “I’m going to the bar to see if I can talk to Demario.”
“I’ll get us a table,” Marco said.
“Then I’ll go with Tas—Ashley and get drinks,” Damon added.
Marco found a small table in a dark corner. There was a stage behind him, but it was unoccupied. Positioning himself so he could see everything, he settled in to keep an eye on the room. The consternation he’d felt in the limo was gone, replaced by excitement at the novelty of the club.
*****
Damon scanned the women, looking for a familiar face. He had only a vague memory of the blonde woman he’d slept with, who he now suspected had taken the video, but he was hoping he’d feel a jolt of recognition.
He accompanied Tasha to the bar, which had a crowd three deep. As they pressed closer, Damon put his hand on Tasha’s back in an instinctive gesture. She leaned into him and then nudged his arm farther up her body. Reminding himself of where they were, Damon grabbed her neck and slid his fingers under the back of her collar.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, looking at Damon.
“I serve my Master,” Tasha said before Damon could reply. “He would like two Glenlivets.”
The bartender nodded once and started pouring single-malt scotch. Damon wondered if there was code to the ordering. He wasn’t a scotch drinker, but Tasha had rattled off the order as if she’d done it a million times before.
“Is Demario available?” she said.
“Nero and Sammy suggested we might offer him my services.”
If Damon hadn’t known for sure that the woman he held was Tasha, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Her tone was sweet and somehow vulnerable. Her shoulders were soft and relaxed, her body seemingly ready to sway and bend at the slightest order or demand.
The bartender slid the drinks across the bar. Tasha held up a hundred dollar bill and looked at Damon. He raised a brow in question, realizing too late that the mask would hide his expression. Tasha nodded once as if he’d given her some signal and then said, “Yes, Master,” and added a second hundred dollar bill. She passed them to the bartender.
“Thank you, sir.” He nodded once to Damon.
Taking one of the drinks, he kept his other hand on Tasha. He liked touching her, and some primal part of him liked this feeling of ownership over her. He knew it wasn’t real, but still, it was fun playing the silent man who communicated only through his lovely servant girl.
They found Marco, who raised his brow when he saw how Damon was holding Tasha. Damon took a seat as Tasha handed Marco his glass.
“I feel like a Bond villain,” Damon muttered.
Marco snorted out a laugh, and Tasha’s lips twitched. It was good to see her smile. Damon was rapidly coming to understand Marco’s attitude towards the blonde.
“You aren’t taking this very seriously.” She shifted the table back, clearing floor space between their chairs.
“I’m sorry,” Damon said, feeling guilty. “I assure you we haven’t forgotten the gravity of the situation.”
Tasha bit her lip and met his gaze. “Don’t stop. It’s…nice.” Her brows drew together in confusion, as if she hadn’t understood what she was saying.
Before he could say anything else Tasha dropped to her knees between their chairs. She spread her hands on her thighs and bowed her head.
Holding his glass in front of his mouth so no one could read his lips—and feeling like a secret agent as he did it—Damon asked, “What do we do now?”
“Wait and watch,” Tasha breathed.
Damon raised his glass.
Marco did the same. “To watching.”
Damon rolled his eyes but then went back to scanning the club, hoping that they’d find the girl who took the video and this would all end tonight.
*****
Tasha’s knees hurt. The bruises from earlier were making themselves known, but she couldn’t exactly get up and take a seat in a chair. Tasha had gone through submissive training at a club in Istanbul when she was seventeen, studied with a professional dominatrix, a famous porn star and a sex therapist. She’d been sold at auction in Beruit, played the little girl to a man who wanted to be called Daddy, and been the Mistress of a whorehouse in Albania. She knew how to make a man lick her shoes clean and how to take a whipping.
Compared to those places, this club was Disneyland. It was open to the public and had no house rules for submissives, no formal gameplay. There were people of all shapes and sizes, and she saw at least seven distinct sub-kinks represented. Still, she didn’t get up, didn’t rise from her submissive position. Right now, she didn’t want to blend in, she wanted to stand out, to be the submissive everyone was talking about.
The longer they sat there the closer the crowd inched in. A quick look out of the corner of her eye explained why no one had actually come to talk to them. Damon looked like he would break the arm of anyone who dared disturb him. The vest had fallen open, and the key to her collar was clearly visible against his chest. He’d wrapped the chain leash around his fist, as if he were preparing for a fight.
Marco was more relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, but he radiated control. They were sitting in shadow, and the masks hid most of their faces. Tasha wouldn’t be surprised if people thought they were the owners of the club, or in some other way figures of authority.
After an hour and a half, Tasha’s patience wore out. The club closed at two, and it was nearly one now. She didn’t want to come back tomorrow—it was unlikely she was a step ahead of whomever was pulling the strings of this situation, but the faster she moved, the more likely she was to catch up with them before they could cover their tracks.
