by Sosie Frost
But it wasn’t a normal night for me.
I stared at my folded gown, neatly arranged on the vanity.
Was I supposed to get dressed and wander back out there? Where everyone could see me again?
I ignored the outfit. It didn’t matter if I wore every article of clothing I owned. They saw me without anything. Without clothes, without inhibitions, without a sense of morality.
They saw my pussy brimming with seed.
Even approached the table while Anthony spread my swollen folds and accepted their compliments.
A wave of nausea rolled in my stomach. Maybe I could stay in the dressing room all night? At least in here, the only person laughing at me was my own reflection.
The door opened.
Damn my luck.
Simone had a sixth sense for my vulnerability. She breathed the confidence Anthony had fucked from me. Her short burgundy dress wrapped over her hips like a silken kiss. The neckline plunged low. Anyone could take a peek, but I’d watched her reprimand two men for their behavior. She liked scolding them more than getting the attention.
I tried to go invisible as she approached. No dice.
She paused behind my couch, examining her scarlet lipstick. I leaned to give her space, but she didn’t seem to care. Her eyes locked only on her own reflection, and she rubbed her lips to even the color out.
My stomach lurched.
Simone hadn’t just watched. She’d held me down. Helped to restrain me while Anthony fucked me into desperation. It hadn’t been any sexual improvisation.
They’d planned this night. Every detail.
Everyone in the club had known Anthony was to take my virginity.
I still had nightmares from my concert playing days—dreams where I would show up late for a recital that was scheduled without my knowledge. I never used to fear the violin. Now, claiming the center of attention would burst me to tears.
If Anthony had told me what he’d planned…
I never would’ve come back to Duchess.
And now?
“Do you want something to drink?” Simone asked her reflection.
I braved a glance upwards.
Nope. I couldn’t meet Simone’s eyes before she watched me get fucked into oblivion by her ex-lover. It was a miracle I could breathe this close to her now.
I shook my head. Speaking would have required respectful titles. A few days ago, a couple sirs and ma’ams were quirky fun. Now? They weren’t words to inflate their egos. Simone deserved her Mistress.
And Anthony?
Anthony was everything he’d promised and more. Everything that’d curled my toes and raised the hair on my neck. He owned my body, used it, and wrenched the orgasms from my pathetic attempts to fight my arousal.
He didn’t even take me for his own enjoyment. He fucked me to prove a point.
Well, message received. The panicky tears weren’t too far behind.
“You need something to drink.” Simone rummaged through the mini-fridge. “Here. This has some sugar in it. You look ready to keel over.”
I took the can of Coke, but my trembling fingers couldn’t pop the tab. Simone chased my hands away, opened it herself, and forced it to my lips.
“Drink.”
That didn’t feel entirely possible.
“Are you afraid of me, pet?”
Dangerous question. Afraid? Maybe.
Soul-crushingly envious of everything she represented? Definitely.
But I couldn’t handle any more orders or games or domination. Simone quirked her eyebrow, and I obeyed, hesitantly taking the can from her hand. The syrupy gulp left everything on the inside as sticky as it was on the outside.
But I felt better. A little stronger. Less fuzzy. Just as bewildered.
Simone adjusted her hair—an elegant French twist that tamed her auburn waves. Then she turned to mine. I hadn’t attempted to smooth the mess. That would have required a significant amount of movement and product, and I’d burrowed inside the robe like it was the safety of my bed and its fuzzy throw.
Simone picked a second brush from the vanity, turned to me, and began combing my hair.
Now this was weird. Her expression set in a permanent stone of elegance and attitude, but this was…friendly? Where was she yesterday when I’d gone through the two-hour long routine of detangling and straightening the beast?
I’d never been so close to Simone. Her hands wrapped around my hair, her breasts resting behind my head. My breathing hitched. And again. And again.
Hiccups? Really?
I sipped the Coke. The cold drink did nothing to diminish the squeaking hiccups. Simone rolled her eyes, but her brush strokes played gentle with my hair.
