Top Bottom Switch (The Club)

I
’ve grown bored
. It’s not something I’ve ever experienced when it comes to sex. Someone lights my fire for at least a night, but tonight…nothing.

Being a member of The Club has been a great thing. It has allowed me to make a lot of new friends since moving back to Karim, Texas a few years ago. Lately, though, something has been missing. The typical night of fun spent with a submissive doesn’t seem to give me the same thrill it did before.

It’s my failure, not theirs.

The ladies I spend the night with do everything a Dom could ask. They bend to my will, follow commands, and allow me to push their boundaries. But there’s no light. No fire. Nothing to keep my embers simmering, stoking the flames.

“Ret, I don’t understand. What’s the problem?” Misha asks in a light Russian accent, sliding into the booth across from me with Stella, his submissive, by his side. “I thought you liked Elle.”

Turning the glass of scotch in my hand, I grit my teeth and exhale. “I tried with Elle. Twice, I tried. We’re not a fit. She’s just not my type.”

She had everything I wanted on the outside. There was instant attraction, but the more I talked with her, the less appealing she became. Maybe it was her willingness to submit so easily that turned me off.

“I didn’t know you had one.” Misha smirks before patting his leg for Stella to obey. Without hesitation, she climbs into his lap and melts against his body. I envy their relationship—the trust they have in each other.

“Would you like something to drink, Sir?” The waitress stands by the edge of the table, staring down at me from under her lashes, holding the tray against her exposed hip.

“I’m fine.” Annoyed with myself, I wave her away.

Misha motions toward the waitress as she walks away, swinging her hips wildly before daring to sneak a backward glance over her shoulder. “Is she your type?”

“No,” I grumble before taking a long, slow slug of my drink, watching Stella and Misha over the rim before movement to my right catches my eye.

“Get your filthy hands off me!” Alese, a notorious Club switch, yanks free of a man’s hold and spits in his face just outside our private booth.

He lunges toward her and glares. “Get back here, girl!” He’s about to grab her arm when she cracks him across the face.

Preston Stevens, head of Club security, comes from out of nowhere and catches the man’s hand before he strikes her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“This bitch,” he snarls, spit flying out of his mouth as he glowers at her. “She wanted to play, and then she runs out of the room, screaming like a crazy person.”

Preston moves between the two, giving Alese some space. “Are you okay, Alese?”

“I’m fine, Sir.” Alese wipes away the tears that have fallen down her cheeks and looks at the floor, letting her golden hair hide her face.

“I’m the one wronged. Why are you asking her if she’s okay?” the man asks and takes another step forward, but Preston stops him.

“That newbie just lost his membership,” Misha mutters before returning his attention to Stella.

“They better not let him back.” I glare at the man and memorize his face. Although I don’t mind inflicting pain, I’d never treat a woman like a piece of shit as he just did to Alese.

“May I go, Sir?” Alese asks Preston, crossing her arms in front of her and rubbing her shoulders.

Preston nods to Alese before glaring at the man, daring him to say another word. “Yes, Alese. You may leave.”

“Thank you.” She scurries off into the darkness and out of my view.

There’s always been something intriguing about Alese. We’ve spoken a few times, but I typically scare her off. It never bothered me. Switches aren’t really my thing, especially one like Alese. She can’t seem to find her footing in either role, Dominant or submissive.

I’ve watched her enough to know that she is a submissive, but she hasn’t admitted it to herself. Finding the right partner will make her realize her true nature.

“Let’s have a chat in my office,” Preston says to the newbie and points toward the security office.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, you should be escorting that slut out the front door.”

“Sir.” Preston clears his throat and looks around the room before grabbing the man by the shirt. “Right now, it’s best if you don’t say another word.”

The asshole mumbles under his breath and knocks Preston’s hand away. “We don’t need to talk. This club is bullshit. I’m done.”

“We’re sad to see you go.” Preston has a great poker face. When the man stalks off toward the stairwell, Preston walks quickly and motions to another Suit to follow.

“Maybe you should play with Alese,” Misha says.

The thought of touching her has made me hard. Maybe it’s the fight she has in her that turns me on suddenly, but it has never happened before. When I’m about to reply to Misha, I glance over and snap my mouth shut.

He’s whispering in Stella’s ear, stroking her neck, but he’s staring straight at me. Even though I can’t hear what he’s saying, I can’t look away. His hand traces a path down her chest, following the edges of her V-neck dress. “You like that, girl?” he asks loud enough for me to hear.

Her back arches, and she moves toward his touch. “Yes,” she whispers.

Misha smirks and cocks an eyebrow in my direction. I nod and give him the go-ahead. If I’m not going to spend the night with someone, I may as well watch someone else enjoy himself.

