by KD Robichaux
No sound leaves my lungs. There’s no way. I can’t even breathe from the sheer intensity of it all, let alone moan or speak of the complete surrender to him. All I can do is feel all of it at once, a full-body experience instead of individual sensations, and both my hands wrap around his rock-hard forearm attached to the hand around my throat and hold on as he fucks me with abandon.
Before I even acknowledge the feeling building within me, it hits an all-consuming crescendo, and I explode around him, the muscles of my core clamping around him so tight it almost hurts. And that’s when he finally lets go of my throat, my body instinctively taking a giant inhale of breath, and I moan in immeasurable pleasure as another orgasm takes over, and this time, it’s just like in those books, when I feel my soul leave my body.
Suddenly, Neil growls, and his hands clamp down on my shoulders to hold me immobile as he fucks into me several more times. And then his head falls back on his shoulders and he calls my name toward the ceiling. I shudder as I watch, suspended over our bodies, spying on us like a voyeur, as every muscle of his torso tenses and ripples as he comes, and I’ve never felt so owned, so claimed, so loved as I do in this moment with this godlike man saying my name like a prayer.
He collapses then, his head landing in the crook of my neck, but he’s only there a moment before he inhales me deeply, wraps his arms around me, and then stands us up in one fluid motion. He slips from my body, and I whimper at the sudden emptiness. I have no idea where he’s taking me. I actually don’t give one fuck as long as he’s there with me, taking care of me. I need something from him, and I don’t know what it is. But I stay silent as he does what he wishes, my eyes closed, my head against his shoulder.
But suddenly I’m surrounded by hot, and his arms are gone, and my eyes spring open to see he’s sat me in the hot tub. My eyes lift to watch him, worried he’s going to leave me here, seemingly floating above myself with no tether, but he only strips from his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the ground as he climbs into the water and immediately picks me up and cradles me in his arms.
“I…” I start, but it’s hard for me to formulate a complete thought, let alone speak.
“It’s okay, goddess. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his hands now stroking up and down my body in soothing movements.
“Needy,” I try again. “I feel needy and… floaty.”
He nods, tightening his embrace. “Subspace, baby,” he whispers, and my mind wanders to all the books I’ve read, the BDSM romances that explained that fantastical state that seemed too amazing and unreal to be true. When the sub’s mind and body detach from each other because of the heights their Dom was able to take them using either pain or pleasure, or both.
“You’ve had such a surge of endorphins, epinephrine, and enkephalins, which have made this magical cocktail within your system, that you’ve become completely euphoric. There is no pain, there is no worry, and you probably aren’t really aware of anything outside our little bubble,” he murmurs, the tone of his voice lulling me even deeper. “A sub can’t be responsible to make rational decisions about their safety and wellbeing while flying in subspace, so it’s up to their Dom to care for them while they’re there.”
“Aftercare,” I manage to murmur, before my head falls back off his shoulder, but he catches me in the crook of his elbow before my head hits the water, and he nods. “Drunk… or high. Both,” I slur, and he shushes me, a smile pulling at his sexy lips.
“Shhhh, goddess. Fly high and just enjoy it, little one. I’ve got you,” he whispers, and I give up the fight, giving in to this out-of-body experience and letting it take me over.
Minutes later, not too long—since my fingers haven’t had time to get pruny—I come back into my body slowly, lured by Neil’s stroking fingers along my cheekbones, down the bridge of my nose, tracing by jawline, and outlining my brows. The feeling is ticklish but not irritating, and it’s just enough of a sensation that I come back without being startled.
I blink open my eyes and give him a lazy smile when all I see is his handsome face above me. “Mm, so that just happened,” I mumble.
“That it did, goddess. Do you realize how lucky you are? There are people who are submissives all their lives and never reach subspace. We weren’t even in a scene, and you took flight,” he tells me, keeping his voice low.
“How did that even happen?” I ask, wanting to take notes so we can try it again sometime. I’ve never felt so relaxed before.
