Page 2 of His to Keep
“The rules are quite simple,” Andres says. “The submissives on this stage make up the pool. Each is either currently unattached or attached to a dom who chooses to share for the evening. Every member who wishes to participate should have already purchased their tickets. Your ticket grants you one entry into The Draw. A submissive will come forward, and I’ll draw a ticket. If your name is chosen, you are free to enjoy the submissive in question for the rest of the evening.”
The excited murmurs are back, and I understand why. There’s something darkly appealing about the event. The women lined up like prizes to be won, naked and vulnerable, exposed in front of the crowd. The opportunity to take ownership of a stranger, just for one night. For them to give up complete control without even knowing who might be calling the shots. It feels like the ultimate form of submission, and my dick is already twitching at the thought.
Too bad I didn’t have the chance to buy any tickets.
As if reading my mind, Philip slides two slips of paper across the table. “I bought more than a dozen.”
I chuckle. Of course he did. Never let it be said that Philip Matthews does anything half way.
Still, I slide the tickets back. “I’m dead on my feet, man. There’s no way I have it in me.”
He raises his eyebrows and gestures back to the platform, where the women are waiting, miles of smooth naked skin gleaming under the stage lights. “I would have thought this might invigorate your tired spirit.”
I laugh. “My tired spirit, perhaps. My tired body is another matter entirely.”
As Philip begins to respond, one of the subs on stage shifts on her heels, drawing my attention. Most of the women are careful to remain completely still, and though her head is bent, I can see enough of her expression to note her fear—she knows she screwed up in moving.
That reaction draws my focus more intensely on her. Why would she be scared for committing such a minor infraction? Perhaps she can sense my gaze because her head tilts up, just a fraction. And all the breath goes out of my lungs.
She’s stunning. Every submissive on the stage is objectively beautiful—only the most enticing are chosen for The Draw. But there’s something different about this woman, something that keeps me from looking away. I think Philip might be talking to me, but I don’t take any notice. She’s all I can see.
Strawberry blond hair tumbles around her shoulders in lush waves. Her skin is pale, smooth as porcelain. And her body….shit. She’s far from my usual type. I generally prefer athletic partners, tall, firm, and well-toned. I require a certain amount of stamina in the bedroom, and a woman whose body can withstand my more…demanding tendencies.
This woman doesn’t look anything like my norm. But somehow, I can’t tear my eyes away.
Her stature is petite, with delicate collarbones, narrow shoulders, and a height I doubt reaches five foot two. Her curves, however, are the last thing I would describe as petite. Wide hips, lush thighs, a tapered in waist, and the most gorgeous tits I’ve ever seen in my life, perfectly proportioned, creamy smooth, and topped with pale pink nipples that make my mouth water.
The fact that her head is currently lowered in submission fuels a hundred filthy fantasies in the space of a moment. The woman’s hands bound above her head, suspended from my ceiling. Her arms and legs tied to the four corners of my bed. Her gorgeous ass bent over my whipping bench while I—
“You sure you don’t want one of these tickets?” Philip asks, sly amusement in his voice. Without taking my eyes off her, I reach across the table and snatch up the proffered slips of paper, ignoring his low chuckle. Before he can comment on my strange behavior, Andres calls the first submissive—a tall blonde woman with huge, clearly fake tits—to stand next to him on stage.
“Please look up to face the crowd,” he says, and her head comes up from its submissive posture. From the flash of her blue eyes and the tiniest tilt of her lips into a wicked smile, I can tell she’s enjoying being objectified like this as much as the crowd enjoys doing it. She’s gorgeous—sexy, lean, and tanned, a classic Barbie fantasy that most guys would kill to spend time with. But she barely holds my attention for a moment before my eyes dart back to the pale redhead behind her.
I want to win her. I want to be the one to claim her tonight. I want to see what that alabaster skin looks like, reddened from my paddle. I want to hear the noises she makes when I spank her. Want to know what it would feel like to plunge myself deep into her petite, curvy little body.
Fuck, I want to tie her to my bed and refuse to let her go.
This is not a normal reaction from me. For the past ten years of my life, I’ve relegated the majority of my sex life to casual partners at this club, and a few others like it around the world. With a place like Club Wyld at my disposal—a place where willing, unattached women are always on the look-out for someone to play with and plenty of adventurous doms are eager to share—I’ve never needed more. My work takes up way too much of my time and mental energy for me to want or need anything except the occasional release with a willing submissive.
And yet this red-haired stranger has somehow wormed her way under my skin in the space of about twenty seconds, without even saying a word.
The object of my intense focus suddenly takes a step forward, her head still bowed, and my pulse begins to thunder. While I’d been preoccupied with staring, Andres has gone through several draws, leaving the stage slightly less crowded than before. As my sweet redheaded stranger takes another step, my pulse kicks up even more. It must be her turn.
“I will now begin The Draw for Rebecca,” Andres says smoothly. “Please face the audience.”
Rebecca. I roll the name around in my head. Pretty, like she is. Then she raises her face and it’s like a punch to the gut. Not pretty—she’s so much more than that. Absolutely fucking gorgeous. Even with her face tilted up, she keeps her eyes trained downward. Perfectly, beautifully submissive.
I’m struck with the sudden urge to run up there and grab her, throw her over my shoulder and take her to the rooms in the back. A quick glance down at my tickets reminds me that I only have two chances to win her. I wonder how many tickets are in Andres little velvet bag, how many others I’m competing with. The idea that anyone else in this room might own her for the night has my fists clenching against the mahogany table top.
“Please turn,” Andres instructs. She hesitates for only a moment, her pale cheeks pinking, before she follows the command, turning on her heel to show off her back side. Jesus. Her ass is literal perfection. My hands clench tighter, nails digging into my palm. I have to fucking win her.
“Thank you,” Andres says, and she again turns to the front. Her cheeks are even pinker than before, and I wonder if she’s enjoying it, being displayed like this. A lot of subs get off on it, the objectification a main inducement to participate in The Draw. But I can’t help thinking this girl looks more uncomfortable than turned on.
That thought makes my stomach clench with unease, the urge to go up there and get her stronger than ever.
But Andres is already dipping his hand into the velvet bag, emerging with the other half of a ticket. “The winner of Rebecca is ticket number 789.”
Fuck.Fuck. Both of my tickets have numbers in the eight hundreds. Which means someone else won her. Someone else in this room is going to get to take control of her tonight, to feel her curvy little body, to put their hands on her, to fuck—