“Spread your legs,” he tells her, rubbing her nipple through her dress with his thumb. “Don’t come until I tell you to.” She nods and shimmies down his lap before his other hand disappears below the table. “You’re here to please me, girl. You’re my plaything tonight.”

She nods again as her chest begins to rise and fall faster. Her lips part, but not a sound comes out of her mouth.

My cock hardens inside my pants, and my breathing becomes uneven. It’s not Stella that’s turning me on, it’s her response to him and their connection.

Stella’s a beautiful woman, one of the prettiest in The Club, but completely off-limits to me. The way she responds to Misha—to his touch, to his words—turns me on.

I touch myself, squeezing my cock and praying that my hard-on will subside, but I fail. Between seeing Alese’s tear-filled eyes and hearing Stella’s tiny moans, I’m so turned on that the strain against my jeans becomes unbearable.

He toys with her nipple, pulling on it, and she sucks in a sharp breath. “You like that, don’t you, girl?”

She doesn’t speak, but she moves her chest toward his hand. His lips find her neck, licking a path up to her ear. He moans and cups her breast in his palm, tweaking her nipple between his fingers. “You get me so hard. Do you feel how much I want you?” Misha whispers against her ear.

She moans, squeezing her eyes tighter and causing little creases around the edges. I fist my dick harder, trying to find some relief, but I only make it worse.

Misha’s arm starts to shake the table as his pace quickens. I can almost smell her arousal from across the booth, and my mouth waters from the scent.

“Lucky bastard,” I whisper so quietly that only I can hear over the music in the background.

Stella’s body starts to tremble, her creamy skin glistening under the lights. Her breathing changes, and she lets out a small moan.

Misha’s hand stops and he whispers in her ear. She nods before his hands start to move again under the table. “Open your eyes, Stella. I want Master Ret to watch you fall apart in my lap.”

Her head slowly moves off his shoulder, and her eyes flutter open. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry when our eyes meet.

Without breaking eye contact, and with one hand still holding my hardened cock, I pick up the scotch and watch intently over the rim. I try to quench my thirst, but it doesn’t work.

I don’t need a drink.

I need a submissive to end my hunger.

Stella licks her lips, making my situation worse. Setting the glass down on the table, I keep my hand wrapped around it and slide my fingers up and down the wetness.

Her breath falters and she blinks slowly, her eyes rolling back for a moment when her mouth falls open. She’s coming on his hand and looking me straight in the eyes.

I smirk, loving the face a woman makes when she comes. There’s nothing sexier than watching someone shatter.

When she collapses against him, gasping for air, I use the opportunity to leave. I need to find someone to quench my thirst.

I’d never thought about settling down, finding someone to sit at my feet and take care of. But recently, it’s all I keep thinking about. Pushing thirty has me reevaluating my life. I no longer want a plaything. I want a lover, a partner, and the one who completes me.

I
’m about
to head out for the night, giving up on any hope of satisfaction, when I collide with a soft body. She stumbles backward, her high heels teetering when I reach out and grab her arms to steady her.

“Shit!” she screeches and clings to my arms. She’s a mess of blond hair and heels that are too high and should be illegal.

“Steady,” I mumble and pull her forward. I forget about the hard-on still straining against my jeans.

“Thanks,” she says behind her hair as she finds her footing, but she’s still clutching my forearms. “What a shit night,” she mutters when she releases my arms and brushes the hair away from her face.

“I saw,” I tell her when I realize it’s Alese. “That guy seemed like a complete prick.”

She closes her eyes and exhales. “You have no idea.” Her eyes dip down to my crotch before flitting back to my face. “Not a good night for you either?”

I should remind her of protocol. She should be calling me Sir, but right now I think she could use a break, and I’m too sexually frustrated to even care. “No, but not as bad as you,
piccola
.”

Her nose wrinkles. “What’s that mean?”

I hold out my hand near her face, waiting for her to give me approval when she nods. “It’s an Italian term of endearment,” I tell her as I brush a strand of hair away from her eyes. “Something like little one.”

“I’m not little.” Her cheeks flush, and she breaks eye contact.

I smirk, not realizing I’m still touching her face. Alese may be around 5’6” without heels and over 5’10” with them, but she still doesn’t match my 6’4” frame. “But you are, compared to me.” My hand slides across her skin instinctively, cradling her cheek in my hand.

Her tongue darts out, sweeping across her bottom lip. “Thank you,” she whispers, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” My thumb moves across her skin, slowly stroking her cheek.

She swallows hard, still not looking me in the eyes. “Yes.”

My cock grows, loving the way she responds to my touch and her inability to look me in the eye.

Tonight’s display with the newbie member isn’t the first time she’s had trouble either. Time after time, she would try to give herself to someone but ultimately fail. She has a trust issue. Sometimes she’d try to be a Domme, taking classes, but she never really had the ability to boss anyone around.