Kneeling up, she faced Damon and winked. His eyes were burnt gold in the shadows of the mask.
“Yes, Master,” she said, just loud enough to be heard. She stripped her shirt off, leaving her naked save the tiny leather bra and shorts. Staying up on her knees, she tucked her wrists behind her neck. This position raised her breasts and stretched out the line of her body.
She felt Marco and Damon’s tension notch up, and then fingers touched her back, a gentle caress that was almost like reassurance.
Five minutes later, a man in black pants and a white polo that was out of sync with the rest of the attire in the club approached them.
“I heard you were looking for me?” the man said.
Tasha raised her head but kept her gaze lowered, staring at his slightly pudgy belly.
“Sir, if you’ll allow me, my Master chooses not to speak.”
Tasha felt Demario’s gaze run over her. “Fine, girl. What does your Master have to say?”
“We’ve only recently moved here, and at the recommendation of Misters Nero and Sammy we’ve come to visit you.” She spoke slowly and with the overly exaggerated sentence structure that leant an air of rehearsed formality to the words.
“All three of you?”
“No, Sir. My master wears the key to my collar. The other is a new acquaintance who hopes to see you grant my Master’s request.”
“And what is that request?”
“My Master would like to see me submitting here.”
“I see. And you worked for Nero?”
“No, Sir, but I was given the opportunity to fulfill my Master’s desires in their club.”
She heard Demario sigh. “Hang on.” He walked away.
Damon leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “What are you doing?”
“He’ll try to verify our story by bringing Jennie out. Right now he doesn’t know if we’re important or not. He can’t risk offending you until he knows.”
“Jennie won’t recognize you, but she might recognize me or Marco,” he whispered urgently. “Then we’re fucked.”
“First, you need to see if you remember her from that night. Second, you’re wearing a mask. If she figures out who you are that might push her into doing something. If she doesn’t realize who you are then we have the opportunity to get information from her.”
Demario returned. This time Tasha looked up. Demario was younger than Nero or Sammy, and if Tasha had to guess she’d say he didn’t find any of this appealing. He looked about as engaged as a warehouse manager.
“Jennie, do you know these two?” he pointed at Tasha and Damon. The woman with him was the tattooed and pierced girl who’d been on the St. Andrew ’s cross when they walked in.
There was no way this woman would have blended into a crowd at Marco’s party. They would have remembered her and been able to describe her.
“Who?” Jennie’s face was strangely blank. Tasha examined the other woman, who was naked except for panties and some electrical tape. There was a tattoo of a tree on the inside of her left arm. With a snap, Tasha put it together—this may be the right girl after all.
“Jennie?” she said, smiling a little. “Is that you? You shaved your head. Your hair was so pretty.”
Jennie ran her hands over her scalp. “Yeah, yeah I did. He wanted it that way.”
Tasha nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for implying you should not have done that. A Master’s wishes are the most important thing.”
Jennie nodded slowly. “Gotta do what they want so they’ll give you what you need.” She blinked and looked up at one of the lights. “Can’t be gold anymore.”
Demario looked disgusted. “Jesus, Jennie. You sound fucking dumb. If that guy didn’t drop five large at a time to see you, your ass would b
e out on the street.” His words were low enough that Tasha couldn’t hear him, but she could read his lips. She filed everything he said away, seeing the pieces of the puzzle coming together in her mind.
Loud enough to be heard, he said, “Jennie, do you know these two from Vegas?”
“Mr. Nero and Mr. Sammy asked that I say hello when I saw you,” Tasha said, making sure it would be hard for Jennie to say no. People hated admitting that they didn’t recognize or remember someone. As it was she didn’t think Jennie was all there anyway.
Jennie blinked, looking first at Tasha and then at Damon. “Oh yeah, I know them. Big time. These two are hot, super hot.”
“Fine. You can go.” Demario waved her away.
“Sir, if you please.” Tasha leaned toward Marco and cocked her head as if she were listening. He played along and leaned forward, lips pressed to her ear.
“I don’t recognize that woman. I don’t think it was her,” he said.
Tasha nodded. “I will ask for you, Sir.” To Demario, she said, “My Master’s friend would like to spend some time with Jennie.”
“That’s up to her. I don’t play these weird games.” Demario caught himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… It’s been a long day.”
Marco pointed two fingers at Jennie, crooked them in a come-here gesture and then pointed at the floor at his feet. Jennie’s eyes widened and she scrambled to obey. Even Tasha felt a little flutter at that display of casual dominance.
Demario cleared his throat. “Uh, what did your, um, Master, want exactly?”
“As I said, he’d like to have me perform at your club.”
“He wants me to give you a job?”
“No, Sir. He simply wants an audience.”
Demario stuck his hands in his pockets, took them out again. “We have pretty strict rules about what can happen here. People aren’t allowed to just come and play.”
“Rules?” Tasha asked.