I HOLD TWYLA’S hand as we walk to the end of the hallway, stopping at the door that opens to the staircase, which leads down to the club. She steps back, propping herself up against the wall next to my office, her eyes traveling up and down my body. The way she bites her lip tells me she likes what she sees—black boots, dark jeans, black Henley that fits over my muscles like a second skin. When her thorough inspection lands on the black leather hood in my hands, I see her swallow thickly.
I know she’s nervous about tonight. But I also know that if I try to comfort her the way my instincts naturally want to, it makes her anxiety worse. I’ve learned it’s better to pretend I don’t see her worry and act like everything is fine, which it is. She responds better to my humor as a distraction to work through it, rather than focusing on what’s bothering her. She feeds off my moods, so as long as I don’t give in to my need to pull her against me and cradle her while I tell her everything’s going to be all right, she’ll relax and work through her inner conflict herself.
We’ve gotten to know each other so much over the last six weeks. It was in the two days she’d spent in the hospital after I carried her out of The Red Rocket I learned this quirk in her personality. And it was actually the monitor next to her bed that gave it away. Instinctively, I wanted to hold her, tell her I’d never let anything happen to her ever again, baby her, assure her I’d take a bullet for her, all while begging her forgiveness for allowing the fucker to get to her in the first place. Instead of all this providing her some sense of comfort, knowing she would forever be safe from that moment on, the monitors showed her blood pressure and pulse rising, all while her face was a mask of calm. So I stopped my groveling, and when I started forcing myself to make jokes and distract her as the nurses came in to change her bloody bandages, her blood pressure dropped and her pulse evened out.
I’ve heard of couples, mostly in D/s relationships, since that’s who I’m around all the time, who are so in sync with each other that their moods are affected by how their partner is feeling. I had never experienced this before, always being able to ignore my once grumpy-ass best friend Corbin, or straight-faced and serious Bryan, or scholarly Doc, their personalities having no effect on my mostly shiny outlook. So now I tap into that when I suspect Twyla is feeling nervous or anxious, because I know she’ll respond better if I let her feed off my jovialness instead of trying to soothe her.
I saunter up to her, my wicked grin in place as I cage her in with my arms against the wall. Her breath quickens, just like it always does when I look at her this way, making me feel powerful in a way I never felt before her. I have no idea if this expression would have an effect on any other woman because I’ve always worn my mask, but it doesn’t matter. I save the look for Twyla alone, loving the way it makes her eyes go half-mast and her chest flush. She obviously loves feeling like my prey.
I lean down and nuzzle her neck then whisper in her ear, “Once I put this mask on, I’m not longer Seth. My little doll will submit to me as her Dom, and I’ll take care of you in ways you never imagined. When we walk through that door, you’ll refer to me as either Seven or Master, whichever one feels most natural to you. But no matter how differently I touch you or speak to you when we’re in the playroom, no matter how hard I fuck you to the point you think I hate you, even as you beg for more, just know I love you with everything I am.”
She shudders against me, whimpering, “Okay,” as she grips my shirt over my stomach, her breasts rising and falling quickly as her body heat soaks into my front.
I step back, pulling the mask over my head. When the eyeholes and opening over my lips are in place, I meet her gaze, seeing my hood has the effect on her that it has on all the subs downstairs. It brings forth a slight amount of fear, being unable to see the emotions going on behind the mask. It makes one forget the usually friendly, smiling face when it’s covered by such a dark, almost menacing hood. Gone are my playful expressions, my attractive features, and my approachable appearance, and in their place is something similar to an executioner’s mask, one that makes people naturally want to look away, unable to meet my eyes behind it.
She glances downward, and that’s when I pull a gift for her out of my pocket. I’d asked her to wear contacts tonight instead of her glasses, just so they’d be out of the way for the pretty dark red lace mask I now hold in my hands for her to see.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she breathes, tracing her finger around the scalloped edge that would sit on her nose.
