Kink Club owner, Zachary Coles would openly tell you commitment and monogamy are for fools and hedonism was the only game he subscribed too.
That was until he agreed to help out his long-time friend, Max Jenson and offer his son, Ellis a summer job...
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~ ~ Zack ~ ~
Killing time, I stomped around my club and walked into the open dungeon soaking in the scenes... with one scene in particular catching my attention.
Don't do it, don't do it...
But did I ever listen to that whispering voice warning me off?
No.
And like the fucking moron I was, I walked over the scene, folded my arms over my chest. I couldn't the sub's face but I recognised the tattoo over his left shoulder and his ass of course because it wasn't that long ago I'd fucked it my office after watching him jerk off in the bathroom giving him less than a minute to accomplish the task.
And tonight, he was having the same problem that drew my attention last time—he wasn't getting what he needed.
My eyes drifted to the Dom. He looked familiar but still new to this, or at least I hoped he was new because he was doing a piss-poor job at reading his sub. He was hitting hard enough to thud but not nearly enough to leave a mark. The sub's body was rigid, but not from shock or pain.
"What's your colour, sub?" the Dom questioned.
"Green, Sir," the submissive said with a bored monotone drawl that would've been obvious to a child.
"You want more?" the Dom asked.
"Yes, Sir," he replied, with no inflection in his tone.
The Dom swung the tails again and again, over the man's ass, the backs of his thighs. There was no power in his swing, no effort to inflict pain whatsoever. He might as well fucking tickle him.
"Tell me when you've had enough," the Dom told the sub.
Who the hell was this asshole and where did he think he was?
Dominants didn't ask permission, they set up the structure beforehand, had a plan and an end goal. A good Dominant didn't ask them what they wanted. A good Dominant merely gave it to them because that was what they needed.
Yeah, like you did with Sasha, prick!
Three weeks. Three fucking weeks and just one blink and the memory of that night was back.
Bad fucking decisions.
The repercussions.
The hurt.
I'd made her cry, although she hadn't cried in front of me, I had stood outside the bathroom with my hand whitening as I gripped the handle with her on the other side washing away those tears.
Pity no amount of water couldn't wash away my sins or regret.
I briefly closed my eyes, despising myself for the choices I'd made and I couldn't blame anyone for this fuck up or shift the guilt that had settled on more than my body, it had burrowed its way inside and blackened my mood and was slowly eating away at my sanity.
