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Friday, July 25th
Sara James slipped up onto one of the tall, plush barstools at the Club 3 bar. The private club was beginning to fill up, clubbers filtering into the bar area with its small tables, and rocking out on the dance floor as Nickelback sang about burning it down. Someone had turned on the disco ball and the colored lights sparkled on the tall stands of jewel-toned condoms, the leather costumes of the Doms and bare skin of the subs.
Not seeing either of her men, Sara set her purse on the stool between her and a tall, voluptuous blonde wearing a strapless red leather bustier, her full breasts plumped over the top, and a short version of a saloon girl cancan skirt in red and black. Sara looked down at her own small breasts, enclosed in a fringed leather bustier that matched her very short skirt, and sighed. Then she shook off her envy. Trace and Kai liked her ‘handfuls’ just fine.
“Hi, Carlie,” she called over the music. “I’m here.”
Carlie turned and tossed her long, dark blonde curls over her shoulder, smiling. She was pretty, but even in her tiny ensemble that screamed ‘sex toy’, she still managed to project a ladylike aura. All those years of training from her socially conscious mother.
Sara’s mom had taught her how to thin baby marijuana plants and make dandelion jelly.
“About time you got here, Ms. Pro Fitness. Have a good week?”
Sara had just begun working as a full-time fitness trainer at Big Iron Fitness, the gym that loomed behind the older house that held Club 3. It was the other business owned by the Club 3 founders, Dack, Trace and Jake.
“I had a great week,” she said. “It’s so nice to have one or two clients at a time. And they listen to me.”
Carlie grinned. “Different than a gym full of rambunctious pre-teens, huh?”
“I’ll say.” Sara started as two warm hands bracketed her bare waist, but then smiled happily as a compact, breathtakingly handsome man with ebony hair and eyes leaned over her shoulder.
“Kai,” she breathed, leaning in for a kiss. As always, she sank into the heat and softness of his lips, and parted her lips to let his tongue tangle with hers.
He drew back after a long moment to smile at her, white teeth gleaming, dimples denting his cheek. He brushed back a strand of hair from her face. “Hi, baby. Like your hair this way.”
She giggled. “You should, you helped me fix it and chose my outfit.”
Trace liked to buy her clothes, but Kai liked to be even more involved, choosing her hairstyle and ensembles. Since she didn’t really care what she wore as long as it didn’t pinch or bind, she was happy to let them choose her ensembles for the club. Even if the thong Kai had given her was riding up her ass. Her hair rocked, if she did say so, the top pulled high with a comb and the rest falling straight down her back, a single feather entwined.
Her eye makeup, like Carlie’s, was darker and heavier than they wore during the day. Their Doms liked their girls to, as Daisy put it, ‘slut up’ for the club.
She turned on her barstool and stroked her hand over the bare, silky skin on Kai’s muscular chest, and admired the old-fashioned key hanging from a black choker. His choker and key matched the ones around her neck, because both were Trace’s. When it came to sex, Kai was a switch, both dominating and submitting. Trace, on the other hand, was pure Dom, and he wanted the other Doms in the club to be certain the pair were all his.
“Trace has plans for us later,” Kai whispered in her ear. “Better be ready, wahine. In every way ... or do I mean every orifice?”
Sara shivered with pleasurable dread, because Trace had introduced her to anal plugs weeks ago, and told her when he decided she was ready, he would breach her final virgin frontier.
Kai laughed softly, his warm, calloused hand squeezing her knee before he stepped back. “I’ll see you ladies later. Gotta go help at the front desk for a while.”
Sara brushed her fingers teasingly over his groin, clad in black leather pants that highlighted his impressive package. “Don’t share this with anyone else, kāne.”
He raised one brow at her. “Oh, I won’t. Saving it all for you, that is if Trace doesn’t want it tonight.”
She wriggled on her stool as heat pulsed under her thong. She loved watching her two men with each other almost as much as she loved being the focus of their attention and discipline. Hard as it was for her to believe, both men made it crystal clear that their relationship couldn’t be complete without her as well.
Kai gave her a last smile and turned away, pausing respectfully to allow a Dom to pass by, his sub behind him with her wrists tethered and gaze lowered. She was nude, except for a demi-mask, under which she was smiling secretively.
She winked at Kai as she passed, and Sara frowned. The other sub looked down quickly, and followed her Dom away through the crowd.
“Bitch,” Sara muttered into a lull in the music.
“Eh, Marilyn’s a skank,” Carlie said, following her gaze. “Caught her trying to get Jake to scene with her last week. I asked him if we could do her together, with me wielding the flogger.”
