Page 8 of Take Me, Sir

Dean

I'd intendedto give myself a day to recover from my trip, but that hadn't really worked out. Sure, I thoroughly enjoyed my night with Kyndall, and she'd left without any drama or expectations, but that should've lent me to a restful night's sleep leading into a lazy day on Sunday, making me ready for work first thing Monday.

Except that hadn't happened. Sure, I'd fallen asleep not long after Kyndall had left thanks to a nice combination of jet lag and great sex, but it'd been a sleep filled with dreams of the American with the honey-blonde hair and amazing body. Which meant I'd woken up with a massive erection far beyond the usual morning wood. That one hadn't gone away until I'd jacked off in the shower – twice – like some randy teenager.

That'd ended up being only a temporary solution, however. Walking back into the bedroom made me think of how Kyndall had looked on my bed, which had made me hard again. I went to the hotel gym and managed to distract myself for a bit. Then a redhead had come in and started flirting with me, but all I'd been able to do was compare her to Kyndall.

I'd gone to work then, knowing that my relaxing day would otherwise be spent trying to find something to do that didn't involve my hand and fantasies about that tight pussy.

So for the past week, I'd scheduled and attended meetings with investors and directors and producers, searching for independent films worth my investment. Then, I'd toured various non-profits and talked to their founders. I'd spoken with lawyers from a dozen different firms and specialties. I'd drawn up proposals and business plans, researched what sort of non-profits were needed in this area.

Every waking moment had been scheduled to ensure that I wouldn't have time to think about Kyndall, to wonder what she was doing and who she was with. That last one had been the thought that'd always set me off. I'd gotten distracted. Paced. I'd always been a high-energy person, needing to stay busy to keep from being restless, but I'd never had problems focusing. I had a professor once describe me as a textbook example of a type-A personality. Driven. Ambitious.

But now, even with everything I'd been doing all week, there were times I hadn't been able to stop something from triggering a memory. Like nearly every damn time I smelled espresso, I remembered how her mouth had tasted. And that would make me think about how her pussy tasted. Then how it'd felt.

And I'd be off in my own head until someone or something brought me out of it.

It wasn't every hour, or even every couple, but it was still enough that it annoyed me. I wasn't sure who I was more hacked off at, Kyndall for being so distracting or myself for not being in control.

By the time I finished at the gym this morning, I still couldn't shake the restless energy that'd been humming around me all week, and I knew I needed to go out and blow off some steam. This wasn't just too much energy in general. It was a sexual tension that I couldn't quite get rid of, and that meant I needed something more than exercise and masturbation.

Which meant I was going out tonight.

I'd first come to LA several years ago, and I'd met Cross at a business meeting then. We'd kept in touch on and off, so when I'd come back to California on a slightly more permanent basis, I'd looked him up. It'd taken only a few conversations before he introduced me to Hanna, Dalton, and Juliette, and invited me to the BDSM club they sometimes frequented. I purchased my own VIP membership not long after, and while I didn't generally go with them – being the fifth person in a two couple group could be a little awkward – I often saw them there.

Tonight, however, I hoped I didn't. I was trying to figure out how I'd spent nearly half a year knowing Dalton and Juliette but hadn't been introduced to Kyndall. If any of them were at the club, I wasn't sure I'd be able to stop myself from asking about her. For all I knew, she was some college friend of Juliette's who'd only been up for the wedding and was half-way across the country by now. I wasn't sure I wanted that disappointment...or how I felt about the fact that her being out of reach would be disappointing.

Then there was always the chance that Kyndall lived here in LA, but we'd never had the opportunity to meet. I was better friends with Cross than with Juliette, so it made sense that I wouldn't know many of her friends, especially since Kyndall didn't frequent the club. And I had to consider that was the reason Juliette hadn't introduced us. Juliette knew I was a Dom, and as one herself, she'd be a good judge of character when it came to the sort of person who might be interested in the lifestyle. There was a good chance that Juliette knew Kyndall wasn't into BDSM and assumed that meant the two of us wouldn't be a fitting match.

I didn't know if that was the case or not, but the only way I'd ever find out was if I asked. And I couldn't ask. There were so many possibilities that I didn't want to consider.

I needed to go to the club and get rid of this tension, clear my head, and then move on with the rest of my life. Kyndall had been a one-time encounter, and her quick exit had suggested that she preferred it that way. The way I was supposed to have wanted things to go.

So I was going to do what I always did when I felt like I was wound too tight. Go to the club, let loose in my own way. I nodded at the doorman as I walked past, letting the club music wash over me. It wasn't obnoxiously loud, but it was enough that I could feel the bass thudding against my heart. Enough to drown out a lot of my chaotic thoughts, which was the entire point of me being here.

It was Saturday night, so the place was packed, and even the air conditioning couldn't keep up with the press of bodies writhing on the dance floor. I rarely danced and wasn't in the mood to do it tonight, so I skirted the floor, making my way up the stairs to the VIP level. A show would be starting soon, and I was in the mood to watch for a while. Watch the show and see if I could spot a Sub I wanted to take into one of the club's specialty rooms.

I had to admit, one of the things I missed about having a house of my own was having my own playroom. When I decided to leave London, I sold my house, but I put all of my things in storage, ready to be shipped as soon as I had a place here. I hadn't minded being in a hotel since I'd gotten here, but I couldn't deny thinking that it would've been nice to have had Kyndall at a house, a place where I could've asked her to stay, a place where I could've taken her to play.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I needed to find someone else to play with. Someone who knew the game.

The music downstairs shifted, lowered, and I focused my attention on the stage downstairs. A familiar couple was making their way up the steps. Miranda and Jason, a pair of regulars I'd met the first night Cross had brought me here. With a pang, I realized that Miranda's hair color was similar to Kyndall's, but at least the similarities ended there. Miranda was short, slender, almost petite.

And she was a Dom. Her dark-haired Sub was barely average height, with a lean build. Both looked barely old enough to vote, but I put their age closer to mid-twenties. No matter how old they were, they'd apparently been performing here for a few years and were a couple outside the club as well.

They wore matching leather outfits, though hers covered a lot more than his. I was strictly straight, so the fact that Jason was pretty much wearing what amounted to a jockstrap didn't do it for me. I could, however, appreciate the way Miranda dominated him. Brisk commands that resulted in complete submission, the sort of trust that a lot of couples could envy.

She took him over to the padded bench that'd been set up and strapped him in, restraints around both wrists and ankles. When she pulled something out of her bag, a ripple of approval ran through the crowd.

A pair of nipple clamps, and not the nice soft ones. These had metal teeth. I let out a low whistle. I liked a little pain for my Subs, but that was a bit more pain than I liked to inflict. Judging by the loud groan that came out of Jason's mouth, however, it was the exact right amount for him.

Then Miranda brought out a pair of small weights and hung them from the clamps. Jason's body jerked, which made the clamps move, which, in turn, made him moan.

“Too much?” Her voice was quiet but carried enough for me to hear.

He shook his head, and she smacked his ass hard enough to leave a red mark.

“No, Mistress.” Jason's fingers flexed.

---