Thursday, July 1, 2010

Born To Fly: Landing In Love by Aliyah Burke

Chapter One

Major Erich Stark swore under his breath as a woman shot out from the back of Atlantis and damn near ran over him. As it was, she hit him dead on and he grabbed her arm to not only steady her but also keep her from falling to the ground.

“Easy there,” he drawled.

Her head jerked up and he found himself gazing into a pair of dark brown eyes framed by thick black lashes. Smooth mocha skin covered her lithe body. She had a heart shaped face with a flatter, cute button nose. Full, tempting lips were parted in shock and surprise.

“Con permiso,” she mumbled in a raspy alto voice and stepped out of his hold.

Erich’s gaze skimmed her and he couldn’t stop the flare of desire. She wore a pair of white cotton pants, which sat low on her hips and a gold cutoff shirt that exposed her flat, defined abdominals and the shapely tuck of her waist. Damn! She’s in awesome shape. Still, none of it took away from her femininity. “No problem,” he said, not minding at all how she felt in his arms. “You new here? I don’t ever remember seeing you dance here before.”

Her arched brows snapped together and her chin lifted in haughty arrogance. “Excuse me?” she snapped in English.

He pointed to the building she’d just vacated. “The Atlantis. You just came from the back, like employees do. So I’ll ask again, are you new here?”

Erich fought the urge to shuffle his feet as her gaze seared him. No woman since his mother had ever wielded the power to make him squirm. Until now. She raked her gaze from the top of his head down to his boots and back up again.

“And I suppose you know all of the ladies that work there, don’t you?” she asked in a sharp tone.

Her condescension raised his hackles. “You have a problem with men going to these places and yet you’re coming out of one? How else do you earn money if you don’t have patrons?”

“I’m surprised you would recognize my face at all. I’m sure that’s not what you’re used to paying attention to.”

She’s mighty snippy. Not that it mattered to Erich. He liked his women with fire. The desire to needle her a bit more roared over him with the force of a gale. Dropping his gaze he stared at her open toed sandals and smiled at the metallic green polish on her toes. A gold chain with small bells circled her left ankle. And around her right one was a tattoo he longed to get a closer look at.

“Tonight your first night?” he queried. I’m coming back to see you dance, whoever you are.

“You know, not everyone who leaves an establishment like this…a gentleman’s club…works in one. Some women are capable of and actually enjoy making a living without gyrating around a pole, and having men leer at them.”

She pushed by him and Erich turned and watched her walk to a waiting convertible and jump in over the door. A low growl left him when he saw the handsome younger man at the wheel kiss her cheek and then drive them both away.

“Hey Erich.” The sound of a voice pulled his head back around. It belonged to Donovan “Livewire” Leegen, friend and pilot.

“Donovan, what’s up?” he asked his friend.

“You know Bliss?” his friend asked, peering past him in the direction the car had left.

“Bliss?” Erich’s body hardened as the vixen’s image popped back into his mind. Bliss. That is a damn good name for her. What’s Donovan doing here?

“Yes, Bliss. The dancer.” Donovan frowned at him. “Dude, you were just talking to her. Hot as all get-out. A body made for—”

Narrowing his eyes at his friend, Erich ground out in a tone laced with death, “If you value your life, Captain Leegen, you’ll refrain from completing that sentence.”

His fists were clenched at his sides and he longed to smash one into Donovan. Hell, why not both? It didn’t make sense, but he wanted nothing more than to stop the phrase coming from the other man’s mouth. Preferably with a violent manner. Bliss, if that was her name, was his.

Donovan arched a blond brow at him and crossed his arms. “What does it matter to you what I say about her?”

“She. Is. Mine.”

“Since when?”

The second she walked into my arms. Setting his jaw, Erich lifted a brow of his own and stared at Donovan. He wasn’t backing down from this. Granted he hadn’t known her for longer than about two minutes, and that hadn’t even included a formal introduction. But it didn’t matter.

“Don’t fuck with me on this, Leegen,” he bit off.

Green eyes narrowed. “Jesus, Daredevil, you’re serious.”

“Deadly.” Erich didn’t even flinch at the use of his call name.

“Do you even know her?”

“Not yet.” He paused. “Where do you know her from?”


I thought she didn’t work here. Erich relaxed his fists and sighed. “You’ve seen her dancing here?”

“Here? No. Not here.”

That bit of news didn’t sit as well with him as he’d hoped. There were other strip clubs around and he didn’t want to have to go through and find her. But, if that’s what it took, he would. “I have to go. See you, Donovan.”

Donovan smiled. “Yes, I’ll see you around. Hey, Daredevil, about what I said, I didn’t mean anything by it, just that she’s hot, ya know?”

“Aren’t you engaged?”

“Sure am.”