He gives me a sexy half-smile. “A mix of things, most likely. The heightened emotions, the spontaneous sex, the breath play.”
“Breath play?” I prompt.
He nods, continuing his gentle strokes along my face. “Erotic asphyxiation. With my hand around your throat, intentionally cutting off some of your air supply. I was surprised when you placed me there, because the first time you traced my hand in the shower, your microexpressions told me you were frightened by the place between my thumb and forefinger, as if you were imagining your throat being right there, choking you.”
“Well, now you’ve replaced another bad memory with a very, very special one, I’d say,” I whisper, turning my face just as his thumb traces close to my lips and nipping it with my teeth. “How does breath play work?”
“Well, it’s physiological, psychological, and physical, goddess. Physiologically, when your oxygen is low, you can get dizzy and lightheaded, and when the choke hold is released, you get another kind of rush. It releases that delicious cocktail I told you about that causes the exhilaration,” he explains.
“So that’s what caused one orgasm before you let go and then another one directly after. That was… new,” I reply. “And the psychological?”
He grins. “Classic power play. Your submissive was responding to my Dominant. In the physical, your body confused the endorphin and hormones rush as pleasure. In all actuality, that’s your body’s natural protection reactions, but when you’re doing it with someone you trust and love, the pain becomes pleasurable,” he tells me. “If you were a patient of mine, I wouldn’t suggest you playing around with asphyxiation unless you knew for certain your partner knows exactly what they’re doing. It’s not something to take lightly because there are very damaging repercussions if it’s done incorrectly.”
“Well I’ll count myself lucky that my lover is so well-versed in BDSM-y stuff,” I murmur, snuggling in closer to him.
“BDSM-y stuff.” He chuckles.
I nod against him. “Not to be confused with your shrinky stuff.”
He snorts. “All right, goddess. Let’s get you inside. I guess we’ll count this session as complete. Your hour is up.”
I grin drunkenly. “With a happy ending, no less.”
Chapter 20
Astrid, Five days later
“Okay, let’s see. I’m done with Ashley, Tracy, Michelle, Lecia, Amanda, Rachel, Emilie, and Tiffany. Jamie, Tina, Caitlyn, Maygen, Stephanie, and Mary are getting their foundation on. Next up are Crystal, Aimée, Erica, Lacie, Janet, and Leslie. And then Courtney, Laura, Sonja, and Jess should be here before nine. Are Heather, Kristin, and Samantha coming in tonight?” I ask, reading from the roster I created for them to initial. After a week of learning all their names and getting them to just sign a piece of paper, I figured this would be more organized at the end of the night when I took it to Georgy to get paid.
“I didn’t hear them say anything about taking the night off, but they get that approved with the boss. Randy doesn’t really tell us much, so I don’t know,” Tracy tells me.
I mean, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if Kristin didn’t show. She’s one of the only ladies here who is truly a stuck-up bitch to me for no reason. But I will miss Heather tonight if she doesn’t come. She and I have gotten pretty close as work friends since that very first day when she was my first client here. I shrug. “Oh well. I’ll see them when I see them, I guess.”
It’s Friday, so the roster is packed, even fuller than my first day last Saturday
. I was a little nervous about tonight, after having a light week of only about ten girls each night of the workweek, which only took me two hours. Tonight, it’s more than double that, and even more if Heather, Kristin, and Samantha come, so I made sure to text Neil I’ll be closer to 11:00 p.m. tonight so he won’t worry. I’ve been driving myself since that first time, and while I miss not having those few hours with him every night, I know this is only temporary. They’ll find a second makeup artist soon and I’ll split the hours with her. I’ll miss the extra cash, but at least I’ll get to see Neil three extra nights a week. We’ve been supplementing our lost time at night together during his lunch hour. He’s made sure not to take any extra appointments to fill the hour, and we don’t waste it on working out either. He works out when I’m at work, and the same goes for me when he’s working, and then we get to actually eat during his lunch.
