Club el Diablo

PART ONEThe whip snaps with just enough force to bring a low cry from Angela's lips. When I use the four-foot Australian leather in a scene, it always draws a large crowd. The sound of breathing from those gathered surrounds me and I can feel the sexual excitement in the air. I stay in the zone, and so does my sweet sub. Angela is one of my favorites to work with-her surrender is beautiful.Moisture beads along my hairline as my arm rises and I flick the whip again. Red welts, never breaking the skin, systematically appear down Angela's back. The people watching grow quieter as the scene continues. This is what members of the Mediterranean Club pay for. Though calling this place a club is going slightly overboard. MC is a dive. I've worked here for three years and done everything from tend bar to discipline subs. My current role of enacting scenes for the questionable crowd is my favorite. I blank out the whispered voices, the smell of sex, and too many bodies. Angela needs me. And I

Why am I here? I've asked myself this question since my plane landed in California. This woman is driving me insane. I wake up almost nightly from dreams where my fingers are caught in her incredible hair, her head tipped back, and my lips a whisper from hers. My hard-on pulses to some unknown beat that only this woman orchestrates.I'm Damian Collins. I have everything-more money than I could spend in several lifetimes, friends who support me, and women to dominate and fulfil my every fantasy. Actually, it's a dangerous combination. The amount of personal wealth I've amassed means the world is my playground and I can buy anything, and I mean anything. I have a friend who fights against human sex trafficking because of men in my situation who don't hold themselves to higher principles.The flurries of Mistress Lydia entered my private world and I've been on a mission since. I admit I was only intrigued at first. Then, I wanted her working for me. Now, for the damnedest reason, I just w

It took a naughty sub to discover what all the whispers in my club were about. She didn't want to tell me about the Domme in California who was attracting my expensive clientele."What's her name?" I asked after she finally surrendered.The tears sliding down her face were caused by me and the cane I had just used on the backs of her thighs. "I don't know her real name. They call her the fiery Domme," she answered with trembling lips.I loosened my grip on her hair and rubbed my thumb across those very same lips. "Why didn't you think you could tell me about her?" This is the question that's really bothered me. I keep my finger on the pulse of the BDSM community at all times. I'd known for weeks that something or someone was causing a stir. It wasn't an open whisper. It seems the subs have been playing on the side and didn't want the big bad Doms to know. There are no rules against this but it's odd. Once a sub makes a connection with a Dom, they usually ask for permission to play with

Anyone who knows me knows I play dirty when I want something, but bribing her friend was low even for me. She left me no choice, though. I had to get her to Club El Diablo and end this obsession.I make phone calls through the radio during the long, noisy ride home. Club El Diablo is a very small part of my empire. The El Diablo Hotel, where the club is located, is another. I work hard for what I have and I play harder. I'm in a dire mood when I arrive back at the hotel. I need relief from my perpetual state of blue balls Miss Simmons kept me in. I go straight to the penthouse and change into comfortable jeans and black boots. I have a private elevator, so I leave off my shirt. This is not my usual attire for the club, though there isn't really a dress code for Doms or Dommes. The clothes I have on say a sub is about to get her ass beat before I drive my dick into it as far as it will go.I take the elevator to my club office, pick up my play bag, and go in search of the poor little

I jump slightly and turn. Damian's dimples flash, causing me to inhale sharply. The man, who can instantly make my panties wet is wearing black sweatpants, running shoes, and nothing else. He is holding a bottle of water. A fine sheen of sweat coats his amazing chest. Damian isn't bulked muscle like his driver. His muscle is defined and lean, the plains and valleys showing off his six-pack abs to perfection. I want to lick each trail of sweat and bite his nipples. If only he were submissive, I could arrange a scene and get his body out of my mind by spending time on each square inch. He did this to me on purpose and his all-knowing smirk proves it. To top it off, I remember I forgot to pack my damn vibrator."Is the club here in the hotel?" I ask desperately so I don't just stand here and stare like an idiot.He strides a few feet closer, causing my heartrate to accelerate. "So eager to begin working?" he asks in that slow, panty-melting drawl he's perfected.I don't know what to do