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The storm rages even harder as I pull out of the garage in my sleek black i8. Rain fiercely pelts the windshield of the two-door sports car, and lightning streaks across the dark sky. It’s an ominous omen of the night to come. The destroyer is on his way to find his next plaything or things, depending on how the evening goes, and he’s thirsty for some fun.

The gates close behind me as I pull from the property and head north towards I-87. Looking back in my rearview mirror the house, illuminated only by the lightening, looks like something from a horror flick, all big and empty, inhabited only by the canines that prowl quietly through the dark. Just the way I like it.

“Le Chateaux” is busy when I arrive and hand over my keys to the black vested valet. He takes them with a silent nod, handing me a little slip of paper for later when it’s time to leave. I don’t need it. Everyone here knows the car, and the masked man it belongs to. I straighten out my clothes, close the single button on my jacket, and head to the main entrance, passing by a gaggle of people waiting to get in. VIP’s get instant access and I pay a good yearly membership fee for that status.

“Good evening, Sir.” Greets the young man with shaggy blonde hair at the door as he sweeps it open for me and steps back, his eyes never raising from their downward position.

“Good boy.” I praise him, patting the top of his submissive head as I pass by. “I’ll tell your mistress she’s trained you well.”

“Thank you, Sir.” He all but purrs as the door closes behind me, welcoming me into my favorite place to be, besides my basement.

The atmosphere in the grand front room is busy, with people in all states of fancy dress and undress mingling with glasses of fine liquor and wine in their hands. The overhead lighting is dim, with red accent LEDs adorning the edges of the walls and around the large bar on the right. Dark woods and deep reds decorate the large room, giving it an opulent and mysterious feel.

I grab a glass of scotch from the bar keep in a black vest and spiked dog collar before making my way through the crowd. Everyone has their masquerade masks in place, yet I can still recognize some of the regulars, as they do me. Silent nods of greeting and approval are passed between us as I head towards the event rooms.

I’m not sure exactly what I’m thirsting for tonight, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out as I watch the men and women play through the glass windows to each space.

The hallways are less crowded, with the occasional couples or threesomes playing in the darkened corners, and some singles like me watching through the windows lined up on both sides of the passageway. Sounds of sex fill the air around me, growing louder the deeper I go into the club. Moans, pants, and screams filter through the glass, making my cock twitch in my pants.

I love the sounds women make when intense pain and pleasure mix together. It’s a concoction of lust, injury, and the desire for more that makes me salivate like a rabid dog. The ones I can hear coming from the last room on the left have my ears pricked and the little hairs on the back of my neck on end. They’re fucking beautiful.

The voice is so perfectly sweet, the way it cries out in pain. Like a tinkling little bell that’s being shook hard. It’s demure, but loud, if you know what I mean, and I can hear the agony laced in it. It’s calling out for help, but no one will come, not unless a safe word is spoken and from the sound of it, she’s far from needing it. She’s loving every moment of her torture.

Stopping in front of the window, looking in, I can almost smell her arousal as the sight of her beauty snatches my goddamned breath away.

Bent over a padded sawhorse is the epitome of sexual perfection. The vision of her flaming red hair, shapely legs with thick thighs, round ample ass, narrow waist, and dainty little hands gripping empty air has my heart hammering and my dick thumping with a pulse of its own. Her large tits hanging over the side of the bench, swaying with her panting breath complete the gorgeous package.

Holy fuck!

Freckles scatter across most of her exposed flesh, but the ones that draw my attention are just below her stormy grey eyes, ones that cry so beautifully with each strike of the cane across her reddened and welted backside. It would be so much fun to play connect the dots with my tongue across them, licking up her tears, tasting her saltiness and pain.

“Who are you, you perfect little thing?” I ask quietly, leaning forward, resting my forehead on the glass.

I study her hourglass body, and the way it responds to her beating, not completely ignoring the masked man who’s caning her. His form is atrocious. He’s at risk of hurting her for real if he doesn’t correct the way he brings that wooden stick across her pale flesh. Yet the precious thing takes it all, crying out loudly, screaming in agony, yet biting her bottom lip, restraining herself from calling out the one word or phrase that could end all of it instantly.

“Such a good girl.” I purr under my breath, my hands finding the glass, almost stroking it under my fingertips as if I were reaching through it and caressing her.

Everything around me in the hallway has faded away. I’m alone in the busy club, oblivious to all other sights, sounds, smells, and feelings. She’s pulled me in, and I may as well be getting sucked into a black hole, because that’s how it seems. Nothing exists except her and the tears dripping off her flushed cheeks.

“I bet they taste so good.”

A husky voice comes from behind me, laced with sexual tension and authority. “Why don’t you go in and find out?”

“Samantha.” I greet the owner of the club without turning around to look at her.

I know what she looks like, both inside and out. She’s a beautiful woman, with long black hair and piercing green eyes. A goddess really, but not my type for anything more than a fun fuck on a dry night. She’s too much like me, a deviant, a devil, a monster masquerading as a normal person. People like us don’t mix together well, not for the long term. We eventually end up eating each other up and spitting out the pieces.