“Speaking of barre, blondie, if Heather doesn’t show up, we’re going to be missing one of our dancers. What do you think? You got the balls to fill in?” Crystal asks, taking her seat in the salon chair for me to start on her eyeshadow, and I burst out laughing.
“Me? Strip? There is no way in hell. Neil would tear down this entire mansion,” I reply, shaking my head.
She flaps her hand at me. “Not strip, silly. Dance. Like actually dance. You don’t think we see those moves you practice before barre class? One of the rooms is just that, dancing. You keep your clothes on—well, whatever costume you want, not that,” she corrects, waving a finger at my graphic tee and jeans as I apply glue to her false eyelashes.
I consider her proposal. I used to do talent shows and recitals and all sorts of performances back in middle and high school. My style of choice was contemporary, so a lot of times, I didn’t even have a routine. I just freestyled and let the music move me.
She must see my interest, because she prods, “Come on. Who doesn’t want an extra grand in their pocket just from an hour of doing something you love to do?”
“An extra grand? Seriously? For the whole night, or…?”
She shakes her head. “No, blondie. Per hour. You must not realize the caliber of men who are members here. I mean, if Randy is willing to hire a professional makeup artist for the girls every single night, that should tell you something right there.”
“A thousand dollars. Per hour. Just to dance… and not take my clothes off,” I reiterate.
When I’m done applying her second strip of lashes, she crosses her legs and leans to the side in her salon chair, propping her elbow on the arm and rubbing her forehead with her long, French-manicured fingertips. “Sweetie, do you realize I live in a five bedroom, three and half bath 4,500 square-foot house that I paid for cash? And I made that money in seven months. Now, I’m not one of the dancers. I have a different job here in the club, but still. The customers have more money than they know what to do with, and they choose to come lavish it on us girls for shit we already enjoy doing.”
“The girls enjoy taking their clothes off for men who see them as objects?” I ask so only Crystal can hear me, because I don’t want to offend the women who I’ve gotten to know and like a little more and more each time I work with them, but I want to understand.
She shrugs. “They’d most likely be taking their clothes off in front of fuckboys who would only buy them dinner for the night—if they’re lucky—so at least this way they’re making bank. And what girl wouldn’t enjoy someone thinking they’re so beautiful and impressive that they’re willing to throw twenty-dollar bills at them?” When I lift my eyebrows at that, she nods. “Oh yeah, blondie. There ain’t a one-dollar bill in this entire establishment. Maybe in the bathroom on a roll instead of toilet paper, but you get my drift. Smallest bill is a twenty, and those are the low rollers. And that’s only on the stripping side.”
“There’s something higher than the stripping side?” I ask, starting on her brows.
She smirks. “There are three levels. The dance club, where you’d be if you grow a pair of lady balls. The men in there only want to either watch or dance with girls. Nothing naughty going on there, right? It’s the only place inside the mansion non-members—females only—are allowed to go. Our dancers are there to make the crowd happy, to dance with the members that the outside females take no interest in. Then there’s the second level. Typical strip club setting. Girl gets on stage, dances, takes off her clothes while men throw money on the stage, she gathers her shit, and that’s that. And then there’s my level.” She flips her hair over her shoulder.
“What’s your level?” I prompt when she doesn’t just spill.
She purses her lips, eyeing me as I finish her other brow, and I pull back to let her speak if she’s going to. “I don’t know if I can trust you to keep your mouth shut, blondie.”
I look at her deadpan. “You think I’m really going to compromise a job where I make over seven hundred bucks a night, with the potential to make a thousand dollars an hour? Try me, bitch.”
A wicked grin spreads across her beautifully made-up face. “All right. I’ll take a leap of faith here. The third level is much like the second—a normal strip club scenario—but instead of the girl gathering her money at the end of her dance, the customers have the option to bid, an auction, if you will, and the winner gets to climb the stairway to the rooms above and spend the night with her.”
