I try to calm my racing mind; I exhale slowly. “What happened to his old sub? Did he fire her?”
The girl in front of me rifles through her bag again. “I don’t know. That man is seriously private. It’s hard to get a face to face with him.” She pulls out a lipstick tube and glances at me. “One of my friends got harassed at work here and wanted to talk to him. She tried to get a face to face with him for four months before she went to someone else, down lower on the ladder. He found out after that and got the situation taken care of very quick. It was a…well, a sort of harassment thing. He was very sympathetic. Surprising, for a man with so much money.”
My chest aches. It aches so much, and the pain is so sharp, I rise to my feet to try and get away from it.
The girl looks up at me. “You leaving?” she asks simply.
“Yes.” My voice is ragged—like the rest of me. “I hope you have a good show,” I say as I head toward the door.
With my hand around the knob, I look over my shoulder—then say fuck it and turn all the way around. “When are the try outs?” I ask. My heart throbs sickly. “Is it club girls only?”
A coy smile tilts the corners of her lips. “I shouldn’t tell you, but they’re Monday. Applications are due tomorrow by five o’clock. So they can go over everything, I guess. Run background checks. Oh, and if you’re going to ask, you can get them from the entry desk. At the front, where you came in, you know? In that boxy little foyer-not-a-foyer thing?”
I nod. “Thank you so much.”
She smiles. “No problem, and good luck. They say he likes ’em blonde.”
I walk slowly to the amphitheater doors. I try to think but can’t. I only move—toward him.
I can’t breathe as I push the door open. A guard stops me mid-push with a hand on my back, and I have to turn around and tell him how I left the show to go to the restroom; my sisters are there, and I need to go back in.
“There are restrooms in the theater,” he says, looking suspicious. “Interruptions are something we avoid.”
He steps away from me, and I can hear him speaking in low tones into his Bluetooth. A second later, he turns back around.
“You’re cleared,” he says tersely. “Hurry to your seat.”
I nod, and I intend to, but I…don’t.
I walk into the darkened room, and I see a spotlight moving in gentle circles on the right side of the stage.
As I take the stairs down toward the bottom, I can feel his hands on my arms. On my cheeks. In my hair. I can feel his fingers, softly stroking my skin.
On the stage below, there are two women on the green bed. I can hear the smacking of his hand on one of their backsides.
Why two, I wonder. Isn’t one enough?
Eight rows away.
Now five.
Four.
Three.
I pause in the aisle, looking at his ripped back, sweat-slick and shining in the spotlight. I watch him move, and I confirm it’s him. I don’t need to see his arm. I’m still an expert on the rhythm of his movements.
I watch him in a stupor for a moment, stunned by how depraved this is. Trying to reconcile the violent-seeming man before me with the boy who stroked my arm. I’m surprised to find that what makes me turn away is not revulsion. I can’t stand to see him touch the other women.
CHAPTER THREE
Lucas
I should have stopped this shit a long damn time ago.
When I arrived in Vegas nine years ago, I didn’t know any better than what I was. Than what I did. I needed things I haven’t needed in a fuck long time now. Dominating women…it was the air in my lungs.
Now it’s goddamned boring.
I’ve cut back—way back; maybe two or three times a year, like tonight, when we have some new investors in town, and my submissives are Luna Trois and French Kitten, a famous porn star and a celebutant bitch who, combined with me, draw a pretty decent crowd.
But this shit is all for show. We don’t do real-time domination at The Forest. Not when most of my submissives are notable in one way or another, and there’s always a full house behind the Plexiglas stage wall.
Luna and Frenchy had to sign off on the cat I’m palming. On the thick plugs in their puckered holes. On the tight cuffs around their wrists, and the spreaders I’ll use when both their asses are good and welted.
They were happy to agree to the nipple clamps I like: the metal ones that can do real damage if left on too long—though, of course, they won’t be.
Neither woman objected to the dual blow job they’ll give me after I spread them wide and push my fingers up their cunts. Luna will deep-throat me and Frenchy will tea-bag my balls. Luna is thrilled that, after she stuffs her throat full of my cock, she’ll spread her legs for Luna’s tongue while Luna lets me fuck her from behind. I’ve got a nine-inch cock, and she told me she’s shallow, but Luna likes the pain. They all do.