Okay, King. You’re going to love this one. Don’t pretend you weren’t drooling over this guy when he walked into Headquarters. We all were. Lean but muscular, perfect bed head, two full sleeves of tattoos, big damn smile...remember him? He came to you with a stack of Benjamins an inch high and a request for “a couple hours with your hottest Dominatrix.” I remember it well. Not that I was eavesdropping from the next room or anything. I just happened to be in the next room standing by the door with my eye at the keyhole. What? I was practicing picking locks. You told him that you had the perfect Dominatrix to meet all his needs. Beautiful, intelligent, dominant, extremely experienced, and ready and willing to perform any sort of sadistic service for him.

Of course you were speaking about me.

Name: Dante Burns...if that’s his real name, I’ll eat my riding crop.

Age: 29.

Occupation: Rock star, lead singer of The Black Sheets.

Dante said he merely wanted a tour of the Underground. “We’re making a video,” he said.

“It’ll be kinky, something like old Nine Inch Nails. Like the vid for ‘Closer’ but with fewer dead pigs,” he said.

“I’m not into the stuff but it makes for good visuals,” he said.

“Seriously...I’m not one of those guys,” he said.

“We’re just scouting locations,” he said.

Yeah sure, kid. And I’m the Virgin Mary.

The Mistress had every right to be skeptical. First of all, while she didn’t know much about the music industry, she was fairly certain the lead singers of world-famous, award-winning, many-times platinum-selling bands didn’t do their own location scouting for music videos. Maybe Dante was something of a diva who demanded control over every aspect of his band’s career trajectory. Certainly plausible. Perhaps he genuinely did want to try his hand at directing and producing, which is why he’d taken this task upon himself.

Whatever the reason he’d come knocking on Kingsley’s door, The Mistress really didn’t care. He’d paid twice her usual rate for nothing but a tour of the dungeons, the clubs and a couple hours of picking her brain about the job. Easy money, right?

Not quite.

The Mistress met Dante in Kingsley’s office. From the moment their eyes met and she shook his hand, she had a hunch about him. The second she appeared, Kingsley seemingly disappeared to Dante. Not once did Dante glance at Kingsley after The Mistress made her entrance.

“So you’re the Mistress?” Dante’s eyes grazed her body from head to boot and back again. “Very nice to meet you.”

“Very nice to beat you,” she said, giving him her most dangerous sort of grin.

“No beating.” He wagged his finger at her like a teacher to a naughty pupil. For a split second she considered how much force she’d have to exert to break that finger. “Here for the tour and nothing more.”

“Yes, for your music video, you said. How nice. We lifestyle Dominants love it when outsiders take our entire world, our culture and our people and turn them into a fake Hollywood bubblegum backdrop for a pop song.”

She said the words with a smile and enjoyed watching Dante squirm in his punk boots.

“It’s more alternative than pop,” he said sheepishly. “Really good alternative. My band’s hard-core.”

“Hard-core? So am I. Poured scalding candle wax on a client’s balls yesterday. Your band does that sort of thing?”

“Um...” Dante went pale underneath his tan. “We say ‘fuck’ a lot.”

“Yeah, so did my grandmother.”

“Maîtresse?” Kingsley gave her a stern stare. She only winked at him. “This is Dante Burns. He’s been hailed as the next Trent Reznor.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know who Trent Reznor is?” Dante sounded aghast.

“Is he a client, King?”

“Non.”

“Have I ever fucked him?” she asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” Kingsley said.

“Then no, I haven’t heard of him. So you’re the next Someone-I’ve-Never-Heard-Of? Congrats.” She shook his hand.

“I promise, he’s really famous.” Dante sounded heartbroken. Poor baby.

“Don’t sweat it,” she said. “I’m just giving you shit because you deserve it. King? We good to go?”

Kingsley only nodded and waved her from the office. She had a feeling that Kingsley had decided that tall stack of hundreds on his desk wasn’t close to paying for the headache she’d given him.

“Ready, Mr. Burns?”

“Sure.” He sounded doubtful now. Gone was the cocky rock star. “I’m all yours.” He said the words casually, too casually. Behind them she heard something. Something hungry, something wistful, something true.

“This is HQ,” The Mistress said as they left Kingsley’s office. “Kingsley lives here, works here and reigns here. He takes the King part of Kingsley very seriously. You should, too. You might be more famous than he is and you might even have more money, but there’s no one in the house who would take your side against him, who would take an order from you that he had contradicted, who would even take a step out of this house with you without his permission.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. King doesn’t have employees. He has slaves and submissives. Well-paid slaves and submissives, of course. But they don’t work for the money. They work for the kink. None of his employees are vanilla.”

