Page 7 of First Time

The sweet, leashed woman was insecure and uncomfortable as fuck with shuffling feet, and her Dom didn’t give a shit about her desires. Not once did he glance back to see why she lagged. He simply jerked on the tether between them like she was nothing more than a dog he demanded to heel at his command.

My jaw clenched along with my guts as I stepped off to the side in the shadows. I watched as he led her in a circle around the room pausing on occasion to take in the various scenes. They drew near to where I’d hidden in the shadows, and I forced myself to keep my gaze on her rather than the prick leading her around like she was simply a toy, a plaything, instead of a flesh-and-blood human with feelings.

He drew her forward to the ménage scene on the couch to my left. “How about this?” the wiry asshole asked her with a chuckle. “Double penetration. Two cocks shoved so far up your dry cunt you can’t remember your name?”

The woman shook, her hands sneaking down to cover the trimmed thatch of black hair hiding her pussy.

My fist itched to break the dude’s nose, the first hint of violence I’d felt since the night I’d—

“Well?” the asshole asked, yanking on her lead rope when she didn’t answer. His action kept me in the present. “Does this turn that frigid body of yours on?”

Mother. Fucker. My fists clenched.

The dark-haired woman lifted her head slightly but quickly lowered her gaze once more. “N-no, Sir,” she whispered.

“Goddamnit, Becky.” The wannabe Dom moved away with fast, annoyed steps, pulling her behind him harshly enough that she stumbled in her haste to keep up. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Her round ass swayed, all that supple flesh teasing me. Blood rushed to my dick, and I growled at the damn thing.

Now you want to get all excited and play? With a woman who’s leashed to another man?

“Fuck.” Tearing my gaze off the submissive’s lush backside, I strode across the lounge, needing space. Heavy footfalls didn’t lessen my anger, and neither did the curses spewing through my head as I slammed through the guarded door leading to the private rooms.

Thick carpet muffled my feet, the sudden silence of the door-lined hall intensifying my lust to hiss and howl like a pissed-off animal. It had been years since my violent streak reared its ugly head, but if that fucker and his woman were taking the bondage class, I was in deep shit.

“Not my monkey, not my circus,” I muttered while pushing open the door to the room Chantelle had told me she’d prepared for the class.

Adrenaline raced through my bloodstream, but my hands held steady while rifling through the supplies that had been laid out for the class on the dais. Trying to focus on the task ahead of me, I set up stations for the couples who would be in attendance. Two chairs each. A mat should they wish to sit on the chair. Various lengths of cotton rope.

I returned to the front of the room and created few basic ties with hemp instead of the cheaper material the patrons would use, making quick work of them in practice I didn’t need. Going through the motions didn’t lessen my aggravation as quickly as I’d hoped for.

The familiar feel of hemp in my hands helped me focus, eventually slowing my heart rate.

I positioned a seat on stage with me at a side angle from where my small audience would sit so my volunteer wouldn’t need to face them.

I snorted. I highly doubted I’d get away without having to talk someone into sitting on the chair while their spouse or partner watched me tie them up.

“Hopefully, one of the newer Doms won’t mind sharing for an hour,” I muttered to myself.

Or, maybe Becky and Dom Wannabe will be in the class, and you can ask her to join you on stage. Show her how a real Dom treats their submissive.

I shook my head.

“Not. Getting. Involved.”

Chapter 4

Becky

A young woman had greeted us at the door and given us a tour of Chantelle’s. Stephen had told me to remove my coat in the women’s locker area, and trembling, I’d done as told, embarrassed by my nakedness.

My cousin hadn’t appeared, furthering my questioning of how and why we’d ended up in her club. I hadn’t been comfortable with the idea of Stephen and her meeting. Without a doubt, he would expect Chantelle to give us free access, considering I was family. But my hands were tied.

Thankfully, not literally.

Tears pricked at my eyelids, but I refused to cry in front of the members of the packed lounge, even though other subs wore the same amount of clothing I did. I had hoped like crazy that something—anything, pain included—we would see at the kink club would finally make me bloom into a normal woman with a healthy sexual appetite.

Not a single twinge of arousal rose between my thighs from the scenes surrounding us. Blow jobs. Masturbation. Anal sex. The spanking, I couldn’t even stand to hear since I’d learned from too much experience that wasn’t my thing.

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