Fragments alabaster peni.., p.14
Fragments (Alabaster Penitentiary Book 4), page 14
Yea, all that stuff is my fault. I’m definitely the problem.
John Doe’s friend, like so many others—usually only after they’ve been caught—paints me as the villain, because it’s easier than just accepting the truth.
And they say I’m the liar.
I do lie a lot, but at least I’m honest about it. Ha!
My mind is in a fog, but my body is determined as I head back downtown to Club Edge. I’m ready to work, because frankly, I could really use the distraction. Some real pain for my flesh, to pull focus from the internal wretched ache. That’s what this job does for me. That’s why I love it.
Truth be told, Club Edge isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. In fact, it’s the opposite. It’s all darkness; illicit hedonism brought to you by some nameless man of mystery none of us have ever met. Dom knows him, of course, because he runs the place for this silent owner, hiding behind all his money. But nobody else has seen his face, or even heard his name.
He’s only referred to as El Jefe.
Whatever. Doesn’t matter to me. I don’t need the specifics. I just show up each night ready to get torn to shreds, then collect an envelope full of cash at the end of the week. This job fulfills me, sates my need to for release in the form of decent orgasms, and the spectacular pain that I deserve.
Striding in through the back, I’m immediately hit with the booming bass of music from the main club. I make my way through the corridors toward the changing rooms, nodding at bouncers and elaborate security guards, of which we have many. You’d think it would be comforting, but it’s really not. They’re not here to protect us. They’re here to handle things if they get out of control, which has happened on more than one occasion.
This isn’t an upscale sex club, where safety is usually a top priority. It’s upscale because of the clients we serve and how much money we make. And yea, it’s got some nice opulent decor. But Club Edge is designed to serve the client above all else, and they’re rarely penalized for anything, shy of killing one of us.
And even then, it’s not handled the way you’d hope.
I get changed and leave my stuff in my locker, doing a quick bump of molly off my knuckle before heading in the direction of the stairs. I’m almost there when I stop in my tracks.
He’s here. Go figure.
I’m suddenly very twitchy and far too warm, which is probably mostly the drugs. But every time I see Mr. Kade, I’m simultaneously filled with rage and sorrow.
He’s almost fifty, but he’s aging very well. It really grinds my gears…
The least he could do is be balding and wrinkly, for fuck’s sake.
But no. Instead, he’s all tall and broad and gorgeous, still always in his expensive suits. The salt and pepper in his hair turning a little more salt over the years. But he looks damn good…
My chest aches with memories.
I’m watching him from afar as he heads for one of his usual reserved rooms. But my forehead lines when I notice him holding the door for someone. A young man wanders up beside him, and Mr. Kade takes his hand, pulling him along.
So that’s who he has for the night…? I’ve never even seen that kid before.
And frankly, using the term young man to describe this person seems generous. He looks like he’s barely seventeen.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. Of course. That’s his type, after all.
“What the hell are you doing just standing around??” Dom barks, startling me. “You’re supposed to be upstairs. Your client is waiting.”
Despite Dom’s scolding, I can’t take my eyes off the kid with his hand clasped by that of my dad’s former colleague. The man who took my virginity.
“Who the hell is that?” I seethe in their direction as Mr. Kade brings his new toy into a private room.
“That is none of your fucking concern,” Dom replies, grumpy asshole he is. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. He is not your business. He’s not your client, and he never will be. Your client is waiting upstairs. Now, get your shit together and go take care of him.”
Now that Mr. Kade and his little friend are out of sight, I slant my face to glare at Dom. He’s a real self-righteous prick. Always has been, though he was certainly a lot nicer to me a year ago, when I first started. When it was him I was taking care of.
Call it his version of employment training, I guess.
I started at Club Edge as a bartender, quickly moving onto the role of dancer and hospitality specialist, which is Dom’s way of saying someone pretty to flit around the club, flirting with guys and making them feel special. Basically, I was a human hors d’oeuvre, charming current clients and enticing potential new ones. The main course, however, is served in private rooms and the upstairs VIP section, which is where I work now.
