repressed anxiety. He felt as if his control was slipping. The
more wild sex he had, the more he required. It was either exercise, push
himself to exhaustion at work, fuck his goddamned brains out, or go bat-shit
insane.
After
stumbling inside to grab a couple of beers for them, he waited for his eyes to
adjust. They found a scrap of paper one of the girls had left last night—one
who had been especially amenable to his preference for rougher play, he
recalled with a grin.
He
wouldn’t deny that going hard, tugging hair, smacking asses was something that
truly revved his engine. Any girl who encouraged it usually got the benefit of
an actual phone call the morning after, if he thought he could get a little
more from her. He ran his finger over the phone number and address she’d left.
It was a downtown Detroit one, new to him, but suddenly he remembered what
she’d said.
“Baby,
you need to come to this club. I could show you how real men play with girls
like me.”
He
shivered, his entire body breaking into chills at the memory. Gulping down a
few slugs of the beer, he sat, held onto the phone a moment, then dialed her
number.
* * * *
The moment was one Jack would never
forget. The sights, sounds, smells of the place would forever be imprinted on
him, drawing him back to that exact space and time.
His body was on fire, heart pounding,
pulse racing. A strange buzzing sound rose in his ears, deafening him, lending
a yet more surreal cast to the scene. He stood and watched, ever more amazed
that he’d discovered such a perfect outlet.
The woman was bound to a sort of “X”
or cross. She was naked but for a blindfold. Her perfect body was spread-eagled
and she exuded a calm vibe that he misinterpreted at first to be resignation.
He’d later come to realize it for what it was—the sensory rabbit hole of “sub
space.”
She was in it already, put there by
the show he’d watched that had made him hornier than he’d ever been in his
life. But there was more to it than just a visceral need to connect, to put his
cock in something, to gain release. No, he had a role here, a purpose. And
that fact hit him hard in his chest.
He was needed. And that was more of a turn-on than anything he
had ever experienced. This woman required something specific of him — more
than a simple fuck. He got to his feet, beckoned by the leather-clad dude who’d
been teasing the bound girl, bringing her to the brink of orgasm while
demanding that she not allow herself to come. Then using a whip, some candle
wax and a set of evil-looking nipple clamps to rev her up all over again.
Jack ran a hand through his hair. His body was on super high
alert, but his brain was quiet, free of the incessant clamoring he’d been
experiencing for the past weeks and months. This…this must be what he required.
He would rise to this occasion and be all he could for the woman who trusted
him enough to allow him to take over from the older, more experienced guy.
He held out a hand, and palmed the well-worn handle of a leather
flogger. Grinning and ready to jump out of his own skin, yet at the same time
sensing a familiar lick of power he nestled down in it, owned it, and at that
moment found peace.
Chapter Nine
“Law
school sucks,” the girl claimed as she flopped onto the couch nearby. Jack
glanced up from his perusal of that very fact via mounds of torts and other
random legal bullshit.
His
shoulders ached as he stretched his arms up, not really paying that much
attention to her. He allowed that that he may well have met his limit: being a
full-time law school student at a premiere school and trying to fulfill his
every sexual fantasy at a club he’d been invited to join not that far from the
center of downtown Chicago.
The
house he’d rented was a rattletrap piece of shit. The one roommate he’d found
had bailed, and he was fast realizing something else important about himself—he
did not like living alone.
He
was
more wild sex he had, the more he required. It was either exercise, push
himself to exhaustion at work, fuck his goddamned brains out, or go bat-shit
insane.
After
stumbling inside to grab a couple of beers for them, he waited for his eyes to
adjust. They found a scrap of paper one of the girls had left last night—one
who had been especially amenable to his preference for rougher play, he
recalled with a grin.
He
wouldn’t deny that going hard, tugging hair, smacking asses was something that
truly revved his engine. Any girl who encouraged it usually got the benefit of
an actual phone call the morning after, if he thought he could get a little
more from her. He ran his finger over the phone number and address she’d left.
It was a downtown Detroit one, new to him, but suddenly he remembered what
she’d said.
“Baby,
you need to come to this club. I could show you how real men play with girls
like me.”
He
shivered, his entire body breaking into chills at the memory. Gulping down a
few slugs of the beer, he sat, held onto the phone a moment, then dialed her
number.
* * * *
The moment was one Jack would never
forget. The sights, sounds, smells of the place would forever be imprinted on
him, drawing him back to that exact space and time.
His body was on fire, heart pounding,
pulse racing. A strange buzzing sound rose in his ears, deafening him, lending
a yet more surreal cast to the scene. He stood and watched, ever more amazed
that he’d discovered such a perfect outlet.
The woman was bound to a sort of “X”
or cross. She was naked but for a blindfold. Her perfect body was spread-eagled
and she exuded a calm vibe that he misinterpreted at first to be resignation.
He’d later come to realize it for what it was—the sensory rabbit hole of “sub
space.”
She was in it already, put there by
the show he’d watched that had made him hornier than he’d ever been in his
life. But there was more to it than just a visceral need to connect, to put his
cock in something, to gain release. No, he had a role here, a purpose. And
that fact hit him hard in his chest.
He was needed. And that was more of a turn-on than anything he
had ever experienced. This woman required something specific of him — more
than a simple fuck. He got to his feet, beckoned by the leather-clad dude who’d
been teasing the bound girl, bringing her to the brink of orgasm while
demanding that she not allow herself to come. Then using a whip, some candle
wax and a set of evil-looking nipple clamps to rev her up all over again.
Jack ran a hand through his hair. His body was on super high
alert, but his brain was quiet, free of the incessant clamoring he’d been
experiencing for the past weeks and months. This…this must be what he required.
He would rise to this occasion and be all he could for the woman who trusted
him enough to allow him to take over from the older, more experienced guy.
He held out a hand, and palmed the well-worn handle of a leather
flogger. Grinning and ready to jump out of his own skin, yet at the same time
sensing a familiar lick of power he nestled down in it, owned it, and at that
moment found peace.
Chapter Nine
“Law
school sucks,” the girl claimed as she flopped onto the couch nearby. Jack
glanced up from his perusal of that very fact via mounds of torts and other
random legal bullshit.
His
shoulders ached as he stretched his arms up, not really paying that much
attention to her. He allowed that that he may well have met his limit: being a
full-time law school student at a premiere school and trying to fulfill his
every sexual fantasy at a club he’d been invited to join not that far from the
center of downtown Chicago.
The
house he’d rented was a rattletrap piece of shit. The one roommate he’d found
had bailed, and he was fast realizing something else important about himself—he
did not like living alone.
He
was
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