“Then you don’t need to be looking around anyway.”

“I’m engaged, Daredevil, not dead.”

“You will be if you insist on looking at my woman.”

“Did you even know her name before I told you?”

“What I knew or didn’t know ain’t none of your business.” He licked his lips. “I will find out everything about her.”

“Since when are you so possessive over a woman?”

They walked toward his car. Once there, Erich leaned on the hood and hooked his ankles as he stared at his friend. “When did you know about Carissa?”

A purely masculine smile filled Donovan’s face. “The second I laid eyes on her.” Erich merely lifted an eyebrow and waited. Donovan murmured and nodded. “Okay, I get it. Not anything you can explain. You just know.”

“Exactly.” Erich pushed off the hood and scanned the darkening sky. “I’ll catch you around, Donovan.”

“Yes. And…good luck.”

Erich merely waved, not entirely sure Donovan wasn’t being totally sarcastic in his well-wishing. He paused with his hand on the handle of his door. “Bliss,” he muttered. “Well, not much to go on, but it’s more than I had.”

A fleeting thought that Bliss may just be her working name crossed his mind. Sliding across the leather seat of his T-Top Monterey maroon Chevrolet Camaro, Erich started the powerful engine and pulled out of Atlantis’ parking lot. Erich drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and, with a sigh, headed back for the base. Tomorrow he would begin his search for his woman. He had a flight to get ready for.

After a smooth flight Erich headed back across the base toward his room when he heard his name being called. Stopping, he waited for his friend to catch up. “What’s up, Tom?” he asked.

“I need a favor,” the man said, a desperate gleam in his eyes.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Corporate Needs by Bridget Midway

