Indulgence (114 page)

And I want it. I brace myself as he holds one up and pinches
it open and closed in front of my face. “No safeword?” he whispers with a
sneer.

I shake my head. “No safeword.”

“You asked for it. Pass out and I’ll fuck you while you’re
unconscious.” With that, he places the first one over my nipple and releases
it.

The pain blinds me for a few seconds, and a ringing sets up
in my ears. Before I can process everything, he clamps the second one on my
other nipple and my knees buckle, but Angus grabs me before I can fall and
makes sure I’m on my feet before he addresses me again. “Over to the post,” he
says as he points to a large column at the edge of the play area.

When I’ve managed to get there, gasping in pain, Angus turns
me to face the post. He fastens a cord onto one of the binder clips, then draws
it around the post to the other side and fastens it to the other clip. Once
both ends are secured, he grabs the cord and pulls.

I shriek – I can’t help it. As soon as I do, Angus ties a
knot in the cord so my nipples are stretched with its tension, and all I can do
is pant. It’s like the pain has paralyzed me, rendered me unable to move or
speak except to scream. I can hear him moving behind me, and then, in just a
few seconds, I hear him say, “You won’t be a virgin in a couple of minutes,
little girl. Maybe next time you’ll let the team fuck you.” Rope encircles my
wrists as he binds them tightly, and whatever type it is, it cuts into my flesh
mercilessly. He slips my panties down and taps each foot in turn to get me to
lift it so he can remove them completely. The next thing I hear is his zipper
coming down. Then he growls out, “I’m so gonna enjoy this.”

In one heart-stopping flash, he grabs the insides of my
thighs, forces them forward and up, and lifts me up the pole. The cord from the
clamps drags on the pole’s surface and I scream again. Up high enough, he drops
me down and impales me on his rigid cock, the cord from the clamps dragging
down again, and I fight to stay conscious, to soak up the pain, to enjoy it in
the way I do. The combination of his thrusting into me and him pulling me up
and down the pole leaves me so pain-riddled that I can’t speak, can’t think,
can’t even whimper, just scream. Vaguely aware of voices around me, I wonder if
all of those people out there, the ones watching me writhe and shriek, are enjoying
the show even as my mind tries to rid itself of the sensations. In what feels
like an eternity but has to be only minutes, I feel his release through the
condom he’s wearing and he stops.

Hoping against hope that he’s finished, he lets my legs down
and I stand, leaning into the post while I wait for him to release me. But
instead, I feel his body pressing against my back. When his arms wrap around
me, I pray he isn’t planning what I think he’s planning.

But he is. His hands wrap around my hips and find my
hardened clit, and he begins to stroke it with his finger like a man possessed.
All I can do is wait for my body to implode, knowing what that will mean. It’s
all out of my control, and at this point, I really don’t care. I just want to
fall into the pain like a big old feather bed and wallow in it. I will myself
to come, hoping to get it over with. As his strokes become more insistent and
intense, I feel my body slipping, slipping, slipping into the orgasm, and when
I turn loose and convulse, my writhing pulls on the binder clips again, letting
the pain make my climax even more intense. He forces it to go on and on, and I
start to feel cold all over, like there’s an invisible force passing through
the room and seeping into my body. It seems as though someone is turning the
lights down and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to see when a buzzing takes over
my brain.

My eyes flutter open and I’m surprised to find that I’m
looking straight up at the ceiling. It takes me a minute, but I finally realize
I’m in a bed in one of the private rooms. And, true to his promise, Angus is
fucking me. Knees pressed to my chest, my legs are wide open and he kneels
between them, his large dick piercing me over and over. When he notices me
blinking at him, he laughs. “I told you if you passed out I’d fuck you while
you were out! You’ll just have to take it now.” One of my shoulders is cramping
and that tells me that my hands are still tied. Blessedly, the binder clips are
gone, but my nipples sport a purple welt to either side, reminders of the bite
of the clips. I lie still, letting him take his pleasure, until his fingers
find my nub and he begins stroking it again, forcing another orgasm out of me,
tweaking my sore nipples with the other hand to listen to me cry out.

