Diablo Blanco Club 2, Under Control

DIABLO BLANCO CLUB:

UNDER CONTROL

Qwillia Rain

www.loose-id.com

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Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control

Qwillia Rain

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author‟s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Loose Id LLC

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San Francisco CA 94102-2907

www.loose-id.com

Copyright © May 2009 by Qwillia Rain

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ISBN 978-1-59632-906-5

Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Mary Harper

Cover Artist: April Martinez

Chapter One

Bethesda Naval Hospital

Bethesda, Maryland

“Time to leave, Gunnery Sergeant,” the nurse said. Her crisp command accompanied the squeak of her rubber-soled shoes as she pushed a wheelchair into Vance Justiss‟s hospital room.

Looking up from his chair near the window, Vance didn‟t bother smiling. He had no reason to. “Packed and ready, ma‟am,” he replied. He maneuvered himself out of the chair with his good arm and tucked a crutch beneath it. As his training demanded, he maintained his balance and proud bearing, despite the fact his left arm was secured against his chest in a blue sling and his left leg was immobilized by an air cast from midthigh to ankle.

“If you‟ll take a seat,” the nurse patted the chrome-and-vinyl device.

“No, thank you, ma‟am,” he declined. “I‟ll be fine.” He was a Marine Force Recon.

No fucking way he was being rolled out of the room in that contraption. “If I could have you—”

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A young marine barreled into the room, coming to a quick stop in the doorway.

“Sorry I‟m late, gunny,” the younger man said, offering a crisp salute that Vance returned. The kid smiled at the nurse and moved to grab the packed duffel bag on the foot of the bed. “Lennox is in the car, and transport home is waiting.”

“Stationed at Pendleton, Gunnery Sergeant?” the nurse asked Vance as she kept pace with them down the hall. She hovered on his left side, ready to catch him if he stumbled.

Not damned likely he‟d let her get hurt trying to support his weight, no matter how his injuries ached. “Yes, ma‟am,” Vance confirmed.

“The doctor says your physical therapy is scheduled to begin at the end of the week.”

“Yes, ma‟am.”

“You‟ll be back on your feet in no time, gunny.” Vance watched the kid on his right grin. The unit was always on Corvus about his inability to curb his enthusiasm, but Vance knew the newest member didn‟t pay much attention to the harassment because he just kept smiling.

“No doubt, Corvus.” Vance ignored the pain each step shot through his body.

Push past it, soldier
. The damage to his left hand and leg was permanent according to the doc. There was nothing he could do about it. The only thing he could do was get back on his feet so he could honor his word and finish what he‟d started.

He had a promise to keep, and he refused to do it on crutches. He just needed to make it through the next few weeks, to get beyond those first few minutes every morning when memories of his last mission—Aimee‟s screams and the concussion of the explosion—soaked his body in cold sweat. It was difficult to face his failure to protect her, an innocent civilian. The fact that she was a young woman he‟d kept safe periodically over the years when their paths crossed as her missionary parents moved throughout the Middle East only made it harder.

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Those were the mornings when the nightmares had his heart slamming against his ribs, and his disgust at what he‟d done caused bile to rise in his throat. Shadowy moments when thoughts of the weight of his .38 in his hand and the chill of the steel against his temple seemed to offer the comfort of a final escape. It was always the same when he entertained thoughts of ending his life. Despite the feelings of hate and disgust, three reasons kept surfacing to keep him sucking air in the here and now.

One, Ben would never forgive him if he took the coward‟s way out.

Two, he had to keep his promise to Aimee.

And three, marines weren‟t quitters.

And damn it, he was still a marine.

Four months later

San Diablo, California

Voices buzzed and hummed throughout the central lounge of the Diablo Blanco Club. From his place behind the bar, Ben Murphy grinned as he watched a pretty blonde in a gray silk dress lead her lover—a man nearly twice her size—up the stairs by a length of silver chain settled around his throat.

The twenty-foot bar was nestled between the two sweeping granite staircases that led to the second-floor playrooms. Ben relaxed against the polished teak counter and took note of the various entertainments playing out around the room. Just like any other nightclub in San Diablo, the Diablo Blanco Club provided distractions to its members. But unlike other nightclubs, the distractions were not in the form of canned music or live bands. This particular club had its own brand of “shows.” Tonight was no different.

Near the Club‟s entrance, Evaline, a Domme, applied punishment to her slave with sharp, forceful strokes from her quirt. Brandon, who was six inches taller than his 4

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mistress, counted each blow in a choked voice. With his hands braced against the wall, he focused his gaze on the paint and chair rail in front of him rather than the few people around them watching the display.

