by Sadie Marks
Taken by the Renegade
Rise of the Sadec - Book Two
Sadie Marks
©2020
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Eclipse Press
An imprint of
ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.
A Virginia corporation
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
Sadie Marks
Taken by the Renegade
EBook ISBN: 978-1-948140-78-2
V1
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Sadie Marks
For all the people who help and support me in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. I may be the author of this book, but I couldn't get here on my own.
For Kat, who fixes the most absurd typos before I submit and is always my first reader.
And for L and G, you keep me moving forward no matter how much I drag my feet, and I know that isn't easy.
Chapter 1
She could feel them watching her. Not really a surprise, since she was currently spread-eagled and mostly naked, with her bare breasts pressed against a giant x-shaped St. Andrew's cross that was positioned on a small dais in the main room of the club. People tended to stop and watch the show when anyone was on the cross, and the stage was positioned as a focal point so everyone could see.
Being the center of attention at the club didn't bother her anymore. She was used to it, but it did make her hyper-aware of every reaction, and deep down, there was a certain smugness in knowing that she was able to control how she responded to each stroke. There was more than a little pride there, and sometimes it pushed her to go further than she actually enjoyed when she knew she had an audience.
She didn't always want to play hard and rough; on some nights, she was happy with just enough heat and sting to make her float. A belt across her ass, a good paddling, or even being restrained in an uncomfortable position with tight ropes could fill her needs. But tonight, she was in the mood for the kind of heavy play that the cross was built for, so it had only been a matter of finding a partner who had the skills. It hadn't taken her long to spot the new face in the crowd.
He was tall, a head taller than everyone around him, and handsome in an understated way. He was definitely not a sub or bottom—not with that aura of dominance he radiated. The arms he crossed over his chest had enough muscle to show where the shirt tightened around his biceps. His eyes skimmed lightly across the room, searching for something or someone. She decided that must be her and made a point of catching his attention.
The conversation had been short, just long enough to exchange the important details. He had a bag full of gear, and when she asked what he was carrying, he'd gestured for her to look for herself. It took exactly ten seconds to find the single-tail whip right on top, and after that, she lost interest in seeing what else he had. She held it out to him. "You any good with this?" she asked, and when the answer was a cruel grin spreading across his lips, she turned and started toward the unused cross, determined to claim the spot before anyone else did.
If it bothered him that she led the way, he didn't comment on it. If he had, she would have looked elsewhere for her fun. She stripped off her shirt and jeans next to it without hesitation, knowing no one would blink twice in a BDSM club where half the players were in some stage of undress.
She pressed against the cross with her back to him and waited as he tightened the cuffs around her wrists and ankles with the ease of someone who'd done it before. She wasn't risking much playing with a stranger, not in the club, but she was glad to see him checking to make sure they were loose enough for circulation but tight enough to hold her. It meant he had experience to go with the pretty toys.
He brushed her hair forward over her shoulder to leave her back completely bare and leaned in. "How much can you handle?"
"Tonight? A lot. Don't go easy on me; I'm in the mood for something merciless," she said. She turned her head so he could see that she meant what she said. He managed an expression that was both delighted and ravenous at the same time, and with a laugh, he moved away.
The wood felt cool against the bare skin of her torso, and as she shivered, the cuffs restraining her arms over her head jangled softly. The first lash of leather came down, leaving a fiery stripe diagonally across her back, and she had cause to test their strength. The sudden biting sting made her jerk in surprise, and she probably would have stumbled backward and maybe fallen to the dirty floor if the cuffs hadn't held her in place, but they did their job and she was the perfect target for the next stroke to land a second later.
He wasn't using a light hand. There was no slow build; the new Dominant had taken her at her word when she'd told him she could take a lot. For just a second, she considered saying 'yellow' to slow him down a little—if only because the first two were already harder than the ending strokes for most of the newcomers to the club.
But Sam had a reputation for never using her safeword, and she wasn't about to blow it now just because someone had listened to her for once. The regulars knew, of course, that when she said she wanted merciless, she wasn't looking to be teased with light flicks that barely stung, but even most of them weren't willing to give her what she really wanted right out of the starting gate.
Oh, they'd work up to it eventually, but when she was in a mood like this, that slow build could be as aggravating as an itch she couldn't reach. She often had to grit her teeth to keep from being too much of a smart-ass at times like that. A little sass might get her smacked harder, but too much and she'd insult a Top; that never went well. Either they'd walk away, or worse, they'd simply refuse to give you what you wanted at all and the slow, almost gentle, strokes would never lead to where she really needed them to go.