“Vanilla...that means like straitlaced and normal, right?”

The Mistress smiled at him.

“Vanilla means ‘not kinky.’ It’s what we call people outside the scene, the straight types. You, for instance, are vanilla.”

“No way. I have more tattoos than Brian Setzer. We counted one day.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not clean versus ink, Goth versus normal, gay versus straight, Mohawk versus buzz cut. If you don’t do kink, you’re vanilla. And didn’t you just say yourself a few minutes ago up in King’s office that you’re ‘not one of those guys’? Or did I mishear you while I was eavesdropping?”

“I said that, yeah. Just not used to be described as, you know, vanilla.” He winced at the word as if she’d called him something really offensive, like “impotent,” or “racist,” or “a politician.”

“Get used to it, Vanilla. If you aren’t kinky, that’s what you are. There’s no shame in being vanilla. Some of my best friends are vanilla.”

“Really?” he said with some hope.

“Nope. Come on. Let’s get to the club.”

Kingsley had a Rolls-Royce waiting for them outside his town house. The driver hopped out and opened the door for them.

“Nice car,” Dante said, studying the interior. “Total pussy wagon.”

“You have no idea....” The Mistress said as Dante got comfortable on the bench seat where she’d seen Kingsley fuck at least a dozen different people over the past year. “So tell me about this video. What are you envisioning?”

Dante looked at her and shrugged. Pretty boy. Rock-star pretty. Eyeliner, pierced ears, good tan, good smile.

“I don’t know. The song’s about a guy really in love with this woman, so in love with her he wants her to be her slave. You know, all guys feel that way when they fall in love with a woman. They feel...”

“Owned?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Like she could order us to do anything we’d do it. And in bed, we’d do anything she told us to. It’s not kinky. It’s just love. All guys feel like that.”

The Mistress studied him as streetlamps cast their glow through the Rolls window. His face went from dark to light, dark to light, with every lamp they passed.

“Do you ever feel that way when you aren’t in love?” She stretched out her leg and rested her booted foot on his thigh. He looked down at her foot but made no attempt to remove or even ask her to take her dirty shoe off his pants.

“What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed at her.

“I mean...do you ever think you’d like to do that, I don’t know...every day of your life? Maybe with a woman you weren’t in love with. Maybe just a woman you found attractive. Maybe all women.”

“I told you, I’m not one of those guys.”

“What guys?”

“One of those guys. Kinky guys who want to get used by Dominatrixes, who want to crawl on their hands and knees for a woman, who want to get ordered around and treated like a fuck toy. That’s not me.”

“Really? Wonder why you have an erection just talking about it then...”

Dante glanced down at his lap and laughed.

“I don’t. You can’t even—”

“You looked down to see if I could see it through your pants. If you weren’t hard right now, you wouldn’t have needed to look.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you?”

“Maybe I’m just—” he paused midsentence to take her leg by the ankle and move her foot back onto the floorboard “—turned on because I’m in a fucking Rolls-Royce with a beautiful women with black hair, amazing tits, wearing a leather skirt and corset. I think about any guy on the planet would pop one in this situation even if he is vanilla.”

“Which you are, right?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Yeah. Right. I’m...vanilla.”

“Don’t feel bad. Happens to the best of us. Anyway, the club we’re going to is called The 8th Circle. It’ll give you a boner, too, but don’t get excited. You can’t film there. King has a couple other smaller kink clubs that you can use for a location shoot if you want. But The 8th Circle’s off-limits. It’s his baby.”

“Why are we going there then?”

“Because that’s where my dungeon is. It’s where I see my clients. Thought you’d be interested. Aren’t you?”

“Why would I want to see your dungeon?” He shifted in his seat.

“Research for your video, of course.”

“Yeah, of course. Research.”

On the way to the club, Dante asked her a few questions about her background.

Q: How did she become a Dominatrix?

A: Created by God. Trained by Kingsley.

Q: Is it hard being a Dominatrix?

A: More wet than hard.

Q: Is it fun?

A: Define “fun.”

Q: What’s the craziest thing you’ve done as a Dominatrix?

A: I can’t answer that without an attorney present.

Q: Do you ever have sex with your clients?

A: No.