“She’s beautiful isn’t she? So young and fresh. A new piece of meat for the boys.”

“She one of yours?” I ask, watching the pretty little thing writhe across the sawhorse, her ass jiggling so perfectly with each strike of the cane.

“Sadly, no.” She sighs, leaning her tall frame made even taller with her heels against me, her arms wrapping around my waist, her tits pressing up against my back. “I made her an offer, but she declined. Something about feeling like a whore.”

“She isn’t one?”

I’m surprised to hear that the sweet little thing would turn down an offer from Samantha. Any woman in this club would jump at the chance to be employed by the most elite mistress on the East coast. To have a job here at “Le Chateaux” would set her up for life with the type of money she could make. The men here, especially the ones like me, have very specific tastes, and we pay very well for the obedient women who allow us to have our kind of fun.

“A whore? Probably. Look at the way she takes that kind of pain. It’s obviously not her first time.”

“But it’s her first time here? Is that her Dom she’s with?”

Most women come here with a man, it’s very rare that one comes to play all by herself. Even though the club is perfectly safe and all play is monitored by Sam and her staff, women tend to feel more at ease when accompanied by a dominant that they already know and trust.

“Nope. She’s solo. I matched them up. Did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.”

Watching the downward swing of the dominant’s arm as he brings the cane across the ginger’s backside again, I wince then roll my eyes, finally turning my head so that the woman leaning on me can see my lack of amusement at her words.

“What?” She asks, feigning innocence and obliviousness to the brutality before us.

“He’s going to hurt her for real. Look at the slices in her skin. She’s bleeding and he hasn’t stopped to check on her.” I say, feeling myself becoming concerned for the little thing bent over the bench, her hands flexing and relaxing between each whipping.

Concern, it’s a new feeling for me. I never worry about the pain that my playthings are in. In fact, I revel in it. I beat mercilessly, and I fuck without abandon. I kill with no remorse, and I dispose of bodies like they’re trash, because that’s what they are to me when I’m done with them. But standing here, looking through the glass, hearing her screams that at first sounded like music, I’m getting angry at how they have morphed into something that pulls at the organ that barely beats in my chest.

The single moment that I look away to peer back at Samantha brings a shrill yelp from the room in front of me, then the sound of utter agony. Whipping my head back around, I look into the fancy playroom, seeing the precious creature slumped over, her head hung low, her body slack. Her mouth is now open in a silent scream, and her legs dangle lifelessly. The poor thing gave her last to the man wielding the thin wooden implement, and he’s raising his arm again.

Anger, no, not anger, rage bubbles up in me. She’s unconscious, and he’s about to hit her again. My nerves twitch, my hands clenching into fists at my sides, and my mind battles with my body. I know better than to storm in there, it’s not professional, nor like me, but I can’t stand here and watch it anymore.

“Where are you going?” Samantha barks out as I push her off me and reach for the knob of the door.

“Where the fuck do you think?” I snap at her, grabbing the knob so hard that my knuckles turn white, and it creaks in my grasp, but doesn’t turn.

“H, Don’t do it.” She calls out to me as I thrust my shoulder into the door, breaking the lock with one solid hit. “H!”

Ignoring the head mistress behind me as she stomps her booted foot on the carpet floor, I throw the door open and storm into the room.

“What the fuck?” The man behind the white mask yelps out as I cross the threshold and lunge at him.

The cane in his hand whips out towards me in a reflex that’s just sealed his fate. He may be a tough guy whipping a small woman, but to turn that thing on me, that’s a mistake. I don’t care that I barged in and startled him. He should be more aware of his surroundings. A good dominant always has his eyes and ears open, ready for anything, to protect the submissive before himself.

Catching the thin rod in my hand, I grab it tightly and pull, making him stumble forward towards me. His feet trip amongst themselves, and he lands against my chest with a surprised “oomph”, his mask sliding up onto his forehead, revealing his face to me.

He's a regular here, and I recognize him immediately. The scar across his cheek from an altercation with another member about a year ago brings back the memories of the night I watched him take blow after blow from the other man’s fists after he threw inappropriate words at the guy’s pet. This dude is a menace, and now he’s gone too far.

The girl hanging lifelessly over the bench may not be mine, but she’s no one else’s either, and there is no one here to make sure she’s safe from assholes like him. I may not be the knight in shining armor type, but something in the precious little thing has awoken a monster in me that hasn’t reared his ugly head since the night I laid hands on my father for what he did to my mother.

“You think it’s fun to hurt her? To make her bleed? To beat her unconscious?” I snarl in his ear as I wrap my arm around his head, holding him to my chest so tightly that even with his arms swinging and his feet pushing into the floor for leverage, he has nowhere to go.

The cane rattles as it hits the hardwood floor and rolls away, now becoming nothing more than a stick instead of an implement of torture. He growls and thrashes, bucking against me, the bulge in his tailored jeans rubbing against me as he fights uselessly for his release.

“Fuck man, let me go.” He grunts, smacking at me, his hand reaching for my mask.

“You don’t want to do that.” I say calmly as he struggles harder.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not going to like who you find.”