She craved pain sometimes, needed it like she needed air, and nothing made her pussy dripping wet faster than a strong dominant with a single-tail whip who knew how to use it. She wasn't going to wuss out and ask him to slow down just because he'd listened to her and went straight for the good stuff. A third and then a fourth blow came down with searing, but controlled, overhand strikes, and her muscles shook with strain.
Damn, it felt like fire raining down on her naked skin and she fought the urge to yelp when the fifth one swung low and wrapped around her hips. The tip of the whip landed on the front of her thigh. She threw her head back, hissing through her teeth as a hard pulse of sexual desire began to throb low in her body. Her skin tightened and she could feel goosebumps rising everywhere.
She was so focused on her body that the sound of the whip cracking seemed distant, almost unconnected to the sensations rolling through her body. She was thoroughly grounded in the physical at the moment. The sultry air, just a little bit too warm from all the bodies filling the club, caught her attention as it brushed across her highly sensitive flesh and a shudder rolled down her spine.
The
leather landed, crossing to wrap around from the other side, and the searing line dragged her attention there. Her back arched and then itched as sweat beaded and rolled down over the welts. It felt so good, so right, as it forced the real world away. Her hopes, her broken dreams, her memories of a childhood gone wrong—all of it had been weighing too heavily on her lately. That was what brought on these moods and was the reason she needed something harsher, crueler than usual, because none of it mattered when she was under the lash.
Mom and Dad always fighting. Dad loving the perfect sister more, while he could never bother to find a kind word for her. Not even when she eagerly obeyed his every order and tried so hard to please him. He used that need for affection against her, making it a competition at times.
Then later, running away when she was a near-adult, after one screaming match too many, and ending up with a bad crowd who got her hooked on the super addictive altered reality mindscapes—they were all just bullet points of her life with no emotion attached.
Who cared? Not she, not while she had pain to ground her to the physical. The whip was too intense to let in all the negative thoughts that haunted her. A good session could turn her on in a way that nothing else could—but the arousal was just one small piece of what it gave her.
She'd found a new drug, better than altered reality. Pain was her Master, and through it, she could drive away all the demons that haunted her thoughts so she could surrender to the moment. She wasn't a submissive; fuck that shit. No one was going to boss her around and make her lick boots as she prostrated herself on the floor.
She was a pain slut. Just a masochist and that's all she wanted to be. She'd told more than one wanna-be Dominant to fuck right off when he'd tried to make it into something more.
She usually didn't play with the new guys for just that reason. They always assumed that the minute they smacked her ass, she was theirs to command, but she didn't play those games. She didn't come to the club to find the perfect Dominant to run her life like many of the submissive girls did. She came there to get her fix, and then she was out the door. Depending on how turned on she was, she might let one take her home, to his home not hers, to work out all that sexual energy afterward, but that was as far as it went.
This guy, though…yeah, if he was looking for sex afterward, she'd spread her legs. The scene hadn't been going on more than ten minutes before she was dripping wet and she could feel an orgasm, the first of many she hoped, on the horizon. At first, the way he worked was predictable, a pattern that she could follow, and she usually knew what to expect next as he worked his way down her back and ass and then back up again without touching her legs.
The heaviest strokes were concentrated across the thick muscles of her shoulders and the full roundness of her ass—the places that could handle the force. For the more sensitive areas, he just let the tip of the whip lick her skin with a line of stinging fire. The sensations contrasted for an intense experience that kept her on edge—the sign of an experienced player.
He swung the whip with precision, but his skill went beyond that. If she didn't know better, she'd have sworn they were frequent play partners from the way he seemed to know her so well. The light stroking of his fingertips, oddly rough, across the welts just when the pain was getting overwhelming eased her away from the edge each time. And his fingernails scratching lightly across the hot lines on her skin were pure unadulterated pleasure.
At least she thought they were his fingernails until she realized they were far too sharp—some toy she hadn't seen, she supposed. The snap of leather followed by those points being dragged too slowly across the overly sensitized flesh was what finally sent her over the edge. She jerked and shuddered with a breathy "Fuuuuckkkk" that was exhaled like a long sigh.
He chose that moment to surprise her with a horizontal stripe across her thighs. The flesh there had been untouched, and the surprise of it, combined with the extra tender skin forced a yelp from her. She tensed, waiting for another, but instead, there was his hand dragging something sharp across the thick welt he'd just left. It almost, almost, made her climax again.
