Chapter One

Night Life

“I need you to do me, Spence. Do me good.”

Spencer gazed at me through a cloud of smoke, his cigarette oh-so-casually poised between two fingers. He exhaled and smiled, knowing I never stood for some poseur dom act. But Spencer had a rule that I had to agree to our ritual negotiation. I didn’t want to; I wanted to pretend I couldn’t hear it over the pounding techno music throughout the club. But, I still heard him, loud and clear.

“Absolute trust, R.J.,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes raped me, perhaps seeking a hidden layer under my simple answer. Or perhaps he just admired my tense body. Gone was the long lab coat that hid my body most of the day, replaced by one of leather flung over my shoulder. My dark turtleneck and slacks gave him a good barometer of my figure, as if he needed it, given all the times I had submitted to him before, all the times I felt his whip tanning my backside, while at the same time inflaming my pussy, replacing my work stress with a burning need that only a master’s natural tool could satisfy. Spencer was a good dom, and I would get rid of my stress tonight, but only as a sidelight to my submission. He took what he wanted and anything else I got was secondary. That was alright, there were always plenty of leftovers that I eagerly accepted.

“Okay, then,” he said. Spencer stubbed out the cigarette in a bar ashtray and motioned for me to follow him across the wide play floor. He led me past all the cages, stocks and pillories, some of them occupied by a moaning submissive. One reached out with a free hand through cage bars to Spencer, perhaps in supplication to end her sweet misery, or perhaps just begging for attention from a master. Spencer unhitched a quirt from his belt and, without breaking stride, brought it down across the woman’s open palm. She yelped and quickly drew the hand back inside.

I couldn’t help but smile myself. Serves her right, daring to beg for a master’s mercy. Serves her right.

At the end of a short hallway Spencer held a red door open for me. I entered a small room with which I was quite familiar.

Black, soundproofed walls deadened the irritating techno crap while the unmistakable smell of leather assailed my nostrils. A modified Spanish chair was set in the back, left corner while a suspension bar hung in the right. No surprises, just like it had been the last time I was here. And the time before that. But then, I heard something I’d never heard before.

The door locked.

I spun around, just in time to witness Spencer hang the pewter key under his opened neck, dark shirt. A cold knot formed in my stomach. Never before had the door been locked. It was against the house rules, kind of like a safety valve. If a scene went bad the sub always had the option of ending it. She’d press a panic button on a small, hand held transmitter. A silent safeword. A few seconds later the club bouncer would come barging in to her rescue. But then Spencer also removed the battery from the transmitter he was supposed to give me.

“What’re you doing?” I demanded.

Spencer took down a single-tail whip from the toy wall on his left. He coiled it in his hand, like a snake ready to strike. “Strip.”

“Now hang on-”

Th