Dirty Bad Secrets (24 page)

“But you love him anyway.” Her voice was so quiet but so firm.

And she was right.

I’d always loved Andy Morgan. I’d always been in love with Andy Morgan. I’d been in love with him since the moment I met him, since before I knew anything about him, and it may not have been real then but it sure felt real now.

I’d loved him too much for an unreciprocated relationship. Too much to bear him smiling at me before going off to fuck other people, no matter how much I loved our club.

I’d had to run a long fucking way away to forget about him.

Right into the arms of a tosser called Vincent fucking Blackthorne.

And then I’d run right back again.

But it was too late. Andy Morgan would never forgive me for it, and he’d never let me forget it, either. And he shouldn’t. I didn’t deserve it. I’d left him with all of this in his lap for three fucking years and hadn’t even bothered calling to say hello. Running this club was harder than I thought, so much harder than I remembered.

He had every right to hate me, and every right to tell me to leave.

“I don’t mean to poop on your pity party,” Topaz said. “But that’s your night out there. Enjoy it. Fuck what he thinks and what he wants. You put the work in and you should enjoy it.”

“I don’t know if I can enjoy it without him.”

She rolled her eyes, and it shocked me so much I laughed through my tears. “You’re both as bad as each other,” she snapped. “Get the fuck out there and rock that party, or I might be slapping both of
your
asses one of these days.”

I really didn’t see that one coming.

*** 

Andy

I poured myself a triple whisky and kicked my feet up on my desk while my club partied without me. The place was heaving, I could see it on the monitors, and whatever email PR Faye had put together had worked like a dream. The club was a sea of masks and bodies, and those bodies were moving, dancing, laughing. The club was alive. It dazzled with life.

Because of her.

Because of Faye fucking Devere.

She brought things to life.

And God, how it fucking pained me to admit it, even to myself, but she brought me to life, too.

The thought of going out there and admitting how well she’d done, how she’d achieved in a few weeks what I’d failed to achieve in three years, not the general behind the scenes crap that keeps this place ticking over, but the actual work of bringing the club to its potential, creating a thrill, a buzz, an atmosphere that people would be talking about right through to its next fucking birthday.
She’d
done that.

And she’d done it in spite of all my sarcastic little digs and comments, in spite of all the blocks I’d put on her, and what she was allowed to do.

I could only imagine what she’d have achieved if I’d been on her side.

But she’d bailed on me once, and she’d do it again, and all of it meant nothing if it wasn’t constant. An enthusiasm that burns hot but quick isn’t worth shit, not in a concern like this. You need regularity, community, a build-up of company values over time. Faye couldn’t do that, she’d waltz away and leave the club in the lurch and it would be up to me to pick up the pieces again.

Only I didn’t want to pick up the pieces again. I wanted her.

I didn’t want this place without her, not now she’d come home. Not now I’d seen how good we could be.

I downed my whisky and poured another, then switched the monitor from one camera view to another. I looked for Faye, and even in a sea of masks she was easy to spot. She was the only one on the floor not wearing one, and she looked divine, dancing and twirling free. I couldn’t make out her face but I knew she was smiling, and I knew everyone else would be smiling around her.

Fuck this shit. Just fuck it.

Another triple went down like wildfire, but I knocked it back anyway and grabbed my jacket.

It was time for Daddy Explicit to make an appearance. I only hoped I hadn’t left it too late.

***

Faye

The dancefloor was a sea of people, and I was right amongst it. My heart was pounding, adrenaline pumping after a couple of swiftly downed Screaming Orgasms, and I was high, flying, twirling around the place with Raven and Cara at my side. The crowd moved as the music changed, and it swept me up. Raven’s black feather mask plume disappeared in the throng and I was amongst the unknown, the faceless, a world of hollow-eyed masks and laughter, of bodies pressed to mine. Hot bodies, horny bodies, and suddenly I was no longer at Explicit on my own turf, I was in the heart of the action in Vincent Blackthorne’s mountain sex den, and the faces weren’t just faceless, they were terrifying.

“They’re all for you, pretty bird, all of them. You’re going to make me so proud, sweet girl, so very proud.”

He kisses my lips and holds me close, but I’m shaking in his arms. I’m shaking so hard my legs threaten to give up on me. “My legs,” I say. “They’re like jelly. I don’t know if I can walk.”

“You won’t need to walk, beautiful magpie,” he laughs. “Don’t worry, soon you will be feeling just fine, my sweet one.”

I want to believe him, but the noise of the party is too loud, too raucous. “You’ll be there?” I ask. “You’ll watch over me?”

“I’ll be watching with all the love and pride a soul can offer.” He kisses my hand. “You make my heart soar, my northern star. You make me more than just a man. You make me a master.”

I smile as brightly as I can manage.

“Here,” he says, passing me a glass. “Drink this, it will help you relax.”

The taste of the alcohol is so strong it burns my throat, but I drink it anyway. There’s something strange about it, something bitter, but I don’t question him. I never question him.

He pulls the ribbon on my robe, and it falls loose. He brushes it from my shoulders until it pools at my feet, and his hands are on my skin, palms rough and needy.

