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CHAPTER ELEVEN

SASHA

All the time Isaac ranted about wanting to bring me to this club, I was expecting it to be like the places that Trevor used to take me. In our time together, we frequented many private dungeons. All of which looked a lot like low-budget BDSM porn sets with dark, dingy basements. Most with very questionable hygienic standards, or with a complete lack of standards based upon that one time Trevor tried to share me on some clearly soiled sheets.

The punishment I received was well worth not kneeling in some unknown guy’s cum or having my face pressed into someone else’s wet spot.

This place, though, is nothing like those dungeons. I never could have imagined that it would be like this. Everything about the lounge we’re walking through is meticulous and opulent. The white marble floors are so spotless you could eat from them, and every chair is perfectly placed. Even the people match the atmosphere; everyone is dressed in well-fitted suits and cocktail dresses.

Suddenly feeling out of place, I glance down at the strappy, backless dress that Isaac insisted I wear tonight. My cleavage spills from the deep, swooping neckline of the almost-sheer black fabric. The hemline is so short that this dress should come with a complimentary Brazilian wax. Eyes keep falling to the still pink scars on my well-visible upper thigh, and the choice of this piece of fabric posing as a dress becomes obvious. Isaac wants to show me off to everyone.

Isaac presses his hand to the bare skin of my tailbone, and I startle at the unexpected touch. “You’re sweating. Are you nervous, beautiful?” Isaac asks, oblivious— or ignorant —to the fact I’m clearly running a fever. Without waiting for a response, he leads me through the crowd toward the bar. “Maybe we should get you a drink to loosen you up a bit.”

Pinning me between him and the bar, Isaac flags down the bartender. “Whiskey. Four doubles. Neat.”

“I’m sorry, sir. We have drink limits. Two per patron and one at a time. Best I can do is a double for each of you,” the bartender informs us as he shakes his head. Considering the handful of cold-and-flu medicine I took to make it through tonight, I don’t really want a drink. Let alone two of them. Not that I would tell Isaac no.

“Fine,” Isaac slides fifty dollars across the white marble bar with his Club Treskilion card. “Just don’t be a stingy pour.”

Collecting the money, the bartender tucks it into his pocket before responding, “I will be sure to give you the full two ounces, sir.” I fight back my snicker and am happy that my back is to Isaac so he can’t see the amusement I can’t keep from spreading across my face. The bartender returns a moment later with two glasses and slides them across the bar before returning Isaac’s card.

“To showing the best of Manhattan what a perfect girl you are for me.” Isaac raises his glass and taps it against mine, sloshing the amber liquid in it. I mirror the small sip he takes from his glass, swallowing less than a shot, but his displeased eyes quickly tell me it’s not enough. “Drink up. Our room will be ready in a few minutes, and you are too tense.”

Lifting the glass, I swallow the rest of the warm, spicy liquid. A drop rolls over my chin as it burns down my throat. Placing a warm, wet kiss against my jaw, Isaac collects the droplet before grabbing his glass and leading me from the bar. We walk down a long black hallway, and Isaac hands me his glass. “Finish this for me, beautiful. I’m definitely more of a tequila man.”

Knowing I can’t handle this much alcohol in this short amount of time, I contemplate disobeying him or accidentally spilling the remaining shot from the glass in my hand. Thinking better of either of them— and the punishment I know would ensue— I lift the glass to my lips and swallow the shot.

After ushering me through the black decor of this side of the club, Isaac leads me to a hall at the far side. “Eyes down,” he commands when we reach the roped entrance. “You are here to be watched, not to watch.”

Dipping my head to honor his request, I stare at the back of his shoes as he walks through the crowded hallway. Stealing a glimpse as we pass a window, my eyes are drawn to the pleasure-filled face of a woman on the receiving end of a paddle. I’m so infatuated with her, I can’t seem to stop staring as we pass, forcing me to lift my head to watch her take another strike.

Not once have I felt a glimmer of the euphoria on her face as any of the men I’ve played with have paddled me.

“This is our room.” Isaac’s voice ticks with excitement, and I drop my gaze back to the floor before he turns to find me disobeying him. He swipes his key card over the door handle, and the lock clicks open, granting us entry. I step into the room as Isaac pushes open the door, and I am in awe of how pristine it is. Right down to the starched sheets.

Decorative hooks adorn the entire wall. Hanging from them is every striking toy you could imagine. All of which I have ample experience with. Some I wish I hadn’t . The room houses very little furniture—the freshly made bed, a leather couch, and a bondage bench similar to the one Isaac keeps in my punishment room.

Stepping behind me, Isaac pulls the thin strand of ribbon holding my tiny dress in place. It flutters to the floor, leaving me bare before the small crowd. The cold air wafts over my clammy body, chilling me to the core. Parting my lips to plead with Isaac to take me home, I find myself immediately silenced from the shock of him shoving a silicone gag into my mouth. Pressing my tongue against it, I try to shove it from my mouth as he wedges it behind my teeth and pumps the bulb to inflate it. And just like that, I can’t talk back . Or draw in a solid breath.

“On the bench. Ass up.” Feeling lightheaded, I hesitate to move. While I can barely keep my eyes open, I know Isaac is staring at me with disapproving annoyance. He steps close and tenderly cups my face before pushing the hair from my sweaty temple. He tucks it behind my ear as he leans close and darkly whispers, “I know you didn’t want to come tonight, but if you’re going to act like a disobedient brat, I’m going to be forced to treat you like one. Now, get your ass on the fucking bench.”

Isaac wastes no time. The moment I’m secured to the bench, the crack of the paddle striking my backside echoes around the small room.