Chapter One

Princess Watkins sauntered down the hallway of Suite Surrender, a leash in her hand and her client puppy trailing behind her. She didn’t want to glance at the man on all fours, who now only wore bikini bottoms, and was rumored to be the head of the largest telecommunications corporation in the world. How the man managed to find this quaint bed-and-breakfast in the rural area of Virginia Beach with its unique services, she would never know.
Outside a set of imposing, heavy oak double doors, with black wrought iron bars covering the small window openings at the top, Princess stopped. Dipshit, her pet for the duration of his stay, decided that it was time to truly act the part of a young pup and scampered around her feet, wrapping his leash around her legs.
Damn it.  Why can’t guys like these just have affairs like normal, uptight CEOs? Princess released a noise through her nose and mouth that contained both a growl and something close to a whine.
Dipshit’s antics wouldn’t have bothered her so much if she weren’t in six-inch, Lucite stiletto heels. She’d mastered walking in the skyscraper shoes. However, she didn’t count on the fact that her legs would be bound together by a sixty-plus year-old man with his ass crack showing through his black leather bottoms, and wearing glasses with lenses thick enough to see other galaxies.
The leather strap of the leash dug into her flesh. The stinging pain from the binding forced her to bite her lower lip while her body betrayed her. Her nipples hardened. Goosebumps prickled her flesh. Until she looked down at the man-dog, her stomach bound into knots. She had to regain control, show this idiot who had the power.
“Heel. Shit. Heel!” Princess tipped over, slamming her hand against the door.
It must have sounded like a knock.
“Who is it?” a voice called from inside.
Through the thick doors, Princess couldn’t discern who answered. Suite Surrender started with just her, her friend May Davenport—well, Biggers now—and Winston Biggers, May’s new husband.
“Woof! Woof!” Dipshit barked. Slobber oozed from the corner of his small mouth.
Holy hell. Although May had asked Princess not to, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the man’s behavior.
“If you keep rolling your eyes like that, the clients will think you’re bored and don’t care,” May had told her.
Damn, Princess didn’t want to make it obvious, but in the last year something in her died. Making the type of money she made here to release her frustrations on men who wanted to be her slave, how could she not be happy…or at least content?
Princess managed to wriggle one leg free from the leash binding. She braced her hand against the door as she attempted to untangle the other leg. Like the dog he pretended to be, he sat on his ass with his fists on the floor, and panted with his tongue hanging out to round out the look.
At that moment, she wanted to ask him why the hell did his company release an expensive-ass phone that was the hot thing, then upgrade the same model and put that one up for sale a month later. She’d sunk a pretty penny for the original. It pained Princess to part with her dough. Maybe this guy needed to feel some anguish.
For letting her waste her funds on the first version, Princess raised her foot to give the pretend pooch a kick. The door she rested her hand on flew open, sending her hurling toward the floor.
A set of arms netted her before she reached the ground. The stumbling motion pulled on the collar attached to the leash, making Dipshit’s head jerk forward. For good measure, he yelped as though in pain.
When Princess gazed up, May stared back at her. The shy, timid woman who ordered margaritas with sugar on the rim had disappeared a couple of years ago. The woman holding her exuded confidence and a sexuality that rivaled even Princess’s swagger.
May peered over Princess’s shoulder. “You know the rules. No pets in the office.”
Princess glared at the pudgy man. “Trust me. I was not bringing him in here.” She righted herself and managed to untangle her leg with May’s help. “Actually, I was heading to—”
“Do you have time to come in and talk to me?” May took a step back to usher Princess into the office.
“Um, sure.” Princess returned her attention to Dipshit. “Go outside and play.”
Dipshit panted faster and jumped around in a circle. Before he could finish his headache-inducing dance, Princess slammed the door and swayed to a large high-back chair in front of May’s desk.
Princess had never noticed until now that distressed wood made up May’s desk.
As though reading her thoughts—or perhaps Princess’s staring at the piece of furniture gave her away—May said, “They’re the doors from the old Oh Club.”
Princess volleyed her attention between May and the unique furniture piece.
“Before they tore the place down, Win got the doors and had them made into a desk.”
With great trepidation, Princess reached her hand out and smoothed it over the desktop. It felt as uneven as it looked, and the rough exterior matched the actions that had gone on inside of the club.
“Why would you want this here?” Princess felt her face contort into a smirk. “Didn’t you have enough of that place? Why would you want to remember?”
A slow, easy smile pulled at the corners of May’s mouth. “I met the man of my dreams there. That’s the only good thing I recall when I think of The Oh Club.”
At hearing May’s admission, a realization hit Princess. May probably showed her appreciation and gratitude to her husband in a physical way, right on top of that desk where her hand sat. Princess withdrew her hand and placed it on her lap.
“So, what’s up, Boss?” Princess crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair.
For whatever reason, her inquiry produced a chuckle from May.
“What’s so funny? Let a sista in on the joke.”
“Remember the night you brought me to The Oh Club for the first time? We had gone out to that Mexican place for drinks first. You and I toasted to the idea that all bosses should rot in hell.” May laughed.
Princess shook her head. “Man, that seems like a lifetime ago. I can’t believe you remembered that.”
“You really didn’t like Edna, did you?”
Princess felt her eyebrows rut together again.
“Sorry. Madame Z.”
With the clarification made, Princess shrugged. “She was all right, I suppose. Just a strange business for her to do, you know.”
“What do you think of our little business?” May leaned back in her swivel chair.
