Chapter 4: Damian

If any woman ever needed a spanking, it's this one. When she performed her little move on me, I wasn't expecting it and hit the ground before I could come up with a countermove. Yeah, I'm angry and that's never good.

This is a lifestyle of choice. I've never before laid a hand on a woman who didn't want it. They might be afraid because a punishment spanking is no cake walk, but they voluntarily suffer the consequences for their actions. Punishing this woman, a dominant, goes against everything I believe in. She's driven me completely, certifiably insane, because I'm contemplating a fitting punishment.

I have no idea what to do now. A dominant doesn't make threats he's unwilling to see through. I need to calm the fuck down. I've never been into choking but the thought of putting my hands around her throat is as pleasant as striking the palm of my hand across her ass.

I wanted to see that very ass walk in front of me. I got more than I bargained for when Carl tossed her into the car. God, her ass cheeks begged for exactly what I gave them and that one slap is not nearly enough. Plain and simple, she brings out the worst in me. I should be shoving her out the door and not contemplating locking her in a room and keeping her against her will. Christ, fuck, what am I thinking?

My friend Monroe would kick my ass. He's the one who fights against sex trafficking. There's no excuse for my behavior and I need to take control back. I give Lydia my disappointed Dom face. "Oh? I have no intention of beating you in order to get you to accept my offer. I plan to spank your delectable ass to make myself feel better." Take that, you sexy as sin pain in my ass.

I can't quite see her eyes but I can feel their heat. With all that red hair, her fiery temper just adds to the turn on. "If you hit me again, I'll file charges," she challenges.

My laughter fills the car. Wealth can buy many things, including enough legal mumbo jumbo to keep the charges tied up in the court process for years. She doesn't worry me. "I assure you, my team of attorneys will handle any legal problems you throw my way."

"Why me?" she whispers. For the first time, I hear defeat in her tone. I don't like it and the faint echo of her words finally gets through to me. I'm being a complete out of control ass. If anything can be salvaged from this fiasco, I need to try.

***

Lydia

I don't trust this man as far as I can throw him, so why is his voice sizzling across my skin like a Fourth of July sparkler?

"Your fame precedes you, and I'm tired of hearing about the red-headed Domme who attracts my rich patrons. They fly over here at least once a month just to watch you work. They pay your boss big bucks for a chance to have you top them, but it seems you are rather discerning in your choice of subs. I only know of one person who managed to get past your selection process. It's been the talk of my club for months." His Dom voice has turned low and sexy. I'm sure it's easy for him to turn it on and off given that he's completely in charge.

What I would give to tie him up and make him groan. I'd put the largest plug I could find up his ass and lock his cock in the smallest cage available. Hell, I'd add ginger oil to the plug and enjoy every minute he begs for mercy.

I'm lying to myself. If there were ever a man to top me, Damian's the one. In the privacy of my bedroom, it's what I crave-a Dom who controls me, brings me to my knees, and makes me beg. I'm a disgrace to Dommes everywhere. I'm not a switch, which makes my fantasies nearly impossible to obtain. The men I find to relieve the submission itch are never enough. It starts in bed and ends there. Well, not necessarily bed, but the second the scene is over, so is my submission.

Inhaling slowly to gain control of myself, I decide to give my abductor a small amount of truth. "I know the Mediterranean is a rat hole, but I'm not into perfect people. I enjoy flaws. Your mega million-dollar followers spend enough money keeping their bodies beautiful to feed a small country. My answer is no and will always be no."

He's silent for a few minutes and I'm fascinated that he's considering what I'm saying. "Hmm, you may have a point," he says at last. "They're beautiful, but I believe most of them are mentally fucked up. Mommy and Daddy didn't give them enough attention, rich Uncle Bruce got too touchy feely when they were young, or better yet, the dog was the only one willing to put out when they were juveniles."

I can't believe he said that. "You're disgusting."

His voice goes from sexy to stern. "And you're prejudice. I've seen your earlier pictures before your generous curves became muscled stealth. You put as much stock into your body as my millionaire club members do. I didn't find any evidence of plastic surgery in your file but borderline anorexia and maybe even bulimia are a given."

It's killing me that I can't see his face but at the same time, he can't see mine. My fingers tremble as I bring them to my mouth. It hurt-his words, his guess, and his obvious satisfaction in my humiliation. My hand goes to the door handle. I am getting out even if I need to jump. As my luck would have it, the door won't budge.

A touch of anger enters his voice. "Does the truth hurt?" He's angry, but there's something else too. I would give anything to know his story. "All of us are fucked up in this crazy world. You don't need to be into the BDSM scene to be crazy and we both know it. I think you will be pleasantly surprised by the diverse nature of my... followers, as you call them. I want you working at Club El Diablo. I'm willing to negotiate terms. I'll give you a one-month trial period, a deluxe suite at my hotel, and allow Raul to accompany you, though he will officially work for me. You'll work three nights a week but no tending bar, helping with accounting, or cleaning your own area. I'll triple your pay plus pay the rent on your apartment so you have a place to come back to... if you come back."

Here we go again with his demands. He'll never understand. Part of my control is that I work at a place like the Mediterranean. Lost souls who don't judge me or if they do, they don't find me lacking. I won't fit in Damian's hobknob crowd. I'm still the fat girl with a huge chip on her lonely shoulder.

"If you remain stubborn and continue to say no, I offer a wager."

Shit. He's done his homework. This is my worst flaw; I live for a bet. It's my vice. Once a month I take my hidden savings and wager one hundred dollars on the ponies at the racetrack. I bring all my money so I can prove to myself that I don't have a problem. When the hundred is gone, I always walk away. It's my test.

Before he died, my father was a jockey. He never made the big time but he raised me at the track. He was five two and weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. My mother was large like me but that's what turned him on. She died when I was a baby. My dad loved nothing more than telling me stories of the first time he saw her. As I grew older, his betting problem became a major factor in our life. Betting losses turned to drinking more alcohol. I loved him, but I never want to be weak like that.

I shake myself mentally and snap out of my walk down memory lane. I can't help myself because really, I am a betting girl. "Terms?" I ask even though I know I'm crazy.

His laugh vibrates across every nerve in my body. It's almost sexier than he is. "If you accept the challenge, I'll hold off on the spanking you deserve and drive you back to your car after dinner."

"Terms?" I demand in my ultimate bitch Domme voice.

Now he gives a heavy sigh. "You have twenty-four hours to hide and then I have twenty-four to find you, though I doubt I'll need it. If I win, and I will, you'll work for me for the desired thirty days. If you win, I'll pay you fifty thousand dollars and walk away."

Fuck, he must know I want my own club and he knows I need the money. Double fuck. "You have a deal, but I have one condition about dinner."

"That's okay. Carl take us to Beasty Burgers. My lady wants her usual."

I'm in so much fucking trouble.