“I think seeing the playrooms is fine for now,” I answer, changing the subject from her earlier suggestion. A part of me wants to go to the dungeon, but I want to see it in a way that fills me with desire, not trigger me. I know I do want to see it. Just not yet. I’m not sure why, exactly. I don’t know if it’s because I’m destined to crave this wickedness, or whether it’s something that’s burned into my soul because of my past. But I want to feel the sting of the whip. I learned to worship it, and crave the pleasure it led me to. I desperately want it. But not yet. Not right now.
So far, Club X is like a den for sexual pleasure, exactly the fantasy I’ve dreamed of. Desire fills my blood as my eyes fall back onto the Subs and Doms fucking each other’s brains out. I even notice whips on the back wall of the playroom, and my skin burns even hotter as I remember how good my Master was with them. He was so good with whips; I learned to love their bite. In fact, it brought more pleasure to me than anything else he ever did.
“If you’re interested in finding someone…” Madam Lynn says, startling me out of my trance, “you could wait here.” My heart races, thinking about feeling it again. Would it bring me the same pleasure?
“Who would…?” I start to ask, my words trailing off. Whip me. But Madam Lynn knows exactly what I mean.
She gestures at men walking in and out of the hallway, and others who are watching what’s going on inside the playrooms. “Whoever you choose, Katia. You have no collar on your neck. Everything here is a choice.” She lets that sink in for a moment before she adds, “Don’t be offended if not many approach you.”
My eyes dart to hers, feeling self-conscious once again. “You’re wearing the bracelet of a Slave. And that’s a lot of responsibility. Most men here aren’t interested in being Masters.” Her eyebrows are raised, and she’s looking at me as though she’s wondering if I follow.
I swallow thickly and nod. “I understand.”
“Good.” She takes my hand in hers and pats it. “If you show your submission, men will come and offer you their partnership. You can always deny them.” I nod again and whisper, “Thank you.” My heart clenches.
And then she turns and walks off, her heels clicking across the floor. I’m left alone, trembling with excitement and desire, my mind racing with possibilities.
Fingering my bracelet, I look back inside of the playrooms, my mouth watering with hunger. I want that. I crave that. I want someone to dominate me. Own me.
Every inch of my skin is humming with desire. Madam Lynn’s words come back to me, Everything here is a choice.
Sucking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and make a decision.
There’s no time like the present, and I didn’t come here to let my fear rule me. I need to see if this is what I want.
I kneel on the floor at the front of the room, bowing my head, placing myself into a submissive posture. The sounds of the sex coming through the playrooms reaches my ears, and my breathing becomes heavy as my pussy clenches with need.
It doesn’t take long before masked men coming in and out of the playroom approach me. A few stop to speak with me, but once they see my bracelet, they’re gone like the wind. I feel disappointed, but eventually others that are bolder stop to interact. One man even stops to tell me how beautiful I am, and what a good girl I’m being. Yet his words are hollow, because after a few more compliments, he leaves just like all the rest.
It shocks me how their denial affects me. It shouldn’t, but I desperately want to be kept.
I keep my position, though I start to worry that none of these men want what I want.
It also shocks me how they prefer Submissives. Being a Slave means you’re more vulnerable than a Submissive, and for men who crave power, this should make me a very attractive partner. But in a way, the fact that a lot of these men respect the differences between a Sub and a Slave, and aren’t taking advantage of my vulnerability, the fact that they’re respecting my desires, makes me feel even more comfortable with the club. It makes me hopeful that if I do find a Master, he will be someone that I can give myself to entirely and entrust with my safety.
I stay kneeling, my forehead lowered to the floor for what seems like an eternity, watching masked men stop to glance at my bracelet and then continue on as if I wasn’t even there before I hear the heavy thud of footsteps approaching me from behind.
I resist the urge to raise my head as the footsteps come to a stop at my side. If this is finally someone who wants to be my Master, I want to show that I can be the most obedient Slave. At least for a taste. Just for a moment. I can always walk away. My heart pounds as I wait for them to say something, anything, my breathing slow and ragged. I jump slightly as a warm finger hooks my chin and I’m forced to look up into the masked face of a man with sharp, patrician features.
“Are you truly looking for a Master?” he asks me, his voice low and deep, his gaze penetrating. He speaks with authority and power. He has an air of dominance about him. But my desire is replaced by fear.
As I slowly nod my head, I feel a slight tremor go through my body. I breathe heavily, trying to calm myself as I see his bracelet is like mine. He’s a Master. I try to imagine him whipping me, but the sexual tension is absent.
This was a mistake.
The moment the thought hits me, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. A masked man walks up behind the man who’s still gripping my chin, but this one radiates something far more than power, his walk filled with confidence, his piercing green eyes staring deep into mine. There’s an air of anger, possession even, that’s rolling off of him in waves and lighting my desire aflame. My nipples pebble and my pussy clenches as his heavy footsteps beat on the ground with his threatening presence. Just looking at him causes my heart to race and my pussy to clench with desperate need.
I can’t even see all of his features because of his mask, but what I can see tells me that he’s handsome as fuck, with his chiseled jawline that sports a six o’clock shadow, and his intense green eyes that cause my skin to prickle from his gaze alone. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and his dirty blonde hair is slicked to the side almost like an old school gangster, increasing his sex appeal.
Good God, he’s so fucking sexy. My breathing refuses to regulate itself. He is a Master.
As he approaches, I forget that the man holding my chin is even there. This walking deity becomes the only thing that exists in the room for me, and his eyes seem to silently say to me, You’re fucking mine.
Chapter 7
Isaac
The moment Katia walked in, I was drawn to her. Her gorgeous blonde hair flows almost down to her hips. Her eyes are a paler blue than I thought they were. They're wide and full of curiosity.
My kitten is finally here.
It’s killed me to stay away and let her make this decision for herself, but I knew she’d come when she was ready. She wants this. She needs this.
I watched her as she took in the club, walking slowly as she nervously picked at the hem of her dress. Her chest rose with heavy breaths as she peeked into the playrooms. I wanted her to grow accustomed to the club. I wanted her to feel safe here and make herself comfortable with the atmosphere.