At that “no” she saw a flash of disappointment cross his face. Why? Why would he be disappointed she didn’t have sex with her clients? Did he consider himself a client because he’d bought two hours of her time to take a stroll through Hell? Technically he was. He’d paid for a kinky service and she’d agreed to provide it. Not that she wanted to have sex with him. He was a gorgeous kid with probably enough talent to earn that attitude of his, but nothing about him made her want to jump in bed with him. No...she had no desire to fuck him. That wouldn’t be a challenge at all. If she came on to him this second, they’d be fucking in five minutes. Fuck fucking. She wanted to get this bad boy to admit he was a sub. She could see it in his eyes that watched her for her pleasure and approval, read it in his body language—passive but alert, eager to please. And yes, aroused...so aroused from merely being in her leather-clad, thigh-high boot-wearing presence.

“Ask me another question,” she ordered.

“What’s the hardest part about being a Dominatrix?”

A good question, she had to give him that. And a thoughtful question. She liked thoughtful. Maybe there was more to this guy than a pretty face, tattoos and an uncomfortable erection.

“The hardest part...I’m not going to make the obvious penis joke I could make. I’m not. I just made it in my head but I’m not going to say it out loud.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Seriously, the hardest part is caring about my clients. I try not to care about them because my job gets a lot harder when I do.”

“Why?”

Sighing heavily, she leaned back in the seat, stretched out her legs and rested them on the seat next to his thigh.

“I have some fucked-up clients, and I say that with affection. These guys...they have fetishes like you can’t believe. They want to drink urine. They can only get off if you beat their cocks with belts. They need me to put puppy ears on them and make them drink out of the dungeon toilet like a dog. I don’t care. It doesn’t bother me, doesn’t freak me out, doesn’t gross me out. They’re fetishists and that’s fine. Takes all kinds. Sex is weird and wonderful and these guys are harmless. They love their wives, their kids. But they have this deep itch inside them that only coming to me can scratch.”

“That’s pretty crazy. Drink urine?”

Now it was her turn to wag her finger at him.

“Don’t judge, Little Grasshopper. Some of these men could break you in half. They’re strong, smart, complicated. That’s the thing. They’re not boring enough to be vanilla. Most of the men in this country, they’re meat-and-potatoes guys when it comes to sexuality. Gay or straight, they like it plain and simple. Penetration, thrust, orgasm, sleep. That’s it. But then you have my clients. These are the guys who crave escargot, shark fin soup, boiled duck embryos, fucking blowfish. Exotic fare. Those are my people. You eat crazy shit like that and people call you a foodie. You want exotic fare in the bedroom and people call you a sick freak. These men cut their chest open and show me where they keep their souls. It’s heartbreaking to care about them. So I don’t.”

She heard the tenor of her voice changing and she coughed to clear her throat. She didn’t care about her clients. Not any of them. They were paychecks and nothing more.

“You do care about them.”

“You’re a Backstreet Boy. What do you know?”

He laughed then and she had to laugh, too.

“I think you and I are both full of shit,” she said.

“We are. You respect your clients.” It wasn’t a question. She answered it anyway.

“I do respect them. It’s the scariest thing you can do—walk into a room where you know you’re going to meet your real self. Would you do that? If there was a mirror out there and you knew if you looked into it, you’d see the real you...would you look?”

“I think I’d cover that mirror with a sheet and then smash it with a sledgehammer.”

“Exactly. Me, too. But these guys, they look. So yes, I respect them, I care about them and I give them what they want and what they need. Then after an hour or two, I send them back out into the world that thinks they’re sick perverts. In my dungeon I can protect them, I can make them feel safe and even normal. But out there—” she pointed at the world outside the Rolls-Royce’s window “—they’re on their own.”

“You can’t save everybody.”

“I can’t save anybody.” She gave him a half-hearted smile. “But it doesn’t matter. That’s not what they pay me for.”

The Rolls brought them to a grey door in a grey parking garage. Dante didn’t seem impressed. That was okay. No one was ever impressed by The 8th Circle until they were inside it.

“This is it?” he asked as the driver opened the door for them.

“This is it,” she said, pulling her key ring out and letting him into the front hallway. “But don’t be misled. The 8th Circle is like the ugly chick you take home from the bar at last call because you struck out with everyone else. Then you get her home, drop your pants and discover she gives the world’s best blow jobs.”

“I like her already.”

“All I’m saying is don’t judge the joint by appearances. Oh, watch out,” she said, grabbing his arm to steer him from a stain on the floor. “You almost stepped in cum.”

He started to look back over his shoulder but no one really needed to see that. With her hand on his arm, she led him down the dimly lit hallway to a door inside the coat-check booth.

“This is the shortcut to the dungeons,” she explained as they took a narrow staircase down. “Otherwise we’d have to take the elevator to the main club floor. Big crowd tonight. Lots of people playing. You’d definitely get recognized.”

“Glad we skipped that part then. I’m trying to be a little anonymous here.”

