Dirty Bad Secrets (3 page)

Clearly Sergeant shared my train of thought. He clamped a wet mouth around her tit, sucking like a thirsty traveller. And then he fucking bit her. Hard. Hard enough for her to wail through her gag. Her eyes watered, but she didn’t move, perfectly accepting of his punishment and the slam of his fingers deep inside her pussy.

She’d changed. This Faye was another league of submissive. My pulse pumped behind my eyes as Sergeant released her tit. The bruise was already forming, deep red teeth marks on perfect skin. Faye was trembling, high on adrenaline and alcohol. I held my breath as she offered him her other breast, lolling her head back with her eyes closed as Sergeant provoked the crowd.

Bite, bite, bite.

Another wail as he sank his teeth in again. Surely this one would draw blood. The thought sent me reeling, disgust and excitement rolling into one big fucking typhoon. Sergeant presented her bruised tits to the crowd like some kind of deranged trophy hunter, and they loved him for it.

He shackled Faye’s wrists high above her head, and took hold of a whip from the back of the stage. There was no warning of the first crack, but I heard it loud across the dancefloor. I flinched as she cried out, cursing Sergeant under my breath. The singletail curved around her ribs, catching the soft underside of her bruised tit. The stripe darkened and pooled with blood, and he was straight at it again, incompetent bastard. I took a step forward, but Faye was groaning for more. Sergeant wasn’t even listening to her. He was too busy with his cock in his hand, pumping himself between strikes.

He was too quick with the whip, stealing her breath before she had chance for composure. Her feet twitched and trembled in her heels, but she gritted her teeth and held firm.

Sergeant came to her front, pressed the whip into her tits and pulled her panties from her mouth. “You can thank me now,” he said. Twat.

“Thank you, Sir!”

Her voice was breaking, addictive in its fragility.
She
was addictive.

She was trained. Highly fucking trained. 

My cock was so hard it pained, but my fists were clenched tight.

Sergeant ran his filthy tongue over her lips. “You want more?”

“Yes, Sir! More, please!”

He ditched the singletail in favour of a crop, slapping it hard against the pale, soft skin of her thighs. They marked nicely, deep rosy blotches glistening with her excitement. The ghost of a smile on her face was magical, beautiful. She was high as a kite, drunk in subspace. Floating on a sea of endorphins that’d have her craving his cock, and his fists and whatever else he could aim in her direction. The crowd was rippling, and Faye was loving the attention, spreading her legs so they could see her glistening wet pussy in all its glory. My breath caught in my throat as metal glinted in the spotlights; two neat little rings through her swollen labia. They were new. My tongue twitched in my mouth, swimming at the thought of tasting her.

Sergeant’s grunts were rough as sandpaper. He tapped her pussy with the crop and Faye groaned and tensed into the shackles. “You want cock, don’t you, bitch? Beg me for cock?”

Don’t you fucking dare.

Her eyes were glassy, wet with tears. She was lost in the moment, beyond fucking reason. “Please, Sir. Please, fuck me.”

No.

“
Fuck me... hard… make it hurt, Sir... show them how much I can hurt for you…”

I sprang into life, long paces across the bar without giving a fuck for obscurity. I reached the edge of the crowd in time for a prime fucking view as his fat cock jammed its way inside her.
Fuck
. White heat pounded behind my eyes, and I was reeling. Too late. Too fucking late.

Irrational anger. At her, at him, at the whole fucking place.

I backed away, disentangling myself from the surroundings. Only Masque looked in my direction. A nod of the head in knowing, an understanding even through the hollows of his mask. I gave him a nod in response, and then I was gone.

***

Faye

I came down hard, emotions hitting the deck like a fucking lead balloon. Too many drinks, too much bravado, and a seedy fucking meathead called Sergeant fucking Sin. Hardly the
Faye’s-back-in-town
show I’d dreamt of.

I could still feel him inside me. The sensation churned around my stomach, threatening to rise up and spill garnet-orgasm-screaming-crow all over the dance floor. Sergeant grinned oblivious, shoving his cock back in his jeans and signalling for my phone number. I gathered my dress from the floor, holding it tight to my savaged tits as I made my exit.

I couldn’t face the toilets, too many people. Instead, I dashed out past the playrooms, frantic for somewhere to hole up and compose myself. There were only lockers, lockers and the door to Andy’s office. The window above the door promised darkness inside. He wasn’t in. I took the opportunity and tried the door. It was open, thank fuck. I pressed myself against the wall, catching my breath as my heart slowed.

What am I doing here? What the fuck am I doing?

My eyes welled, emotions still cresting the disaster. I’d wanted to make a statement, show the place I was back in town. I’d shown them something, alright. I’d shown them a fucking train wreck.

It was supposed to be Andy up there with me. I’d thought about it all the way home. If not Andy, then Masque, but time hadn’t been kind there, either.

The click of a lamp, and the glare hurt my eyes.

