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  As Polly had explained to me, prior to our arrival, the first thing that had to be done, before I could even enter the great room, was to select my wristbands for the evening. Each colored band represented your intentions for the evening, as well as future evenings. White automatically declared you a sub, while black, equated Dom. Each person was required to wear either one or both, depending on how you identified. From there, you could choose other random colors signifying the level of intensity you desired to try or participate in. Red bands meant pain, orange meant bondage, and so the list went on. You could choose as many as you’d like, and if you were brave enough, you could choose the rainbow band; anything and everything.

  I wasn’t that brave, and I highly doubted I ever would be. Instead, I opted for a single white band. A small thin strip of rubber, declaring me a submissive. As soon as I put it on, I felt vulnerable, and yet, powerful. Two sides to the same coin. Almost as if this inconsequential accessory had the power to heal me and destroy me. It was dizzying, to say the least.

  Prior to coming, I had turned in my latest physical, including my most recent pap declaring me clean, as well as the approved identification. From what Polly had said, the owner took great care in protecting the privacy of all of their members. I had been overly worried, of course, petrified that someone at my job, or someone in my family, would figure out where I was headed. It was a fear I still held on to as I took in the expansive space.

  My over imagination had conjured up dungeons, or at least chains mounted to the walls flanked by rows of whips and canes. Instead, I found a serenity I had not anticipated. If it hadn’t been for the scantily clad women walking around, this could have been a large living room to a house, the people just there for a house party of sorts. I lingered in the entrance of the room for a minute, observing my surroundings, the inanimate and animate alike.

  It didn’t take long for me to realize, with dread, that I, of course, was the plumpest girl in attendance. As with every place I visited, I received the usual round of stares, people glaring at the fat girl who had the nerve to show up. But, I also was the recipient of some glares that could only be described as lustful. With the last amount of nerve I could muster, I raised my chin in confidence and followed along with Polly into the massive room, as carefully as possible. Tripping right now would be more humiliating than showing someone my innocence or my body.

  Grabbing Polly’s arm, I motioned with my head to the bar. If I was going to keep up with this confident demeanor, I needed some liquid courage. I knew I stood out like a sore thumb, dressed all in white, while the other attendants wore traditional black and red, but with a little bit of alcohol, I wouldn’t feel quite so obvious, even if I still was.

  Side by side, Polly and I walked over to the bar. Polly was oblivious to the eyes pointed in our direction, but unfortunately, I was not. I could feel several pair on me, on my front and on my back, undressing me, scorning me. I needed that drink, now. I was impossibly nervous, and ironically, slightly turned on at their glares.

  When we arrived, we sat ourselves up on the barstools, and I found myself tapping the bar in a mixture of agitation and impatience. When the bartender came over, a sweet flamboyant young man sporting a similar looking white band, along with his leather spiked thong and red leather collar, he leaned into me.

  “Might not want to let the Doms see you nervous. They’ll eat you alive,” he whispered, winking at me, as he stood upright. “And what can I get for you ladies?”

  “I’ll have a Gin and Tonic and my friend Maggie here will have a Cranberry and Vodka. We’d also please like a shot of tequilla, Patron. Thanks, Derek!” Polly chimed in, jubilation lacing her every word. She was living the high life here, and she was excited I could be with her. Smiling back at me, Derek walked away to get our drinks, his perfectly round, dark chocolate ass wiggling for the world to see.

  Spinning in her chair and pulling me around with her, Polly positioned us for prime people watching time.

  “So, anyone strike your fancy, Mags?” she asked, using that nickname I absolutely despised.

  “Honestly, I haven’t even looked,” I admitted, scanning the crowd discreetly, my chin pointed downwards to hide my spying.

  “Maggie!” she wailed, slapping my arm, “You have to look, that’s part of the fun. Just no looking at mine. He’s claimed!”

  “Or mine,” came the bartender's voice behind us, as he gingerly sat down our requested drinks.