On the other side of the room, close to the double doors that led into the dining hall, four men and two women relaxed at a round table playing a game of poker. The pile of green, blue, and red chips on the table had shifted ownership multiple times in the two hours since the group had begun their game. On the floor beside five of the six players sat their submissives. Each sub assumed the posture his or her Dom or Domme required of them, whether it was kneeling upright or resting against their master‟s leg.

They all held their hands in their laps, some resting on their thighs or folded or relaxed on their legs. Three of the subs kept their heads bowed and their gazes directed to the carpet between their parted thighs, while the other two had their eyes closed as if they were napping.

As he continued to scan the room, Ben stifled the urge to laugh out loud. Earlier he‟d served drinks to three newcomers—a man and two women. They‟d each come in separately. The man had taken a seat in a comfortable chair across the room from the bar, his attention never remaining on one person or group for very long. One of the women had left not long after Evaline had begun to punish Brandon. Ben surmised her departure was probably due to guilt since it was her repeated and adamant attentions to the slave that had resulted in him rebuffing her with a very colorful and caustic series of suggestions. It had been his failure to remain silent that earned him a punishment from his mistress.

The second woman had flitted around the room before drifting over to the poker table. Her attention seemed focused on the only unaccompanied Dominant involved in the game: Mike Halsey. Ben recognized him as one of the descendants of Collas Brysson Halsey, the Diablo Blanco Club‟s founder. Ben watched as the woman smoothed her hand across Mike‟s shoulders and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

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Ben was acquainted with the cheerful smile Mike pasted on his face in response as one meant to soothe. The careful way he lifted the woman‟s hand from his shoulder and cupped it in his larger palm could be viewed by some as romantic, but the lack of interest or heat in Mike‟s amber gaze was lost on everyone except those closely familiar with him. The kiss he pressed to the palm of the woman‟s hand seemed to placate her, and the smile and words he offered her, whatever they were, took the sting out of his rejection. So much so that the woman smiled at Mike and slipped a piece of paper into the pocket of his shirt before she moved away from the table and found a seat on one of the couches.

Ben allowed his gaze to wander once more. On one of the comfortable sofas in the lounge, facing the bar, another descendant of the original owner of the Club was indulging in the attentions of his wife. Stroking his fingers through her dark curls, Bryce Halsey halted Mattie‟s mouth on his cock and drew her to her feet. Without a word, she turned her back to her husband, straddled his lap, and slowly lowered herself onto his dick. Barely audible groans whispered through the group of men and women sprawled in chairs or lounging on other sofas watching the pair.

Having been present two months earlier when Bryce first publicly fucked his wife at the Club, Ben could recall what the sight of Bryce‟s firm, tanned hands around his wife‟s hips looked like. Now, though only three months pregnant, her belly already showed a distinct curve, and her full breasts, exposed by the lowered straps of the light purple halter on her dress, displayed tight, strawberry-colored nipples.

Glancing around at the men and women enjoying the performance, Ben wasn‟t surprised when Dina, a longtime Club member, rose from her chair and tugged at the leash connected to the nipple chain adorning the tits of her submissive and life partner, Lonnie. The two women made their way up the staircase to his left. Lonnie maintained just enough distance from her mistress to keep the chain taut, while Dina gave the occasional pull to tease her. Even the male newcomer settled into the armchair farthest 6

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away from the activity seemed to take note of Mattie and Bryce, despite having shown little reaction to the other scenarios playing out around him.

No, the Club wasn‟t a regular nightspot, but rather an exclusive retreat for adults interested in bondage, discipline, and slave-master relationships—BDSM for short.

Ben had been an official member of the Club for nearly six years and had come to appreciate the easy acceptance of the different visitors and guests. He had heard about the Club from Vance Justiss, a friend from his Force Recon unit. Vance had even introduced him to the Club owners when Ben first visited San Diablo after the younger man transferred into his unit eight years ago. Subsequent visits as Vance‟s guest had only cemented Ben‟s interest in what the Diablo Blanco Club offered.

After leaving the Marines, Ben had moved to San Diablo and had taken the opportunity to continue his education on the West Coast. It was while he was working through his residency and short on cash that he applied for a bartending position at the Club. The money was good, and the job had additional benefits. As a Club employee, he wasn‟t expected to entertain any of the patrons, but off the clock, if one of the women or men caught his eye or he caught theirs, the rooms upstairs or the lounge could become their playground.