It wouldn’t matter to me at all, but at the office Christmas party last year, Jackson’s girlfriend caught my eye. I never got a chance to talk to her. I knew I couldn’t just steal her from an employee because I liked the look of her, and I was there with somebody else, anyway.
When I overheard him griping about her to someone at the office the other day, I knew there was an opening. A small one. They were broken up, but still in contact—though judging by the way he spoke about her, she should not be answering his calls.
It says something about her that she is, though. Something I like, because maybe it indicates she’ll suit me better than she suited him.
I know men like Jackson Price, and I may not be a perfect man myself, but I’ve made it a point not to be like him.
Jackson is spoiled rotten, obtuse about the good things he has right in front of him. He believes he’s owed everything and she’s owed nothing. He thinks Hallie was out of line for finally getting sick of his shit and leaving him, but he most assuredly does not think he was out of line for heaping his attention upon the many other women he seemed to find much more fascinating than his own.
I think he was sitting on a diamond mine and lusting after costume jewelry.
Tonight, watching him do coke off a pain slut’s tits, I was utterly disgusted by him. Even halfway to fucking someone new, he couldn’t stop bitching about Hallie—and it’s unclear what she ever did to him that was so egregious, other than come to the conclusion that his spoiled, shallow ass wasn’t doing it for her.
I’m a lot of things, but shallow and faithless are not among my more problematic traits.
Spoiled is up for debate. I live a life of excess, but I’ve worked hard for every bit of it. I even shunned my birthright and built something entirely of my own instead.
Whether or not you want to call me spoiled, I am a man accustomed to getting what I want, and there are certain aspects of my personality that aren’t for everyone.
My sex life, for example.
What turns me on horrifies some, even though I work to keep it in check. Above all else, I’m a reasonable man. I understand that my predatory side is unconventional, that seeing fear leap to a woman’s eyes and knowing I put it there shouldn’t get me hard as fucking steel.
It does, though.
I’ve never been able to find anything else that could come close to heating my blood the same way.
For the past several years I’ve been able to satisfy my darker cravings by coming to this club, playing with like-minded individuals.
Lately, even that has lost its luster.
When I play here, it’s always with a consenting playmate. We’re each performing our agreed-upon role, but lately the experience has started to feel mundane. I’ve started to wonder if maybe playacting has lost its edge and I need to take it to the next level.
When I play with a woman here, her fear isn’t real. Maybe that’s why it isn’t working for me anymore. Perhaps I need the potency of the real thing.
I don’t know if the floor has fallen, the depths of my depravity sinking to new lows, or it’s something else. I only know last time I roleplayed with one of the ladies here, I felt… bored.
It has been a while since I visited, the grime of the last visit lingering and draining my interest. The only reason I came out tonight was because of Hallie. She was the last person to spark my interest, and she wasn’t even naked or afraid. She was wearing a lovely red dress and smiling sweetly at someone else as she sipped her punch across the room.
Even without speaking to her, she lingered in my mind long enough to become a preoccupation.
Tonight, I want to taste her fear.
I want to play with her.
I’m going to play with her, whether she wants to play with me or not.
Anticipation courses through my veins as the ominous black door eases open. Hollis, my driver/bodyguard, escorts a wide-eyed Miss Meadows in behind him.
A rush of blood hits my cock at the mere sight of her, doe-eyed and mildly horrified by the depravity of her surroundings.
“What is this place?” she asks Hollis, her voice small, like maybe the rest of us won’t hear her if she’s quiet enough.
That and the way she leans close to him as if he might protect her makes me think he did his job well, made her feel safe with him when he brought her into the club and down to Hell—a place where no one is guaranteed safety.
Hollis doesn’t answer her. Instead, he opens his briefcase and draws out an NDA and a pen. “I need you to sign this before we go any further.”