“I’m not allowed in this dressing room,” she said.
“…Isn’t this your club?”
“This room is designated for submissives. No doms allowed. It’s supposed to be a safe haven for little girls to dress and recover.” The brush wove through my hair. “Do you feel safe?”
“I don’t know.”
“You looked beautiful up there.”
The hiccups increased in intensity. I tried to pull away. Simone didn’t release me.
“I looked like a whore.”
“Oh, please. Anthony has higher standards than that.” Simone reserved no patience for my pity-party. “You aren’t a whore. You had sex with Anthony. A lot of women do.”
My eyes prickled with tears. “Thanks.”
“Everyone in the world has sex. Everyone in this club has sex. Constantly. And most of the time with each other. No one is judging you.”
“I’m judging me.”
“That’s because you’re a repressed little girl too inexperienced for the games in my club.”
That I was. I nodded, twisting the robe’s belt.
The brush stilled. “Do you regret it?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Figure it out. Anthony broke his own set of rules tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he likes you, Morgan. More than he probably should.”
My chest fluttered a bit, but any butterflies were captured, stripped of their wings, and smooshed before they could offer me any hope.
“I bet he says that to all his subs,” I said.
Simone yanked my hair, bending me backward. I cowered under her stare.
“Anthony is my best friend,” she hissed. “And I love him more than anything in this world. When I say he likes you, I’m not fucking around. And neither should you.”
She pushed my head forward. The brush returned. Soft. Gentle.
“You’re more than a pretty little project for him.” She paused. “You’re a perfectly innocent virgin—or were. Untouched by any man. Willing to give yourself and all control to Anthony. It’s a dream come true for someone like him.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“Don’t pretend you aren’t attracted to him for same the damn reason. You didn’t want to be a part of his world—you wanted a part of him. Well, you got it, Morgan. You pledged yourself to him, charmed him with innocence, and now he’s yours. What are you going to do with him?”
“I...I don’t know.”
“You’re the only submissive he’s ever cared about.”
I braved the mirror. I still looked panicked, but Simone had smoothed my hair. Still, my lips remained puffy and parted. My breath heated. The mere mention of his name rekindled my core.
“How can you tell?” I asked.
“Because I watched you get fucked.”
Simone replaced the brush on the vanity. Her attention drifted to her own reflection. She smoothed her dress and tugged the V hugging her ample cleavage even lower.
“Anthony pampered you like a damn princess,” she said. “He fucked you hard. Acted like a gentleman.”
Maybe she wasn’t watching that closely.
Unless that was gentle for Anthony. He was a dom after all. Maybe he expected a lot from his wom
en?
“Did he like it?”
“I’d say. He finished…differently.” She licked the color on her lips. “Anthony is a showman. He gets off on the attention. Usually he’s very demonstrative when he finishes.”
“Okay?”
“Normally, he pulls out. Shoots on a girl’s chest or face. Makes for a good visual.”
“Oh.”
“He came inside of you.”
The humiliation choked me. I couldn’t speak.
“I’m the only other person he’ll come inside, pet,” she said. “Consider it the greatest of compliments.”
Oh.
Why wasn’t there a handbook for this sort of thing? Every action meant six different things, and I was still trying to figure out if sushi and ice cream was something that got everyone off in this weird community.
Simone watched me tremble with little pity. “Morgan, if you want Anthony, then you become his. Completely. Nights like this will happen a lot. You’d be his pet. His submissive. The only person I’ve ever seen him trust outside of me. If you’re serious, be prepared to bend over when he says to bend over and open wide when he says suck. You’ll take whatever he wants to give you, and you will love it…if you realize that there’s no shame in submitting to a man like him. Only endless possibilities.”
My throat closed. She hauled me from the chair and dumped the robe from my body. I rushed to cover myself, but she already pulled my bra from the pile of clothes and wrapped it over my chest. I stood silently, embarrassed, as she hooked the clasp. Without a word, she held out my dress, helping me to zip into it and look presentable once more.