Shit.
Embarrassment flamed, Andy’s disapproving stare battering me across the room
.
Just what I fucking needed.

He was just as immaculate as he’d been earlier, not even so much as a crumple on his suit. His hair still fell with effortless style, like he’d stepped out of the fashion section of the
Business Times.

“What the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?” I hissed. “Is this some kind of psychological entrapment?”

“I’m in
my
office, and just as well I am. The club needs
one
responsible owner on the premises. And that clearly isn’t you. What the fuck was that out there?”

“I’m getting myself in the spotlight, where it matters. Something you’ve fucking forgotten! Explicit isn’t just red tape and insurance forms, Andy, it’s
alive
, it has
soul.
Beautiful dark soul. It needs more than crossed fucking T’s.”

“I really don’t know where Sergeant dumb-fuck Sin falls under the job description. You must be so proud of yourself. Were all your shows as highbrow as that one?”

“Fuck you, Andy. Just fuck you.” I pulled my dress over my head, tugging it down as quickly as I could manage. “Masque wouldn’t play, and neither would you.”

“I never play in public.”

“Or at all, from what I’ve heard.” I tossed him a smile full of spite. “I’ve heard
all
about it. When was the last time you even got laid? It wasn’t here, was it? Too good to get your rocks off in your own club these days, is that it? Don’t you dare judge me, Andy, don’t you fucking dare.”

“Mind your fucking tongue. You know fuck all about this place, or about me.” He stood from his chair, jabbed an angry finger in my direction. “If you work at a bakery every day of your fucking life, the last thing you want to fucking eat when you get home is a jam fucking doughnut.”

I shook my head. “Keep telling yourself that. It’s completely different.”

“Is it? Like you’d fucking know.”

I took a step towards him. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past three years? Shacked up in some twee little nunnery somewhere? I’ve been working the scene, same as you. Only I didn’t turn my back on my own fucking sexuality. I embraced it... I learned from it...”

“Felt nice to have his dirty fucking mouth all over your tits, did it? You’re supposed to be senior management, not a cheap little slut off the street. You’d better start acting like it.”

“So, I’m senior management now it suits you, am I? I thought I was a nobody, that I’d best fuck off back to fucking Italy.”

“Flight’s still booked.” He scowled at me. “If you stay here, Faye, you won’t be staying to make a fucking twat out of me. You want to fuck the clientele, you do it out of hours. I don’t want to see a shitty display like that again in this club, are we fucking clear?”

I caught the flash in his eyes, a fraction of a heartbeat and it was gone. Jealousy. It twisted around my stomach, hit me hard between my bruised thighs. “You don’t want me to fuck them? Fine. I won’t fuck them. Just as long as I can stay.”

He tried to hide the relief, but I saw it anyway. “Go home, wherever that even is, get cleaned up. I’ll see you in the morning, unless by some miracle of God you’ve thought better of it and flown back to Italy.”

“And what then? We work out our roles like adults?”

“Don’t fucking push your luck, Faye. I’ve still a mind to send you packing, regardless of what any lawyers have to say about it.”

I didn’t have energy left to argue with him.

I let him call me a taxi, watched him write the hotel address down on his notepad and lock it away in his drawer. His eyes were shifty once he caught me staring. Guilty. He locked the drawer up tight and slipped the key in his pocket. Top right. A drawer full of secrets, no doubt.

He could keep them there. I had enough of my own.

***

Andy

The clock struck eleven and there was no sign of her. Nerves twitched around my gut. Maybe she’d taken the bait and flown back to Italy. I should have felt relief, but all I felt was dread.

She’d always been intoxicating. Like alcohol fumes, in your bloodstream before you even knew about it.

When she finally burst into my office at quarter past, it was in a cloud of elaborate hand gestures and expensive perfume.
Overslept, it was a long day yesterday, Andy, a really long day.

I made sure she didn’t sense my relief, burying it under a veil of hostility.

“Not exactly the best start, Faye. If you insist on being here you could at least show up on time.”

I expected more excuse and bluster, but she dropped into the chair opposite without argument. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Cleaners get in at nine sharp on the weekends. Someone has to be here to open up.”

“We can take it in turns,” she said. “Work out a rota.”

I slid a timetable across the desk. “I’ve already worked out a rota.”

I watched her lips purse as she scanned the chart. “What’s this?”

“The bar shifts. You can shadow Topaz until you learn the ropes.”

“You want me on bar? Seriously?” Her eyes were challenging but not hostile. I liked this contrite, amiable Faye.

I kept my tone clipped. “You want in, you work the bar.”

“If that’s how you insist on playing it.”

“I’m not playing.”

“Neither am I.”

The air crackled with tension. Her dark eyes were fiery under sculpted brows, the dark cascade of her hair pulled tight into a bun. It suited her, showed off the classic angles of her cheekbones. She should have been born in the 40s, in the era of black and white Hollywood movies. She’d have made a fucking fortune.