Her body twitched and she moaned loud enough that she knew the watchers could hear it. His hand dropped away and she waited for the next flash of fire, but nothing happened. She turned her head and found him standing right there staring at her like she was a buffet and he hadn't eaten in a week.
"Why'd you stop?" she demanded. Her voice cracked and she swallowed to bring back the moisture to her dry mouth.
She wondered if he was going to answer her as the silence lengthened but then, "You want me to keep going? It will hurt more now." He didn't sound like he was opposed to continuing, just surprised that she wanted to, and she glared at him.
"Of course, I want more. Or did the orgasm imply I wasn't enjoying it?" she said sarcastically. She licked her lips and huffed dramatically. "Look, if you're tired already, could you ask someone to take over, because I plan on making this a long night."
She was prepared to goad him more if necessary, but apparently, she'd said what he wanted to hear because he gave her the most predatory smile she'd ever seen in her life—and that was saying something considering her past.
"I'm not tired, little girl, not even a little bit," he said. Suddenly, he was gathering up her shoulder-length blonde hair in his fist and using it to yank her head back so he could stare down into her pleasure-blown pupils as he leaned in close.
She thought he was going to kiss her and twisted away to avoid it. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't kiss me. I don't do romance, and I'm not interested in making out," she said.
"Your body says otherwise." He watched for her response with an intensity that made her feel like he'd know if she was lying.
"Yeah, I'm turned on. Pain is obviously a turn on, but kissing is something else." She gave him a firm look, wondering if he was about to break a club consent rule and kiss her anyway.
"That's fine. I'm not into romance either," he said with an amused lilt to his tone. "So, does that mean you want pain only? Are you limiting touch to non-sexual?" he asked.
There was something off about his voice and the way he spoke that kept catching her attention, but it was too hard to focus so she filed it away to think about later. She shook her head, wincing when the hair he still held pulled painfully. "No, sex is definitely a possibility as long as you know I'm not looking for a boyfriend or a Dom. Not here, though. It would have to be after—there's no sex allowed here," she said, just in case he wasn't aware of that. Local statutes didn't even allow full nudity, which was why she was wearing a tiny scrap of a thong and nothing else.
"I've read the rules, but there is a problem. I'm from out of town, so I don't have a place here," he said, leaving the unspoken question between them.
She sighed and muttered, "Of course," under her breath and then broke her own rule for the first time ever. "Okay, maybe we can go back to my place if—if things go well." It was just a little bit of blackmail to get what she wanted from him. If it made him anxious to give her exactly what she asked for, it would maybe be worth letting a stranger invade her privacy for one night. She just hoped she wouldn't regret it afterward. It was hard to get rid of a guy once he knew where she lived.
"We'll talk about it later then. For now, I'm going to enjoy causing you pain. It's not often I find someone who can soak up so much and still be aroused by it. But if this is going to be a long session, we might need to switch things around. Anything else you like besides whips?" he asked.
She laughed, a low, throaty chuckle that men seemed to love. "Everything. I love it all. Everything from over the knee spanking to bullwhips—though you have to get checked out by dungeon spotters before you can use anything heavier than a single-tail in here. Why, what else did you bring with you?" she asked curiously. She wished now that she'd taken a couple minutes to investigate his bag more thoroughly instead of running off with the first implement she'd seen.
But oh,
it had been worth it. She hadn't been so thoroughly whipped in a long time. Each welt seemed to throb with its own pulse, and it felt euphoric—but at the same time, she knew she wasn't even close to her limit for the night, especially since most of the heavier marks were concentrated on her shoulders.
"Oh, I have a whole bag of tricks. You look like you've had enough of the whip for now so, I—" He paused and looked around at the crowded room to see what else was available. "I think there's a spanking bench opening up."
She followed his glance to see a shirtless Dom, dressed in tight leather pants, helping his subby boy up. The sub looked woozy, but he had a goofy grin splashed across his face as the Dom cuddled him protectively. She struggled not to roll her eyes. It was cute, in a way, but it always drove her crazy when a Dom hovered over her like that after a scene.
She thought about it and realized her hands were getting cold from being cuffed over her head. That was always a problem with being restrained while standing up. She had no idea how long the whipping had gone on, but now that she was pulling out of the haze, she could feel the ache in her arms too, so it had probably been a while. "Yes, let's do that," she said, opening and closing her hands to bring back the circulation as he released her.
So far, there were no red flags, no warning signs with him—and she had a good nose for that sort of thing. He watched to make sure she was steady, keeping a hand there ready to catch her if she wobbled while she slipped her thigh-length shirt back on. Her jeans, she just slung over her arm and carried since she wouldn't be needing them.