Chapter 3
Sam froze. Not just her body but her mind too. All she can focus on are those two piercing orbs of electric blue stare straight into her. She felt like a naive little bunny gazing wide in shock at bright blank headlights. Were she some ‘fierce’ chick on a film, she probably would have grabbed the conveniently placed hot guy next to her; French kissed him in slow motion and then stuck her middle finger up at her ‘mate’. Unfortunately for Sam she can’t even force herself to snap out of his trance to move her arms let alone grab some dude. Sam can feel her heart pound louder and louder as the seconds seem to drag into minutes.
Finally, by some miraculous force of nature, her eyes draw away from his and briefly flicker elsewhere-this being right next to him. Once again, her mind freezes. Her eyes instinctively zone in on his lightly placed hand at the lower back of some slim, pretty red-head. Anger rushes through Sam, not because it’s he’s her mate. But because he claimed to be the one interested in her-the one harassing her with random phone calls (okay, one, but still), he’s the one all into the whole ‘soul-mate’ business and then he dares to be playing around with other women?! Sam can’t believe him.
But she reminds herself that he is a male. Of course, he wouldn’t be serious about all this mate bullshit, of course he’d play around, he is after all just another guy dick and Sam should have expected this. After all, only dicks seem to take an interest in her. Well, no more, argues Sam. This time, she won’t give into some guy claiming her to be ‘the one’. She is so through with all that crap.
“Sammie? Earth to Sam! Earth to Sam! Come in Sam-”
“Cut it out Hanna,” Sam snaps irritated.
“Woah, okay, sorry. Jeez, who put a stick up your ass?” mutters Hanna, dejectedly. She wonders what’s got Sam all worked up. Just a few minutes ago, when they’d been having drinks, Sam had been her true self. The wonderful, fun, giggly woman. Not the workaholic, uptight bitch she usually is.
Sam shakes her head and glances at Hanna apologetically.
“Sorry, Han...I just...It’s nothing. What’s up? I think I’m going to take a break, all this dancing is tiring me out,” smiles Sam trying to ignore the laser gaze still focused on her.
“Okay, well that’s good, because...I think we should hit up another club,” grins Hanna, walking with Sam back to the bar of the club.
“Sure, which one?” asks Sam with a shrug.
“Um...a special one,” wickedly smirks Hanna and just from that devious smile, Sam knows that night has only just begun.
“No,” she flatly refuses.
“Aw, come on Sam! Please?! Look it’s kinda incredible I’ve managed to score these two guest passes and I can’t just let it go to waste-see! The expiry date’s nearly up!-”
“Take someone else with you. I am not-let me repeat this, NOT- going in there-”
“But Sam! Please? No one else will go with me! Please? Please, Sam, for me?”
“Hanna...” mutters Sam, eyebrows scrunching in nervousness as she finds her resolve dissolving from her friend’s pleading.
“Come on Sammie. Live on the wild side for once,” continues Hanna encouraging Sam.
“...Ugh! Fine! I so hate you!” sighs Sam rolling her eyes and slumping her shoulders in defeat. She never can refuse those she loves.
“Yay! And you know, after this, you’ll love me forever!” cries Hanna with enthusiasm, grasping Sam’s bicep and all but dragging her into the club.
“I doubt it,” mumbles Sam under her breath as she glares at the sign proclaiming ‘Carter BDSM Club’, while she gets pulled through the doors by her supposed friend.
“Have you ladies read the rules and agreement policy we have?” asks the receptionist, who brings forth a booklet and two forms for them to sign.
Just as Sam goes to say ‘no’ and meticulously scan the document, Hanna cuts in with a chirpy ‘yes’.
Hanna snatches a pen from the table and signs her name with a flourish; Sam on the other hand, eyes the signature hesitantly. Like with anything, signing up for something without understanding it, always ends in disaster, and Sam has a feeling that this is one of those occasions where she should really read the damn policy.
“Sam...it’s fine,” hisses Hanna under her breath with a jab of her elbow into Sam’s side. Although unsure, with a sigh Sam picks up the pen and signs along the dotted line.