When he finally empties himself into me, he falls onto the
bed beside me. Damn him – no condom. Yep. That’s Angus. “Roll.” Without the use
of my arms, I can’t, so he pushes me until I can and unties my hands. As I rub
my wrists to help the circulation, Angus grins at me. “Work you over good
enough?”

“Yeah, sure, sir,” my lips say, but I already want the pain
back. I want another fix. As long as I hurt, I don’t think about Phil. I know
how sick that is, but I can’t help it.

“Get up. Leave the skirt pulled up far enough that everyone
can see your pussy lips and my cum dripping out of them. Just like that. Nice.
Good. Go on back out there and strut around. And thanks for the fun.”

“Sure thing, sir.” I feel the warm stickiness of him
trickling down one of my legs. There’s nothing to be ashamed of – everyone out
there witnessed what he’d done to me. A glimmer of pride works its way into my
psyche. I want everyone to know that I’m strong. I can take it. I need the
pain, and I can take whatever these Doms dish out.

But when I return to the bar, it’s to find Michael glaring
at me. I can’t figure out what the problem is. I’m a consenting adult. I can
practice R.A.C.K. if I want – risk-aware consensual kink. That’s my
prerogative. “Kimmer, we need to talk.”

“Yes, sir.” I’m not sure what he’s about to say, but I’m
fairly certain how it’ll go.

Michael’s eyes are wide. “How in the world could you take
that? I don’t even know how you managed to stay conscious as long as you did.”

I shrug. “Not as painful as what Phil did.”

Michael shakes his head. “I’m convinced you’ve lost your
mind.” He turns to Robyn, who stands silently beside him, tears coursing down
her face. “Come on, baby. We’re going home. If she wants to let some so-called
Dom tear her apart, who are we to decide if it’s right or wrong?” He spins to
look at me again. “We love you. Please stop this. That’s all I’ve got to say.
Oh, and for fuck’s sake, stay away from Angus. The son of a bitch is crazy.”
Arms around each other’s waists, they move as one toward the door. I watch them
leave and think,
Of course they don’t understand. They have each other.

My back to the bar, I lean against it from my stool and just
sit there. I watch other couples scene, but it’s all boring. I finally get up
and wander into the locker room to change. Once I’ve got everything off, I drag
into the shower and turn it on. As I watch the water swirl around and go down
the drain, I see everything I ever thought I had going with it, the life I
thought I’d have now, and it’s all gone. Damn Phil, damn the years, damn
wrinkles and gravity and all of that shit. I just want to curl up on the shower
stall floor and die.

When my skin is wrinkled and prune-like, I figure that’s a
sign that I should probably leave. As I wrap myself in the towel and head to
the dressing room to dry off and dress, I see the big mirror on the wall and
just turn away. I don’t want to look. What will greet me there will confirm
what Michael says, and I don’t want to see. In my mind, when I see myself, I
see a wisp of smoke that just dissipates into nothing. That’s me – nothing.

Scenes are still going on, and several of the guys watch me
as I leave. There’s every possibility that I could find another one to throw me
a bone of agony, but it’s getting late, and I decide maybe I’ve had enough for
the night. Then, on the way home, I find myself wishing I had ten more minutes
of that pain. If I did, I just might be able to sleep. But I have a feeling
it’s going to be another sleepless night.

*****

“Would it be possible for me to send her by at about three
this afternoon?”

I like Mr. Augustino, but sometimes I want to strangle him.
He always wants to send his submissive over here by herself, and then he always
has a problem with something that could’ve been alleviated if he’d just come
with her in the first place.

His submissive, Candy, is a beautiful girl, with girl being
the operative word here. They come to the club a lot, but they never scene in
public. I have my own theories on that, but I’ll keep those to myself. When she
shows up, she’s prompt and about ten pounds heavier than the last time she was
here. I look her over and try to figure out what’s going on with her when she
finally blurts out, “I’m pregnant.”

I know my eyebrows must be rocketing to the ceiling when I
manage to reply, “Um, yeah, I guess you are.”

“I know you probably think that’s weird.”

I shake my head. “None of my business. Not my right to
judge.”

“Yeah, but he’s so old and all, and I’m so . . . not old.”
Now that she’s mentioned it, I don’t think she’s even thirty. And he’s maybe
sixty-five? So yeah. But again, not my place to judge. I start to say something
when she adds, “I hope he keeps me.”