“Hence the guyliner, the sleeveless shirt showing off all your tattoos, the professionally messed-up hair and the boots that probably cost more than my mortgage payment?”

“You don’t let me get away with anything, do you?”

“No.”

“Wanna tell me why?” They reached the bottom of the stairs. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. For a single beautiful second she saw the real Dante underneath the rock star uniform and the eyeliner and the well-cultivated tan. She saw the man, the musician who cared about his work, his art, and who put on the stupid clothes and the attitude because the world expected it of him. And in that split second she decided she might like him.

“Because the rest of the world lets you get away with murder. Don’t deny it. If you committed an actual murder, would you spend the rest of your life in prison? Or would your handlers cover it up, buy you the best attorneys and get you off scot-free?”

“I’m not a murderer. I’m a nice guy.”

“I don’t care how nice you are. No matter how nice you are, you can’t be as nice to the world as the world’s been nice to you. How much money are you worth?”

“That’s kind of a personal question.”

“You asked me if I have sex with my clients and me asking you your net worth is a personal question?”

“Point taken. I’m at about 97 million at the last audit.”

“Good. Now are you 97 million dollars worth of nice to the world?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know if anyone could be that nice. That’s a lotta nice.”

“You really need 97 million to get through the night? How much does your fucking hair gel cost?”

He laughed out loud then and ran his fingers through his hair.

“It’s pricey shit.”

“Wonder what brand of hair gel that homeless guy in the parking garage uses?”

“You’re giving me shit because I haven’t given all my money to the homeless?”

The Mistress took a step toward him and stared him right into his hazel eyes. He started to glance away, but she took him by the chin and forced him to meet her gaze.

“I’m giving you shit because no one else in this wide world would dare to. Right?”

Slowly he nodded his agreement.

“I can’t help it,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “You get to the level of fame and money I’m at, and you’re surrounded by nothing but yes-men.”

“That’s why women like me exist.” She flicked the end of his nose hard enough he flinched. “We’re the antidote to yes-men. Come on. I’ll show you my dungeon. You’ll like it.”

She pulled on his shirt, dragging him behind her down the hall.

“Hey, this shirt was expensive,” he protested at her rough treatment.

“So is my time. You don’t hear me bitching, do you?”

At the end of the hallway she stopped in front of her dungeon door and pulled out a key.

“‘We’re all mad here?’” Dante read the words on the door.

“Cheshire Cat,” she explained. “Alice in Wonderland. You should read it. It’s trippy as fuck. Better than LSD.”

“I don’t do drugs.” She heard a note of pride in his voice.

“I’ll get you a medal. Now...welcome to my Wonderland.” Throwing open the door, she took a step back and let Dante in first. Newbies to the dungeon were usually a little surprised at the sight that greeted them. Dante was no different.

“This doesn’t look like a dungeon. It looks like a bedroom. A nice bedroom.” He nodded his approval at the king-size, four-poster bed, layered in red-and-gold brocade sheets and pillows, the oil lamps, the erotic art on the walls. “No whips and chains?”

“Plenty of whips and chains. That’s behind door number two.” She led him past the bed and into the second room of her suite.

“Oh, fuck.” His eyes went wide as dinner plates as he took in the view.

“I don’t fuck on the clock,” she said, giving him a sly wink. “That’s a St. Andrew’s Cross. I put people on there to flog and whip them. Among other things. I’ve got the hospital bed over there for my medical fetishists. That’s a rack. The throne is a lot of fun for bondage.”

“That’s a coffin, right?” Dante pointed to the far wall.

“Yeah, I have some clients into sensory deprivation. I don’t even think it’s sexual for those guys. I think they just want to be left alone. Anyway, they come in, I put them in the coffin, I sit and read a book. They get out an hour or two later, happy as clams. Easiest grand you could ever make.”

“Nice. I don’t get the pain thing. I mean, I’m covered in tattoos but they hurt like hell and no part of me was turned on during the process.”

“Well, you’re not a masochist. People like pain for a lot of reasons. I have clients who suffer from chronic pain and getting a good full-body flogging helps their body produce more adrenaline and other pain-fighting hormones. I have some clients who can’t get aroused unless you hurt them first. One’s a cop. One’s a doctor. Takes all kinds.”

“I guess so. I mean, it makes sense. I know some musicians who really can’t perform unless they’re on drugs. They need the rush.”

“I’m a lot easier on the body than coke. Not all my clients are into pain, though.” She turned off the lights in the dungeon and returned to the bedroom. “I have some male subs who are nothing but subs. They just want to take orders from a woman. They come here and worship my feet and fetch things for me and masturbate for me.”