“A BDSM bed-and-breakfast? It’s different. Not a lot of them around, I guess. Just find it strange that after all of the shit you went through, the bust and jail and everything, why would you want to keep yourself in this line of work? Aren’t you afraid of getting arrested again?”
“Are you? You’re working here. Why do you still do it?”
The query forced Princess to ponder her decision to stay. The salary promised and delivered to her more than made up for any second thoughts. Something more kept her wanting to stay in an industry where pain equaled pleasure. She liked controlling a person’s bliss and agony. She did wonder if she should be the one having the power.
That little bit of doubt pecked at her psyche a little more each day. She chalked up those negative thoughts to her past, how she grew up and her less-than-stellar influences.
Despite that, or maybe because of it, Princess had grown stronger, independent, self-sufficient. With guys like Dipshit, she managed to silence those doubts in short order.
“If five-oh comes up in here, I think you and Win will get the brunt of the charges. A first-time offender like me might get off with a slap on the wrist.” Princess glanced at her fingernails. “This is Virginia. Virginia is for lovers, not for ass-beaters.”
May shook her head before she answered. “We’re not hurting anyone. Well, not anyone who doesn’t want it.” She winked. “Like The Oh Club, no one here has sex for money.” Then she regarded Princess for a while as though challenging that assumption.
“Hey, I’m a lot of things, but I ain’t no ho’.” She wagged her finger at her friend.
“I know that. You were very clear on that stance at The Oh Club. I have to be honest with you, Princess. You don’t seem like yourself these days. Are you okay?” May stood and walked around her desk.
In her long, flowing caftan, May now reminded Princess as some sort of Mother Earth figure. All she needed was a crown of flowers on her head of flowing dark brown hair and a couple of chirping birds by her side.
Princess couldn’t deny, though, that May radiated more now than she’d ever seen her, even back in high school. Her golden brown skin could make a supermodel envious, and May always had a way of drawing people in with her large, soulful eyes. Her gaze could sway even the most stubborn person.
Princess took a deep breath before answering. “Girl, you know me. I’m just fine. Sure, that whole shakedown at The Oh Club scared me. I’m just glad I wasn’t there that night. With what you all pay me, I don’t have any right to complain.”
“And for what you do around here, you should be proud of yourself. You get a lot of repeat customers, Princess, or should I say, Mistress Agony. I kind of like Mistress Payne, though. I’m sorry you’re not still using that name.”
“I didn’t want to hold onto to that old name.” Princess shook her head. “Nah, a clean slate. That’s what I needed.”
“And how’s your social life?”
Princess had to blink at that inquiry. Didn’t seem like it was that long ago that she had asked May the same thing. Right afterward, Princess had her working at the BDSM club in Norfolk.
Just May’s luck, she’d found her knight in shining leather chaps. Meanwhile, Princess worked at that place for nearly two years before that and never found a suitable prospect.
“Social life? You mean a love life? Hard to have one when I spend most of my time here.” Princess kicked her foot back and forth.
“We only ask you to stay here on the grounds when we’re open, which is three months in the summer and three months in the winter. The other time is yours.” May leaned against her desk as she faced her friend. “So?”
“So what? I haven’t met anybody. I’m not going to meet anyone here. I’m fine with that.”
May held out her hand. “Stand up.”
“For what?” Princess crossed her arms over her chest.
“Trust me.”
Overall, she did trust her friend. She would do anything for her. Princess regarded May as family more than her own flesh and blood.  
Princess slipped her hand into May’s and stood. Even in her stacked heels, she still didn’t meet May’s gaze eye-to-eye. More like eye-to-chin.
May led her off to the side of her desk to a wall where a tall mirror sat. With one hand on Princess’s shoulder, they faced the mirror together. That moment, Princess noticed the stark contrast in their skin tones, how her dark skin stood out next to May’s lighter tone.
May brushed Princess’s braided hair off of her shoulder. “What do you see when you look at yourself in the mirror?”
“Okay, Oprah, what kind of New Age shit is this?”
“Something I learned a while back when a good friend of mine told me I needed to own my sexuality.”
“Ha!” Princess faced May. “Since when have I ever had a problem with that?”
May’s smile melted. “I don’t know. Do you?”
Princess brushed off May’s claims. “You are worried about nothing. I’m fine here.”
“For now, right?”
Princess returned her gaze to the mirror. “I can’t do this forever, you know. It’s not like I’m going to be in my sixties and still whipping executives’ asses. I have to have a plan, right? I mean, let’s face it. The economy’s not that great, and we’re in the pleasure business. We’re not recession-proof.”
“So you’re afraid of being unemployed?”
“Aren’t you? I mean, if we don’t get busted by the cops, aren’t you afraid that business will dry up?”
May pulled Princess closer to her. “Win and I have enough saved up that if we wanted to leave this tomorrow, we would still be fine.”
“Oh, nice for you.” Princess dropped her gaze to the floor.
“You’re my friend. I would make sure you’re taken care of even after this place closes, which won’t be for a long time.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“For one, Win just hired a new accountant and a new Dominant.”
Great. Two more people to split their earnings. Hiring more people didn’t sound like a good idea, but what did Princess know? This wasn’t her business. It was May and Win’s.
May continued. “We’re careful with our clients. As long as we don’t get a loose cannon in here, we can sustain it for a while.”
At that moment, the office doors flew open and Win stormed inside, dragging Dipshit behind him. The pretend dog had to trot on two legs just to keep up.
“Does this belong to you?” Win held the leash up, making a hangman’s noose around Dipshit’s neck with his collar.
Winston’s dark hair, parted on the side, appeared messy and unkempt like he had been in a fight. The grass stains and rip in his khaki pants supported the altercation theory. His cheeks looked flushed as though he’d been running a marathon. His blue eyes darkened the closer he got to the duo.
