Page 5 of Their Naughty Student
I found it hard to pay attention when he was so close.His hands were warm on my skin, his body solid at my back, and he smelled so freaking good.
I hadn’t expected it, to be honest.I had expected Edge to do his due diligence, to steer me through the club, point out what was what, and then take me back upstairs and leave me to my own devices.
I hadn’t considered I’d become the game.
Strangely enough, I liked the idea.
More than I would ever admit to my brother.
Chris Cavanaugh
“Master Cav, it’s an honor to have you here.”
As I entered the dimly lit club, I slowly lifted my gaze, meeting the eager eyes of a petite blonde I’d had the pleasure of spending time with during previous visits.
“An honor?”I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment at the blatant disregard for club protocol.And thirty seconds in, to boot.Perhaps a new record.
“Yes, Sir,” she said sweetly, her fake lashes fluttering.“I’ve been hoping you’d arrive.”
I’d heard that line before.A few dozen times, in fact.
Kink clubs—hardcore, bondage, fetish, didn’t really matter—each had its own distinct ambience, a certain aura, if you would.It consumed you from the moment you stepped inside, got into your blood, thrummed in your veins, hardened your muscles, heightened your senses.Perhaps the easiest way to describe it was anticipation fueled by adrenaline and lust.A heady concoction, one that tripled when I walked intothisparticular kink club.
Dichotomy was probably my favorite of all the joints I’d visited over the years.Roughly a decade ago—twenty-five and full of myself—I’d stumbled onto the BDSM scene.A few short hours after learning what it was, I sauntered into a club thinking I was hot shit, acting as though I knew what the hell I was doing.For the record, I didn’t.Not by a long shot.
But that was then, this was now, and in the last ten years, I’d honed my skills to a fine point, accepted the role I’d opted to play.
Rather than respond, I pinned her in place with the expression I knew most submissives dropped their eyes from.Showing zero respect for the fact that I was a Master at this club, the submissive before me continued to make eye contact, clearly not realizing her mistake.
“Liz?”
Her pencil-thin eyebrows rose, hope, clear and bright, shining in her eyes.“Yes, Master Cav?”
I doused that hope when I said, “Did I ask you to approach?”
Her tone was slightly hesitant when she said, “No, Sir.”
“Did I ask you to speak?”
“No, Sir.”
“Did I ask you to look me in the eye?”
She answered with, “No, Sir;” however, her gaze didn’t lower.
During my time in the scene, I’d visited all types of places.Some that focused solely on bondage, others that catered to the hardcore, even some that were merely brothels disguised as kink.Dichotomy was on an entirely different level from those places, and I was proud to be a part of it.I’d been a member since inception, had spent time in both the Dallas and Chicago locations.
What I liked most about this one was that Trent Ramsey, the owner, wasn’t a novice, and his clubs reflected that.And the man he’d hired to manage this location ran a tight ship.Gregory Edge paid attention to every minute detail—atmosphere, hygiene, safety.He ensured the Dominants understood the rules, followed them, made safety their main concern.He insisted that any and all submissives undergo the training necessary to interact with the experienced Masters of the club.
Evidently, Liz needed a refresher course.
“I’m going to ask you again; did I ask you to make eye contact?”I wondered if she was too eager to even remember the basic rules of D/s.
“No, Sir.”
As though it clicked, her eyes widened suddenly.A second later, her chin tilted low, her arms fell to her sides.Long blond hair slid like silk over her shoulders, covering pert tits cupped by a leather bra.
Even if she had a momentary lapse, she knew the rules.Speaking to me without permission was the fastest way to find yourself cut from my lineup for the evening.