  “Well, considering I don’t know what either one of them looks like, how could I possibly know if I’m trespassing?” I said with a wicked grin.

  Swinging around in my chair, I licked my hand and poured some salt on it. Making sure I had my lime ready and my shot, I handed the salt over and waited for Polly. When both of us were ready, we licked, drank, and chewed our delicious, albeit burn inducing shot. Derek watched on in mock fascination, and it didn’t take more than a few more words from him to know that he and I were going to be friends, whether I joined the club or not.

  After our shot, Polly and I sat for a while, looking around at the growing number of guests and sipping on our individual cocktails. I could feel the tequila kicking in, the warmth spreading throughout my body. I was not a lightweight (no pun intended) and I could hold my alcohol well. It would take a lot more for me to be buzzed or even drunk, but for now, I felt more relaxed, and that had been my goal when I wandered over.

  Setting down my drink, I grabbed my small clutch, intending to head to the bathroom that Polly had just pointed out to me. I hopped down from the barstool and smoothed down my short skirt. Turning around to give Polly a thumbs up, I took a step backwards and ran into a wall that I knew hadn’t been there before.

  Pivoting around abruptly to find out how a sudden brick barrier had magically appeared, I had a sudden flash of slow motion. I knew what was happening even before it had happened. In these shoes, twirling around unexpectedly, I was going to lose my balance and face plant, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I could feel my cheeks start to pink at just the thought of falling in this room full of people. Closing my eyes and praying for the best, I let the world resume out of slow motion, pressing the invisible “play” button on my life remote.

  When everything sped back up to normal, I was elated and surprised to find myself standing upright. Peeking through my lashes, I looked up and into the eyes of the aforementioned “brick barrier.” They were not friendly, and the smile I had donned, when I realized I hadn’t fallen, immediately vanished. Taking a gulp, I disconnected from his eyes and let my own stroll down his body. My mouth went dry at the perfection I saw in front of me.

  The impediment I had run into, had been a hard muscular chest, barely concealed by a tight white tee shirt, pert nipples pressing against the fabric. The cotton of the shirt was so thin; I could see the ink on his chest and what looked like some intricate patterns, but I was unable to make out what it was; the only indications were the tattoos coming out of his sleeves and adorning both of his arms to the elbow. He stood at least an entire foot taller than my five foot three, even in heels. His inky black hair cut neatly, albeit a little long, and a single strand curling onto his forehead.

  His hands were huge, matching his stature and height. His grip on my arm kept me balanced, firm, but not oppressively so. He held onto my upper arms for a moment longer before letting go. Although the entire scene played out within two or three seconds, the heat from his hands seeped through my skin as if he’d held on for hours.

  “You’ll want to be careful, little sub, there would be punishments involved if you had gotten blood on my carpet,” he huskily whispered to me, only loud enough for my own ears.

  I could feel the blush in my cheeks deepen as I put my chin down, looking at his beautiful carpet. It really would have been a shame to mess it up with blood. Trying desperately to hold back the tears forming behind my eyes, I took a deep breath, and let my shoulders relax. I stopped my fidgeting fingers and let myself calm. I hated doing y
oga during the week, but it was paying off in this moment.

  It took me a few deep moments to realize that Mr. Brick Wall was still standing inches from me. When I looked up into his eyes, the tension I saw was palpable, and he looked lost in thought, his eyes glazed over, not really seeing anything. Deciding I needed a little more room to breathe, I took a step back, but before I could plant my second foot a pair of hands reached out, gripping my arms again.

  “No one said you could step away from me, little sub,” his undertone glided to my ears, his eyes clearly back in focus, lingering over me; his voice like warm, smooth butter.

  I felt my heart rate increase exponentially in my chest, beating against my ribs. I would bet my life savings that the Dom before me could feel it in his grasp. I glanced back into his eyes to see a hunger I hadn’t seen before. Never in my life had I gotten so aroused so fast. I could feel my panties getting wetter the longer I stared into his baby blues; my body going into overdrive at the connection.