What an odd plight to find oneself in
, I have to
think. That’s got to be hard, carrying a child for a man who may or may not
want to keep her. “Why wouldn’t he want you to stay? You’re having his child.”

“It’s not his.” That gets my attention. When I turn from the
notepad where I’m writing her measurements to look into her face, she explains.
“He shoots blanks. He had me bred by a guy at the club.”

Well, I
liked
Mr. Augustino. Now I’m pretty sure I
don’t anymore. Breeding her? What the hell? Her next sentence throws me for a
loop: “My family disowned me when I started my career. I don’t know why; it’s
not like I was a hooker.” I have no idea what she means by that. “So he says he
wants me to have someone I love who loves me in case he’s not around anymore.”

I blurt out, “Is he sick or something?”

Candy shrugs. “I’m not sure. But he is in his seventies.”
That’s a shocker. I hadn’t pegged him as being quite
that
old. She stops
for a second and then leans in as though she’s shielding us from others in this
room of only two people. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.” I’m well known for my non-gossiping trait. I don’t
talk about other people because I don’t want them talking about me.

“He’s been talking to me about getting married.”

The look on her face is odd – definitely not the look I’d
expect from someone who could be a happy bride – so I have to ask, “Do you not
want to marry him?”

Now her eyes just droop to match the corners of her mouth.
“I’m not sure. I want to, but not if he’s doing it because he’s about to die or
something. I don’t want to be a widow.”

I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Who knows? He
could have twenty more good years! Maybe you should take a chance – if you love
him and he loves you.”

“I do and he does.” After a few seconds, she grins. “He
fucks like a twenty year old!”

Okay. Information I didn’t need. “Really? Okay, let’s get
you measured.” And my attempt at deflection works. Twenty minutes later, I’ve
got what I need and send her out the door.

Old guys. Young women. Good god.

I’m about to leave when my phone rings, and the number is
unfamiliar. I almost don’t answer it, then decide what the hell, I’ll take a
chance. My tenuous greeting is rewarded.

A deep, sexy voice floats out of the speaker. “Is this
Kimberly Hendricks?”

“Yes, speaking. May I help you?”

“I got your name from Michael O’Malley.” I start to relax a
little. “My name is Jasper Givens. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure. What can I do to help you, Mr. Givens?”

“I need a new pair of leathers. Michael said you were the
best, and that’s what I want. Would you have time in your schedule to make a
pair for me?”

A new client! That’s just what I need. A couple of my old
ones have moved away and one left the lifestyle, so I’ve been close to
desperate for awhile, not to mention that I’m rather secretive. Being secretive
really limits your marketing opportunities, I’ve found. “Absolutely, Mr.
Givens. I’d need to take measurements first. When might you be available?”

“Hold on please and let me look at my calendar.” I assume he
means on his phone, but I hear the rustle of pages, so I know he’s flipping
through a hard copy. “Um, looks like I’ve got next Tuesday afternoon mostly
free. Would that be possible?”

I look at the big calendar on my wall and find Tuesday’s
square blank. “Sure. Name your time. Whenever you’d like.”

“Two o’clock?”

“Two’s good.”

“And what should I wear?”

“Wear something that you’re already comfortable in,
something that fits nicely. That’ll help me tremendously,” I tell him,
penciling him in on the big square. “Did you say your first name is Jasper?”

“Yes. But my friends call me Jaz.”

I ignore that. “Okay, Mr. Givens, I’ve got you down for two
o’clock next Tuesday, the twenty-third. Do you know where my workshop is?” When
he says he doesn’t, I spend the next three or four minutes explaining to him
where it’s located and how to get here based on his starting location. Oddly, I
find that address familiar. “Is that a convention center or something?” I quiz.

“No. It’s Reliable Industries. The company Michael works
for. I’m in product development.”

“Oh! I thought the area sounded familiar.” So
that’s
how they know each other – they work for the same company. You can bet I’ll ask
Michael about him before Tuesday comes. “So I’ll see you on Tuesday the
twenty-third at two o’clock, Mr. Givens,” I repeat, trying desperately to get
off the phone.