Page 6 of What About Love

He adjusted his cock to a less strained position, not registering his hand’s location until Rick’s amused snicker followed him out the door. An alternate plan for the evening took shape in his mind: head home, shower, jerk off in the shower—as he had for the past three months—then catch a few z’s and head to the club. He hadn’t been exaggerating about the challenge of finding submissive women on the road. Usually his sub radar was spot on, but maybe it was rusty since he didn’t need it with the club open.

He thought the pretty blonde he’d hooked up with outside of Lubbock six weeks ago was his type. She’d turned out to be mildly kinky rather than submissive. The sex was uninspiring and less than satisfying. He’d still gotten his rocks off, but it left him with an unfulfilled need to dominate.

Tonight he’d find a willing subbie in need of a good long fucking and flogging, in that specific order. Usually he liked to build it, starting slowly with at least an hour of torturous play until she was begging. His control was bound to be limited tonight, however, so his needs might have to come first, and maybe even twice, before his sub got hers.

His lust-starved mind conjured up an image of a blue-eyed blonde, her long, glossy hair coiled like a rope around his wrist as he plunged relentlessly between her creamy thighs while she bent over in front of him. When she turned her head to look back over her shoulder, her imaginary blue eyes turned to a haunting hazel brown. In his fantasy, they glimmered with desire as her plump pink lips parted and the tip of her tongue slipped out, slicking along the lower curve.

Dream Angie whispered, “Fuck me harder, T,” as she spread wider for him, angling her hips so he could sink deeper into her warm, wet, welcoming pussy.

He reached down, squeezing his cock to keep from shooting off in his pants like a fourteen-year-old boy. T groaned, not caring in the least that their receptionist was in earshot, or that she had an up close and personal view of the bulge in his jeans as he rushed through the double doors where she crouched, cleaning the glass. The only thing he cared about was getting some relief.

T determined his sub for the night would be blonde, not tall, and with small tits, the complete opposite of Angie’s dark coloring and killer curves. He also resolved that when he was deep inside another woman and closed his eyes, he wouldn’t see her beautiful face, the one that had invaded his dreams and occupied every waking fantasy for the past three hellacious months.

Chapter 2

ANGIE FOLLOWED DANdown the dimly lit corridor. While trying to keep up with his long-legged stride, she waged war with the tiny scrap of material that was supposed to pass for a skirt. With each step, the slick stretchy material crept higher up her thighs. Every few feet, she paused, giving it a firm tug in hopes of keeping it from bunching up and exposing her less than svelte behind.

Dressed in club wear for the first time ever, she attempted to wrap her head around the fact she’d agreed to do this even after Cap spelled it out for her—explicitly. Sure, she’d been to Club Decadence before, but always entered through the front door wearing real clothes. A little black dress, to be specific. But even the skimpiest LBD covered all of her important girl parts and didn’t make her look and feel like a working girl cruising for a date on the corner of South Sabinas and Guadalupe on a Saturday night.

She glared daggers at the back of the man responsible for her wardrobe tonight. Punishment for her abysmal performance on the firing range, no doubt. Or as retribution for being a tremendous pain in his ass these past several weeks. Lord knows she’d heard him mutter those very words often enough.

As she yanked down the northward-migrating hem yet again, she imagined he’d taken considerable glee in picking out the electric-blue PVC skirt. He’d chosen a petite size, she’d noticed, which on her above average frame rode below her navel and barely covered the generous curves of her ass. The black-and-blue trimmed crop top wasn’t much better, adhering to her like a second skin. She supposed she should be grateful that it covered her at all, considering she’d seen subs in the lounge and bar areas wearing substantially less, though she couldn’t muster much gratitude at the moment.

The hem of the skimpy crop top sat several inches below her breasts. With its pointed collar and little cap sleeves, she could have worn it to any of the more conservative clubs in town, if not for the huge, circular cutout in front that revealed the inner curves of her nearly D-cup breasts almost to the nipples. She jiggled obscenely as she hurried along, and corralling the twins was keeping her other hand busy. Angie feared that taking the shallowest of breaths would cause a nip slip. She didn’t want to think about the results if she had to raise her hands higher than her waist. Talk about wardrobe malfunction.

“Move it along, subbie,” Dan called from where he waited by the door, a highly entertained look on his handsome face.

Angie bit her tongue to keep “kiss my ass” or other choice retorts from flying out of her mouth. Although she wasn’t submissive, Dan was definitely dominant and she wouldn’t put him past getting a little vindication for such a disrespectful remark once he had her “in training” inside.

Instead, she grumbled, “I’m going as fast as I can, sir,” the last word uttered just shy of a sneer. “I’d like to see youmove it alongin these damnable De Sade inspired stilts.”

The stilts were actually bright-blue five-inch platform heels also selected by Master Dano.

“Now, now, remember what I taught you; submissives don’t scowl at their doms. Nor do they curse and grumble every breath. Unless they’re angling for a spanking that is.”

“You are pure evil.”

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