Tricked

He eased the Porsche 911 he’d rented for the month out of the garage and headed to the club, which was discreetly located on a private ten-acre beachfront estate about twenty minutes from his villa. He presented his member card at the gate. Once granted entrance, he drove past the main house to the private club at the back of the property.

Damon parked in the small lot adjacent to the club and climbed out of his car. He had chosen black leather pants and boots for the evening, along with a white silk pirate’s shirt. An older couple was just leaving their car at the same time. The woman was clearly the one in charge. She was dressed in a red leather minidress that barely contained her voluptuous figure, with matching high-heels. The man, who had easily a foot and a hundred pounds on his partner, was in one of those leather harness getups that crisscrossed his otherwise naked body, his cock and balls hidden behind a leather codpiece, a slave collar of heavy chain around his neck.

They exchanged a pleasant nod with Damon and made their way to the door. He followed a moment later, watching with disgust as the man got to his knees before entering the club like a dog behind his Mistress. Submissive men made him sick. It was against the laws of nature. The strong should conquer the weak, as he had done with Callie.

He greeted the hostess at the door with a warm smile as he openly ogled her scantily clad body. She was dressed in a see-through gold mesh bodysuit that hugged her curves and left nothing to the imagination. It was cut so low that the top half of her dark nipples were clearly visible. “You look so beautiful tonight, Conchita,” he said to her. “Good enough to eat.”

“Gracias, señor,” she replied with a coquettish smile. “Welcome back.”

He stepped into the large space, which was decorated identically to every Dark Club around the globe. The walls and the floors were painted a deep red, the lighting muted, the piped-in music something soft and classical. The BDSM restraint equipment was of the highest quality, with a dozen or so scene stations set up throughout. There were private rooms along the perimeter of the main space, where the truly intense action took place.

Bare chested young men and women wearing red slave collars glided silently through the room, offering refreshments. He accepted a glass of champagne from a little hottie, sipping it as he moved among the scene stations.

He stopped in front of an Asian woman tied down on her back on a padded spanking bench. She was naked save for sheer red thigh-high stockings with matching red leather heels. Her legs were spread wide on either side of the bench, her ass perched on the edge. A huge black dildo attached to an industrial-strength fucking machine was moving slowly in and out of her smooth cunt.

A man stood at her head, his face close to hers as he murmured in her ear. As he spoke to her, he stroked her small, pretty breasts. She was moaning softly, her body trembling. Her skin showed no marks at all—no evidence she had been whipped or even flogged. As at every station, there was a well-stocked rack of impact toys, including canes, floggers and various whips. Damon’s palms itched with the desire to flick one of those whips against all that smooth, unmarred flesh.

He moved a little closer, catching the man’s attention. The guy glanced up. He flashed a brief smile, and returned his attention to whispering sweet nothings into his slave’s ear.

“Need a helping hand?” Damon offered. “I know my way around a whip, if you’d like to amp up the scene.”

The man shook his head. “No, thanks. We aren’t into pain.”

Not into pain? What the fuck were they doing at a BDSM club? Barely disguising his snort of disgust, Damon walked away.

He moved among the stations for a while, looking for someone to possibly hook up with for the evening. While he was still having an excellent time with Callie, he wouldn’t mind a bit of variation. He had no luck however, as every attractive woman already seemed to be taken.

Maybe he should have brought Callie after all. He could have put a ball gag in that hot little mouth. No one would have batted an eye. Maybe he’d go get her right now. After all, the night was young.

No, he again admonished himself. Leave her be. No unnecessary risks.

He decided instead to check out some of the private rooms. There was an established protocol at Dark Club—if a door was left open, it meant others were permitted to enter and watch, as long as they didn’t interfere unless invited.

He moved past several rooms, some with the doors closed, some empty, until he came to the last room, its door ajar. As he poked his head in, he caught his breath.