“Do you want to have a drink with me, Alese?” It comes out of my mouth without a thought.

Her head snaps back, bringing her gaze to mine. “Now?”

“Yes.” I nod and scan the room, seeing two open seats at the bar. “We can sit at the bar if you’re more comfortable. I think we both deserve to unwind a little before we leave.”

Her eyebrows draw together, and she looks serious. “Just a drink.”

“Just a drink,” I tell her and nod. “Bar?”

“Um,” she mumbles and pulls at her lip, peering around my body and scanning the bar. She shakes her head with a slight frown. “I’d rather sit in a booth, please.”

“As you wish.” I hold out my arm to let her walk in front of me, but I have ulterior motives. I want to check out her ass, and I prefer not to have my hard dick on full display.

She pauses for a moment, glancing down at my crotch before giving me a crooked smile. “I understand.” She winks and takes off toward the booth area, swaying her hips from side to side on her five-inch heels.

She stops in front of the dance floor, scanning the booths. “Where do you want to sit?”

“You pick.” I rub my chin and watch her carefully, trying to figure out why she now looks so appealing to me.

“Hmm,” she mumbles and purses her lips. Her eyes sweep to the left and then to the right. “I just don’t know. Maybe.” She moves to her left and heads toward the one at the end, but she stops and turns around. “No, not down there.”

“No?”

“I don’t want to sit by the bathrooms.”

“Okay,” I mutter and bite the inside of my lip to stifle my laughter. “To the right.”

She stops walking and peers down at the end. “But that’s near the VIP area. I don’t think I want to sit by them.” She chews the nail on her index finger and looks between the two booths. “I don’t know. You pick.”

Her reaction is completely in tune with her personality. She wants to be in charge, but she can’t make a decision. Being a Dominant, whether male or female, a person needs to be able to make a decision and follow through. From the whispers I’ve heard around The Club, Alese doesn’t have the ability to make decisions about little things, let alone ones that deal with sexual dominance.

I place my hand on the small of her back and stare down at her. “May I?”

Her shoulders slump, and her chin dips toward the floor. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

“Let’s go down by the VIP area.” My hand presses harder, resting near her bottom, moving her toward the right to the quieter end of The Club.

She doesn’t pull away, but she walks in step with me as we head toward the table, allowing me to keep my hand against her skin. After she slides in, I follow, leaving about a foot of space between us—just enough room to make her uncomfortable and test her boundaries. She doesn’t try to scoot away, but she fidgets with her hands in her lap and avoids eye contact.

I motion to the waitress and look down at Alese. “Do you want to talk about what happened earlier?”

She bows her head and concentrates on the movements of her hands. “I don’t know.”

“It’ll stay between us. Maybe I can help you work through whatever problem you had with him so it doesn’t happen again.” I’m lying. I really want to get in her head. Find out what makes her tick and what triggered her to run away from the Dom.

“I need a drink first.”

“What can I get ya?” Marta, the waitress, asks and keeps her eyes downward, unlike the girl earlier.

“I’ll take a Johnnie Walker Blue, and Alese would like…” I pause and look over at her. “What do you want?”

She shrugs. “Wine?” She says it more like a question than an answer.

“She’ll take a glass of Dom Perignon, Marta. Thank you.”

“Yes, Sir.” She nods and saunters toward the bar behind our booth.

“Thanks,” Alese says.

“You’ve had a bad night. You deserve only the best.”

We sit in silence and wait for Marta to return. She sets the drinks down, staring at me under her eyelashes before giving a sideways glance to Alese and pursing her lips.

“Thank you, Marta.” She smiles and disappears.

I move the champagne closer to Alese using the backs of my fingers. “Drink up.”

She grabs the flute with both hands and lifts it to her mouth. Her fingers tap nervously against the glass while she gulps. She’s changed out of her Club clothes and has on a pair of jeans and a spaghetti strap tank top that shows just the right amount of cleavage.

Before I even raise my glass, she sets the empty flute down and slumps forward. I pause, holding mine in front of my lips. “Do you want to tell me what happened now?” My eyes never leave her, locking on to her over the rim of my glass.

“I wanted to play tonight.” Her voice is soft as she speaks toward her lap. “We talked for a long time before I finally agreed to go with him.”

“Did you discuss your desires and limits before you agreed to play with him?”

She nods and her chin quivers. “I did.”

“Okay, so what happened when you went with him?” I want to ask about her list, but I figure it’s none of my business since we’re not going to be doing a scene together.

She squirms in her seat. “Everything was going fine. We were going to start playing, and things got out of hand.”

My eyes narrow, tightening on her face. “Look at me, Alese,” I command, waiting for her to comply. When she does, I continue. “I need specifics. Maybe we can figure out what went wrong so you don’t have the same mistake in the future.”