  In a flash, it was over. He had released me and was stalking away to a closed door behind the bar. Clasping my chest and gulping for air, I braced myself against my vacant stool. What had felt like hours in his presence had only lasted less than a minute, and I was so turned on, I squeezed my thighs together to create some much needed friction. I longed for a release, and I needed it soon, but looking around the room, not one person seemed to jump out at me. Men I had found enticing only moments ago, seemed dull. How in the hell did I justify my immediate reaction to the brooding man who had kept me from falling? I didn’t know.

  “Holy hell, Maggie! Your first night and you’ve got the attention of the most popular man in the room!” she squealed, pulling me in for a hug I didn’t understand.

  “Pop--popular?” I stuttered out, trying to comprehend her words.

  “Duh, silly. That’s Jackson Hunter, the owner of “The Hunt”!”

  Chapter Four

  Jackson

  Fuck!

  Slamming the office door, separating me from the rest of civilization, I ran my fingers through my hair and spat out another string of expletives. Who the hell was that girl? I’d never seen her before, which meant she was new to ‘The Hunt,’ and her demeanor, although clearly submissive, was tentative and raw. She reeked of untrained potential.

  Inexperience was not something I was willing to get involved with, not again. Three years ago, I had taken on a new sub, on a night similar to this one. Her name was Amber, but I had always called her sunshine. The night I saw the white band around her dainty wrist, she had been wearing an impossibly short bright yellow dress, black garters underneath. My cock had instantly been hard, and I wanted inside her pussy more than anything else at the time.

  Over the next few weeks, I took her under my wing. I trained her in the art of submission, and I loved every second of it. She had had a hard time staying focused and wound up being disciplined more often than not. Although, we both enjoyed my forms of punishment, she still wasn’t improving. I found myself getting angrier and angrier at transgressions that were minor.

  One year into her training, I decided that this lifestyle was not meant for her. She loved the kink, and would be able to find anyone in my club that could satisfy that need for her, and not require the strict submission that I demanded. When I sat her down and told her my decision, she snapped. The beautiful girl in the short yellow sundress morphed into a screaming banshee. I sat and took in her words, spiteful, slanderous, accusations that cut me to the core. When she started throwing things at me, I had had enough.

  Gripping her around the wrist, I stopped her next launch, but when she spit the word ‘Darkness’, her safe word, into my waiting face, I immediately let go of her, taking multiple steps back. No one had ever safe worded me before and I couldn’t hide the shock that showed on my facial features. Grabbing her purse, she looked back at me before quietly whispering, “Go to Hell, Sir.”

  I drank myself silly that night, her last four words circling around my alcohol riddled brain. It wasn’t until my assistant peeled me from the bar the next morning and tossed me in the shower did I realize my faux pas. Amber hadn’t been the perfect submissive, but she was still somewhat new, and needed the positive reinforcement a good Dom could give her. Instead of the praise she needed, I belittled her and told her this way of life wasn’t for her. I had behaved like an inexperienced Dom.

  That night, she had been hit by a drunk driver coming home from the club, killed on impact. No one knew about our fight, not even my closest friends, and to this day, I held the guilt of her death in my hands. With that guilt came the knowledge that I could never take on a new submissive. I couldn’t train someone to live up to my high standards, and I would rather be lonely with blue balls until the last breath left my body, then go through the pain of hearing a distraught sub’s safe word. I vowed that I would only deal with experienced subs from that day forward.

  I had never, for a moment, considered going back on that rule, until now.

  “Stupid, Stupid, Stupid,” I chastised myself, pacing in my small office. How could I have been so fucking stupid. I called her little sub. Twice! A simple enough wording, almost common, but to anyone who knew me, they knew it was my preference to call my subs, with the exception of Amber.