“Great! Well, here are your guest collars, and enjoy yourselves tonight. Entertainment starts at midnight but I’m sure, you’ll both have your partners by then,” smiles the woman placing two velvet black collars, embroidered with ‘guest’ on them.
Hanna picks one up in glee and as if it’s a golden necklace, she carefully fastens it around her neck and beams with joy. Sam eyes her wearily and then frowns. How humiliating. Wearing a collar? No thanks.
“Sammie stop being such a baby, just put it on.”
“No, this is ridiculous. You can’t seriously expect me to wear a collar can you?” spits Sam in disgust. She’s not some fucking pet to be collared and neutered.
“Sam, quit it. If you don’t put it on you’ll get kicked out,” argues back Hanna.
Sam’s eyes light up at that only to have Hanna narrow her eyes and point at the collar on the table. Grudgingly Sam picks up the soft ornament and unbuckles it. Wrapping it around her neck, she fastens it just so it fits snugly and as strange as it seems, she realises with a start that she quite enjoys having to wear it. There’s just something so possessive and submissive about it, that Sam can hardly remember why she was complaining wearing it in the first place.
Thankfully, Hanna doesn’t notice Sam’s mini-revelation and instead bubbles with enthusiasm.
“Thank you! Now let’s go!”
Sam’s not sure what she’d been expecting; probably some dingy, darkened, shady room with some old fat men in sipping whiskey with young, scantily dressed women grinding on their laps. It certainly hadn’t been the lively atmosphere that she was met with. The lighting although fairly low didn’t make the place seem dingy at all. There were several podiums dotted around the outskirts that had long, shiny poles on, with spotlights on some of the dancers. A stage goes across one side, low enough to easily step onto but prominent enough to be noticed. Plush couches and arm chairs are also strategically dotted around, with many of them occupied by both men and women alike. Some are sipping drinks, while others chat quietly. Almost all of them however, has someone either in their lap or sat on the floor bedside their feet. These people, Sam notes with surprise, are barely dressed and have collars similar to the one she has to wear around their necks, expect theirs are a burgundy shade and seems to have something else written across them.
“Let’s go get a drink, Sam,” suggests Hanna, strutting up to the bar and ordering drinks from the bare-chested male.
“So...what are we meant to do here, Han?” whispers Sam lowly. There certainly wasn’t a dance floor and not at all much dancing going on-except for the professionals on the poles.
“Find someone and have some fun,” grins back Hanna taking a sip of her drink. She swivels around and scans for a potential partner, whiles Sam gives a small growl of annoyance and turns in her chair too.
“Hanna, seriously, what are we meant to do here?” frowns Sam. She has a pretty good idea of what Hanna means by ‘fun’ but...surely not.
“Well Sammie. I am going to find me a male Dom and he is going to take me to one of his BDSM rooms where we shall have some fun. You can join us if you want-I’m cool with it if you are-”
“Hanna! I’m not-I’m not having sex with anyone tonight!” cries Sam in outrage. Dear God, she really should have high-tailed it out of here the second she saw the sign.
“What?! Why not? How long has it been for you anyway? Have you seen the guys in here? I swear they’ll give you a good time,” promises Hanna.
“Why did you even bother inviting me here? Could you not just have come by yourself? Or taken one of your more...outgoing friend?” sighs Sam.
“No, because you need this. I know you do? I get that BDSM isn’t everyone’s thing, but don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. And you should be thanking me! You have no idea how hard it is getting a guest pass for here!”
“Who’s says I need this Hanna?! Just because you’re a sex-maniac doesn’t mean I am!” spits back Sam. As soon as the words leave her lips she regrets them.
“Hanna-I don’t-” she starts seeing Hanna’s face drop and recoil at the stinging blow.
“Whatever, Sam. You know what, if you want to stay fine, if you don’t then that’s fine as well, I don’t even care anymore. I was just trying to help. I just wanted to let you experience a new kind of pleasure, something I enjoy. I’m sorry for doing that. I’m sorry for dragging you here. Do whatever you want, I don’t even care anymore,” flatly replies Hanna placing her empty glass on the counter and standing up.
