Page 11 of Bloody Savage God
In fact, that is exactly what I intend to find out.
Gianna
I’ve circled the club once to survey the available submissives, when a sub I’ve played with before drops to his knees beside me. His head bowed, he waits to see if I’m willing to acknowledge him. I contemplate it for a moment. He’s one of the obedient ones whose pain threshold isn’t terribly high.
My excitement stays contained, but looking around the room, I’m reminded that a lot of people are already engaged in scenes, leaving the pickings somewhat slim.
I suppose he’ll do, especially if I push him a bit on the pain scale. As long as I don’t overdo it, no one will make a fuss. Probably not even the guy himself, which is a pity. His confidence is that of a wallflower, and I wonder how he ever made it through law school without a spine.
I lead him into the blue room, which is good for what I have in mind.
It’s been a hot minute since I got to use my favorite whip, and if I’m already compromising on my play partner, I’m definitely not missing out on using the implement I want.
I have the boy tied up quickly, ignoring his pleading looks, probably meant to encourage me to pay his dick some attention. He hasn’t done a thing to earn so much as a finger-stroke from me yet. And there is a good chance he won’t. Which is fine. Stabbing the Ronaldo kid earlier and then training with Mia afterwards means I’m not feeling as much of the pressure that is nagging me to inflict pain as I usually do. This visit is more about taking a break from life.
After I set him up for the scene, revving him up as needed by twisting his nipples a bit, I push him over to plug him. His whimpering as I press the rubbery plug against his tight asshole is an annoying reminder that he isn’t up to the kind of play I prefer. Despite my earlier conviction, I’m starting to question whether this compromise in play partner is worth it after I’ve been missing out on play time at Steel for several weeks.
I wanted to get going quick, but not if it means the play will end up stale.
Well, sometimes you’ve got to roll with the punches, as Mia might say. Better get on with it and turn the intensity up. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that it’s never good to rely on anyone else. If you want something, you need to make it happen yourself, so I pick up my whip and start on the scene. The boy is a mere canvas; no one I need to spend anymore thought on.
A bit of a crowd forms around the roped off area, which is typical for any time I pull out a whip. Not everyone knows how to use them properly, but if you’re good at it, you can do just about anything with a nice whip like this, from gentle swishes that barely register on the skin, to slicing someone up in a pretty pattern.
Although that latter one is reserved for play I conduct in more privacy.
Today, I start the boy off easy, ensuring I don’t get myself blacklisted from the club, since even though the rules can be pushed a bit with the right kind of payment made to the owner, it’s still a legitimately run sex club with rules that are enforced in order to not scare off the well-paying upper echelons of society who prefer to dwell on notions of safe, sane, and consensual.
As I increase the intensity, the boy holds up as well as I figured, which means I’m not getting the fun I was banking on. I absolutely hate it when I have to admit that I made a wrong call, but perhaps I can still turn this night around if I bring this to an end quickly.
My eyes drift towards the watchers, wondering if perhaps someone else better suited for my needs has shown up.
Near the double doors, my gaze catches on none other than the masked stranger I saw my last time at the club. He’s wearing the same mask that covers his entire face and a pair of black shorts, but the rest of him is fully exposed giving me a perfect view of his inked skin.
He’s fucking glorious, despite the Cyrillic letters marked on his abdomen.
His eyes meet mine, and a thrill runs down my spine.
He most definitely isn’t one of the weak ones. The way he’s looking at me, staring, as if challenging me to break him, makes everything inside me hum in excitement, which benefits my current play partner, since I’m in a better mood as I draw the scene to an end, leaving him looking less puppy-dog and more high-on vet medicine canine.
As he trots off, I tell an employee to clean off the play area before striding to the bar. A few clueless people compliment me on the scene, oblivious that there had been no sexual tension happening at all. It doesn’t matter, because I have more interesting plans for the rest of the night, and if my intuition doesn’t lie, those plans should arrive at my feet in less than a minute.
“May I order your drink?” a rough voice asks from behind me, and I hold back my smile. The deep timbre and raspiness match his exterior to a T, andthatis unbelievably sexy.
“A Tennessee,” I say, without turning my head to look at him.
I listen to him order the drink from the bartender, not getting anything for himself.
When the bartender slides the drink in front of me, I finally turn and give the man in front of me a slow perusal. And he is a man, not a boy toy like the one I just played with.
“What is it you want?”
The way his pupils dilate makes my pussy clench in satisfaction.
“It looked like you’re having a rather boring evening. I figured I’d offer my services to make the night worth your while.” He supplements his cocky statement with an arrogant smirk.
“And what makes you think you are the right person to do that?” I question, curious about how he’ll try to sell himself.
The mask hiding his face is starting to piss me off, since it interferes with my ability to read his expression, but I’m willing to put up with it if he gives me a suitable answer now.
