Sold to the mafia

Isaac

The rough pad of my thumb brushes against my bottom lip, my elbow resting on the desk as I stare at the monitor in front of me. There are twenty on this side of the room, and another twenty behind me. The screens flip between cameras, and I take it all in effortlessly. I’m not usually in this room though. I actually prefer being on the floor, but I’m the boss and right now this is where I’m needed.

Shifting in the large desk chair, I let out an easy sigh from the tiresome day.

Club X needs extensive security and constant monitoring.

The members, both male and female Dominants, go through extensive training before being allowed to engage in any activity, but accidents are bound to happen. And sometimes they aren’t accidents, no matter how strict our acceptance policies are. It’s been quite a while since we’ve had any issues that required serious attention. But a lot of these members are new to the scene, and with inexperience comes errors.

Errors like Submissives who forget to safe word, and Dominants who don’t recognize the signs that their partner isn’t alright. They get caught up in the moment, and trust that their Submissive will safe word.

Ninety percent of the time when we intervene it’s for those reasons–miscommunication and misguided trust.

I fucking hate safe words for that very reason. A good Dominant should know when enough is enough. But a lot of the people here are new; they’re still learning, pushing each other’s limits. More than half of the relationships are new or knowingly temporary.

Mistakes are inevitable. Still, it’s my job to make sure they happen as infrequently as possible.

Security lines each doorway in the club, and I personally trained all of them. Protecting the members is number one on our priority list and for that reason, privacy is an illusion at Club X.

By that I mean there’s a reason these men and women play here. The atmosphere that’s created is intoxicating and alluring, but it’s more than that, they’re safe here. Whether or not a Sub or Slave trusts their Dom or Master, we’re here to ensure they’ll be okay. We provide a sense of safety that’s needed for many of these women to let their guard down and completely immerse themselves in the lifestyle.

When a couple exits the club, there must truly be trust between them… except for the auctions. Those are a different beast entirely.

A chill washes through me in a slow wave at the thought of the auction. It’s rare that the buyer and buyee don’t know one another intimately already. But on occasion, it happens. Just like it happened last week with Lucian and his new Submissive. The reminder heats my blood.

Yet another D/s. I clench my jaw absently, my eyes moving from one screen to the next. I’ve been to the last six auctions. Although I work here, and workers aren’t normally allowed to partake in the scene, I’ve dabbled in play. Madam Lynn turns a blind eye so long as I’m discreet. One of the perks of helping to mold the club and shape it into what it is today.

I sit up straighter in my seat, repositioning myself and keeping my mind from wandering to the dark corners of my mind where my depraved fantasies lie. I’m working, and now is no time for me to unleash my desires. There’s no one here to fulfill them anyway. I’ve gotten used to it over the past year.

I watch a monitor on my far left as Dominic’s attention strays from the large carved maple doors of the front entrance out to the dining hall. He’s one of the bouncers at the club, and looks like he was built to work in security. He can’t see much of what’s going on in the dining hall, but the thick red curtains are pulled back and several girls are on the stage. This isn’t any typical club. And it sure as hell isn’t a strip club, although some of the men and women do enjoy exotic dancing during theme nights. The reason the women are lined up on the stage is so they can be trained. Regardless, the sight of beautiful women displayed and chatting captures Dominic’s attention.

Some of the Submissives are collared, their Dominants giving them permission to learn while they sit patiently in the audience or accompany them onto the stage to do the training themselves. The uncollared Submissives are mostly unattended. One has a suitor, but he’s merely watching from the audience.

Being collared is a serious commitment. Only a minority of the couples within the club are collared. Several have paired off and continue their play exclusively, but without a collar the commitment has yet to be made and the Submissive is not off-limits. It’s not an offense to not be given a collar, it’s simply something that isn’t rushed into. There’s a sense of respect and commitment surrounding the process, and every Dominant or Master has their own way of going about it.

I’ve never had the honor of giving out a collar. None of the handful of women I’ve kept as slaves have wanted to stay. They may have said one thing, but I knew better. I have yet to meet the woman who is my match.

The women on stage I’ve seen before. The club has regulars, and the exclusive invites rarely allows for new members. It creates an environment of familiarity, which aids in allowing the members to feel at ease.

There are several trainers with them as well. The trainers are experienced in BDSM, another pivotal feature of this club that I played a part in. We needed a safe way for the Submissives and the Dominants to learn. This club isn’t a free-for-all. Although each Dominant has their own way of doing things, their own preferences and kinks, and we encourage the variety.

Dressed in leathers, the trainers are lined up and waiting for the women to choose instruments from the extensive collection. Their sole purpose is to provide a means for the women to explore their limits. One woman, I believe her name is Lisa, is concerned about her positioning. Although she’s dressed in a simple cream chiffon romper, she’s on the waxed floor of the stage, practicing with a trainer offering advice. She’s not very graceful. Poor girl. She’s going to really have to work on her balance.

A quick vision flashes in front of my eyes of how I’d train her. I’d use a flogger, certainly not a cane or paddle. Every unstable waver of her body would earn her a lashing. At first I’d have her balance on one foot, but ultimately I’d have her end up in the position she’s in now. On her back, on the floor, her legs spread and opened for me. And as she worked on balancing herself, the heavy braided tails would whip against her glistening pussy. I can visualize how the skin on her thighs and ass would be flushed red from the punishing strokes. But the ones at the end of her training would already have her on edge. What was a punishment, would turn into a reward.

I glance back at the Submissive, Lisa. I can see it happening, but not with her. She’s not for me.

Most of these women want a Dominant. They want to be able to rely on safe words. I don’t provide that. It’s something I’m not interested in. I want a woman’s complete trust. Or at least her utter reliance on me, and total obedience.