“He’s mine. What did he do?” Princess approached Win.
“He was playing out in the street. What the hell? If I hadn’t driven up, he could have been caught by a delivery truck or the mail carrier.” Win shoved the leash into Princess’s hands. “Why weren’t you watching him?”
“Don’t blame her.” May framed Win’s face in her hands. “It’s my fault. I called her in here while they were in a scene. I should have known better.”
“He could have ruined this for all of us. If someone had seen him, we—”
“It’s my fault,” Princess said, interrupting him. “I told him to go play. I just assumed it would have been in the backyard. I should have known he would have done something to get punished.” She glared at him and yanked his leash down to get him back on all fours again. “You want my attention? You got it!” She looked back at her friends. “Sorry about this. It’ll never happen again. I’ll be sure to punish him.”
“If you don’t, I will.” Win plowed his long fingers through his hair.
Damn, May must be a satisfied woman. Princess remembered his body, and his notable cock, from the one and only time she got to play with him at The Oh Club.
No wonder May had nothing but good memories of the place. Even angry, Win radiated sexiness. If Princess could find a guy like that, a man full of passion and heat, she would be ecstatic.
Wait a minute. Passion and heat. That deadly combination had gotten her in trouble in the past. Maybe safe and stable should be what she went for now.
“You got to Dipshit first.” May trailed behind him, attempting to calm the situation. “It’s okay.”
“I want everything to be right when—” Win glanced at Princess and her pet. “You can go punish him now.”
Princess snapped back to reality. “Oh yeah, right. Talk to you later.” She yanked on the leather strap to pull the man out of the office. Then she closed the door behind them.
As much as she wanted to stand at the door and listen to their conversation, Princess knew better. She stomped down the wide hallway to her assigned dungeon.
The building used to be an old school, so the old familiar tiles covered the floor in lots of areas throughout the building. Princess’s heels clicked on the floor while the mutt behind her slapped his bare feet and hands on the hard, shiny surface.
Good. Crawling on the hard floor in a quick fashion would be a great start to a rough punishment. Princess imagined the pain that must have shot through his knobby knees and his too delicate hands. For good measure, she yanked his collar again, causing his round head to jut forward.
Princess returned her attention back to her destination. She envisioned lockers lining the walls, and hearing a school bell ringing. School. Another tumultuous time in her life that shaped her destiny. Never again would she be defined by where she lived, by her relatives, or her past. Just like with this building, things had changed.
Win and May created several bedrooms for the employees to live in during the open season. Being with them as they created this space, Princess got to customize both her room and her personal dungeon. Friendship had its perks.
The gymnasium had been transformed into a large, open dungeon play area. St. Andrews’ crosses that could be raised and lowered replaced the basketball hoops at either end of the floor. Dog kennels lined one side of the wall. Several raised, padded platforms with restraints at each corner sat in the corners of the room. In the middle of the room, swings hung down low and OB/GYN tables sat on either side of the swings. Where the coaches’ area used to be, whips, chains, floggers, paddles and all sorts of toys now hung. Win had spared no expense in renovating this building and stocking it with the necessary items.
“Get your ass over here!” Princess pulled Dipshit to her dungeon door.
She unlocked it and, for dramatic effect, kicked it open. Princess rested her foot on the tip when her stunning kick resulted in intense pain in her ankle. No one would ever accuse her of being graceful. Direct? Of course. Blunt? Always. Delicate flower? Never.
Red and black colored her room, matching her fiery temperament. She had one tall, red-padded platform that sat in the middle of the room. One large wooden St. Andrews’ cross stood at one corner of the room. A small swing had been installed, but Princess kept it elevated and close to the ceiling to give her room to play. All of her favorite toys—whips, chains, handcuffs, nipple clamps, floggers, paddles, wrist and ankle cuffs, and canes—lined the walls.
She took off the leash and tossed it to the floor. “Get undressed.”
Princess strolled to a corner of the room where a high set of drawers sat. After opening the top drawer, she pulled out a pair of black leather gloves and slipped them on her hands. When she turned around, she didn’t expect to see Dipshit sitting on the floor with his head cocked like a confused puppy.
Before storming back to him, she pulled a whip off of the wall. “What the fuck did I just say to you?”
Since his leash had been removed, she hooked her finger in his collar and pulled him up to his feet. “Take this shit off, turn your ass around, and get into the goddamn position!” She shoved him back.
Dipshit whimpered like a dog and even pouted. When Princess raised her whip, he got into action and stripped out of the leather bottoms. Damn it, his stubby cock stood at attention. Why couldn’t she get some hot guy to react to her that way instead of portly Poindexter?
She fisted his thin hair, as much as she could grab, and pulled him to the cross, slamming his back against it. The short stop caused her to knee him in the balls by mistake. He winced, but then a creepy smile crept across his face. Fuck, disciplining pain sluts took so much out of her.
“Your fucking safe word is pink. You got that?” She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. “You understand me?”
He nodded his head.
“Now, I don’t care if you bark it, whimper it, or scream it like a little bitch. If I don’t hear pink, then I’m wearing your fat ass out.” She jerked his head to the side before she let him go. “Now turn around and put your hands up.”
Dipshit did so with a lot of eagerness. This time Princess wouldn’t have to force herself to be a hard disciplinarian. She wanted to whip him, make him hurt. She wanted to break him.
No one fucked with her friends. Although in her pissed off state, she should have walked away from this scene. She needed some relief as well.
