-1-
Vince Buchanan was a restless beast without a discernible outlet. His sharp gaze wandered the dim haze of the opulent underground and exquisitely private club, Malvagio, and a mildly amused but ultimately dissatisfied smile curved his lips as couples in various stages of undress fondled and teased one another with abandon. The sounds of gasps and moans mingled with the wild thump of the gothic music pumping in from hidden speakers and an occasional muffled scream echoed from a play room. He could easily imagine what was happening behind one of the few closed doors because often, he was the one meting out the punishment for the lovely subs begging for the kiss of his lash or the slap of his hand on pristine flesh. Was there anything sweeter than the sound of flesh meeting flesh and the resounding cry that followed as a round, bountiful ass jiggled from the impact? Vince didn’t think so. He loved a woman’s ass — more so after his palm had heated it. Malvagio was his den of iniquity, his blissful acceptance of sin in its myriad of forms and the balm to his ragged psyche — most nights.
Tonight was not one of those nights.
His life as of late had turned to utter chaos and not even the promise of a good, dirty fuck could set things right again.
He sighed and threw back the scotch in his hand, attracting the attention of his friend and fellow business partner, Laird Tiechert, who’d previously been enjoying the talents of his favorite pet, Sapphire, which wasn’t her real name, of course, but her Malvagio personality.
“Saff,” Laird drawled, motioning to Vince before he downed the contents of his own tumbler. “My friend could use a pick-me-up. He’s been pouting all night. I’ll bet you can put a smile on his sour face.”
Sapphire, a young woman born to ridiculous wealth and perennially bored with all life had to offer by the tender age of fifteen, had finally been invited to Malvagio for her eighteenth birthday. The invitation, of course, had been secret and received with breathless anticipation as an invitation to the underground club was a closely guarded honor. And thus far, Sapphire hadn’t disappointed her sponsor. The succulent little harlot had a tight body, loose morals, and an insatiable appetite, which ordinarily would’ve represented Vince’s favorite qualities in a woman but these days, he was completely out of sorts. He blamed his brothers. Laird grinned as Sapphire, clad in a sapphire choker, matching heels and little else, knelt before Vince and her nimble fingers plucked at his trouser button, eager to free his cock for her greedy, red mouth but even though he enjoyed the idea of having his cock sucked immediately after the woman had sucked off his best friend — such a perverted bastard he was — his cock barely stirred.
“Someone doesn’t want to play?” Sapphire pouted when she saw his flaccid cock.
“Maybe another time,” Vince said.
“Maybe you just need some more encouragement,” she countered with a coy smile and Laird chuckled.
Before Vince could dissuade her, Sapphire’s lips covered his soft cock and a riot of pleasurable sensation followed. Laird signaled for the hostess and ordered two more rounds, all the while Sapphire sucked and licked, dutifully trying to rouse his cock. Although his member finally sparked to life, Vince knew it would take a while before he’d come because his mind wasn’t engaged and gently disengaged Sapphire with a smile. “Darlin’, it’s me, not you,” he said and she climbed to her feet with an unsure expression, her gaze darting to Laird as if she were afraid she’d displeased him. “Laird, assure your pet, her talents are sweet. I’m just in a shitty mood.”
Laird sighed and nodded, reaching to pull her close by her collar. “I will punish you later,” he promised in a dark but silky tone and then slapped her on the ass, sending her away.
“You’re such a cruel Master,” Vince said, chuckling. “Go easy on her.”
“Don’t worry about Sapphire. She puts on a good show but she loves getting paddled. She is the quintessential brat with daddy issues. God, I love her. You’re missing out,” Laird warned playfully, his gaze following his pet as she made her way through the throng of people to a private room to await her master. “So, what’s really eating at you? I’ve never known you to turn down a blowjob from one of my pets. You know I have discerning tastes and would never offer you anything of a sub-par nature.” Laird’s expression turned to mock fear. “Good God, you’re dying, aren’t you? Joining the priesthood? Or worse yet, still whining about your little investment going down the drain thanks to that pesky older brother of yours?”
“Don’t talk about Dillon or Penny. The walls have ears and besides, I don’t even think about Penny that way anymore.”
“Because she’s about to burst with your brother’s progeny or something else?” Laird asked solicitously. The man was an incorrigible bastard and one of the many reasons he and Vince got along famously. “I never knew you to be so squeamish.”
“My lack of desire for Penny has nothing to do with the fact that she’s pregnant, but rather the fact that Dillon would remove my head from my shoulders if I so much as glance at Penny in a sexual manner. And seeing as my relationship with my older brother has only recently become civil once again, I don’t see the point in challenging his orders. Besides, Penny is now like my sister. And I don’t go that way.”
“Pity. Some sisters are hot,” Laird responded with a shrug, his gaze alighting as the scantily-clad hostess returned with their drinks. “Ahh! Perfect timing. Tell me, gorgeous, what’s your name?”