Her eyes returned to the rota. “So, I’m on bar tonight. What can I do in the meantime?”

I leant back in my chair, tapped my pen against the desk. “Insurance forms. Cleaning. Restocking the bar.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not planning on making this easy, are you? How much longer are you going to keep this up?”

“As long as it takes for you to prove your value to this club. Maybe a little while longer. Depends on my mood, Faye, I could keep this up forever.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” She smiled, and for that one moment it was genuine, without the barbs. “Can’t you at least show me around the place in daylight? I haven’t had a decent tour yet.”

“Go exploring, knock yourself out.”

“I’d rather you showed me,” she said. “Please. If you can spare me the time.”

I made a mountain out of her request, tapping away at my laptop like I hadn’t already done everything on my to do list. “Five fucking minutes. Whistle stop tour. Like you don’t know the place already, it hasn’t changed that much, Faye. The rooms are still the rooms, same as they always were.”

“That’s not what I heard.” The glint in her eye gave me shivers up my spine. “I heard you installed a wet room.”

***

I showed Faye the boring shit first, expecting her to lose patience and call it quits, but she did an impeccable job of feigning interest. I showed her the pumps, and the casks, and the chiller settings. I showed her the stash of drinks signs, and cleaning supplies.

And then I showed her the playrooms.

Her posture changed as we made our way around the equipment, shoulders high as I skipped her through the latest furniture.
Handmade by a carpenter in Brighton, entirely bespoke
. The words caught in my throat as she knelt into position on one of the premier flogging benches, the split of her pencil skirt riding up just high enough to gift me sight of the bruises on her thighs.
The teeth marks on her tits. How I’d fucking love to see those sore fucking nipples.

“I like the quality,” she said, moving her weight from knee to knee against the leather. “It’s comfortable.”

“So I hear.”

She flashed me a smile over her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you haven’t tried this stuff out?”

“I don’t need to, I’ve a club full of members to offer feedback.”

“Shame on you, Andrew Morgan. That’s no substitute for first-hand experience, and you know it.”

I fastened her into the cuffs, taking care to pull the chains tight. “Premium leather, no chaffing.”

She tried her wrists. “Nice, but it’s all academic unless you’ve tried them.”

I took position at her side, placed a hand against the small of her back. She yielded to the pressure, curving her spine until her tight little arse was in the air. “A good height, no strain on the back.”

“You can do my ankles if you like?” she offered, shifting her legs apart.

“I think you get the picture.” My face was in hers as I loosened the cuffs, her breath playing against my lips.

She rose from the bench like a stretching cat and sashayed to the back wall, surveying the display of implements. Her long fingers teased at the tails of a cat o’nine. “I guess you haven’t tested these out, either?”

“I don’t play in the club, Faye, it’s not professional.”

“Neither’s endorsing equipment you haven’t trialled.” She took the flogger from its hook, swished it through the air until it landed in her palm. “Nice sting.”

“So they say.”

“I want to test it.” She threw it at me without warning, and I caught it on instinct. She unbuttoned her blouse, draping it over the stocks in the corner. The dark promise of bruising showed its pretty face through her bra lace. I had to wrench my eyes away.

She placed her hands flat to the wall, breathing steady. “Come on, Andy, don’t be a chicken shit. This is business, not sex. We’re just sampling the goods.”

The swell of my cock wasn’t business. It was anything but business. “Don’t start this, Faye. It won’t end well.”

“Stop talking and hit me.” Her eyes smouldered over her shoulder. “And then I’m going to hit you.”

My laugh sounded empty. “We’re not doing this.”

“Take that stick out of your arse. We’ve a roomful of equipment you’ve neglected to test, and a whole pile of resentment simmering in a pressure pot. Something’s got to give. This is the sensible choice.”

“The sensible choice is we resolve our differences like adults... slowly... over time...”

“Or we knock it out in the open, right here, right now. This is our way, Andy. This is our scene, at least start acting like it.”

“I know who I am, Faye.”

“I’m not so sure...” she goaded. “I think you’ve lost your touch... Are you scared, Andy? Scared you’re out of practice? That I’ll break you like a scared little girl? You’re excited, aren’t you? Do you want to see the mess he made of my tits?”

She wasn’t expecting the crack on her shoulder blades. A perfect strike, the tails licked her skin with perfect pressure. Her skin prickled, bloomed pink. “Your smart mouth is going to get you into a world of fucking trouble, Faye.”

“I hope so,” she breathed, then braced herself for another. This one was harder, faster, jolting her out of position for just a moment. Her hands reached around to her bra clasp. I swallowed as she tossed it to the side. “A bare canvas,” she whispered. “Hit me. Andy, it’s what we both want.”

We shouldn’t play angry. Shouldn’t play at all. The heat was building behind my eyes, years of resentment gripping my fingers tight to that flogger. “You fucking asked for this,” I growled.