After tucking her whip under her arm, Princess secured his wrists in the cuffs over his head. “You know how to activate the panic releases, right?”
Dipshit faced her. After a beat he barked and his tongue flopped out of his mouth. When he panted, Princess had to take several steps back. Did the man actually lick his own ass like a dog, too, or did his breath smell like that all of the time?
“That’s how you want to play it? Fine.” Princess marched a few feet behind him.
In preparation, she swung the whip back and forth, not snapping it yet, just to gauge the length. As much as she wanted to hurt him, it wasn’t the way in true BDSM play. She made one snap next to him and watched him jump at the sound.
With the first test throw out of the way, she cracked the whip again, this time finding her mark on the center of his pale back. In the middle of June, this man should have had some sort of tan by now. Princess certainly hadn’t kept him locked up inside all day. Maybe his work had.
Dipshit curved his back in after the hit. Only touching him with the tail end of the whip, she left a small dark pink mark on his skin. Princess continued whipping him, watching him writhe and squirm after each connection. It made her wonder what it felt like.
She’d never been whipped or flogged or even paddled. Sure, during some kinky sex with some ex-boyfriends she’d been spanked. But, to be strung up, helpless, that would never happen. Being dependant on anyone—financially, emotionally or even sexually—didn’t sit well with her. Like her grandmother had always said, she could do bad all by herself.  
Princess knew the barrier keeping her from experiencing the feeling of helplessness: trust. She didn’t trust a man enough to relinquish power to him. Having and maintaining control drew her to the whole BDSM lifestyle in the first place. Lording power over men felt amazing…at first. Somewhere along the line, perhaps right after the bust at The Oh Club, her passion started to fade.
Hearing Dipshit whimpering louder and louder sobered her to the situation occurring now. She blinked and glanced at his back, now covered in red streaks from the top of his back all the way down to his ass cheeks. He huffed as he gripped onto the wrist restraints to steady himself.
Princess set the whip onto the platform and pulled a rounded paddle from the wall. One smack against his cheek and he moaned his approval. She continued the treatment, smacking him over his back, over his cheeks, and down his legs, being sure to stay clear of the backs of his knees. She was a sadist, but she didn’t want to cripple the man.
After an intense session with the paddle, she switched to a cane. His skin had been warmed up with the whip and paddle, so she didn’t need to ease him into this session. Princess tapped him on his upper back first.
Dipshit moaned and craned his head back to look at her. Every time he tried to get her in his sights, Princess hid from his line of vision. If gazing at her pleased him, then she didn’t need to be an object of his fantasy. He just needed to feel the pain she inflicted.
When she first started dominating, Princess would get as turned on as the men she dominated. Her nipples would harden and her pussy would get wet as soon as they yelped.
Nowadays, her heart pounded because the session went on for too long and she got tired. Her nipples got hard if the room temperature dipped to freezing, and no worries on her panties getting soaked. The losers that had come to the club couldn’t turn on a light bulb even if the switch rested under their hands.
When Princess finished her caning portion, she went straight to hand spanking. She fisted the hair on the back of his head this time, then spanked his ass with her other hand.
“You are not to go out in the front yard looking like this again.” In between each word she smacked his ass, leaving it even redder than she had made it from the earlier punishment. “Do you understand?”
Dipshit grunted, but didn’t answer. She continued smacking his ass, changing where her hand landed, but with the same intensity.
“I said, do you understand me?”
This time Dipshit did give her a response. He grunted. His body tensed for a moment. Right away, Princess knew what had happened.
Although she continued fisting his hair, she peered around him and noticed a thick, milky liquid oozing down the X of the cross and onto the floor.
Shit. She forgot to tell him not to come. She let go of his hair. While he attempted to regain his composure, she trotted to a large dog kennel in the room and opened the door. Then she went back to Dipshit and undid his wrist cuffs. Once down, she wasted no time in putting him to work.
From the second drawer by the sink hid cleaning supplies. Princess pulled out a roll of paper towels and liquid cleaner. “Clean up your mess, then get the fuck in your kennel.”
Without question, he did so. If Princess wasn’t mistaken, she thought she heard him snickering as he cleaned. To make the task less enjoyable, Princess sunk her spiked heel into his back. She heard him whimper; the sound sent a ripple through her skin.
Maybe she hadn’t lost all of her passion for the Lifestyle. Her waning passion had to be the fault of her recent subjects. The right submissive could bring her back to life. The upcoming slave auction would give her that chance for a new beginning, a clean slate as May had said earlier.
When Dipshit finished, Princess grabbed his collar and pulled him to his cage. She shoved him inside and closed the door.
“Don’t you leave this cage. I’ll come get you when I feel like it, got it?” As Princess walked away, she heard Dipshit sniveling. She didn’t know what was worse: hearing him sound like a dog or hearing him talk, not that she had heard him speak, not in person anyway.
Princess turned off the light to her room and closed the door to cloak him in complete darkness.
Dipshit pushed her limits as much as she enjoyed pushing his. His antics started becoming tiresome, like an overactive child needing attention. Princess needed a submissive who understood the true BDSM lifestyle and would be willing to act in those parameters, obeying her, keeping quiet, keeping her satisfied.
Dealing with temporary subs wore on her, both physically and mentally. She needed something to perk her interests. If she couldn’t find it here at Suite Surrender, she would have to go, leave May and Win. Take charge of her life.
With nothing renewing her passion for the work, why stay? 