“Look at you, beautiful bird. You truly are a gift. Our guests will be honoured for a taste of something as delicious as you.”

The collar he places around my neck is heavy and thick. He buckles it tight, and clips on the chain before he cuffs my wrists and ankles, the leather is rough and bites me, and the chains jangle as he threads them through my bonds. I jangle as I walk, the chains dragging along the ground as I follow him through the curtains. The room is busy, so busy, but the noise stops. The crowd is silent as he leads me amongst them.

He raises a glass and clears his throat. “My guests, my wonderful guests, it is an honour to entertain you this evening, but alas it is not my presence that shall be regaling you on this occasion.” He steps away from me, gesturing to my naked body like I’m a prize piece of meat, and I feel so many eyes on me, so many eyes that I wrap an arm across my naked breasts and cross my legs to hide my privacy before Vincent yanks me into a more pleasing position. “She is yours,” he says, “as she is mine. Please enjoy. It will give me no greater pleasure than to see my pretty bird loved by so many. Her beautiful submission is a great gift, her pain is a beautiful sacrifice, and she wears it so perfectly well.”

The shakes are easing off, and the alcohol must be kicking in, because I feel floaty and distant. I feel happy.

“Tell our guests how grateful you are for their love, Magpie. Tell them what an honour it will be to be loved at their hands.”

“An honour,” I whisper and my voice is far away. “A great honour, Vincent, Master.”

“Tell them how willingly you give your body to their pleasure, sweet bird. Tell them how great a gift it is to surrender to so many beautiful people.”

“A gift.” I’m smiling, but my eyes are wet. “A beautiful gift.”

He leans in close, his mouth against my ear. “You will remember to say thank you, Magpie, no matter what gift they present. You will always be grateful.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Thank you.”

The crowd parts for him, and he takes me by the hand, and there’s a mattress there, a bed raised on a platform. The sheets are crisp and white, soft against my back as he lays me down like a baby. I hear wheels, and there are shadows over me. A rack full of pain, of crops and whips and floggers, of paddles and canes and straps, all dangling, all for me. Someone raises my legs, holding them high, and the soft sheet is replaced by plastic, it crumples underneath me, sticks to my skin. Bodies gather, the calm before the storm, faces and eyes bearing down on me, a sea of masks, twisting and rippling, with big pointed noses and smiling mouths. I’m smiling up at them, smiling as warm hands reach for me. They pull my legs wide, tug my arms to the side, and my hands are filled with hard flesh, pulsing hard cocks under twisted faces. Something hits my pussy, a hand, with long nails, a female hand. She pinches me, pulls at my clit, and already I’m calling ‘thank you, thank you’. Fingers twist inside me, fighting for depth, many fingers, in and out, stretching and tugging and flicking my hard little clit and it hurts. ‘Thank you.’

A flogger on my breasts, lashing at my nipples, and I’d move if I could, but arms are pinning me. Someone pulls my hair, fingers force my mouth open, and I can no longer say thank you, it comes out like a grunt. A dribble of spit, from another’s mouth to mine, and I gag and retch before I grunt out a thank you. They choke me with fingers, then fill my mouth with dick, two dicks, making my cheeks pop, and another slaps at my cheek, waiting, always another waiting.

Thank you.

I think it, even though I cannot speak.

Fingers in my asshole, and it burns, it stings.

Thank you.

A crop across my stomach, leaving stripes of pain.

And my nose is pinched, air cut off, gurgling and retching without freedom of movement.

Thank you.

I’m pulled like a doll, my limbs lifeless and grateful. Flesh against flesh as hard cock fills my pussy. So many pricks I don’t know which to take, I bob my head amongst them, and they fill me, use me, take my mouth. I loll out my tongue, open wide ready for the next, a never ending stream of musky man meat.

Thank you.

I’m pushed onto my front, and there’s a body underneath mine, I take his dick inside, let him jerk me up and down. And there’s pain. The lash of leather on my back, and the bite of the cane on my ass. Tears spring and I cannot stop them, I don’t want to stop them.

Thank you.

My chin is dripping with spit, and I no longer know if it’s mine. My ass cheeks are spread wide, and I groan at the pressure of heavy dick against my tight hole. It’s hard for them to get inside, and they’re cursing, moaning.

“Sorry,” I cry. “Sorry.”

I wriggle as my asshole gives way, struggling against the pain, but I can’t move, there’s nowhere to go. It’s dry and it hurts, two pricks inside me, two grunting, swearing masks without mercy.

Thank you.

Fine rope cuts into my breasts, and twists, they are binding me, binding my tits so tight that they darken to red. They like to hurt me there, so many hands, so many people. They pinch and slap and twist. They pull at my tight little nipples until I squeal. A hot splash on my belly, my first gift of cum. I open wide and dirty fingers scoop it up for me, force it down my throat and chase it down with spit.

“Don’t swallow,” a voice laughs. “There’s so much more.”

Thank you.