“Han, wait-” calls Sam lightly grasping her wrist as she starts to walk away.
“Let go Sam. I’m going to go have some fun, even if you won’t,” she states shaking free from her friend’s hold and making her way to a seemingly free male Dom.
Sam groans quietly to herself and shoots back the alcohol. Signalling for another, she nurses the drink whilst contemplating Hanna’s parting words. She does have fun...doesn’t she? Does she? Sam bites on her lip, trying to remember the last time she felt truly carefree, unburdened...happy. 8 years ago, probably, she recollects: The day when she finally packed up and left at 18. That was probably the last time, she felt truly happy. And when the high of freedom wore off, she was left with loneliness...still is. Dammit. Hanna’s right. She doesn’t have fun. Can’t. Or is it, won’t?
“Now, why does a pretty girl like you look like you’ve the world upon your shoulders?” cuts in the bartender smiling softly at her. He’d been watching for a while now, inconspicuously of course, and had seen the troubled frown scarred across her lips.
Sam quirks her eyebrows-‘pretty’- her?
“I do not. I’m fine,” she responds in a clean cut tone.
The bartender’s grin broadens, “really? Then shouldn’t you be out there having fun?”
A burning of irritation soars through Sam. Why is everyone saying that?! Can’t she just sit in peace for one damned minute? What’s so wrong about being by herself?
“Should I, now?” she asks right back at him.
“No, I suppose you don’t have to be. It’s just this is a BDSM club, not exactly a bar,” he easily says, shrugging off the matter and defending himself.
“I know...It wasn’t my idea. I kind of got dragged into it,” sighs Sam running a hand through her wild curls. The bartender’s eyes flicker to her incredible hair and a brief flash of lust goes through him as he imagines fisting that beautiful bush whilst slamming into her from behind. Shaking the fantasy from his head he grins broadly at her.
“I see. Well, since you got ‘dragged into it’, why not make the best of it? Unless, you’re not into BDSM.”
Sam’s cheeks tinge a faint red and as much as she tries to remain nonchalant, the embarrassment shows through clear as crystal.
“Oh...you’re a newbie,” teases the bartender.
“What? No-I never said that!” protests Sam not liking the belittling.
“You didn’t have to.”
“You know what? I’ve decided I don’t like you very much,” grumbles Sam with a small pout.
He bursts into laughter and as his laughter dies down he waggles his index finger in signal for her to lean closer. Curious Sam does so.
“That’s okay. I know plenty of ways to make you like me,” he whispers with a boyish smirk.
Sam sits back and narrows her eyes at him.
“I really don’t like you now,” she states again making him throw his head back and laugh. Sam can’t help the flickering of a smile on the edges of her lips from that. Okay, so maybe she’d lied. Maybe she does like him. Her eyes flicker down from his black dickey bow around his neck, to the muscular, smooth plains of his chest and she wonders what it’d be like to take him up on his offer- to take him home with her tonight and make full use of her double bed.
The bartender glances across and seeing a patron asking for a drink, he shoots Sam a hopeless smile.
“I got to get back to work, but go and enjoy yourself,” he tells her, leaving with the parting advice.
Sam glances across the bar at him serving up the drinks and making polite conversation. She sighs again and contemplates whether she should take his advice. She looks around the bar, her eyes focusing once on a couple. The male is sat on the couch, the top of his trousers undone as a woman sucks at his hard d*ck. Sam’s eyes go wide in fascination as she sees him grasp the woman’s head with both hands and seemingly force her down further onto him. He waits for a few minutes before he releases slightly, allowing her to throw her head back and gasp for breath, right before he guides her to him again. Outrage and anger fizzles through Sam at seeing such morbid behaviour but stronger than that is the fire of need. A sizzling flame of desire and lust flickers through her system with a warm urge to seek that out- to go and find a strong male to dominant over her, take what he wants from her and take it brutally.
NO! Screams Sam mentally. She immediately drowns the fire within her and asks herself why she would want that. After everything, why would she want to lose her control? Why would she want to be dominated, want to be suppressed, want to be taken advantage of...again? Has she still not learnt her lesson? Men are pigs.