News At Eleven by Jack Greene

He’s fucking beautiful, and he knows it.

Alexander shook his head, watching from behind the camera as Jordan delivered yet another flawless rendition of the evening news. Flawless really was the word to describe the anchorman. Television personalities were supposed to look good, but Jordan took it to extremes. His glossy black hair was always straight and smooth, and never out of place. His makeup was amazing, so perfect he looked like a doll—not overly made up, either. Just right. His clothes were the height of fashion, not too avant-garde for a newscast but perfectly fitted to his slender body.

As anchor of a news program aimed primarily at the local GLBT community, the first of its kind in the country, Jordan didn’t have to hide his homosexuality. As if he could. Alexander’s lips quirked up as Jordan pushed his hair back over his shoulder with a practiced flick and smiled into the camera. The camera loved him and he loved it. There was no doubt that Jordan was meant to be a star, and he’d finally found his niche.

Jordan’s voice was cultured and smooth. Alexander had heard English wasn’t his first language, but Jordan showed no trace of accent, just the neutral tones of a trained news reader.

On camera, though, he allowed his true nature to come out, and Alexander definitely noticed he played up to the camera much more than to any person.

He didn’t know Jordan well. As manager of the station, he had signed off on hiring him but they hadn't had much time to interact. It seemed to be paying off, however. The station was based in West Hollywood, known for its large gay population, but the show had been picked up by several affiliates already, and he was in talks with a few cable networks. It was an idea whose time had come.

The station had promoted gay-friendly programming in the past, but Alexander had the idea of tailoring a newscast directly for and about the gay population of LA. The owner balked at first, but Alexander talked him into giving it a chance. The owner was usually hands-off; Alexander had earned his trust and ran the place as if it was his own. Only for new ideas and big expenditures did Alexander have to go to him.

Now here they were. The idea had been implemented and put into action; writers and producers were hired from the GLBT community as much as possible. When it came to hiring on-camera staff, they’d gone through a few personnel changes until they’d settled on Jordan.

In fact, it had been Jordan who’d found them. He’d walked in without an appointment, and somehow charmed his way into an interview. The rest was history. He’d heard Jordan described as an irresistible force. That was pretty accurate. Jordan got what Jordan wanted. The audience loved him.

Alexander wasn’t quite sure who the real Jordan was, though. He’d watched him on the air and at meetings and rehearsals, and even enjoyed a few, superficial conversations with him. Yet, he knew virtually nothing about him as a person. He found himself oddly fascinated, though. Jordan acted like a diva sometimes, but he was always professional on camera. He’d heard rumors from the staff about Jordan throwing the occasional tantrum over something that wasn’t quite right, but no one had outright complained to him, so there was nothing he could do.

Besides, ratings were sky high and no one wanted to rock the boat.

* * * *

The station’s annual Christmas party was an event not to be missed. People got wasted and let their hair down, and often incriminating photos were threatened. But, as long as no one got hurt, management turned a blind eye to any shenanigans. This year, there was plenty to celebrate.

Alexander made sure there was plenty of food and drinks for all the employees and their significant others. He’d planned to make a token appearance then leave, so as not to inhibit the partygoers. He had to admit, though, he was curious as to whom Jordan might bring to the party. Jordan was gay, of course, but other than his partner would be a man nothing was known. Alexander wanted to see what kind of guy captured a beauty like Jordan’s fancy. He’d have to be very patient, and probably very rich. Jordan defined high maintenance.

To everyone’s disappointment, Jordan arrived at the party alone. He looked incredible, though, dressed head to toe in glittery black. Black was one color he wasn’t allowed to wear on camera as it didn’t show up well, so Jordan seemed to make up for it tonight. He wore shiny vinyl pants that looked painted on, hugging his long legs and firm ass perfectly. His mesh shirt was see-through, and mesmerized as he moved, showing flashes of creamy skin. The pants tucked into knee-high, black leather boots with a chunky heel. With them on, he stood only an inch or two shorter than Alexander. He knew this because when Alexander looked up from his drink Jordan stood right in front of him.

“Hi, Alexander. Great party,” Jordan said, his voice uncharacteristically breathy.

“Thanks. You look, well, amazing,” Alexander said, trying to keep his eyes on Jordan’s perfectly made up face. His makeup looked heavier, almost Egyptian. It gave him a catlike air.

Jordan smirked. “Well, that’s the idea of dressing up for a party, isn’t it? You like the outfit?” He spun around for Alexander’s inspection.

“Of course,” Alexander replied. “I think every guy in the place is drooling over you.” From the corner of his eye Alexander could see the attention focused on them.