I guess my thong was still out in the room. Where anyone could see.
Great.
“I won’t let you hide in here,” Simone said. “The only person judging you is yourself. That’s no way to live, especially with Anthony as your dom.”
She adjusted the straps of my dress then returned to the club.
I wavered on my feet. Alone. I preferred the mortification of Simone’s presence. At least her words were the comfort my shattered mind longed to hear. Without her guidance, the darkness crept back in.
Shame and denial and hiccups.
I wanted Anthony. I felt safer under him. Without his confidence and stilted sense of sexual morality, I was lost with a barrage of new feelings and urges.
I slunk out of the haven and returned to the club. I feared laughter and teasing. A giant spotlight and comical music with confetti cannons proclaiming my newfound nymphomania to the world.
But most of the members had migrated to the dance floor with its strobe lights and equally exposed women. No one greeted me with accusations of impropriety. The remaining members didn’t give me a second glance, each involved in their own conversations and slaves.
And there was Anthony.
Dressed and composed. His hair slicked back into a ponytail, and his vest tucked over a chair. Simone whispered to him. He nodded to her, and she left us.
He was mine.
My blood ran cold…then hailed a taxi and split.
But he held me against his chest. I closed my eyes and tucked my fists into his shirt. He smelled sharp as always, but I recognized the heady edge to his body, of sweat and kisses and sex.
As much as I wanted to sink into the scent and his arms, the pulsing of music and occasional laughter from the rest of the club washed reality back over me.
“Let’s sit down.” His voice dripped with sensuality. Husky and satisfied.
He aimed us for a darkened, private corner, but my appearance drew the others. Anthony took my hand as Thomas bounded up, slapping Anthony’s shoulder and offering me a smile.
“Anthony, son, you outdid yourself this time!”
Thomas pulled a reluctant Shannon beside him. Dressed in a corset and leather pants, Shannon looked more like Simone than a sub. She gave me one glance and turned ice queen.
Thomas didn’t notice. “The way you controlled her, Anthony. Excellent. Not even a tear when you plucked that flower.”
Oh God.
I stiffened, but Anthony rubbed my fingers. “She knew how to submit.”
“I’d say. A prized little beauty like her? She’d follow you to the ends of the earth!”
I slunk against Anthony, wishing for a benevolent sinkhole to open under my feet. The room spun, and I was grateful Simone had offered me the Coke to drink.
I weighed my options. Fainting was a good way to avoid the conversation, but waking from that would be just as terrifying. I stared at the ground instead. It pleased them.
“Thank you, Thomas.” Anthony’s hand tightened on mine.
The moment extended into awkwardness.
Oh, my God. I was supposed to thank him.
My stomach churned. I tried to wet my lips. It didn’t help.
“Thank you, sir,” I whispered.
Shannon huffed. She seized Thomas’s arm and rubbed herself close. He liked it.
“You looked absolutely wonderful, my dear,” he said.
The nickname gave me the creeps, and I didn’t know why.
Shannon leaned in to whisper to her master.
Thomas agreed. “She did have quite a few orgasms, didn’t she?
What was the proper response for that? Thank you, sir. I did enjoy that cock?
Anthony rubbed my back. His pride was palpable. He enjoyed my praise almost as much as he liked earning it himself.
He had warned me. I knew exactly what I was getting into when we started dating.
Dating?
Were we even dating?
What was it? Messing around? Fucking?
Every time I came to Duchess, something different broke in my head.
Shannon’s eyes narrowed over me. Her words were sweet, but each syllable riled with scorn.
“Master Anthony, will you ever share your pet with us?” She rubbed against Thomas. He grunted in approval. “I’d love for her to taste me.”
I stiffened. My eyes darted to Anthony. I didn’t trust the sushi-wench with my soy sauce, let alone any intentions she had for me. Not after the piano escapade and certainly not after Thomas punished her for back-talking to me.