“So you can be kinky and not like pain?”

“Oh, yeah, I know a lot of female subs especially who love submitting but don’t hurt. Their Masters or Mistresses will tell them go suck some stranger’s cock and you’ll think they just won the lottery. You get a flogger near them and they curl up in the fetal position and cry.”

“Weird. I thought all kink was, you know, the whips and chains.”

“Not all of it. This world is much bigger than that.”

“Hmm...” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the bedpost. “Maybe I am kinky.”

She raised her eyebrow at him as she sat in a large, ornate chair and threw her leg over the arms.

“Do tell.”

“I...it’s kind of weird.” He grimaced. “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I lost my virginity to a Catholic priest, and that’s one of my least weird sexual encounters. Trust me, I’ll believe you.”

His eyes went wide again and she could only smile. She loved shocking the newbies.

“Okay...here’s the story, and it’s all true. It’s gonna sound like something out of Penthouse Letters. But it happened.”

“Try me.” With all the wild sex that surrounded her on a daily basis, his story would have to involve alien anal probes to get her to question his soliloquy.

“I learned to play guitar pretty young. Natural musician. Guitar and piano. Bass, too. I was really shy, though, so I didn’t play much outside of the house. My older sister, Cate, she was super popular. Like no one in our high school even knew we were related because I hid in the background so much and stayed quiet. Cate had these three friends—Polly, Amie and Mona. They’d been best friends since they started high school. They were their own clique.”

“Pretty girls?”

“Gorgeous. And nice, too, believe it or not. Nice to me. Cate and I got along great at home. Our dad died when we were pretty young and Mom dated a lot. My sister and I sort of stuck together. She was protective of me. And her friends liked me, too.”

“Oh, this is already getting interesting.” The Mistress grinned at him.

“Just wait.” He took a ragged breath. “I was a sophomore, sixteen years old. Cate and her friends were seniors. Mom was staying over at her new boyfriend’s house. Cate had the girls over for a sleepover. She wanted to sneak out and stay with her boyfriend, too, and her friends were helping cover for her. So it was me alone in the house with these gorgeous girls. We got into the liquor cabinet and drank a little. But none of us were drunk. Just buzzed. Happy. Talkative. Amie asked me if I had a girlfriend, if I’d ever had sex before. I don’t think I’ve ever been so embarrassed in my life. But I told her the truth which was no. The girls all looked at each other...then they looked at me....”

“Why am I hearing porn music in the background?”

“Exactly. So Amie hears that I’m still a virgin and she leans over the coffee table and kisses me right in front of the two girls. Amie was the ringleader. Wherever she went, the other girls followed. So then Mona kissed me and then Polly. I nearly came in my pants. But it wasn’t just kissing. Amie stood up and crooked her finger at me, motioning me to follow her. She brought me to my own bedroom and...”

“Fucked you? I’m guessing she fucked you.”

“She fucked me. And it was amazing. Amie was very take-charge. She was all ‘kiss my nipples, suck my clit, put your fingers in me....’ She liked giving orders and I loved taking them.”

“Then what happened?”

“She kissed me good-night and left the room. I thought that was it. I was just lying in bed naked and smiling at the ceiling and thanking God for inventing women. But then the door opened. Mona’s turn. Amie must have told her how well I took orders because she was just as bossy in bed. After that, Polly came in.”

“You fucked three girls in a row the night you lost your virginity?”

“I was sixteen. I could have fucked twenty girls that night. Anyway, after that, sleepovers at the house got a lot more interesting. After Cate fell asleep, at least one of them would sneak into my bedroom. The girls had all dated jocks and jerks. And yeah, they ignored me at school, acted like I didn’t exist. But it was for the best. I loved being their little secret. Amie told me one night I was the only guy she’d been with who could make her come. I loved going down on them. Loved it.”

“Powerful memories.”

“Very...” He exhaled, his skin flushing with remembered desire. “The girls...they never called me by name. They always called me Rock Star. ‘Hey Rock Star, come play a song for us....’ I would have done anything they told me to. Anything.”

“Rock Star, that’s cute. You loved being used as a fuck toy by three older, beautiful girls.”

“God, yes. I don’t get that anymore. Backstage the fans, they worship me. The women are too nervous just being around me to give me any kind of order. They lay there in bed like it’s some kind of honor to be fucked by me. I remember what it felt like with my sister’s friends. I was the nobody they’d deigned to fuck. I loved worshipping their bodies. That’s what I was into. Not being worshipped. I get enough of that shit every time I walk out the door.”