“Mmm,” Jordan said, not disagreeing. He stepped a little closer to Alexander. “Except for you, Mr. Davenport.” It wasn’t quite a question.

“I’m pretty sure it’s against the station’s rules for me to drool over the staff,” Alexander said, noncommittal.

Jordan actually pouted at that. “I’m not just one of the staff, though, am I?” he purred, moving a little closer.

Alexander tried not to react to all that sexual energy directed at him. He’d heard Jordan could turn it on and off at will, and he was only human. “No, Jordan, you’re definitely something special,” he allowed, proud of his steady voice.

That seemed to placate Jordan a bit. He licked his full, glossy lips with a darting pink tongue and regarded Alexander. Alexander imagined how a field mouse felt when an owl swooped nearby. “I think you’re something special, Alexander,” he said softly. “Did you know that no one really knows how you swing?”

“I didn’t know I was such an object of speculation,” Alexander said mildly, taking another sip just to have something to do with his hands. He hoped Jordan would tire of this game soon and move on to tease some other poor sap. He didn’t honestly believe Jordan was interested in him. He was much too boring, and at least five years older than Jordan. The only thing interesting about him was the fact that he didn’t advertise his sexuality like most everyone else here. He wasn’t hiding anything; he merely preferred not to be obvious.

“Oh, so modest,” Jordan cooed, stepping right into Alexander’s personal space. He laid one perfectly manicured hand on Alexander’s chest. “Mmm, you work out, don’t you? Anyway, everyone wants to know who the big, handsome station manager takes to bed.”

Alexander swallowed. He didn’t think of himself as handsome; he felt downright plain next to most men. His face was still boyish, leading people to frequently underestimate his age. He worked out a lot, though, trying to keep himself in shape because he’d watched his father let himself go, gaining weight and dying of a heart attack at fifty-eight. “I think you’re exaggerating just a bit, Jordan.”

Jordan laughed, a musical sound. “Handsome, modest, and polite. You must be straight then,” he said, pouting. “What a waste.”

Alexander noticed Jordan hadn’t stepped back. He had the feeling the pretty man was fishing. He tried to change the subject back to Jordan. “So, why are you here alone, Jordan? Everyone’s disappointed; they were so looking forward to seeing your fabulous date.”

Jordan looked up at him and smiled charmingly. “Maybe I was hoping…” He trailed off uncharacteristically. “I didn’t want anyone to cramp my style tonight,” he finally explained, stepping back. Alexander was strangely disappointed. “After all, who could compete with this?” He spread his arms, indicating himself.

Chuckling, Alexander nodded. “This is true,” he agreed. He swallowed the rest of his drink. “Well, I’m going to take off, speaking of style cramping. No one wants the boss to watch them get wasted.”

Jordan’s pout reappeared. “You’re not leaving yet!” he exclaimed.

“I never stay long,” Alexander explained.

Jordan moved closer again, taking his arm. “You can’t leave until you dance with me at least once.”

“From your tone I’m thinking this is non-negotiable,” Alexander said, smiling despite himself.

“You’re right,” Jordan nodded, pulling him toward the area that had been cleared for dancing. Eighties music pumped out of the speakers and a few people were already dancing.

“I’m gonna embarrass you,” Alexander told him, letting himself be led. “I can’t dance.”

“Then just move a little and let me rub against that rock hard body,” Jordan said. “We’ll both look fabulous.”

Alexander hoped he wasn’t blushing at that. He knew better than to imagine Jordan was attracted to him, though. He knew the anchorman liked to flirt.

They arrived at the dance floor, where Duran Duran was informing them all about a girl named Rio. Jordan immediately started dancing, and if he’d been sexy before now he was sizzling. His slender body moved sinuously, and Alexander knew all eyes were on them. Well, on Jordan anyway.

True to his word, Jordan was all over him. He pressed against him, and Alexander’s mouth went dry. He could very easily feel every inch of Jordan; especially his hipbones, which Alexander had a weakness for. He wanted to lick them.

For his part, Jordan seemed to have a thing for Alexander’s arms. Jordan eased Alexander out of his jacket, leaving him in just the white t-shirt he wore underneath.

“Mmm,” Jordan murmured in Alexander’s ear as he caressed his biceps. “God, Alexander…your body.”

Alexander’s breath hitched at Jordan’s soft breath on his ear. He stepped back abruptly. “I should go now,” he said firmly. He knew his face was flushed. He needed to get out of there.

Jordan didn’t follow, just stood there as if astonished.

Alexander knew everyone’s eyes were on them, so he assayed a wide smile and said, raising his voice: “Merry Christmas, everyone. I’m going now, so you can all get on with the real celebration.” He bowed slightly, avoiding Jordan’s gaze.

And he got the hell out of there.

* * * *