Bdsm Sex Stories Page 8

  "Hey," I said, more softly. I wanted to embrace her then, to tell her that it would be all right, but I was very aware of her boundaries. "I know things happened while I was gone. I'm not stupid. If you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen. In the meantime, if I can help by going, I will. That should reassure the rest of the board that we're still just as bad as they are."

  "Thank you," Isa said again, tears in her eyes. Then she touched me on the leg, an offhand movement of unthinking familiarity, but jerked back as if she'd been shocked. Perhaps I would have taken it personally if I didn't see the look in her eyes, full and afraid like a deer about to be claimed by a wolf.

  Even then, I didn't have a real understanding of what had happened in my absence. Sometimes I wish that I was still so ignorant.

  "Well," Isa said, wiping her eyes quickly and standing, suddenly all business again, "If you like, I can find someone...appropriate for you. A partner who would be receptive and safe for you."

  I laughed, and she looked over at me.

  "You seem to be choosing all the women in my bed lately. Well, I'll trust you here. Sarah has been...extraordinary. I imagine anyone you pick from the Brigantine will be someone I enjoy, and who would be there willingly."

  For a moment, I thought I'd gone too far by mentioning Sarah so casually like that, but Isa smiled. Sarah was someone she cared about. Someone we both cared about, to be honest. Not a toy, or a prize to be fought over, but a valued friend, confidant, and lover. And, as twins, I suppose we were somewhat accustomed to sharing everything.

  As the conversation turned to lesser things like travel arrangements and appropriate clothing, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of person Isa would pick for me. Would she be young? Mature? Demure? Forward?

  Time would tell. I ignored the part of me that was excited that my sister was choosing my partner. Much like having sex with Sarah, it felt like this was a way of making love to Isa by proxy. And that was, despite my internal denials, something that I wanted very much.

  I wished that Isa wanted that too.

  * * *

  The Brigantine

  * * *

  The day of the event was a bit odd. Isa was quite nervous and kept checking in on me and asking me if I was sure that I wanted to go through with it. It seemed like she felt as if she were imposing or asking a great favor of me, but it did not feel that way to me. The idea of anonymously fucking a willing and beautiful woman did have a certain appeal. Someone that I could use and then leave, never have to see or worry about again. Someone that might expect to be a little bruised at the end of a good fucking. In any case, I got dressed in my recently tailored tuxedo, passed a brief inspection by Sarah, who gave me a special card for my rendezvous and headed out to the front, where Rachel was waiting for me with a limo.

  "Very nice," Rachel said, opening the door for me, a wry smile on her face.

  "Thank you," I said, adding, "I've always liked a woman in uniform, myself."

  Rachel chuckled, but she basically wore men's suits that were tailored for her form, and her form was beautiful. Tonight she was in all black and white, the epitome of the professional, short auburn hair arranged to perfection, held with a simple band.

  And, as I may have observed before, her ass was still fantastic. The drive would be two hours, but air travel there wouldn't be optimal for reasons of both security and profile. I had to be seen, but I didn't need to be noticed by everyone, just a few people. I allowed myself to be lulled by the sound of the road and the soft classical music playing from the front seat. I dozed, feeling safe.

  * *

  We were close to the Brigantine when Rachel spoke again

  "Safety check."

  "Really?"

  I woke, alert, and a little annoyed at the old instruction.

  "Yes, really. There have been a few changes."

  I turned to the minibar, beneath it was a small panel, I depressed it, and it opened with a swift click. Inside two matte black handguns with matching holsters that sat next to several magazines and what looked like smartwatches. I took one of the pistols out, careful to keep my finger off of the trigger. I verified that there was a round in the chamber, then checked the magazine. The ammunition was slightly larger than I expected. All was done swiftly and with care. I put the holster on under my jacket. Most people couldn't walk armed into the Brigantine, but things were different for the Founding Families.

  "Safety check confirmed. You got rid of the Sig Sauers," I said.