“So let me get this straight.” The Mistress stood up and came over to him. “You love worshipping the female body, being treated like a sex toy to be used for a woman’s pleasure and pleasuring multiple women in one night? You don’t want to be worshipped. You want to be treated like an object, a sex slave, a piece of property who exists only to give women pleasure?”

Dante didn’t answer at first. He couldn’t even seem to look in her eyes.

“I fantasize about it a lot. About being with women who own me so much they won’t even let me come.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Is that weird?”

“No,” she whispered back right into his ear. “It’s sexy, it’s erotic and it’s so not vanilla.”

“I always felt weird about it. Unmanly. It’s not very manly to want women to...I don’t even know the word.”

“Top. You feel weird because you want women to top you. And there’s nothing unmanly about giving a woman orgasms and putting her pleasure before yours. Nothing wrong with being a male sub. You don’t have to be a chest-thumbing alpha to find the clit.”

“Trust me, I know where the clit is.”

“Now that is the sort of thing that would win you a medal down here. Want your medal?”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing. “Sure. I’d love a medal.”

“Are you clean?”

“Clean?”

She gave him a pointed look.

“Clean. Gotcha. Yes. Had to get a full physical two weeks ago for insurance for the new tour. Got tested for everything.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No. We broke up two months ago. She was just another yes-man.”

“Good. Go wash your face. Get rid of the eyeliner. Take off the rock star boots and for fuck’s sake, comb your hair like a normal person. No more costumes. I want to see the real you. Bathroom’s over there. I need to make a phone call.”

When he came out of the bathroom, Dante looked like the handsome, nice, sweet male submissive she knew lurked underneath all that eye makeup and hair gel.

“There’s our girls,” she said when she heard a tentative knock on the dungeon door. “You stand there. I’ll get this.”

“What is this?” he asked, looked humble and nervous, and surprisingly young.

“Turns out I’m all out of medals. I got you this instead.”

She opened the door and ushered two lovely young women inside. One was a tall beauty with tattoos and rainbow-stripped hair. The other was pale and petite, with lustrous brown hair that fell halfway down her back in soft waves.

“Simone, Cassie, this is my friend—”

“Devon,” he said. “My name’s Devon.”

She knew the name Dante Burns had to be fake.

The ladies shook Devon’s hand as The Mistress looked on with wicked glee.

“Ladies, Devon is a new friend of mine. A submissive. He’s looking to explore some of his fantasies. One of them involves being used as a fuck toy by women. A little birdie told me that Devon here loves giving women orgasms. He’d rather give orgasms than have them himself. Isn’t that nice?”

“I love male subs,” Cassie sighed, leaning her head on Simone’s shoulder.

“They really are handy to have around.” Simone kissed Cassie on the top of the head.

“Well...shall we?” The Mistress gestured at the bed.

“I’m in.” Cassie looked Dante up and down. “He’s beautiful.”

“He really is. Looks familiar, too. You come to the club before?” Simone asked.

“No. I just...I have that kind of face,” he said.

“Girls...” The Mistress clapped her hands. “Condoms in the drawer. He’s all yours. I’ll be over here supervising. Let me know if I can assist.”

“Oh, I think we’ve got this, Mistress.” Cassie and Simone came up to Devon and kissed him on the lips, one by one. As Cassie deepened the kiss, Simone raised his arms over his head and pulled his shirt off. Simone ran her hands all over his back and shoulders while Cassie brought his hands to her breasts. The two women pulled him gently to the bed and laid him on his back. The girls were submissives, both of them. But they loved sex, they loved men and they loved submitting to her. Being on The Mistress’s good side meant being invited into Kingsley’s inner sanctum. And right now both girls were definitely on The Mistress’s good side.

Simone slid off the bed and stripped off all her clothes, except for her elaborately laced high heels. She sat with her back to the headboard of the bed and spread her legs wide.

“Fingers first,” she said to Dante and he seemed to have no problem taking that sort of order. Cassie took off her clothes while Dante slipped two and then three fingers into Simone. Whatever he was doing seemed to be working because in less than a minute, Simone the submissive gave an unmistakable order. “Tongue now.”

Simone spread her folds and gave Dante better access to her clitoris. He’d said he loved going down on women and he certainly showed incredible enthusiasm for the task.

Cassie crawled back onto the bed and began caressing Simone’s breasts, teasing her pierced nipples while Dante lapped at her vagina, sucked on her clitoris. All Simone could do was grab the bars of the headboard and moan and moan until an orgasm seized her with body-wracking force.