Her big eyes widened and she actually stammered a bit, which Vince found oddly endearing, and he took an extra second to regard the girl. “J-josie,” she answered, placing their drinks on the small table between them. “Is there anything else you need?” Laird patted his knee with a lascivious glint in his eye and the girl’s mouth fell open as she shook her head. “Sir?”
“Darling, have you forgotten where you are? You’re in Malvagio. You can’t play the blushing virgin within these walls because there’s nothing more tantalizing to jaded wretches like us than a woman who hasn’t had a cock between her thighs yet; we might devour a tasty morsel like that…”
“I…”
Vince could nearly see her shaking. The sequins on her hostess costume twinkled in the dim light, winking, as she trembled. Her blond hair tumbled in waves down her back, encouraging a good hold at the scalp, and he wondered briefly if she were in fact, a virgin. Admittedly, he had a thing for virgins — a weakness, one might call it. But, just as the idea sparked his slumbering libido, reality intruded. There was little chance at all this succulent piece of ass was untouched. No one came to Malvagio so sweet. Laird was right; they’d be eaten alive. But she was plainly nervous and Vince wasn’t interested in forcing himself on a quaking girl with little sense in her head for putting herself in harm’s way. “Leave her be, Laird. Go fuck your pet. This one isn’t interested,” he said with a bored drawl, motioning for the girl to be gone.
Once the girl had scuttled off, Laird turned to Vince with a speculative look. “Did you hire her? I know I didn’t.”
Vince searched his memory and came up curiously empty. “No, I didn’t,” he answered. “Perhaps Nolan?”
But even as he suggested it, he knew it wasn’t true. Nolan was too busy being a husband and father — one of the most recent upsets in Vince’s life — to bother with the club they both held major stakes in. “I think we need to question the little morsel,” Laird suggested, eager to find the girl who’d practically ran away from them. Laird loved nothing more than the chase but Vince knew his friend too well and volunteered instead.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said, rising. “I need something to take my mind off what’s happening all around me.”
“You’re transparent, Buchanan,” Laird said, grinning. “You want to find out for yourself if that sweet little piece of ass is a virgin. Fine, have it your way, but if you find her, let me know so I can watch. I love watching you do what you do best.”
“Fucking pervert.” Vince grinned even as he delivered the insult and Laired grinned back as he called after Vince without shame.
“A badge worn with pride.”
Vince descended from the VIP level onto the ground level of the club and wound his way through the throng of well-heeled individuals all bent on being someone else for the night. Assumed identities were part of Malvagio’s charm as they acted out their most depraved fantasies under darkened and secret cover. Of course, most were decidedly tame, Vince thought as he passed by a number of sexual acts that were hardly taboo but enjoyable just the same, and even lingered a moment as a woman, her legs thrown over the shoulders of a man feasting on her clit, cried out, as her big, synthetically-enhanced tits heaved with the force of her climax. But he was more interested in finding the mystery hostess than remaining with the couple who had moved onto fucking before the woman could even catch her breath.
Malvagio was a tri-level building with the VIP quarters and the security cameras at the top level so they could overlook the second floor, an opulent expanse of divans, soft, sensual chairs as well as an area used for dancing as gothic techno music throbbed in time with the moving bodies. The bottom level was the dungeon, which was equipped with five different rooms of varying sexual preference and taboo. The walls were covered in burgundy damask wallpaper with priceless oil canvas art of William Bouguereau and Francois Boucher with buxom models showing plenty of flesh in varying stages of debauchery. Vince and Nolan had always professed an appreciation for a full-figured woman for there was nothing better than the give of soft flesh beneath the fingertips. His gaze sought out the unknown blond but each hostess that passed by were ones he’d hired — and bedded — at one time or another and his pique at not being able to find her was beginning to converge into something more serious. How had she managed to circumvent their security to gain access to Malvagio? No longer simply curious, his need to find the girl was grounded in the need to protect the club. Many had much to lose if their involvement became known and thus, the proprietors took great care in protecting their anonymity. Something didn’t feel right.
In the past, he’d have Nolan with him to handle the situation but Nolan was no longer available. His twin brother was too busy being respectable to bother with Vince and their investments presently — including Malvagio. But Vince didn’t have time to grouse about Nolan. With each passing second that the mystery girl went unaccounted, he felt certain they were all barreling toward something bad.
Emma Winters realized she’d bitten off more than she could chew the minute she locked eyes with Vince Buchanan, if even for a second, but she couldn’t find the way out of this cursed place to save her life. In hindsight, her grand plan had been pretty reckless but it’d seemed like the only answer at the time. Now? She just wanted to get out this rotten place before she ended up like her younger sister, Lana. She tried to make her way toward what she believed was the exit but suddenly, she was waylaid by a big man wearing a laconic smile and a carnal light in his eyes. “You look delicious,” he said, reaching out to finger a fat curl and tug on it lightly. “Do you belong to someone?”