And what did that even mean? Taste her? Like a kiss?
Her eyes drifted down to my waist.
Oh, no. No no no.
Simone’s attention was bad enough. I’d never consider that with Shannon.
Anthony’s hand rubbed soft circles against my back. He prevented me from backing away.
“I’ve decided to be quite selfish with my pet,” Anthony said. “I’m the only person who has ever touched her…and it will stay that way.”
“As it should be.” Thomas grinned. “Cute little thing like that. I’d never give her up.”
Shannon’s jaw tensed. Her glare intensified. I was fortunate the heat in her eyes hadn’t turned me to wasabi. Thomas took her hand.
“Come, slut,” he said. “I want to watch you dance.”
Shannon gave him an innocent smile and followed. The brief farewell twisted my stomach.
I released my half-choked breath and rushed towards an isolated table. Anthony’s hand captured mine. Instead of the dark, quiet, peaceful table where I could slowly glue together the fragments of my sanity, he presented me to the couple waiting in a booth across the room.
Anthony and Simone ruled the club, but Nate and Mariah were the perfect clientele.
Nate shared Anthony’s suave confidence. Wrapped in black leather pants and a tight-fitting black shirt, he certainly looked as pleasing as Anthony, but his predatory aura was much more dangerous. Sadistic, maybe. Mariah snuggled near him nevertheless. Despite the thick collar poised over her neck and the golden chain joining her to Nate’s hand, Mariah possessed a refined, classical beauty. I imagined her lounging on a stone bench between Roman columns and, just as easily, chained to the wall of the club.
Social hour wasn’t over. Anthony guided me to the booth.
My stomach couldn’t take mu
ch more, and yet I knew this was just another test. Anthony liked his women vulnerable. His definition of afterglow consisted of dragging me person to person for their appraisal of my monumental deflowering.
I deserved an A for Effort, or, at least, a solid B for not freaking out and bursting into tears. All I wanted to do was go home before anyone suggested Duchess styled Extra Credit.
“Looked good.” Nate shook Anthony’s hand.
“I aim to please,” he said.
Nate’s gaze drifted over me. Acknowledging that I was present, but Anthony’s squeezed my hand. I didn’t have to answer. Or wasn’t I permitted to answer in Nate’s presence?
More rules.
Mariah’s doe-eyes widened. “May I speak to her, Daddy?”
Daddy?
Mariah practically bounded into Nate’s lap. She beamed a smile so excited I’d have thought Christmas came early and Santa delivered her a fancy new evening gown.
Nate kissed her cheek. “Better ask Anthony, baby.”
Mariah didn’t miss a beat. Her eyes lowered, but she spoke the words so confidently it was as if Anthony’s name was Master.
Well…to Mariah, Master was Anthony’s only name. Hell, after what had just happened, I couldn’t imagine calling him by his real name either.
“Master Anthony, sir, may I speak with your slave?”
She waited for Anthony’s nod before turning to me. Her voice bubbled with melody. She urged me to scoot closer. I don’t know why I obeyed.
“That was so sexy, pet,” Mariah said. Pet. Even in my timid haze, I recognized the hierarchy of the table. “Everyone here was so turned on. You have no idea how delicious that looked.”
And I had no idea how to respond, so I nodded. Mariah continued, coyly nudging Nate.
“I’m absolutely dying to come, but Daddy said no.” She pouted at him. Nate tugged at her leash and she tucked her lip back in. He rubbed a hand along her leg, and she visibly shuddered. Smiled. Curled deeper against him.
Emily Post didn’t write of the proper responses to these conversations in her etiquette book.
Life Goal Number Eight: Stay Strong.
She seemed to love the collar around her neck, the wrappings over her wrists, and the corset squeezing the air from her chest. Her doting husband—if the rings on her fingers signified anything—denied her a release she obviously needed. But she didn’t care.