Dauntless (The LockDown Series Book 2) (8 page)

Now eye level with him, my four-inch platforms making me taller than usual, I can see the dilation of his pupils. They are full of pure lust and greed; it is potent in his body like a toxic poison. “Thank you for the stuff,” I tell him and I kiss his cheek for good measure, and then turn on my heels and walk away.

His hand grabs my upper arm, twisting me back toward him, harshly. “Sweetheart, you don't seriously believe that I would give you a hundred quid’s worth of ‘K’, and you sucking me off would pay for it?” He sees my confused expression, the absolute revolution in myself smacking me full force, as I realise once again I haven’t made a difference by using my body as payment. “You stupid, naive little bitch. Now hand over the paper.”

I search through my handbag, retrieving two fifty pound notes and hand them to him. As he stands there and checks the money, I turn and make my exit, fast.

When I return to the bar I can't see Maria or Debbie anywhere, but I need to use the stuff I have purchased. I have no clue what I have bought, but the prick had said it would take the edge of everything.

The people around me are closing in rapidly, my chest feeling as though a vice is squeezing it. I forget about my friends, as I barge through the crowded room, pushing people out of the way. I push open the bathroom door and run to the only available cubicle, my blood pressure rising dramatically.

I shut and lock the door behind me, fetching the bag from my rear pocket. I stare at a white powder inside it, calling to me like a magnet.

I have no clue what it is, looks to me as though it is cocaine. I empty the entire bag, measuring and lining up an easy four lines. Four rows will be okay, I can handle that much perfectly. I have done coke a few too many times in my life and I knew my limit was way above four.

I roll a note up from my purse, and stick it up my nostril. I use a finger to seal the other nostril closed, then lower my head and begin to snort the streaks one after the other. The burning sensation as it enters my airway and into my bloodstream, settles me instantly. I don't care about the state of the toilet seat, the bathroom or the club for that matter, I am just relieved to feel the drugs kicking in and numbing me.

I fall back so my arse is rested on my heels, my head now feeling airy and light. I am so weightless I find it hard to move my limbs at all. I feel fucking fantastic, whatever the stuff is, I need more.

I dust the few speckles from the seat and then attempt to stand. I get my first leg up and then it gives way on me, causing me to crash against the floor.

“You okay in there, hun?” I hear a bang at the door and the girly voice sound from the other side.

Sure, ‘cause you really care don't you, you little slut. Nobody is ever bothered about poor old me. “I’m fantastic thanks. I’ll be out in a second,” I say to her.

I try again, using every ounce of strength I house inside me, to get myself from the dirty floor. My head rushes as I stand, making me feel dizzy and high. I unlock the bolt on the door and pull it open. I smile at the petite little emo
chick on the other side.

“All yours, sweet cheeks.” I gesture to the stall and then walk across the restroom to the sink to clean my hands and face.

“Look at you, Abbi, you’re a fucking mess.” I talk to myself in the mirror as I wipe the smeared mascara from around my hollow eyes, probably looking like I’m bat shit crazy to every other punter. I can see everyone staring at me, judging me. “Take a picture, would you,” I say looking at the many faces staring at me in the mirror. “Stupid fucking pricks,” I utter under my breath as I run the tap and splash some water to cool my sweat stained face.

They continue to glare at me, their evil eyes focused on my face. “You’re worthless Abbi, you’re just a useless piece of meat, Leighton doesn’t want you. No one will ever want you. Not even your own daddy wanted you.” They begin to laugh at me, at least twelve different faces. “HAHAHA, you stupid cheap whore, will do anything to get what she wants.” The high pitch cackles sever through me, slicing at my soul.

My head is floating somewhere else above me but I can't move, I am stood still. I am watching myself outside of the vessel in which I barely exist. The out of body experience freaks me out.

“Go away, all of you. Just shut up, stop fucking talking!” I scream and try to lift my hands to scrub them away. I manage to lift them, and pound at the mirror with them, hard enough to shatter it everywhere. The sharp shards slice at my hands. “Fuck off, please just leave me alone. Please, someone, help me.” I continue to smash at the glassless wall, the concrete cutting my knuckles. My blood is covering the walls and I am hitting hard enough to split the skin open, relentlessly attempting to rid the noise from my ears.

The voices and people are still here. I can still see them in the wall, even without the glass, I just want them to leave me alone.

“Leighton, Leighton, please baby, help me. LEIGHTON, HELP!” I scream for him. He will know how to help me, he will tell everyone to go away and leave me alone. He always saves me, rescues me, even from myself.

My body begins to shake violently, horrible convulsions spreading through me. I can't stop them, or control them. My body drops to the hard floor, my head smashing against the porcelain sink on the way. I have spit dribbling down my chin, my jaw aching from banging together.

I can still hear them laughing at me. They are gaining ground on me, their feet beginning to kick at the pathetic pile on the floor that is me. A few of them are crouched down poking at me, taunting me to retaliate. I grab at my hair through my shakes, trying to rip it out, trying to stop the noise. “LEAVE ME ALONE, FUCK OFF EVERYONE, PLEASE, LEAVE ME, I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. I WAS JUST TRYING TO HELP. ARGGHHH.” I scream as nausea rises in my throat, my empty stomach dry heaving, the agonising and tensing feelings flooding through me.

The pain in my head is swamping me; my vision is a huge blur. Tiny speckles of light filter through, dark shadows mixing with the cloudiness in my brain. The darkness coming for me, like it always does. The shadows I see casting me into a total blackness that petrifies my almost lifeless body.

“Leighton, save me,” I whimper to myself, curled up in a tight ball on the floor. My arms wrap around myself as I shake. I feel myself blacking out into nothingness.