I open my eyes wide for my gift, I want to see it all, I want to see what Master sees. A ring full of cocks, the wet sound of pleasure as they aim their seed at my open mouth. Good shot. So many good shots. It pools at the back of my throat, thick and salty, and when a bigger dick stretches my asshole I squeal enough that cum bubbles from my nostrils.

They laugh at me. So much laughter.

Cocks turn into more cocks, bodies shifting and jerking under me, over me, in my asshole and my slurping cunt. I’m hungry for all of it, begging for release as my mouth spills over with cum.

The lash of a belt across my swollen tits, and the bruises are beautiful and sore. The speckles of blood pooling under the skin.

Thank you.

“Swallow,” they jeer, and pinch my nose, and I’m trying, I’m trying to swallow the mouthful of cum, but it spills over, splatters on my bruised tits. I cough it back up, retching and wheezing, but they don’t care. They laugh. They like me like this.

They love me like this.

He
loves me like this.

Thank you.

“Please,” I say. “Please hurt me.”

They hurt me. Two thick cocks in my pussy, and it hurts so bad I cry. I’m stretched full, and it aches, but it sounds so nice, sounds so dirty, as they take my squelching cunt.

“Please fuck my holes,” I say.

More drink is poured into my mouth, more bitterness. And I’m flying, I’m fucking flying.

“Fuck me! Please fucking fuck me! More! Fucking use me!”

I’m jerking and wriggling and bucking as they stretch me, and I love it, I want it.

I’m free here. Free and dirty. In one glorious, painful sea of filth.

Master Vincent will be so proud of his pretty bird.

I’m jerking pricks in both hands, and taking two in my sore pussy, and they’re poking my face and I’m smiling.

A hot splash on my bruised tits, and it’s not cum. It smells bitter. It runs down my belly and over my clit, and they’re rubbing it in, splashing it over my tender pussy.

Dirty girl, so pretty, so pure.

Thank you.

Two in my tight fucking asshole now, and it hurts like hell, oh God, it hurts. But I’m distant from it. Someone’s playing with my sore clit, and it makes it nice, it makes it so nice.

Thank you.

My wrists are pulled high, chains hooked on a winch, and they raise me, my filthy body dangling like meat.

It’s so easy to fuck me here, one at the back, one at the front, and I watch them, I watch them even as my wrists are burning with the pressure. I feel everything, I want everything.

And then there is him. Master.

He spits in my face and I’m so grateful I almost come for him.

“Please, sir,” I beg. “Please fuck me.”

“No,” he whispers, and slaps my pussy. “Dirty girl hasn’t pleased me. She hasn’t given enough.”

It breaks my heart.

“Please,” I cry. “Let me please you.”

He shakes his head and twists my sore tits, even as a fresh cock is filling up my asshole.

“You disappoint me.” His fingers are on my cheeks, wiping my tears. “I was going to take you, sweet bird, I was going to take you and love you, but you have not been good for me.”

“I’ve been trying so hard,” I say, and I have. I have tried so hard.

He shakes his head. “You held back, Magpie, I know you did. Don’t lie to your master, tell me you held back.”

A sob, a desperate sob. “I’m sorry, Master, Vincent. I held back.”

“One final chance,” he says. “For our guests, pretty bird. You have disappointed them.”

“Thank you! I won’t hold back!” And I’m smiling, grateful.

He lowers me onto the bed, and this time I won’t fail. I’m hungry, begging, forcing myself onto fat cocks before they can even position me. I lick and I suck, and I grind and I moan and I beg, and I give everything. Everything. Every. Fucking. Thing.

I give everything until I’m a twitchy used mess, in a slippery pool of filth. My hair is slick and my lips are crusty, my asshole is on fire and my pussy is too sore to touch.

And then it’s over. There is no more.

Vincent approaches and my heart soars to see he is smiling. He takes off my cuffs and kisses my forehead and I could burst with relief and joy.

“That’s my good girl,” he says. “Wasn’t that beautiful?”

I’m nodding, beaming, delirious and full of love.

“Yes, Vincent, Master, it was beautiful. Thank you.”

He holds me tight and it feels so nice.

“I’m so proud, sweet bird. So very proud.” He forces my eyes to his. “Do you know what this means?”

I shake my head, I have no idea what it means.

“It means that all of our lovely guests have already agreed to come back next week. All of them, Magpie, what a perfect treasure you are.” His eyes search mine. “That’s good, isn’t it? Isn’t that wonderful?”

And I nod. I smile. I daren’t let him see my tears, in case he takes his love away.

“You’re a lucky girl, Magpie, so lucky.”

“Yes, Master, I am lucky.”

Bodies gripped me, but there was no pain here. They twirled and danced with me, shifting to the beat. My heart was racing, thumping, head spinning, but there was no pain. These masks weren’t twisted and hostile, they were welcoming, holding out hands for a twirl, for a passing hug. I slammed into muscle at the top of the dancefloor and started backwards. Masque gripped my arms, stopped me from falling.

“Steady there,” he smiled. “You nearly went ass over tit.”

I balanced myself against him, and his scent was so familiar from times of old. “Thank you, si –” I almost called him
sir
, “sorry.”