  "Yeah," Rachel answered, "Glocks aren't perfect, per se, but they're very reliable and maybe better for amateurs. Isa also requested that I up them to .40 caliber. You should go out back and fire a few rounds when you have some spare time."

  "All right," I said.

  "Grab one of the smartwatches, too. It tells the time and has some other apps on it, but most of them are for show. You'll get fake mail on it in case anyone thinks you're stupid enough to utilize wifi for that sort of thing. The important thing is the button recessed into the bottom. Do you see it?"

  While she spoke, I'd taken one out and put it on my wrist. The band was magnetic and adjustable and fit well. The button wasn't prominent, but I found it and realized that it had an indent in it for a thumb that would make it easy to find without looking.

  "Yes. What does it do? Explode?"

  Rachel laughed.

  "Better. It sounds an alarm, and then I explode. It also notifies our security network. They can't be here, for obvious reasons, but they have a helicopter on standby."

  As I slid the panel back into place, Rachel had taken the final turn to the small, almost-residential road leading to the Brigantine. In the dark, the trees seemed to cluster around us, making us feel isolated. I knew that cameras, sensor networks, and armed men were around us even then. This was a place where the ultra-rich gathered to misbehave in shocking and nearly-always illegal ways. It was as secure as anywhere could be.

  As Rachel parked, I stilled my breath and looked out at the magnificent mansion. It looked like someone had cut a chunk of Versaille out and dropped right in the middle of an American forest.

  "I don't like this," Rachel said, after long consideration.

  "It's your job not to like this. If it makes you feel better, I don't like parts of this either."

  "Really? It's an excuse to fuck hot women. I thought you'd be excited."

  "Rachel, I worry about the women and men employed here. There's too much money, power, and secrecy. I can't help but think that some are here voluntarily while others are bought and sold like livestock."

  "I know that they are Reuben. I'm glad that you've given it some thought. She thinks you're like your dad sometimes, but you're really not. Not at all."

  I looked over at Rachel, and we shared a smile. We both knew that she'd paid me a compliment.

  I got out and slipped on the silver demi-mask that Isa had given me. It was Venetian, I was sure of it, and it was masculine with hints of wolfish features. Perfect for a place like this. I knew that it matched my simple black tux. I stood before Rachel.

  "How do I look?"

  "Like a dangerous predator. Are you sure you don't just want to stay out here and fuck me?"

  We laughed, but I could tell by the way her hands sat on my chest that she was at least partially serious. I found it odd, to an extent. She was never one to be jealous, and she knew how important it was that I made a good impression. She reminded me one more time of the switch on my watch, and let me go.

  The gravel crunched under my feet as I approached the door. The guards might have been dressed in carnival finery, but they still had matte black submachine-guns slung over their shoulders. This was a center of power, and they wanted everyone to know it.

  The interior was shocking to me the first time I'd attended. All was dark, muted. The only lights were from gas lamps scattered appropriately around. The walls were covered in draperies of deep reds, purples, and blacks. The stairs were stained ebony black, and everywhere were couches,
recesses, places where people were coupling. The masks we all wore didn't keep me from recognizing people. They were there for plausible deniability and nothing more. I nodded to a few people, mostly friends of my family and associates of my father. I needed them to see me there and see me as both confident and powerful.

  Every man was in a tuxedo, and every woman accompanying them was in an elegant, if sometimes skimpy, gown. The only exceptions were the women and men who belonged to the club. They were dressed in lingerie or nothing at all. Some were painted in garish colors. Others wore girdles and tight leather. A woman in what looked to be a three-thousand dollar dress was on all fours on a table, pleasuring one man with her mouth while another fucked her roughly from behind. I didn't recognize the men, but I went to college with her my freshman year. She seemed to be enjoying herself, at least, and I hoped what she was doing was voluntary. The truth was that there was no way to know. There were more methods of coercion than violence, and manipulation could form chains as unbreakable as iron.