My brow furrows. “Like… lap dances? She’s his stripper for the night?”
She giggles. “God, you’re so adorably naïve. No, silly. If he’s paying upward of twenty thousand dollars for a night with her if he wins the auction, then she’s doing much more than lap dances, hun. Think… high-end brothel.” At my shocked look, she brushes me off. “It’s fine. It’s not like any asshole can just walk in off the street. The members are vetted. And they’ve gotta pay for everything upfront, so there’s no screwing the girls over after they’ve been screwed already.” She giggles at her own joke, but I can’t even speak, let alone laugh.
After a moment, I remember what she said. “Twenty thousand dollars, and the girls like doing it?”
She nods. “Like I said, we’d all be out there having one-night stands with motherfuckers who suddenly want to go all ‘girl power’ and make us pay for our own meal on dates. Why not have sex with someone who’s going to pay us that kind of money instead?”
I tilt my head to the side, thinking about her logic. I mean, she’s not wrong.
“I personally could never do it, but I see the appeal,” I admit, and she smiles knowingly.
“Come on, blondie. Just try it one time. The dancing, not the escorting. You’ll be here later than usual anyway. What’s one more hour, where you can let loose and dance your little heart out, and then you can go home to your Hottie McNaughty a thousand bucks richer?” she taunts, and I’m surprised I’m really considering it. She makes a good point. A thousand dollars just to spend an hour dancing in the nightclub room with a bunch of lonely rich guys?
“How about let’s see if Heather shows up, and I’ll text Neil to see what he has to say? If it’s all good with him, then I guess I’m in, just this once though. I’m not making any promises to be like… the permanent fill-in when someone doesn’t show up for work,” I say, putting my foot down before she gets any ideas.
She claps her hands, hopping up from her seat. “Awesome. I’ll go let Randy know not to panic trying to find someone else if Heather doesn’t show.”
“And if my boyfriend doesn’t care!” I shout after her, but she’s already disappeared through the door.
Aimée takes a seat where Crystal just vacated and starts telling me the colors of the outfit she’ll be wearing while I tap Neil out a text giving him the details about what Crystal just offered. Admittedly, half of me wants him to tell me no, to come home as soon as I’m done with the girls’ makeup because he misses me and wants me to himself, but the other half, the half that’s still gung-ho about gaining my independence and earning the money to go to cosmetology school, wants him to agree it’
s a great opportunity to earn some super quick cash. Either way, I won’t fight him on his decision. I won’t do anything that would break his trust in me, just as I know he would show me the same respect.
Chapter 21
Doc
I walk into Seth’s office at Club Alias after receiving his text fifteen minutes ago. The news hadn’t leaked yet, but what he told me had me running out the door to drive here.
“Alison’s body was just found. They dumped the OG makeup artist in the woods between here and the mansion. A hiker found her when his dog went apeshit,” he tells me as soon as he wakes up his computer to show me the police report he hacked. “I had her name and a bunch of random keywords set so it would ping me if anything popped up on the radar. And it motherfucking pinged.”
“So not safe and sound in another state because of some great opportunity,” I murmur, not liking the fact that Astrid is working late tonight in the dead woman’s vacated job position and not where I can keep an eye on her.
“Definitely not safe and sound. She was murdered. Autopsy hasn’t started yet, but the field agent suspects strangulation as the cause of death,” he says, and a chill goes up my spine.
“Did they—”
I’m cut off when the phone rings, and Seth answers it, “Imperium Security,” seeing it’s from the forwarded line instead of the Club Alias number. He listens for a moment and then his eyes meet mine, my stomach instantly knotting. “We’ll be right down,” he replies to whoever is on the other end and hangs up.
“What’s going on?” I ask, the hair on the back of my neck standing up as he stands and rounds his desk, and I follow his hurried stride out the door.
“Apparently, one of Astrid’s coworkers is here. She needs to tell you about the dead girl she said,” Seth informs me, and I feel like I’m going to vomit.