“Wow...” With that one word Simone collapsed tiredly onto the bed. “Your turn, Cass.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Cassie said as she pushed Dante onto his back. The Mistress wondered if this was like his first time with Amie. On his back, nervous, aroused beyond comprehension, wondering what the hell he was doing while a beautiful older girl touched parts of his body no one but he had touched before. She had to wonder where that trio of girls were now. Beautiful, erotic and loved, giving sexual orders to men? They sounded like perfect additions to The 8th Circle. Kingsley was always looking for a few good Dommes.

Cassie brought Dante’s mouth to her breasts and he latched onto a nipple. He caressed her other breast while she straddled his lap and ground her hips against his. Once Simone recovered enough from her orgasm to see straight again, she did Dante the favor of opening his jeans and freeing his erection. Simone took a condom out of the nightstand and rolled it onto him.

Dante stretched out onto his back as Cassie took him into her hand and guided him inside her. With her hands on his broad, tattooed chest, she rode him with long oval undulations of her hips.

“I know it feels good,” The Mistress said to Dante from her chair near the bed, “but don’t forget, no coming. Just the girls, not you.”

“I promise I won’t. As long as she comes, that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, she’s coming,” Cassie said as she bucked her hips harder against him, using him like nothing more than a dildo that just so happened to be attached to a human body. Dante cupped Cassie’s breasts as she moved on him, teasing her nipples until they were bright red and swollen. “She is definitely coming.”

“Take your time,” Dante said from underneath her. “I can stay here all day....”

He moved one hand between their bodies and found her clitoris. He pressed up against the tight bud and Cassie gasped. She’d promised she was coming and she hadn’t been lying. With a cry they probably heard in the dungeon at the end of the hall, Cassie climaxed on top of him.

She rolled onto her back and lay there panting. Pointing from Simone to Dante, Cassie rasped, “Go get him.”

Simone required no more encouragement.

“Did you come?” Simone asked as she straddled Dante’s chest and sat on his stomach.

“No.”

“He doesn’t have permission to come,” The Mistress chimed in from her chair. She should have brought her book with her to work on while the kids played. She’d remember that for the next gang bang. “He hasn’t earned it yet.”

“You heard the lady,” Dante said, smiling up at Simone.

“Good. I want to fuck you, too. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Even from her corner of the room, The Mistress could hear the happiness in his voice. Not pleasure. Not desire. Happiness. Being used by women made him happy. And the ladies weren’t complaining, either.

Simone stripped him of the rest of his clothes.

“Can we tie him down, Mistress?” Simone asked as she pulled a new condom out of the box.

“Not this time. He’s a newbie. Gotta save something for the sequel,” she said. She and Dante hadn’t discussed his feelings about bondage

“Oh, fine.” Simone sounded playfully disappointed. “Cassie can hold him down then. That okay, Devon?”

“You won’t hear me objecting.”

“Good boy.” Simone gave him a patronizing couple of slaps on the cheek like a proud Italian grandmother. Looked like Simone might have a bit of a Switch side to her.

She pushed him into her and started riding him while Cassie held him by his wrists, pressing him into the bed. As strong as he was, he could have easily escaped the clutches of the girls, but The Mistress had a feeling that getting away hadn’t even crossed his mind. After a minute, Simone pulled off him, turned around and started to ride him reverse cowgirl-style.

“Do you actually enjoy that?” The Mistress asked. “That is my least favorite position. I feel like the cock’s poking my damn rib cage.”

“It’s kind of weird,” Simone admitted. “But he’s a good size for this position. Not too big, not too small. You have to tilt just right or it does hit the wrong spots.”

“Are you enjoying it?” The Mistress asked Dante. A trick question.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “As long as she is.”

“Spoken like a true sub.” The Mistress beamed with pride.

While Simone continued riding him, Cassie swung around and straddled his head. Now he had his cock buried in Simone and his tongue buried in Cassie. If he died underneath those two women, he would, at the very least, die a happy man.

Whatever that magic tongue of his was doing to Cassie certainly seemed to make her a happy woman. And Simone wasn’t complaining, either, as her hips pumped against him.

“Ladies?” The Mistress interjected. “Not to interrupt but he’s not going to be able to warn you he’s about to come if his tongue is three inches inside Cassie.”

Cassie sighed heavily as she moved off Dante’s face.

“I guess you’re right, Mistress. I’ll wait my turn.”

“Oh, sit on his face all you want,” The Mistress said. “He just needs a ducky. Bottom drawer.”

“Ducky?” Dante said, panting as Simone kept moving on him.

Cassie dug in the second nightstand drawer and pulled out a squeaky toy duck.