I climbed the ranks fast, rising to entrée within barely three months. Mostly because Dom loved fucking me, but also because I’m hot, charming, and down for anything. It was the whole reason I started working here in the first place.
It’s the perfect job for me. Getting paid to fuck, while pissing off my parents as an added bonus.
I will say, though, I loved being a dancer. Having all eyes on me, the captivated gazes of men shimmering ravenous desire. They were desperate for me, and Dom was definitely one of them. He used to shove me into his office or a dark corner somewhere in between my sets, yank my tiny leather shorts down and pump me full of cock with his hand over my mouth.
Good times.
Now, he spends our every interaction scolding me about bullshit, and it’s not surprising. Men get bored pretty quickly. I know I do.
Plus, as fun as it was to be a dancer, what I really wanted was to be added to the menu. Specifically, to get into one of those private rooms with Mr. Kade. To be alone with him again, like when I was fifteen and he’d sneak into my bedroom when no one was home. Or when he’d send me to the penthouse suite he has on reserve at The Plaza, and we’d spend all night giving each other stupefying orgasms.
I know it probably seems super cliché to fall for the person who takes your virginity, but it was out of my control. My obsession with Mr. Kade started as a flicker and grew to a roaring wildfire over the few months we spent meeting up in secret.
Until he dropped me, like an ocean’s worth of water, putting out the inferno we’d become.
At the time, I was highly distraught. The pain of heartbreak wasn’t something I’d ever felt before, and it was insufferable. Excruciating. But naturally, my sadness morphed quickly into anger, and I did what every young, jilted ex-lover tries to do…
Blackmail him back into a relationship with me.
I threatened to tell his family or report him to the police. But he just laughed it off, smug fucking prick he is, and said, “Who would believe you, Warren? You’re a liar.”
And he was right. I fucking hated him for it, but he was.
My entire life, I’ve been getting in trouble for lying, and despite how good I’ve gotten at it, once people find out you’ve lied about one thing, they assume you’re lying about everything.
Trust is nearly impossible to regrow once you’ve chopped it off.
When my blackmail plan failed, I went berserk. That’s also when I discovered how much I loved fucking, and that it was just as good with other people. So I allowed myself to get over Mr. Kade by getting under lots, and lots, and lots of other guys.
But I never forgot about him. How could I? He was the one who showed me who I am.
He was the first man to ever push himself inside me, grab me by the throat, and call me his wicked little slut. He gave me my awakening. And no matter how many other men I used to fill the void, I could never truly let go of that emotionally distant talisman.
Mr. Kade is what brought me into The Edge that day, over a year ago. He’s the reason I’m doing this right now. And yet, I’ve still never been able to get him back.
Releasing a breath, I blink at Dom’s dissatisfied expression, mumbling sarcastically, “Yes, Sir Dominic. Your wish is my command.”
He purses his lips, jaw ticking visibly. “Don’t get cute with me, Ren.”
“Too late.” I show him a cheeky smirk, and the set line of his mouth twitches.
“You know, that new client from last night complained about you,” he rumbles. “He said you were breaking confidentiality.”
“He’s a whiny little bitch,” I mutter, picking at my fingernails. “You know he followed me to my house??”
Dom sighs. “Well, regardless, I can’t have it. Just lock it the fuck up.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a spitting image of Mussolini?” I hold in my chuckles.
He’s clearly not amused.
“Enough.” He glowers. “Get to work. I texted you the assignment for tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “Yea, I saw it.”
“Good.” He smacks me hard on the ass. “Then get the fuck up there before I dock your pay.” Sighing, I wander in the direction of the stairs, stopping when his voice assaults my back. “And Ren… If I catch you lurking around Kade again, we’re going to have a problem. Got it?”