Sara snorted with laughter. “You didn’t! What did Jake do?”
Carlie gave her a droll look. “Told me if I was so keen to try the flogger, I could ... on the receiving end.”
“Was it bad?” Sara asked, her shoulders tightening as she pictured Carlie’s fiancé. Carlie was the only one who wasn’t half scared of the huge, scowling ex-Marine.
Carlie shook her head, but she was blushing. “He made me ask for every lick. But what happened after more than made up for it, if you know what I mean.”
Sara did know. Trace was a stern Dom, and he took her beyond her emotional limits on a regular basis, but then he and Kai made her love every second of it, as if she’d dared to fly and soared instead of crashing to the ground. Trace would never hurt her, but he was definitely in charge of their sexual encounters.
She couldn’t wait for later tonight.
“Hi, gal pals,” said a breathless voice. Daisy popped onto the stool between them wearing tiny cutoffs and a sleeveless western shirt tied under her breasts. Dack and Daisy took western night to the casual extreme, but it worked for the couple.
From her other side, Carlie leaned over to peer into Daisy’s face. “Why are you so full of excitement tonight?”
Daisy rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m at Club 3 for a night of partying and sex with my best friends and my best guy?”
Carlie grinned, but Sara shook her head. “Nope, it’s something more.”
With an excited wriggle, Daisy beckoned them both closer. “You’re right. Have I got some great gossip for you! I met a really nice—and gorgeous—woman this weekend at my friend Teri’s place. And after several glasses of wine, she told me that she met one of our favorite Doms at a party, and had nearly public sex with him on a back deck!”
“Whoa,” Carlie breathed.
“Mase,” Sara guessed.
“Oh, of course,” Carlie rolled her eyes. “How did I not see that one coming?”
Daisy bumped her with her elbow. “Yeah, cause you’ve seen him coming more than once.”
“And enjoyed every minute of it,” Sara added. “He’s a hottie.”
The three of them snickered together. Sara’s skin prickled with warning and she sobered, trying to look innocent as a tall, handsome blond man in a fitted leather vest and pants leaned over the bar and gave them a stern look.
“What are you three subs up to?” Trace asked in a deep, smooth voice and then held up one hand, focusing on Sara with heat in his gaze. “Wait, forget I asked. Just tell me it doesn’t involve setting fire to the club.”
“No, Trace,” they chorused.
This time Carlie elbowed Daisy. The two smiled as Trace crooked his finger at Sara. Her heat thumping, she stood up on the rung of her stool and leaned over the bar. He cupped her jaw in his big hand, his brown eyes holding hers as if no one else were around.
“You have entirely too many clothes on,” he told her, tracing the edge of her halter top with a finger. “You wanna take this off for me now, or take a paddling later instead?”
Sara gasped. “Trace.”
He raised his brows. “My club, my rules. And I think you’re ready to show everyone how pretty those little tits are.”
“Okay,” she said. “But don’t be mad.”
His brows lifted higher. “Babe. Why am I gonna be mad when you obey me?”
She reached for the zipper of her top and pulled it down, watching him warily as she did so. “Because I’m wearing this.”
He frowned at the strapless emerald lace bra she had revealed, while her stomach clenched with nerves. Then his face cleared and he chuckled, a deep rich sound. “Kai dressed you, didn’t he?”
She nodded.
Trace rolled his eyes and then grinned. “That little moke is gonna pay for this. I wanted your bare breasts to admire while I work.” Then he pinched her chin gently, and smiled. “But he loves to dress you, and you honored that. So, what can I get you ladies to drink?”
“Margarita, please.” Sara sat back on her stool, watching wistfully as her leather bustier disappeared behind the bar, leaving her sitting at the bar in her tiny bra and skirt. Oh, well, it was a sex club, she was safe from unwanted advances because of Trace’s collar and his watchful eyes, and she wasn’t bare-naked like others.
Carlie and Daisy ordered margaritas too, and Trace moved away.
“So tell us more,” Carlie asked Daisy. “I want the rest of the story.”
“Because we’re assuming you had a good reason for mentioning it.” Sara shook her hair forward over her shoulders. Then, with a nervous look at Trace’s profile, she pushed it back again. She better watch it, or she would end up sitting here naked.
“Of course I did,” Daisy told her. “’Cause I’m risking getting my butt paddled for telling you this here.” She cast a furtive look around. “I think this Natalie might be the woman for Mase. Without giving away too many of her secrets, she really liked what they did. And she really liked Mase—I could tell. As in, she fell hard for him.”
“But what about Mase?” Carlie asked doubtfully. “He can get all the women he wants here. And he sure seems to like variety.”