“A little welcome present for my doll. I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you as a member of my club, lovely Twyla. There’s nothing I want more than to share every aspect of my life with you,” I tell her, and then place the delicate lace across her eyes, circling around the back of her hair to tie it into a knot to make sure it doesn’t slip off during our scene. When I tilt her face up by her chin, her deep blue eyes sparkle, framed by the dark red mask as she smiles. “Fucking perfect,” I growl, lifting my hood for just a moment to kiss her gently before putting it back in place. “You ready?”
At her nod, I take her hand once again before opening the door. The club’s sensual thumping music fills our ears as we make our way down the stairs, and everyone in the main area, those on the dance floor, at the bar, and in the surrounding booths, turn their heads to watch our descent. Never before had they seen their trainer enter the club with someone. Everyone already knew I was now in a monogamous relationship. I had made that clear two months ago when I met Twyla and stopped participating in scenes with submissives. And they had all been waiting until this quarter’s round of memberships to see if she would join us, and by the looks on all their faces, the small smiles and wide grins seen below their various masks, they’re happy to finally get a glimpse of the woman who had stolen Seven’s heart.
Those who were sitting climb to their feet, and everyone else squares their body to face us, and when we reach the bottom step and walk toward the crowd, they all bow their heads respectfully in welcome. Twyla shyly tucks herself against my side, but she smiles at everyone then up at me. I reach up and trace her exposed jawline, and she leans into my touch, turning her face to kiss the center of my palm.
At that, the club returns to life, members approaching to congratulate me on finding the sub I want to devote myself to, and Twyla on becoming a full-fledged member of Club Alias. Having been through the initiation themselves, they all know it’s quite a feat.
Corbin and Vi appear in front of us, and she hands Twyla a glass of sparkling white wine, introducing herself. “Hi there. I’m… shit. I can’t really say here, can I, Sir?” she asks, turning toward her husband.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, baby girl. But she knows who you are. Seven had her read your books.”
I watch Twyla’s face light up when she realizes who is standing before us. With Corbin wearing his signature black leather mask similar to mine and having never met Vi before, she hadn’t recognized them until now.
“Oh my gosh,” she gasps. “Excuse me while I fangirl. Your stories are freaking amazing.”
“Aw, thank you. But it’s only because I had your man to teach me about all the BDSM stuff,” Vi tells her, her eyes twinkling up at me from beneath her black lace mask.
“Only the first series,” Corbin complains. “It wasn’t until you started learning hands-on that you wrote your best-selling stories yet, and that was all me.”
Vi smiles at her husband. “How very right you are, Sir,” she purrs.
“On that note,” I insert, “I believe it’s time I finally show my doll what the playrooms are really for. You two have a wonderful night.”
“You too. So nice to finally meet you. And welcome to the family,” Vi tells Twyla, who beams before I take her hand and lead her away.
“I like her,” she whispers up to me, and then takes a sip of her wine. “What does she mean by family, though? Is that what everyone calls each other here at the club?”
I reach over and take the glass from her hand, and she pouts up at me.
“I want you sober for this, doll. It’s important you have a perfectly clear head this first time, especially for such a delicate situation,” I explain, setting the glass on a tray carried by a passing waitress as we head around the booths toward the third playroom on the left—the one that holds the two instruments I’ll be using on her tonight. “And no. She means our little family. The guys and I are more like brothers, and I’m sure she is happy to finally have another woman to hang out with outside the club. She’s normally the only one at get-togethers.”
“That is pretty exciting. I’ve never really had a close girlfriend before. Just my sis—”
Her words cut off as we step into the playroom and I yank the curtain closed, reality settling in on what we’re here to do. Her face instantly goes from animated to nervous, her anxiety returning now that she doesn’t have anything distracting her. And unfortunately, when I’m in a playroom, my usual joking nature takes a back seat to the more serious, commanding yet sensual side of me. Sometimes it feels like I have a split personality, the way my two halves never seem to mix, especially compared to Corbin, who’s the way he is 100 percent of the time, whether he’s at the club or not. I just pray Twyla will love Seven as much as she loves Seth.
I flip a switch on the wall, which will turn on a red light outside the door indicating the room is occupied and marked as private. No one will come inside to watch the scene taking place.