My jaw strains, the rage I’ve been suppressing since the fight with my father earlier heating my blood to a rolling boil. Ignoring his little threat, I storm up the stairs to room seven, where my client is waiting for me.
The room is dark, muffled beats traveling through the floor as I glide inside and close the door. I spot him immediately, sitting on the couch across the room, sipping a drink. He’s wearing a rubber devil mask, which is sufficiently terrifying, but I ignore it, padding over, barefoot and wearing only fishnet stockings, per his request.
I don’t believe I’ve worked with him before, unless he’s a regular who’s choosing to shake things up by being a total weirdo. But the text from Dom specifically noted that he asked for me by name. I can’t help feeling flattered.
The table by the couch is covered in supplies; a sugar bowl of coke, candy dish filled with pills, bottles of booze, feathers, nipple clamps, a few vials of GHB and ketamine, a nine-inch dildo, and what looks to be a plate of exotic fruit.
Alright, then. Looks like we’re gettin’ freaky.
“Hi, Daddy,” I whisper—also, per his request—sidling up to him and sinking onto the couch. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home from work.”
A deep noise rumbles from within his chest, giving me tingles.
Things progress slowly, rather than the fast shoving of my head down into the lap that I’m used to. The mystery man rarely speaks, save for a curt, growly command here and there. I think it’s obvious he’s wearing the mask to hide his identity, meaning he’s probably a politician or something.
He’s sort of slim, and obviously very tall, apparent even when he’s sitting. The mask covers his entire head, so I can’t tell anything else about him. But it really doesn’t matter.
He feeds me pieces of fruit, dark eyes set on my mouth while I suck his fingers. Then I sit on his lap and whisper, “I missed you, Daddy,” while he touches my body all over.
The atmosphere in the room is hot and sticky with fevered lust, and by the time he’s shedding his very expensive jacket, my cock is visibly aching through the fishnets. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, only removing the jacket, vest and tie, unbuttoning his shirt and pants slowly, but keeping them on while I writhe around on his lap, holding my waist so I can grind my leaking erection on his abs.
I’m lost in my thoughts, the fire in my head burning memories with crackling orange. It’s not exactly the same, but all of these older, dominant men only remind me of one person…
The guy who’s downstairs right now with yet another cheap knock-off of fifteen-year-old Ren.
I know he knows that’s what he’s doing. Desperately clinging to the memories of us, just like I’ve been.
The man in the mask tears open my stockings and sits me down on his long cock, my eyes rolling to the heavens in stardust sensation.
And I bounce on him with greedy chase, whining, “Fuck me, Daddy. You’re the only one who fucks my little pussy so good.”
I see him lusting after my cock the whole time, and when he lifts the mask enough to free his mouth, leaning down to swipe my crown with his tongue, I’m fucking flying.
He comes in my ass, then makes me suck him until he’s hard again while he plays with my wet hole. With his dress shirt hanging open, I can help but note one distinguishing mark; a tattoo on his chest…
The sexual game has my body coiled more than usual. I’m swimming in this lush, heady sex, not nearly as painful as I usually need, but still driving me higher and higher. In fact, I think this might be giving me more pleasure than I feel from the pain. And it’s confusing…
Because I deserve hurt, not bliss.
I need to be beaten and choked and ruined. But this is different…
This is the agony of passion.
The masked stranger moves between my legs, fucking me slow, and deep. He puts his hands around my throat, not to punish me, but to own me. He rasps that he wants the dildo, and though I’m not a top at all, I find the notion of fucking him while he fucks me very exciting.
I slide it inside him slowly while he purrs and groans from beneath that stupid rubber mask. The rhythmic rocking of his hips, back on the slick object, then forward, thrusting his bare cock deep in my ass, pushes me over the edge before I’m even ready.
Clenching on him, I come, unexpected and so fucking bright. And he comes with me.