“Evening, Kev,” I say to the doorman as I walk past him, skipping the queue outside. The people standing in the blistering cold have another thing coming if they actually think they are getting in. It is easier to make this look like a normal nightclub, than try and hide it. They let people queue thinking they have a chance of getting in here to dance, but they’ll all be disappointed when they are once again told that the club is full, and nobody is permitted to enter.

“Evening, Sir. Nice to see you again, it’s been a while.” It has, just over a year to be precise. The last time I had been here was the day before I met, Abigail.

“Sir,” he nods to Scott beside me, as he holds the door open for us.

I walk into the lightened area of the lobby, the pulsing sound of the music pounding from behind the set of doors. I can already smell the slight tinge of sweat in the air. I breathe in deeply, letting it seep into my core.

I walk to the reception area to sign in as is requested. The most petite little woman is sat behind the desk, her body perfectly upright, her posture outstanding. Her eyes sparkle at me as I write my name and membership number down. She isn’t permitted to talk, not unless her master has told her to, we all understood her lack of vocabulary. The beautiful black collar fixed around her slender throat tells me that she is, in fact taken, and by the looks of the lock, by a tough fucking master.

The people here at ‘The Den’ are serious about the scene. They aren’t some want-to-be Dom or Sub. Some have practised the art of D/s
for most of their adult life, if not all. This is a tightknit community, in which people know their place, and I am glad to be a part of it, to be a part of a safe, non-judging, professional group of people.

“Have a good night, Pet,” I tell the girl behind the counter, as I walk through the huge double doors that conceal the communal area. The potent air attacks me first, the scent of arousal, fear, sweat, blood and downright raw sexual magnetism. I inhale it in, letting it calm me. I currently have five lines worth of cocaine in my system. I feel chilled, happy and ecstatic to be here. Even when it has worn off, the atmosphere here will keep me going.

“Where to first, Boss, want to observe a little, or just get straight down to finding a willing sub?” Scott asks me keenly. I know he hasn’t been here much since I met Abbi, so I can see why he took such a disliking to her to start with. This is our thing; we always come together a multitude of times in a week. I just like to watch him with a beautiful submissive, normally they are brats with him, craving the punishment, they know he’ll dish out. He may be an arrogant arse, but he is sexy for sure, muscular, tall, built, and his eyes are captivating. The man holds a phenomenal skill with a bullwhip that makes me even go weak at the knees. You can place a peg anywhere on someone’s body and he can detach it without even touching the person.

“Straight to it, I think. I can't see Kalina anywhere, so I’m assuming she is busy, but I can see Delilah over there doing nothing but feeling sorry for herself.” Delilah is one the best subs I have ever trained. She is so graceful, beautiful and craves pain like a true masochist. Lucky for me because I can be a sadistic fucking bastard when I want to be, especially on the cocaine high I am currently experiencing.

“Perfect,” Scott said with a mischievous gleam in his eye. His American accent makes me want to pin the fucker down and stop him from talking, just to give my cock a break for a second or two. Why do I insist on hiring such good-looking men? Luckily, Scott and Ant are down for me pounding the shit out of them to work it out of my system when it gets too much to handle.

I walk in front of him, leading him. I am sometimes dungeon monitor here; I know the layout, the submissives and their dominants, the slaves and their masters, off by heart. I know who belongs to whom, and I know Delilah has no one. She just comes here in hope that someone will give her a little attention, that someone with the ability to take her to the subspace she desperately craves but so rarely achieves.

Her eyes flicker to me when she acknowledges me heading her way. I can see the edges of her cupids bow lips wanting to smile at me, but she knows better. She drops to her knees in an instant, her head dropping and her palms on her thighs. God, she is just too perfect.

“Eyes up, Pet,” I command her.

Her head lifts immediately, her eyes fixate on mine as she awaits my next command. This feels so fucking good, so wonderful to have this power and control back in my life.

“Good girl. Now, you know my rules sweetness, you know your safe word.” I stroke the loose tendril hanging from her tight up-do. Most of the submissives wear their hair up, it is easier and safer when in scene.

“Yes, Sir,” She repeats back quietly.

“Stand.” My deep tone has her on her feet in a flash.

“Scott, what would you like to do to our little pet?” His eyes pop open, he isn’t used to me letting him have a go first.

“Leighton, really?” Scott questions me, clearly thinking he is in some sort of dream.

“Sure, go ahead. I'm in the mood to watch those skills you possess.” If I am honest with myself, I just want to watch the muscle in his biceps flex and tense as he brings the tip of his whip down against her smooth pale flesh.

Why I didn’t just turn completely gay was beyond me, men are just so much easier to deal with, but I knew I’d always love some sweet pussy till the day I die. I'm just a selfish bastard who wants the best of both worlds.

“Wall.” Scott approaches Delilah, ordering her to the shackles and restraints attached to the concrete.

She turns on her heels and stalks to the empty area, leaving her back to us, she stands perfectly still, waiting for her master.

Scott whispers something in her ear, probably along the lines of, ‘Now, Pet, I know how you crave the pain, but if it gets too much, please tell me.’

I faintly hear her reply, ‘yes sir’ as Scott begins to attach the leather cuffs to both of her wrists. He then places a spreader bar between her ankles, attaching the chains to the wall and to the cuffs as well. Then he attaches thigh cuffs to keep her as spread open for him as possible. God, she looks so fucking flawless like that, my cock hardens dangerously in my jeans.

“Now, my perfect little pet, I am going to blindfold you. I won't gag you because I like to hear those lovely screams of yours. Is that okay?” he asks her. In these scenarios, especially with masochists because they have a tendency to push themselves too far, it is vital to keep a trained eye on every cry and noise that exit their mouth, to analyse their body and the rigidity of it. Scott is brilliant at knowing when to stop, to get a submissive into her subspace and then stop.