“And we begin,” I state, drawing her attention from the devices I set out earlier in preparation for tonight. “Normally, I would have you strip down completely and place your clothes inside the trunk.” I gesture toward the black footlocker next to the door. “But in this instance, since we do have an audience…” I point up at the security cameras in the corners of the room. “…I will let you decide how many items you feel comfortable removing. Just be aware in order to get the full effect of the instruments I’ll be properly introducing you to, I will need a vast amount of your beautiful skin exposed,” I tell her gently, being careful not to say anything about what happened to her. I only want good memories associated with my playroom, so I’ll never speak of her attack while we’re here.
Her mouth twists below her mask, a habit she has when making an important decision. A moment later, she walks over to the trunk and opens it, propping the lid against the wall. She starts with her black heels, slipping them off and placing them inside. Resting her hands on her neck, she turns her back to me and then peeks over her shoulder.
I step up to her, reaching for the tiny black zipper and sliding it down the hidden seam. I trace her spine with my fingertip, making her shiver, before stepping back again for her to continue.
She faces me once more, slipping the straps of her little black dress off her shoulders, letting it slide down her soft curves before stepping out of it. She folds it twice before putting it inside the trunk then stands up straight, looking absolutely fuckable in her black lace bra and matching panties. My cock swells to life taking in her incomparable beauty. And knowing I’m the only man who’s ever touched her perfect body makes her striptease all the more sensual.
She reaches out and closes the lid on the footlocker, silently telling me that’s as far as she’s comfortable going while Doc watches behind the camera in his office.
“Very good, doll. Now, lie down on the padded table, on your back,” I order, watching her put on a brave face as she follows my instructions.
I LIE BACK on the black leather padded table and then turn my head to face Seven, watching him warily as he approaches. It’s very easy to think of him as Seven and not Seth, because not only does his mask hide his handsome, smiling face, but his demeanor since entering the club has been completely different than the cheerful man I love. Yet something about his seriousness here is wildly erotic.
Picking up what I now know is a studded flogger, he reaches for my hand and places the tails in the center of my open palm. I fight the urge to yank it away as if he’s setting a spider in my hand. Tamping down my fear, I feel the leather is surprisingly soft, completely opposite of what I had imagined by the way it had torn my skin open.
“Quality can make quite a difference, doll,” he says softly, reading my thoughts. “This is genuine brushed leather with rounded stainless steel studs. There are cheaper versions, made of harsh, sharp-edged plastic, some with pointed studs. A tool like that should never be used on someone with such delicate skin.”
He places my hand on the table next to my hip, and I brace myself as he swoops the flogger over my skin, still expecting the tails to be as painful as before. But my body immediately relaxes when I feel its gentle caress. Where the one I had experienced before was like razor blades, this one, as he begins a steady, swiping rhythm up and down my front, from my breasts down to the middle of my thighs then back up again, is more like the focused hands during a shiatsu massage.
“Turn onto your stomach,” he orders, and I roll over. He picks his pattern back up again, working the studded flogger from the tops of my shoulders, down over my ass to the backs of my thighs, then back up again. And I can’t help the moan that slips out as the hypnotic rhythm lulls me into a relaxed state I never thought I’d feel around the tools that’d hurt me so badly before.
Soon, heat pools between my legs as I fully give in to the sensations Seven provides with the leather tails, and I realize, slightly embarrassed, that my hips are instinctively moving against the padded table. I make an effort to stop, but Seven delivers a harder smack to my butt with the flogger, making me suck in a breath, but not out of pain.
“Never hide your pleasure from me, doll. The effort I put into giving you these feelings, making you let go of your inhibitions, is rewarded by your body taking over your mind. Just give in. Don’t stop yourself from enjoying what you feel,” he commands, and I melt into the table, doing exactly what he wants.
Before long, I’m a panting, groaning mess, my ass lifting into the air as he makes his way down my body with the flogger, hoping his masterful hand will somehow slip and accidentally stroke against my now throbbing pussy. It feels like if I don’t have something touch me there soon, I’ll burst from wanting.
But, of course, he doesn’t miss, his aim perfectly accurate, landing across my lace-covered cheeks.