  Part of me wanted to rush upstairs, fuck my preselected partner, and get out. I didn't feel good about any of that, but Isa assured me that she'd made sure that I would be with someone who was there voluntarily and who wouldn't be forced into having sex with me. She wouldn't lie about that.

  Unfortunately, I needed to be seen by damn near everyone. I was, in theory, on the inner circle here. Even if it rarely met officially any more, it was a thing of importance, and my family hadn't been present in far too long. That became evident shortly.

  I decided to spend some time and make some friends, in as much as any of these people were capable of friendship. I found a table where people were playing some pool. Not even billiards but honest-to-god 8-ball. Thank god for small miracles. I was soon drinking expensive whiskey and joking as I played in turns with others. The joviality was relaxing me a little. Despite the suits and masks, it was at least somewhat like being back in college. Both men and women participated. One woman in a green gown of startling clinginess and a black cat mask always managed to bend over to take her shots right in front of me. After the third time, she'd found an excuse to briefly grind on my leg, I found out that she had a date. Whoops. I was lining up my own shot when I heard a sneering voice behind me.

  "Goddammit, De Heer, you could at least have some fucking dignity. There's no need to cheat."

  His voice didn't carry far, but silence reigned in a small circle around the table. I stood and turned, pulling a stray ball out of the pocket and tossing it and catching it casually. He had a reddish-gold fox mask, gaudy, and with what appeared to be real jewels in it. He stood with the false confidence of youth, and I could see that the woman who had been flirting with me was whispering something in his ear, perhaps trying to calm him down. He grabbed her forearm hard enough to make her whimper and then shoved her aside.

  If I had any qualms of making an example of him before that, they no longer applied. I walked over to him and was thankful for Isa's impromptu history lesson earlier.

  "Cheating is a strong accusation."

  "Well, if you don't like being accused, don't do it."

  "I didn't, but I suppose that doesn't matter."

  He laughed.

  "What, you think that the De Heer blood protects you from consequences?"

  "Yes," I said, stepping into his personal space suddenly. He didn't fold, but I didn't expect him too. He probably worked out, just like I did. But his father hadn't taught him the things that mine had about sudden violence, self-defense, and how to dominate those beneath you.

  "Be careful," he said, the faintest quiver in his voice. He was afraid, but also a little eager. He wanted to fight.

  "My grandfather beat a man to death, right here, you know. A man accused him of cheating at cards and wouldn't withdraw his complaint, so he beat him to death with an oak chair. Then he went back to his game. Do you know what happened to him?"

  "No."

  "He won the next hand while they cleaned up the body."

  I let the silence hang in the air between us. When I had walked over, I had intended to intimidate him, perhaps making an impression on others. I realized then that things had gone too far, and that were he to maintain his accusation, I would have to act. I would have to kill him.

  To my disgust, the idea of beating him to death excited me. I felt the smooth, cold weight of the ball in my hand. It could crush a skull if appropriately used. A few blows to the temple would do nicely to start. I was about to strike when he played his last card.

  "Do...do you have any idea who I am?"

  I smiled, and I knew my grin matched the wolfishness of my mask.

  "No," I said simply. I could feel rather than see his collapse. He knew that he had pushed too hard and too far. There were ways that he could have embarrassed me, had he been more intelligent, but he had chosen physical confrontation, and over the date that he had arrived with. I mean, this was literally a place where group sex and spouse swapping was considered relatively vanilla. You didn't take a woman here that you wanted all to yourself. He appeared weak and foolish.

  "Fine ...it's nothing to me," he said and stalked off. After a moment, the green-gowned woman looked at me briefly, and I could see her considering whether or not to speak.

  "Please excuse us, sir. I apologize for the...misunderstanding."

  She said it with deference and dignity that belied her situation, then turned and followed her companion into the milling group. I made a note of both of them. That he'd known me by sight hadn't shocked me, the masks were for plausible deniability more than anything else, but the fact that he used my name broke one of the oldest rules of the Brigantine. Maybe Rachel could find their identities for me. It wouldn't do to be surprised later.