With that, Sam decides she can’t stand here any longer-she’ll go crazy with lust. And grow weak. And give into those demons. She can’t do that-mustn’t.
Standing up, Sam sends Hanna a text telling her she’s going home, even though that text is probably not even going to be read until tomorrow. Then as she nears the exit doors she searches her phone for a cab number because as strong as she likes herself as, she’s not an idiot. There’s no way, she’ll walk the dark streets by herself dressed so scantily; even if she does know self-defence how is she going to kick butt in a tiny dress and high heels?
Just as she’s about to call the company, she overhears the growl of an angry male and whimper of his female partner. They’re standing right across from her and already Sam finds herself frowning from their position. He’s young, well built and dressed in black trousers, black shirt with a thick bracelet around his wrist that has the writing ‘Dominant’ on it. Although his arms aren’t caging her in, Sam can see he intimidates the woman. The woman too is young and beautiful especially, dressed in a silky red bustier, black stocking, a red thong and a burgundy collar around her neck with ‘Submissive’ embroidered on it.
“Sir, I’m sorry,” she whimpers, biting her lip.
“That’s just not good enough, M. That’s just not good enough.-”
“Please, Sir!” she cries.
“Do not interrupt me, M,” he evenly grits out.
“Sorry Sir.”
“Again not good enough. You are clearly not learning your lessons by me telling you. The next step of me punishing you will have to be spanks and whips,” he states.
Sam gasps with shock. That is just pure torture. He can’t whip her!
“Sir...no, please,” whispers the girl with the same seeming shock as Sam.
“Don’t bother pleading M, my mind is not changing,” he coldly replies.
“Sir, no, please, no-”
My God, Sam thinks, she can’t just stand there and do nothing while a woman is being harassed by a stronger male.
“Excuse me, are you okay?” she asks the woman trying to be as polite as possible with the anger flowing through her.
“We’re fine, thank you,” replies the man not even glancing from his prey to Sam. Irritation laces into the anger bubbling in Sam.
“That’s all very well, but I wasn’t speaking to you,” she grits out. He turns his head this time and surprise fills his eyes. As he sees Sam’s eyes are focused on his Sub, he too gazes at her.
“Are you okay? Is he harassing you?” she asks the girl attentively.
Her eyes go wide and they keep flickering between Sam and her Master.
“Um...I-I...” she stutters.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of here,” smiles Sam kindly.
“Hold on. She’s my Submissive and if you don’t walk away now, Miss, I’m afraid I’ll have to call security,” states the man towards Sam.
“Is that so?” she rhetorically asks, “well, I happen to be from the police department and what you are showing here are signs of harassment- which can I haul your ass into jail for.”
Sam keeps her eyes trained on the man, even when she hears a gasp from the poor woman beside her.
“Miss, this is your last warning, you need to leave now,” growls the male.
Sam squares her shoulders and stares up at him. If he thinks she’s going to just kneel over or turn the other cheek to his behaviour, then he is sorely mistaken.
“Come on M, let’s go,” he says rolling his eyes.
That is it, decides Sam.
Anger flashes in her and before Sam realises, she’s pulled her fist back and let it go right into his chiselled jaw.
First she hears the scrunching echo of bone colliding against bone, before she actually feels the searing heat of pain. Then comes the loud gasp from the woman against the wall.
“Oh my God!” the woman cries rushing to the man and glancing at Sam with astonishment.
Everything’s a sort of blur after that and all Sam can focus on is the throbbing of her hand. She faintly remembers a crowd gathering and then...being pushed into some kind of room with an ice pack. There in some swanky office, she relaxes into the leather couch and nurses her reddened, swelling hand.
As she finally finds her bearings, she glances around and suddenly dread fills her. Because there on the desk, a nameplate is propped up with the words ‘Adrian Carter’.
Oh crap.
A/n Another cliffy-I know, sorry...Not sure what you guys were expecting but here it is. Next one WILL get more interesting though! Again, update will be in a fortnight, and thanks again for reading! x
Oh and this is unedited (obvs XD )