“Please!” I finally sob, and his sensual torture abruptly stops.
Suddenly, his black mask is level with my face as he leans down, and I can just barely make out the beautiful eyes I love so much deep in the shadows of the hood. “A sub does not ask her Dom for anything unless ordered to. You take the pleasure I give you unless I tell you to beg. Understand?” His voice is that demanding tone that goes straight to my pussy, and all I can do is nod. “I require verbal responses when I ask you a question in my playroom, doll.”
“Yes, Master,” I reply, remembering how I’m supposed to address him in the club.
He’s so close I hear him swallow behind his hood, and if I’m not mistaken, his eyes close briefly, as if he’s stopping to appreciate my show of respect. After a moment, he reaches up to gently brush my sweaty hair out of my face as he whispers, “Such a good girl.” And I melt under his praise.
He sets down the flogger, and I feel his warm hand rest on my ankle before it slowly makes its way up my leg and between my thighs. His fingers press against my core, over my panties, and I hear his exhale of breath.
“My little doll is soaked,” he says, his voice gruff. “Yet we have one more thing to explore before I give you relief.”
I swallow my whimper, not wanting to complain and disappoint him. He pulls over a rolling table with a wooden box on top.
“On your back,” he demands, and with great effort, since my body feels like Jell-O, I roll over, facing up.
“This is a violet wand. It is not meant to sit still against your flesh but rather be moved across your skin to create a tingling sensation along its path. But before I begin, I need to explain something. This is just a demonstration for you to feel how these tools are meant to be used. If you decide you enjoy these things and want to do a full scene using them, we will establish safewords—words you can call during a scene to let me know you either don’t like what’s happening and want me to back off a little or if you want me to completely stop. But for now, this is just a taste. I only want you to sample what this device feels like,” he explains, and it makes me feel better that he isn’t going to force me to endure something if I absolutely hate it.
Not that I think Seven would ever make me do something I don’t want. Even if this side of him is a lot different than my sweet Seth, he’s still the same man I love, and who I know loves me just as much.
He turns the wand on, and a light hum fills my ears. “The farther away from the skin I hold the wand, the more intense the feeling. So I’ll start close, and then gradually move away,” he tells me, taking hold of my hand once again.
I force myself to breathe steadily as he holds the device close to my fingertip, but I gasp as the glowing blue light appears like a bolt of lightning forming a bridge between my flesh and the glass tube. Since my vision is clear this time, I see it almost looks like one of those Halloween decorations, the glass balls with the glowing lights inside that follow your fingertips as you slide them along the outside. Only the bolt of light actually touches your skin with the violet wand, feeling like static electricity zapping in a steady arc.
As he did with the flogger, he places my hand back on the table and then begins to glide the wand a couple inches away from my body, staying mostly below my waist. It tingles the flesh of my hips, down my legs, tickling the bottom of my feet, before moving back up my thighs. But much sooner than he did with the other toy, he sets it down. He must sense I’m now more comfortable with the tool, but it’s doing nothing for me sexually.
“And that, my doll, is the proper way to use the violet wand. There are more attachments, more intensities, and settings, but mostly, that’s the gist. You don’t seem very impressed,” he states.
“It was um… more annoying than anything,” I admit, and I’m surprised to hear him chuckle.
“I agree. So now I’m going to introduce you to something else that is anything but annoying.”
My eyes lift to him, and I watch as he makes a slicing motion across his throat toward one of the security cameras, and almost instantly, I see the tiny green light in each corner of the ceiling blink out.
“There’s one more thing I need to show you the proper use for. Something that was used against you but is meant to help bring immeasurable amounts of pleasure. It involves trusting your Dom completely, and if you do, the reward is overwhelming,” he says, walking over to the back wall to pull something off a hook. When he turns around, I tense when I see he’s holding a set of shackles.
My immediate response is to get away, tears springing to my eyes, but I force myself to remain on the padded table as he approaches. My breath quickens, the salty droplets running from the corners of my eyes and into my hair as I face the ceiling. I’m surprised at how intense my reaction to seeing the shackles is, much more extreme than to the flogger and the violet wand. But then I recall how awful and terrifying it had been, unable to get away because of being bound to the table, being forced to endure the pain against my will.