She swallows and clutches her chest with her arms. “He strapped me spread-eagled to the table.” She blows out a shaky breath. “It was cool at first. Then…” She pauses, and tears start to form in her eyes.

Suddenly I feel like an asshole for pushing her to talk. “Alese,” I whisper and move closer, putting my arm around her shoulder. “You don’t have to continue.”

She wipes her face and looks up at me. “I want to finish.” Her voice is a bit stronger, but she’s still hesitant. “He blindfolds me, which isn’t my favorite, especially when I don’t know someone.” She glances toward the ceiling and squeezes her eyes shut. “I didn’t know what he was going to do next.”

I stroke her arm, slowly sliding my fingers around her skin to soothe her. “He gagged me,” she whispers and drops her chin.

Moving my fingers to her face, I raise her eyes to me. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He went against your limits. We’re all into kink, and for that, I’ll never judge you. I want to help and nothing more.”

She nods and lifts her chin. “I screamed, but no one could hear me with the gag in.” She drags her eyes to mine. “I was so scared. I panicked.”

“Is that all that happened?”

She touches her throat. “Can I get another drink?” Her lips smack together, and I want to feel them under my fingers.

I’ve barely touched mine because I’ve been too busy watching and listening. “Stay here. I’ll get another.”

As I walk to the bar, I can’t get the image of her spread-eagled and completely helpless out of my mind. “Another,” I tell the bartender and set her glass on the counter.

Reaching down, I adjust my cock, which hasn’t gone down since the moment I ran into her. At this rate, I’ll still have blue balls when I drive home. Listening to her speak turns me on.

I don’t notice when Beebee sets the glass back down in front of me. “Ret, are you okay?” she asks, touching my hand and pulling me out of my thoughts.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, waving off her concern before grabbing the glass and heading back to the booth.

“Here,
piccola
.”

She immediately takes it and starts to take a large gulp. I touch her hand, pushing the glass away from her mouth. “Slow down.” Some of the champagne dribbles down her chin, and I catch it with my fingertips. If she were mine to do with as I wished, I’d have her suck every drop off my fingertips. But instead, I lick the champagne off my own. “Where were we?”

She moves the flute around the table and avoids looking at me. “So he gagged me, which was already on my off-limits list of activities.”

“Look me in the eyes when you speak, please,” I tell her because I want to see what really terrifies her and what may actually turn her on if she just gives it a chance.

“Sorry.” She winces and draws her bottom lip between her teeth. When she releases it, there are tiny teeth marks in her flesh.

I move, adjusting my cock in my pants from the sight of her marked flesh. If she glances down and catches sight of my hard-on, I’ll probably be the next person to get slapped in the face.

“So after he tied me up, blindfolded me, and gagged me, he attached nipple clamps. But not just any nipple clamps.” She clutches her breasts in her palms and crosses her arms. “He used forceps, but he clicked them one too many times.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing my hand down my face. Those could be powerful weapons when playing with the right person, especially if they enjoyed pain.

“I screamed and tried to stop him from attaching the next one, but I was tied too tightly to the table and my cries were muffled by the gag.” She raises the glass and looks up at me, and I nod my approval. When she sets it back down, she licks her lips. “So there I am—blind, unable to speak, bound, and with forceps pinching my nipples so tightly tears started to stream down my face.”

“I gotcha.”

“Then I feel something cold against my clit,” she stammers and closes her eyes. “It’s a pump, and I can’t wiggle away from it.”

My brows furrow, and although I’m turned on, I’m also pissed off. If I saw that man right now, I’d tie him down to a table and use a fuck machine to penetrate him in the ass until he screamed for mercy. The entire time I’d use an electric cattle prod on his balls, shocking him over and over again.

“But I can’t get away,” she whispers and covers her mouth.

“Where the fuck were the Suits?” They’re supposed to be there to stop shit like this from happening to a Club submissive.

“I don’t know.” She wipes her eyes, using her fingertips near the edges by her thick, catlike eyeliner. “So after he put the pump on me, I thought I was going to pass out. My heart was racing and I couldn’t breathe. I started to choke on my own spit.” Her hand rests on her neck and she swallows. “I heard something metal clinking together.”

“Wait. Was he saying anything during this?”

“Every time I screamed, he’d slap the inside of my thigh and call me a dirty slut.” Her legs close, not in the way to lessen her hunger, but to stop a memory. “I’m not a masochist, Ret.”

“Understood.” I nod and feel a little pang of sadness at her admission. She may not be a masochist, but I’m sure I’d find a way to make some level of pain enjoyable. If it’s done right, with more pleasure, the pain fades and helps heighten the sensation.

“I was thrashing and yelling as much as I could, and before he could use the metal thing I heard on me, the door flew open and a Suit appeared.”