“Ducky,” Cassie said, putting it into Dante’s hand. “Squeeze it if you’re getting too close. That way I know to get off. I mean, get off you.”

“I’m holding a squeaky toy duck in a dungeon while two women fuck me and a Dominatrix supervises....” Dante said as he stared at the ducky in his hand. “This is not how I imagined my day ending.”

“Really?” The Mistress asked. “It’s exactly how I imagined my day ending. Carry on.”

Cassie sat astride Dante’s face again. He went back to work on her with gusto, and with gusto she came a few minutes later. Right after her orgasm, he squeaked the duck in a warning. Simone sighed and dismounted from him.

Dante lay on the bed as he breathed through his nose, no doubt trying to settle his arousal.

“Simone’s not going to get herself off,” The Mistress reminded him. “Someone’s got to do it for her.”

“I volunteer.” He raised his hand in the air and the girls giggled. “Suggestions?”

“She likes fingers. Oh, even better.” The Mistress disappeared into her dungeon and returned with a vibrator. “Sanitized and fully charged. Go get her.”

Simone threw her legs wide open and Dante teased her with the vibrator while Cassie watched and assisted. When done, Cassie expressed an interest in some double penetration. Dante lubed her up and penetrated her anally while Simone pushed a condom-covered vibrator gently into her vagina.

An hour passed as Dante took turns bringing each woman to orgasm...with his hands, his mouth, his cock, and then back through the gamut again. By the time each of them had come three times, they were all exhausted, sweating and barely mobile.

The Mistress gave the three of them a round of applause and promptly kicked Cassie and Simone out of the room. With much grumbling and complaining, they put on their clothes and kissed Dante goodbye. Of the three, he alone had not come during the sex. He remained rock-hard and smiling.

Once alone again, The Mistress sat back down on her throne and beckoned Dante to kneel at her feel. Naked and aroused, he did as told.

“You had fun being a fuck toy today, didn’t you?”

“That’s the best sex I’ve had since high school.”

The Mistress tapped her chin. “Now that’s a sentence you don’t hear very often.”

“I’ve had a lot of bad sex since high school.”

“Was it bad or was it just not what you wanted?”

“Not what I wanted. But tonight, with them? Oh, my God...that was perfect.”

“We can do it again sometime. Maybe work some bondage in. Make you into a real sex slave. Get a real Domme in here to do you. How does that sound?”

“I think I’d like that, Mistress.”

“Would you like to come for me?”

“Yes...so much. Please.”

“Come for me then. Wait...no. Say ‘please’ again.”

Dante looked at her with humble beseeching eyes.

“Please...please, Mistress.”

“Okay, go for it.”

He stroked himself while she watched with a raised eyebrow, daring him to impress her. Closing his eyes, he moved his hand faster on himself as his breathing grew more ragged. A minute passed...another...

“Having trouble there, Cock Star?” The Mistress asked him.

“I’ve never done this in front of somebody before.”

He kept stroking but without coming.

The Mistress rolled her eyes.

“‘Head Like a Hole,’” she said. Dante’s eyes popped wide open.

“What?”

“My favorite Nine Inch Nails song,” she confessed and gave him a wink.

Dante came in seconds. She handed him a moist towelette, noticed the amount of semen that had landed on her rug and handed him two more.

“You do know Trent Reznor,” he said as he cleaned himself up, a broad smile on his face.

“I’m a child of the early nineties.” She extended her leg so that her foot hung in the air two inches from his lips. He kissed her boot reverently. “Eddie Vedder and my right hand gave me my first orgasm.”

“Mistress...I think I’m in love with you.” He kissed his way from her toes to her knee.

“Well,” she sighed, “you’re only human.”

END OF SESSION

So I was right about Cock Star. First of all, there was no video shoot. Total ruse. Dante had been dying for years to explore kink but didn’t feel safe or comfortable enough to come to us as a client or seeker. He needed the cover. Thankfully he’s feeling better about his desires now. I see him once a month and Cassie and Simone see him every chance they get. They might be submissives but even they can get on board with a male sub that wants nothing more than to give them as many orgasms as humanly possible.

He’s turning into a fantastic male submissive. I have two Dommes banging down my door to collar him. But I think I’ll keep him to myself a little while longer. Needs more training. Plus he’s rich as fuck and leaves amazing tips, including concert tickets.

Speaking of concerts, I went to his most recent show at Madison Square Garden. Pretty good music... The Black Sheets are no Pearl Jam, just for the record. He debuted a new song at the show. It’s called “Bootkisser” and contains the lyric “I’d rather kiss your boot than let them kiss my ass.”

Wonder where he got the inspiration....