My eyes squeeze shut as Seven comes to stand behind me at the head of the table, looking down at me from behind his leather hood. Every inch of me trembles, the relaxed state the flogger had put me in completely gone. I’m so tense that when Seven rests his hand on my shoulder in a caress meant to comfort, a gut-wrenching sob escapes me, causing my tears to come pouring out.
“Look at me, doll,” Seven demands, but I shake my head, clamping my eyes shut tighter. “Twyla,” he growls low, as not to let anyone hear my real name. Yet I still can’t bring myself to look at him.
“I can’t,” I whimper, sniffling. “The mask. I can’t do this with the mask. It could be him behind that hood. I can’t. Please don’t make me.” My tears trickle to my ears, soaking my hairline.
I hear a swift movement above me, and then my love’s deep, soothing voice. “It’s gone, my beautiful doll. Look at me, sweet girl.”
When I finally bring myself to open my lids, Seven’s worried but mesmerizing hazel eyes fill my vision. I start to relax as I take in the softness of his gaze, his handsome, loving face framed by his light brown beard and thick eyebrows, looking nothing like the evil, dark man who had hurt me.
“He’s in jail, Twyla,” he whispers. “He’ll be there till we’re old and gray.”
He leans down, kissing me upside-down, the hair on his chin tickling my nose. I breathe in his scent, the smell of his woodsy cologne mixed with leather soothing me as I open to him, his tongue dipping in to lick across mine. It feels sinfully delicious at this angle, the tops of our tongues slipping across each other making me moan. I reach up, my fingers sifting through his thick, short hair, and the familiar feeling allows the rest of my anxiety to slip away.
As he pulls back far enough to look into my eyes, he smiles down at me sweetly. “Remind me to put Spiderman on our list of movies to watch. Because damn, Toby and Kirsten were onto something with that upside-down kiss,” he murmurs, and then he stands back up to his full height. I know he’s breaking character just to calm my nerves, and it brings back the tranquility I had while in his masterful hands. When he sees I’m ready to continue with our scene, I watch, fascinated, as Seth steps back and Seven moves into place.
“Now, these are cuffs that attach to the table with a carabiner.” He holds the black leather up for me to see, turning them over to show me the hardware. “They fasten with a buckle, not a lock and key like handcuffs or metal shackles. They’re also padded and lined with soft felt, so they are much more comfortable around your arms. It will not hurt the delicate bones of your wrists if you pull against them.”
This makes me feel much better, thinking back to the braces I had to wear on my wrists along with bandages for three weeks. I’d hurt myself pretty badly yanking against the metal shackles, and the doctor had said the violet wand’s current had arced to the cuffs, giving me first-degree burns that were now fully healed a month and a half later. They told me I was lucky I was healthy, because it could have stopped my heart with the length of time he’d held the device straight to my ribs.
Seven loops one of the soft cuffs around my right wrist, pulling me back to the present as he tugs my arm above my head, fastening it to the padded table. He does the same to my left, and I give them a yank, feeling the cushioning around my wrists, but not a painful bite. I look up at him, giving him a single nod to let him know I’m okay.
“All right, doll. I want you to close your eyes and think back months ago to our first lesson. There was a toy I taught you about. One I offered you to take home to try out on your own, but you informed me you were a virgin,” he says, his voice sending a thrill throughout my body as I remember that first day. I had been so nervous, yet so excited to spend time with the sexy stranger.
“The Wild Orchid,” I reply on an exhale.
He circles the table, trailing his fingers down my body as he makes his way to the opposite end. “The Wild Orchid,” he confirms, and a shiver runs through me when the sound of buzzing fills my ears, this one that of a vibrator instead of the electric crackling of the violet wand from earlier.
With my eyes still closed, I jump a little when he touches the toy to the inside of my calf, but then relax as he trails it upward, over my knee, before drawing little patterns along my inner thighs, teasing me with the vibrations until my legs instinctively fall open.