We’re both just coming and crying, and this is so unlike anything I’ve experienced with any other client before, but it’s euphoric. It’s a moment that sets me ablaze…
I’m being held and caressed by the pleasure. A warm embrace. Like it’s cradling me in a way I haven’t felt since the first man who lit me up…
Callum Kade.
Riding the high of such illustrious sex goes on for much longer than I can process.
My body feels weightless. My head is in the clouds.
But I’m awake.
At a time like this, the last thing I want to do is go home. But I have to. It’s calling me… That Upper East Side prison housing terrible memories like inmates.
I’m cleaned up and ready to leave the club earlier than usual, thanks to my mysterious client, who shall henceforth be referred to as Mask Daddy.
I wander outside, flipping off the black Town Car parked along the curb; the driver my parents hired to follow me around everywhere, claiming it’s for my convenience and safety, though no one believes that. They’re spying on me, and I find it funny.
God only knows how much money they’ve spent paying this ding dong to sit outside the same place for a year. What idiots.
The entire subway ride back uptown, I’m thinking about the sex tonight, with Mask Daddy. I have to squeeze my thighs together to trap my erection from growing visible at the memories.
Tonight was so much better than it’s been with any of my regulars over the last year. For once, I’m swollen and achy, not from pain… from pleasure. And I’m buzzing on the notion that maybe the hurt in sex doesn’t always need to be from physical abuse.
It can hurt just as good when your body throbs greedily for a deep, satisfying climax.
Maybe that’s just how it feels when you connect… When your bodies click together, like fated stars in a constellation.
I believed I was in love with Callum Kade… And what’s love if not complete and total obsession, right? But he only wanted me for what he could take from me, like all of the men I’ve been with since him—until tonight.
Hell, even my parents. That’s why they’ve hated me my entire life… Because I’m not benefiting them.
Callum Kade reached into my brain and began twisting wires together like he was hot-wiring a car. It wasn’t love, I know that now. It was the one thing that drives us even more than love, or sex ever could.
Power.
That’s what I want right now, that’s what I need to prove to them all that I have over them. I shouldn’t be chasing Callum Kade…
I should be setting him free.
Strolling up our block, I pause in front of the house, remembering my father’s words earlier, before I left.
Burn you to the ground…
I pull a pack of cigarettes out of my bag, sticking one between my lips and striking the match. Yellowish orange flickers, dancing before my eyes. Hypnotizing me.
I watch it burn, the flame inching toward my fingers.
Burned at the stake, huh?
The match goes out. So I strike another, lighting my cigarette. I stand on the curb, smoking and staring.
Burn…
I should set them free, too.
Fire has a way of wiping things clean. It’s like a fresh start… And my parents are in need of some freshening for the stale world in which they live.
Boring rich assholes… What do they know about life, and love… Sex and pain. They exist in a mirage.
Watch it burn…
Just like him, they’ll never want me, no matter what I do. I could slice my wrists open and bleed out in front of them, and they’d just stare down at me like, “Who’s going to clean up this mess??”
Give in, Warren.
Watch it burn.
In my mind, an image of flames flicker… A giant, scorching inferno.
The thought tickles the pit of my stomach, like the way it feels to be on my knees with a strange man’s skin slapping against mine. Like the way it feels when I watch droplets of my blood trickling out.
Release it…
Set it free.
Burn it down.
I’m in a trance, my mind buzzing in a hypnotic state as I drop my cigarette and wander slowly up the walkway, around to the back. On the patio, I find two cans of kerosene in the storage shed.
Mhm… This’ll work.
The house is dark and silent inside. The staff has gone home for the day, and my parents are likely deep in their liquor and Ambien comas.
Tiptoeing through each room, I leave a trail of pungent fumes in my wake, soaking kerosene into our expensive carpets and curtains, on the furniture. Upstairs, I peek into my bedroom. And though it’s been a long time, I can still see that first night, like billows of smoke in a clear sky…