I recognize Lilly on the stage as well. She’s fairly new to the club, and she’s yet to find a Dominant. She’s eager to learn and excitable, but her energy is excessively positive. I’ve heard many men talk about how she seems more vulnerable and breakable than even the more experienced Subs in the club. Bubbly is a good description of her.

Oddly enough, she’s the only one walking to the whips on the right side of the stage. Her bracelet is cream-colored, indicating that she’s finding her limits.

I glance at the other screens before coming back to hers. Her fingers trail down the knotted ends of a cat o’ nine tails, and several men in the audience perk up at the sight. I wouldn’t have guessed she’d be a red woman. The women with the red in their bracelets are ones who enjoy pain. Masochists. She may be interested in the whip, but her reaction will be enlightening, I’m sure. Many underestimate the intensity of the pain. It takes time and several punishing hits before the resulting adrenaline rush and flood of endorphins work their magic and turn pain into pleasure. It takes the right partner as well.

My eyes flash to the next screen, and a rough chuckle makes my shoulders shake as Madam Lynn catches Dominic lingering in the large opening between the front lobby and the dining hall.

One look from her, and he’s quick to go back to his place at the front. He may be nearly six and a half feet tall with broad shoulders to match his intimidating height, but Madam Lynn doesn’t compromise. Everyone knows that. Dominic returns to his post while he adjusts his dick in his pants. I snort a laugh. I’m not hard in the least.

Nothing has excited me for years, but Dominic never fails to be aroused. I imagine it would be different if the employees were permitted to play in the club. But there’s a zero-tolerance policy against it. Professionalism is the most valued attribute to Madam Lynn. I’m fortunate she makes an exception for me.

I glance around the monitors, but my sight is once again drawn to the stage. The cat o’ nine tails is whipping across the screen and landing with a loud hiss against a dummy. Lilly walks closer to the dummy and runs her fingers along the marks left by the whip while the trainer talks to her, wrapping the whip around his hand and walking toward her.

I can’t hear what he’s saying, but she’s listening intently. She’s showing him her full attention and taking the lesson seriously. The Dominants may not realize it yet, but in the years I’ve been here, I know an excellent Submissive in the making, and Lilly will certainly be one.

Although she won’t be mine. She’s not my type. None of these women are. I’d rather be picky and choose one who is meant to fit my desires, just as I’m meant to fit her needs. I’m not interested in a quick fuck; most of the men here aren’t. It’s better to find a match that you can grow to trust. Someone who can help you delve deeper into your darkest desires.

“Poker on Saturday?” Joshua’s deep voice distracts me from my thoughts. I turn in the swivel chair to face him. The room is a mirror image, and he’s been in charge of monitor display of the second floor, while I’ve taken the first. The screens behind him flip among the other rooms as he looks over his shoulder at me.

Joshua is a co-owner of the club with Madam Lynn. We went into business together with security, and his relationship with Madam Lynn created all of this. They’re good friends and nothing more. The ring on his finger and the collar on his wife make that more than apparent.

“Yeah, Saturday,” I answer. I’ve been hosting the card games the last few weeks now. My cabin’s on the outskirts of the city with no neighbors or wives, or in Joshua’s case, children.

It’s empty, which I used to enjoy. I’m fond of privacy. The only time I hear a voice at home besides my own is poker night. It hasn’t bothered me much before, but now that most of the men seem taken with their partners, the halls seem quieter in a way I find slightly disconcerting. Especially this last week, with Lucian being quieter than usual and preoccupied with his Submissive.

I crack my neck, feeling the stiffness of my muscles. I’ll hit the gym in my basement and take a shower before bed. I need to do something to get out this tension.

“How much you planning on losing this week?” I say and smirk at him.

Joshua’s face scrunches as he focuses on a screen. He visibly winces as he watches one of the red rooms in the dungeon. I’m surprised anything gets to him anymore.

Finally recognizing my words, he answers, “I’m taking every chip you got, Rocci.” I snort a laugh and hold back my yawn.

I stand up and stretch, picking up my worn brown leather coat off the back of my chair. It’s time to go home anyway. I’m going on a fourteen-hour shift here. Derek called out unexpectedly, and I covered for him on his short notice.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

I think about what’s waiting for me back at home.

The mess is still on the table in the game room from last week’s poker game. A few bottles and cigar wrappers. Nothing worth bitching about; the maid will clean it up tomorrow anyway.

I watch the monitors in front of Joshua, consumed by the image that’s holding his attention. A Master and a Slave. They’re a rarity here. The red rooms in the dungeon require the most attention, for obvious reasons.

I’ve seen Masters come and go in the club. Many are Sadists and that creates serious problems, so we don’t allow many. I’m one, although my desire to use pain is only to enhance pleasure. And that’s not the situation that’s occurring on the screen at the moment. Joshua looks tense and concerned, but there’s no reason to be. Becca loves the pain. She doesn’t need a safe word because her limits are much higher than her Master’s. She arches her back toward the cane, accepting the blow and greeting it with a look of ecstasy etched on her face. She’s the only Slave here, and she’s collared. I don’t even know why they come here anymore.

It’s been a long time since a Slave has arrived. Someone who’s capable of trusting so wholeheartedly that they’re willing to give herself completely over to a Master. Who’s willing to give over to a 24/7 power exchange.

Maybe that’s why nothing has interested me. My tastes are specific. A Slave. I crave the power being a Master allows me, and the desire to control and provide her every need.

Across the hall from the game room in my home is the door to a room I created for one sole purpose. A room fit for my match.

I shrug the leather jacket on my shoulders, trying to remember when the last time I even opened it was.

Too long. It’s been far too long.