“Breathe, doll.” His voice enters my consciousness, making me realize I was holding my breath in anticipation of his next move. When I empty my lungs and fill them with fresh oxygen, he skims the vibrator over my lace-covered center, sending me into a full body shudder as my knees try to close.
“Still,” he commands, and I force my thighs to part, giving in to the overwhelming sensations at my core. My hips rotate of their own accord as I try to remember to breathe, my body feeling flushed as he presses the toy to my clit. I moan, unconsciously pulling at the cuffs around my wrists. He’s playing with me, not giving me enough to get off, but making me needy with desire.
Suddenly, the vibrator vanishes from between my legs, and I whimper in disappointment until I feel him tugging my panties off. He takes hold of my thighs and yanks me toward the foot of the table, my arms stretching out straight above my head as my hands stay locked in place.
“Fuck me, your pretty pussy is soaked, little doll,” he says, sounding feral as his fingers stroke over my swollen flesh. I can feel my pulse in my clit I’m so turned on, and I cry out as, all of a sudden, I feel his hot mouth cover me. He growls as he buries his face against me, sucking, licking, and nibbling at my pussy like he’s ravenous.
When he pulls away, I don’t have time to make a sound of complaint as he replaces his mouth with the tip of the toy at my entrance, and as he slowly sinks it inside me, the pointed tip widening into its bulbous shaft fills me, the vibrations against my inner walls making me see colors behind my closed lids until it’s all the way in. And that’s when he shifts his hold on the Wild Orchid, allowing the second, shorter shaft to come down on top of my clit.
My body tries to fold in on itself, but with my hands shackled and Seven’s grip on my thigh as he holds the toy inside me with his other hand, I’m only able to arch my back, which only makes the vibrator sink deeper as the exterior one nestles between my folds.
“Oh, fuck!” I groan. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Even my massaging shower head has nothing on the mind-numbing power of the toy Seven wields like he created it himself. I can’t see exactly what he’s doing, but somehow he repositions the Wild Orchid inside me, tilting it in such a way that it hits exactly the right spot, and before I can even pull in my next breath, I scream as an orgasm takes over my entire body.
The vibrator turns off, and I shudder as he removes it. And while I float on a cloud of euphoria, I barely comprehend the fact Seven is unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans until he takes hold of my thighs before sinking himself into me all the way to the hilt. His entrance is easy with the amount of wetness I feel as he pulls back then thrusts deep. He sets a punishing pace as I grip the cuffs at the bottom of my hands, and with my pussy so sensitive from using the toy only minutes ago, before long, I’m calling out Seven’s name as I come in a flood of body-wracking jolts.
But he doesn’t stop to let me come down from the orgasm. Instead, he thrusts harder, deeper, growing rougher with each plunge, and I can’t get enough. I open my eyes to look at my dark lover, his face twisted in concentration and pleasure. His thick eyebrows are pulled together over his eyes that are almost black with passion as he watches himself disappear into my blistering depths. His full lips are parted as he breathes deeply with each pump of his massive cock.
The sight of his strong fingers digging into my soft thighs does something to me, making my pussy clench around him, and he looks up my body and into my eyes. And with our gazes locked and one… two… three more violent thrusts, I come with a silent scream, my voice completely gone as if the pleasure itself has stolen it away, as he empties himself inside me.
He falls forward, collapsing on top of me, panting, his breath tickling my nipple where his head rests on my breasts. My thighs tremble around his hips, and I straighten out my legs, trying to get more comfortable. I want to wrap my arms around him, but am unable to because my wrists are still bound, making me wiggle in annoyance. He lifts his head to look at my face, and reads my thoughts as I tug at my hands.
He gives me a gentle smile, no words needing to be spoken as he reaches up and unbuckles the leather cuffs. My arms feel heavy as I bring them down to rest around his shoulders, and he nuzzles his face back between my breasts with a satisfied sigh.
I don’t know how long we stay there, him resting inside me as our breathing evens out, but when he finally speaks, a smile spreads across my face.
“Welcome to the club, doll.”
I clench around his thickness. “Thank you, Master.”