Page 7 of Betrayed

Chapter 4

ARTURO SUPPRESSED Asigh, a telling sign of his fatigue, as he lowered his long frame onto one of the plush couches. Rather than head home alone for a few hours of much needed sleep, he came to Club Decadence, a little jewel of a kink club tucked away in the hills just north of San Antonio. He never for a moment expected to find a club that surpassed the most elite clubs in Europe, in southwestern Texas. What was more surprising, his old friend Tony was part owner.

It was the perfect mix of everything he always looked for. Private and ultra-exclusive, the atmosphere was rich and lavish—decadent yet welcoming. They had a diverse membership made up of experienced players, both daring and edgy, and a good influx of young, adventurous new members who were eager to learn. They had a stringent screening process to keep out the gawkers and occasional predators posing as dominants. Not a simple task for the managing partners, he’d give them that, but they’d invested in top-notch security, something else he approved of wholeheartedly. It made for a safe, discreet play space. Best of all, he felt warmly accepted and respected for his two decades plus experience as a master. In the three weeks since becoming a member, he’d already provided two demonstrations on the main floor.

Tonight, however, was for himself. He looked to the club, a veritable oasis in the desert, to find a bit of companionship and a lot of distraction, because the case that had brought him thousands of miles from his London home wasn’t going as expected. In fact, it had turned into a right smart pain in his French derriere. But tonight wasn’t about the case, and he forced himself to put it from his mind.

Leaning back, he stretched his arms along the back of the couch as he let the strident and stirring sounds of BDSM play surround him. Like a balm to his soul, thewhooshand subsequentthwapof leather against skin that preceded the breathless cries of erotic pain always helped him relax at the end of a long, stressful day. He closed his eyes and soaked it in. A few minutes of this and he’d have a second wind, enough to find a submissive, preferably a masochist, who would enjoy his special brand of torment.

The sensual cries of a woman in the throes of what sounded to be one hell of an orgasm broke into his thoughts. He followed it to the bondage table across the way and watched as the dom tilted a flaming candle and let loose a ribbon of flowing red wax on his submissive’s bound body.

Not quite in climax, he conceded, but close to it. If he could draw that kind of reaction as a preliminary, the scene bore watching to see what she did when she actually came.

As the master’s hand moved steadily downward, over her full breasts, her flat, quivering belly then farther to her bare pussy, splayed wide as it was in her restraints, her body bowed off the table. As more heated wax splashed a scant few centimeters from her clit, a glimmer of purple as she writhed drew his eyes lower to the end vibe embedded between her now artfully decorated lips. Beautiful.

Entertained by the scene, he tilted his head with interest as the dom’s broad fingers held her open. She pleaded with her master to spare her intimate flesh, but she didn’t say the magic word. He ignored her entreaty and the next instant anointed her clit. But instead of the hot stream of wax, her anxiety-laden cries told him she expected, he ran a dripping-wet ice cube over her quivering flesh. Arturo smiled at her master’s sleight of hand, and the sight of her ass rising inches off the table as she shuddered with unquestionable pleasure and her ecstasy-filled cries permeated the air.

“Fire and ice.” A deep male chuckle accompanied the comment.

He turned as cushions shifted and Dex settled at the opposite end of the couch, Elena, his elfin subbie wife in his arms. A striking couple, the master dom was tall and powerfully built, with reddish strands in his medium-brown hair and light-blue eyes, while his sub was tiny, with dark hair and golden skin, of obvious Latin heritage. He was clean-cut, known to be strict, and a stickler for order, his military background clear in his bearing and demeanor. By contrast, she was the headlining act in the lounge most nights, artistic and more of a free spirit if her tattooed wrists and throat told the tale.

Wrapped in a soft blanket, she was dutifully sipping from a water bottle at her master’s insistence while cuddled close, her head resting on his broad shoulder. Fresh from a very satisfying scene of their own, if he read her faraway, dreamy-eyed post-orgasm haziness correctly, it filled him with a sense of longing for something similar. Weariness descended over him, as well as the bitter taste of frustration that with his constant world traveling, something special was missing from his life. And, as often happened lately, he wondered if it wasn’t time to settle down.

“T has really brought Angie out of her shell, even while he encases her in another made of wax.” His joke snapped Arturo out of his deep thoughts, drawing his attention back to the scene.

T was Antonio Minelli, another of the owners and one of the Rossi partners. Also known as Lil T, which was an amusing misnomer as the man was at least two-hundred sixty pounds and six and a half feet tall over most of the other men at the club. He was also powerful, having easily dragged his sub’s body down to the edge of the table where he was now giving her something else to scream about, taking her with a passion that said he was just as aroused by the scene as she was.

Arturo inclined his head. “His submissive doesn’t seem to be shy about public scenes, if that’s what you mean by bringing her out of her shell.”

“Not now. Until a few months ago, that sub wasn’t a sub at all, or so she said, claiming to be pure vanilla.”

Curiosity brought his eyes to her face, his brows arching as he heard her say in a voice equal parts plea and demand, “Fuck me harder, dammit. I mean, please, sir.”

This prompted a chuckle from the large man pumping into her, who complied, but not before his palm came down twice with a resounding slap on each inner thigh in correction.

“I’ll remind you who is the dominant in charge here, darlin’,” came his grumbled response in a slow Texas drawl. When he got the gushing apology he expected, Lil T proceeded to give them both what they wanted, driving into her with enough force to move her several inches up the table.

“Still a newbie, so it seems, with things to learn like not making demands of her dom,” Arturo observed as their scene culminated in more feminine cries and a guttural roar of male satisfaction.

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