  I turned back to my game, conversation springing up around me again as if nothing had happened. I took a few more shots, controlling my fear, although I could still feel the adrenaline telling me to flee or fight or just shake. I kept Isa's advice in my head and did none of them: Show no weakness.

  After about twenty minutes, I finished my whiskey and headed to the stairs. There was a nude girl at the top, maybe nineteen years old, covered in gold paint. She engagingly smiled at me, and I felt a sudden and almost overwhelming urge to take her, right there in the hall. A little voice in my head reminded me that while some might be shocked, no one would stop a De Heer from fucking a nameless woman on the plush carpet, even if I hurt her. Sometimes I disgusted myself. She held out her hand, and before I did something to embarrass myself, I handed her the card that Isa had provided. The hostess looked at it, then turned and led me down the hall. We turned three times, each time the hall getting a little more narrow. At the end of the last, was a door. The girl gestured to it, then when back to her post at the top of the stairs. It was quiet. The plush red carpeting was deep and seemed to absorb all sound.

  There was a note on the door, handwritten in neat, flowing lettering. It was feminine and bold, and a little familiar, in the way that all neat cursive writing is.

  Use me how you wish, for I am yours.

  -Tonya

  I felt the same sort of urge as I did just a few moments ago, but now, I couldn't hold it back. If she wanted me to use her, then I would. I entered without knocking and closed the door behind me quickly.

  The room was even darker than the general ambiance of the Brigantine. I stood still for a moment and let my eyes adjust. It didn't pay to act too hastily before you knew the situation, or so my father had taught me. Slowly the scene in front of me became more visible.

  It was a bedroom, unsurprisingly. The floor was covered in the same red plush carpet, and there was a fire in the small marble hearth which filled the room with warmth and even a bit of cheer. Along the walls were couches and frames, for a variety of activities, most involving chain and rope. The bed itself wasn't very large, but it looked comfortable, dark mahogany wood with golden silk sheets. Naturally, my eyes were drawn to who reclined on them.

  Each of us, I t
hink, has an ideal of beauty that they are attracted to (for those of us who feel sexual or romantic desire). It can be the same as society's, or it can be completely different. From what I could see of her, Tonya fit my ideal almost perfectly. She had an hourglass figure, with full hips and breasts. I forced myself not to be reminded of the other woman that I knew who had curves like her. I was painfully hard.

  Tonya was on the bed, presented to me as if a gift. Her arms were bound to the bedposts, but her legs were free to writhe and squirm. She was obviously already excited. She wore a bodysuit of what looked like perfectly fitted latex, black and glossy. It covered almost all of her, leaving her mouth and nose free, but not even slits for eyes. There was, of course, an opening where I could see her swollen and wet vulva. I took off my jacket and laid it on a nearby chair

  "So you must be Tonya," I said, removing the gun and holster and placing it carefully near the jacket.

  Tonya nodded enthusiastically. What I could see of her skin was pale but gleamed in the light. Her lipstick was a deep, almost obscene shade of red. She smiled.

  "I'm to do what I want with you," I said as I took my shoes off and placed them by the foot of the bed.

  Tonya giggled.

  "So does that mean I can take your suit off? It's not like you could stop me." I knew the answer, but I wanted to see her afraid. I took off my belt and pants.

  Tonya's expression grew serious, and she bit her lip, shaking her head vehemently.

  "Let me guess. You're someone that might have a lot to lose back in the world if anyone knew that you were into these games. But you have needs that only sex with a brutal stranger can meet." I stripped out of my underwear and socks. I was enjoying drawing this out.

  Tonya smiled again and gave a hesitant nod. There was something of a little girl to her movements like she was teasing or taunting me. It made me angry. I climbed on the bed, and she gasped. I reached out and grabbed her breast. I did it hard, testing her. She moaned but did not protest, pushing back into my hand. I let her go, knowing that I had bruised her. I ran the back of my hand down the side of her face, and she shuddered.