She closed her mouth abruptly as Trace set down three margaritas before them.
“Thank you, Trace,” they chorused.
Trace regarded them with narrowed eyes. “You three speak together, smile together. Wonder if we could make you come together.”
Sara stared at him, knowing her eyes were wide. He wouldn’t ... would he?
A deep chuckle sounded behind them. “Like the way you think, Trace,” Jake said, moving in to slide one massive arm around Carlie’s waist. “What d’you think, baby?”
Carlie mumbled something Sara couldn’t hear, her cheeks pink.
Sara took a gulp of tart, frosty margarita and avoided Trace’s gaze. From the corner of her eye, she saw Daisy do the same, but when she gave a sidelong glance, her friend was giggling silently.
“They wouldn’t,” Daisy mouthed.
Sara hoped Daisy was right. But then, Daisy probably wouldn’t mind. Dack was something of an exhibitionist. The only bigger show-off Sara knew was Mase.
This Natalie, whoever she was, should probably run the other way as fast as she could.
Sara watched as Trace sauntered the length of the bar, walked around it and then came back to her, his gaze holding hers the entire time. A pleasurable, intense excitement ratcheted up inside her with every prowling step he took.
He laid one warm hand on the small of her back and leaned in to brush a kiss on her cheek. “Finish your drink, sub. I’m gonna fetch Kai. Then we’re gonna take you upstairs.”
She stared into his green eyes, not even breathing. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he gave her a warm squeeze before letting her go.
“That’ll give you something to think about while I’m gone, hmm?”
That was true. Holy crapoly, was that true. Sara nodded quickly, and then picked up her margarita and took another drink, a long one. She was no longer thinking about Mase and his hypothetical woman, she was thinking about what was going to happen when Trace got her and Kai upstairs.
And craving it.
* * *
MASE STOOD AT ONE END of the Club 3 bar, watching with satisfaction touched with amusement as one after the other, his friends and fellow club owners moved to their chosen areas with their lovely subs.
Trace climbed the stairs, leading Sara and Kai, their fingers entwined and gazes respectfully on their Dom.
Jake and Carlie followed, his hand under his sub’s elbow as if she were too precious to allow to climb without his help. That was new and Mase wondered what it meant.
Dack and Daisy wandered into their favorite corner in the rear of the club with big leather chairs and ottomans. Soon they’d be putting on a show of their own, for anyone who wanted to watch.
“Three big men shot full of love,” said a cynical feminine voice beside him. Club 3’s senior Domme leaned on the bar beside Mase. Twila was a tall redhead in black leather bikini bottoms, chaps and bra.
“Yup,” he agreed. “And all happy to take the hit.”
A funny twinge of something perilously close to envy hit him as he watched the Club 3 founders head off with their women, all happy, all seemingly content to play twosome, or in Trace’s case a threesome, but a faithful one.
“Well, I hope it lasts,” Twila said, her tone indicating she doubted it would for any of them. “So, are you next?”
“What?” Mase demanded, straightening. “Me? Hell, no. I’m fancy free. Got no desire to cuff myself to one particular woman. I like playing with new subs.” He did. He loved learning what excited them, what got them off, and he fucking loved making them come when and where he told them to. “Variety, that’s my spice.”
“Along with being watched while you put a sub through her paces,” she added.
“Well, yeah,” he said, grinning back at her. “That’s the chocolate sauce on top of the whole creation. You’re a woman, you dig chocolate, right?”
She grimaced. “Hate the stuff. What I do like is training subs. And here come my latest. You can take some time off from the bar if you like. I’ve decided to teach these two to bartend.”
To his surprise, Mase had discovered he truly enjoyed the fast-paced yet relaxed routine of working the bar, mixing up drinks and pulling draft beers for the clubbers. Helping the nervous ones relax and keeping the subs in line with a word here, a stern look there. Chatting with the other Doms. Knowing that he was in a place where there might be trouble, but it would not be the kind that required drawing a weapon.
Mase leaned to look past her at the young man and woman who stood quietly waiting, eyes down, hands clasped. “I guess I could take a little time off. I like their outfits.”
Both wore collars, thongs and pasties in the shape of toy sheriff’s badges. They looked eager to please the domme. Mase hoped one or both would end the night under Twila’s flogger, which would make him and the other owners happy, as Twila had been a bitch on wheels since she broke up with her former sub.
The two followed Twila farther along the bar and Mase turned back to watching the room.
His gut tightened as a pair of women entered the main room from the lobby. In keeping with the western theme, the darker of the two wore a tiny approximation of a Native American dress, tan fringed faux leather that bared her shoulders and most of her breasts, and fell to just below her crotch.
