Michael Monroe yearns for darker passions his everyday life can’t give him. A trip to a BDSM club loses him a girlfriend, but earns him a master. He meekly accepts the humiliation of collaring and possession, realizing it’s what he’s truly wanted all his life.
In part one, Michael has his first introduction to the master and his slaves. He’s invited to join them for a night and he accepts, knowing it will be a tempting taste of what he’s desired. He learns he must give in, allowing himself to be used, to find true fulfillment in the satisfaction of the master.
In part two, Michael is given the choice to be claimed. If he chooses to stay, he’ll be fully claimed and pierced as a sign of his submission. He’s not sure he can fully give in to the master, even though the man has taken him to the heights of pleasure.
Michael’s crawl into the world of BDSM is quick, filled with forced seduction, public humiliation, sex with both genders, painful pleasure, and lessons in the ways to truly serve a master.
Warning: story includes extreme BDSM scenes, genital piercing, MM, MMM,and MF scenes.
A tatted waitress moved to their table, wobbling on her incredibly high stilettos. She wore a submissive's collar and a tiny black leather bikini.
He was dumbstruck. All the blood in his body had dropped to his shaft, leaving his brain empty of rational thought. He couldn't even order a fucking drink. "Umm ... umm ... a--"
As he was about to answer her, two men in chains began to shuffle past -- on all fours -- chained to a woman walking behind them in a dominatrix outfit.
"Let me guess. You've never been here before?" The waitress' bored tone brought him out of his reverie a moment.
"Sorry. I'll take two shots of whiskey." His gaze followed the two men and the woman who held their chains.
Natascha leaned into him. "I'm not ordering anything. We need to go."
"Give it a few more minutes." Michael's stare was still on the dominatrix. He was nowhere near ready to leave. Natascha would have to get over it. He nodded to the waitress, and she shrugged and turned to go.
"I. Want. To. Go. Home. Now!"
"Then call a cab because I don't." The words rolled out of his mouth before he'd ever realized what he was saying. His gaze drifted quickly from the woman to Natascha. Her mouth was rounded into a large O, and her eyes were huge.
"You'd rather spend your night with these freaks?"
"They aren't freaks to me."
"Is this because I wouldn't ride you last night? Come home with me, and I'll get on top."
At least she realized he wanted more, but a little bit of cowgirl wasn't going to fix the rift between them. "Too little, too late, Natascha."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I need a lot more, and you apparently aren't willing to give it to me."
"This? This is what you want?"
It was now or never. "I think so."
"If I call a cab and leave here alone, I'll be packing a bag when I get home. I won't be there when you get back."
He caught her stare for a moment before returning his gaze to the crowd around him. "Do what you feel you have to do."
"I'm serious." Her brow furrowed as she gave him what he knew to be her best angry stare.
"I know you are. I am, too."
Natascha grabbed her bag and rose from her chair. "Goodbye, freak."
Michael sighed with relief once she was gone, and that action struck him. Why would he be so happy for her to be gone if he truly wanted her in his life? As he glanced around the space, he saw gazes turned in his direction, possibly having witnessed the little show that had just occurred. Two women at a table across from him raised their glasses in his direction and smiled. He returned the favor, wishing his drinks had arrived so he could saunter over to the ladies and say hello. He smiled to himself just as the waitress returned with his two shots and another drink he hadn't ordered, placing all three before him.
"I didn't order that."
"No. He did." The waitress pointed toward the front of the club, where there was a dais of sorts with a large chair. An older man sat there, dressed in leather, a female and a male at his feet. Collars rested around the subs' necks, and both rested their heads on his knees while watching the crowd.
Michael's gaze caught that of the master, and the man nodded. For a moment, Michael paused, unsure of how to react. He wasn't gay, but he also didn't want to reject the man's generosity. Gender roles blurred for him, so the thought of being mastered, even by a male, made his heart rate quicken. Michael swallowed as he lifted the glass and saluted the man, fear and excitement swimming through him. He took a sip of the heady concoction and nearly choked on the liquor content. Managing to keep it down, he returned the glass to the table and reached for the shots, downing both in quick succession.
"Want two more or do we need to pace ourselves?"
"Two more. Then I'll worry about pacing myself after."
The scantily clad waitress took off in the direction of the bar as he sipped a little of the drink she'd brought him. His gaze was immediately pulled to the man at the head of the room, the weight of his stare calling to Michael.
Michael felt his body begin to stir from the attention, even though he'd never considered himself attracted to someone of the same sex. It wasn't the sex he craved, necessarily; it was the domination. Could he cross the line if the chance arose? It seemed he would have the opportunity to find out before long.