  Plopping down in my desk chair, I flipped on the cameras to the great room, skimming the growing crowd. She was nowhere to be seen. Trying multiple angles, I searched the entire room, an unfamiliar panic gripping at my chest. Had I been the cause of her leaving? It hadn’t been my intentions. The grasp on my heart loosened when I watched her walk out from the hallway where the restrooms were located.

  What the hell was wrong with me? I didn’t know this girl, hadn’t spent more than two minutes in her presence and now I was worried about whether she had left or not. Residual penitence over Amber’s accident still ran rampant in my head, so many years later, and I couldn’t stand it. Standing abruptly, I walked to my liquor cabinet and poured myself another glass of whiskey.

  Throwing my drink back, relishing in the slow burn sliding down my throat, I entertained one last thought of the mystery girl. She wasn’t my normal type. Overweight with long brown hair, she definitely made a statement in her all white attire. I had never been a man to judge a woman based on her size. In my eyes, all women were stunning creatures, each with their own gifts to give. The act of submission, in and of itself, was an amazing gift, and any woman willing to gladly give up control to me was worthy of adoration and worshiping, no matter what the tag of her jeans said.

  I had been a complete and total asshole to her, and I hated myself for it. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she had walked out and never returned, but somewhere deep inside I was intrigued that she had stayed. What was this shy beautiful woman, clad in her sexy angel costume, doing in the den of “The Hunt”? Did she have a wild side locked up tight beyond those perky breasts? Did she enjoy the bite of a leather flogger on her bare ass? Did she have any idea what coming here could mean for her? I guessed, no. The aura of naivety shrouded around her even through cameras.

  My cock twitched with my line of thought. I had to shut it down. She was new, she was innocent, and she was untrained. She was everything I wanted, and nothing I needed. She had no clue what it meant to be a real submissive and I couldn’t be the one to show her. Could I?

  In our brief encounter, she had submitted to me with an unnatural grace. Head bowed, looking at the floor, she had recognized the Dom in me and bended accordingly. She probably hadn’t even realized she had done it. She had impressed me further when she had slowed her heart rate, calmed her breathing, and linked her fidget prone fingers together in front of her. It wasn’t the perfect submissive pose, but it was good for someone who didn’t know they were doing it, and she clearly had no idea she was.

  It proved that, with the right training, this girl could and would become an amazing submissive. But she wouldn’t be mine. I couldn’t break the rules I had set for myself. Let someone else claim her,
I had other things on my plate.

  Turning back to the monitors, I actively avoided seeking her out. This was my club, and this was a very unpredictable night. New people meant a higher risk of privacy breaches, and conflicts between new and old members. It was my job to make sure this place stayed in tip top shape, and that is what I had planned to do.

  More than an hour had passed without a single incident, when I decided to rejoin the action. I walked out through the inconspicuous white door behind the bar and took a seat, content to just watch the comings and goings before me. It wasn’t long before a figure in white caught my eye, standing with another girl who I vaguely recognized. Next to them stood Master Chase, a long time member and an even longer time friend. Chase had convinced me to spend my inheritance on “The Hunt”, and I was eternally grateful. The club was important to me, no matter how I felt about my own situation.

  The identity of the other woman came back to me. She was Master Chase’s submissive. Polly, I vaguely recalled. Chase was very private and tended to keep his subs to himself. Eventually he would introduce us, but I wouldn’t push. It seemed as if Polly was friends with the girl in white. I really needed to figure out her name.

  Inconspicuously, I headed over to the entry way, walking into the small office in the front where we kept our files as well as the video feed to the front door and back patio. The room was small, and made even smaller by the hulking man sitting in front of the TV. James was in charge of all new members information, as well as an extra set of hands if things got rowdy on nights like tonight. He was an all in one security team, and had been employed with me for five of the six years “The Hunt” had been open.

  “I’m looking for the file of one of the new subs,” I asked James.

  “Which one?” he asked, eyebrows raising in question. In the past few years, I had never asked for a potential member's file. Everyone knew me as the Dom who wouldn’t entertain new members. Chase typically dealt with them.