She spotted Mase and waved, smiling. He jerked his chin in greeting but did not smile back. He’d scened with the Indian maiden, Mari, and enjoyed it. They were on good terms.
He was not on good terms with her companion, Syntha. The pale-skinned sub with fuchsia hair wore Daisy Duke cut-offs and a chartreuse bikini top, a sulky pout on her heavily made-up face. She had subbed for Mase and craved more to the point she’d made a complete pest of herself, following him around the bar, the club and even upstairs without an invitation.
Trace had sat in while Mase had a talk with her, laying out in no uncertain terms that he was done, and if she continued, she was done at Club 3. Syntha had apologized tearfully and been allowed to remain on three months’ probation. This time was nearly up, but Mase was not about to encourage her in any way.
When she tried a provocative pose, Mase stared, not responding by so much as a hair. Jesus, after all she’d put him through, the bitch actually thought he’d come back for seconds?
He watched until the pair disappeared into the crowd around the dance floor. Then he relaxed. He needed to find another sub for himself, one who’d give him the urge to get busy. He hoped it would be sooner rather than later, or he’d be too damn tired. He shifted, leaning the other arm on the bar. Someone would turn up. They always did.
“Hi, Mase,” breathed a low, husky voice.
Mase grinned crookedly as exotic cologne filled his nostrils, and black and silver fringe danced in the edge of his vision. He turned his head and surveyed the slim, raven-haired man who stood on the other side of the bar, hands on his hips.
Xander Barone was a flamboyant Dom who sketched out a living working part time at various shops and performing as his female alter-ego Xania at The Blue Light, a nightclub in downtown Portland popular with drag queens and those who enjoyed watching them.
Tonight Xander wore a black satin shirt with silver fringe, a belt with a buckle the size of Mase’s fist and silver pants so tight they made Mase wince in sympathy. Xander’s boots were shiny black, and black eye makeup rimmed his eyes. His glossy black hair was loose around his shoulders and moussed high on top, a la eighties rock star.
His attire made Mase’s short-sleeved western shirt, leather vest and jeans look plain and every day. Which of course they were. Mase wasn’t much into wearing club gear that would garner him second looks out on the street. He liked to be comfortable in clothing that suited his simple tastes.
Mase shook his head. “Damn, you almost make me wish I was bi, X.”
Xander waggled his brows at him. “In my hands, many men have discovered they are bi.”
“I’d know by now, believe me.”
“I suppose so. Which is too bad, as we’re both unattached at the moment.”
Mase raised his brows, fighting another grin. “You’d do me, man? Seriously?”
Xander batted his lashes. “In a hot minute, Officer Friendly. I believe in furthering police civilian relations.”
Mase had to laugh at that. “Man, even if you weren’t missing the right equipment, I wouldn’t let you touch me. Sadistic bitch that you are.”
Xander pursed his lips. “Pain is under-rated, my friend.”
“Had plenty of that lately, thanks.” Mase rubbed his shoulder.
Xander tsked. “I don’t suppose any of those nurses knew enough to help you use that to get off, either,” he said sadly. “Such a waste of talent.”
“Fuck,” Mase groaned, remembering the kind but no-nonsense staff that had cared for him through his hospital stay. “That’s some sick shit, even for you, X.”
Xander shrugged. He opened his mouth, then closed it, giving Mase a significant look.
Mase turned his head to see a small, pretty blonde standing a few paces away. She had her hands at her sides, her eyes cast down, a small smile on her full lips. She wore a tiny black piece of spandex that was the tiniest excuse for a skirt Mase had yet seen and a filmy black halter top that revealed her high, round breasts in detail. Mase didn’t see how the outfit could be called western, but it looked good.
“Hey, Holly,” he said affectionately.
“Hi, Mase.” Her voice was soft and beguiling. “I was wondering if you wanted to play. I’m available.”
Mase gave her an approving smile for her sweet manners. They’d played together more than once, and she was always up for anything he came up with, didn’t care who watched while they did it. His mind thought her offer was great.
“Really?” he teased her. “You’d come back for more of my plain old D/s?”
She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. “Of course I would, Mase. All the subs say you’re the most fun of all the doms.”
Xander snorted delicately. “Perhaps the subs who are the next thing to vanilla.”
Holly’s eyes widened in trepidation. She bobbed a quick curtsey. “Oh, sorry, Master Xander. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“You didn’t insult anyone,” Mase assured her. “And you can call me vanilla all you want, X. Sounds like it’s the flavor around here.”
Xander rolled his black-rimmed eyes.
Holly smiled at Mase. “So ... will you?”