The solicitously asked question was no less disgusting but from what she knew of Malvagio, everyone belonged to someone and if she were to say otherwise would mark her as being an outsider and blow her tenuous cover. She forced a tremulous smile and pretended that she was indeed someone’s property. “Of course. My Master is coming. I was told to wait here,” she answered.
“And who is your Master?” he asked, sliding his finger along the curve of her jaw. “Perhaps he would be of a mind to share his lovely pet.”
“He doesn’t share,” she said quickly, shuddering at the thought. “In fact, he’s very jealous. Very possessive.”
He arched his brow at that. “Possessive and yet he brings such a pretty thing here? Seems an odd way to cherish a possession as lovely as you. Surely, he knows that Malvagio has a reputation for debauchery at its finest level. And with that comes a certain…permissiveness with fellow Malvagio members.”
“Yes, well, he’s odd that way.”
He advanced, crowding her personal space in a way that made her intensely uncomfortable but she tried not to show it. Fear had a way of making people do stupid things and Emma couldn’t afford to be stupid here. “What if I told you, that I think you’re lying…that you have no Master and therefore are fair game.”
“Y-you would be wrong,” she said, lifting her chin. “In fact, my Master is…Nolan Buchanan.” She threw the name out there in the desperate hope that her aggressive suitor would back off but when the man’s slow smile widened with feral intent, she knew she’d picked the wrong Buchanan.
“Now I know without a doubt you’re lying,” he said, pushing her hard into the darkened room. She stumbled on a gasp but tried to dart past him — no matter she was blowing her cover big time — but he was too quick. “Where are you going, little lamb? We haven’t even begun to have fun.” He flicked the lights and the room illuminated through a series of slow, dim recessed lighting. Emma shrank back when she saw what looked like a medieval torture chamber with whips and chains and leather restraints. He turned the lock and returned to her, his smile the scariest thing she’d ever seen. “You see, I know the Buchanans very well. And I know that Nolan hasn’t taken a sub or slave to Malvagio in months, which means you don’t belong to anyone, let alone Nolan Buchanan.”
“Let me go,” Emma demanded, hating that her voice trembled. She was in deep shit. “Okay, fine, you caught me. I’m not a Malvagio regular but that doesn’t give you the right to terrorize me. If you don’t let me go this instance, I’ll start screaming my head off.”
“Please do. I love the sound of a woman’s screams. Particularly screams mingled with pain and fear.”
Pain? Hell no. Emma made one last effort to escape, running past him but he scooped her up as if she were made of air and slammed her down on the table, knocking the wind from her lungs and momentarily dazing her. She fought for breath while he quickly secured her tightly to restraints that dangled from the ceiling, then slowly lowered the table flush with the floor, leaving her dangling. She hung like an offering, her legs spread obscenely but no matter how she thrashed, she couldn’t free herself. Emma caught the glint of something in the dull light and she realized he was holding a thin blade. Oh God…”What are you doing?” she asked, opening her mouth to scream. “Stop! Stop! Please! Someone help me!”
He laughed and slid the blade under the tiny straps of her costume bottoms and cut them free. He did the same for her top. She was mortified to find herself naked and splayed on the table, vulnerable to his gaze and his touch.
“You have beautiful skin,” he observed, running his hands down the flesh of her belly, cupping her mound roughly. “And nicely bare. I abhor a hairy cunt.”
“Fuck you,” she said and he responded with a lightening fast crack across her face. She tasted blood. He squeezed her cheeks so hard her jaw popped and she blinked back tears.
“Now I shall have to punish you.” He went to the wall and selected a wicked looking paddle, testing its weight against his palm with a few slaps. Satisfied, he returned to Emma and without hesitation, landed the first, of what would become many, hits on her tender skin.
Heaven help me! She sobbed openly, begging him to stop but her sobs fell on deaf ears and in fact, he became more frenzied with his beating until Emma knew she would lose consciousness soon. Would anyone find her before he killed her? I’m sorry, Lana…I failed you.
Emma had known monsters prowled Malvagio…she hadn’t expected to run straight into one.
-2-
Vince pushed past people with little regard to their feelings or how rude he appeared, his one concern being to find the little interloper before she found trouble. There was a reason Malvagio was one of the most highly sought after clubs in the city — because you couldn’t buy your way in, you had to be sponsored and there was a strict privacy clause that was enforced most strenuously. It was similar to Fight Club rules. First rule of Malvagio — don’t talk about Malvagio.
And the knowledge that someone had circumvented their security gave Vince a bad feeling. Nothing good could come of this, of that he was certain.
He detoured to the dungeons and began systematically opening doors, ignoring the surprised gasps or stern glares from those interrupted from their play. At the last door, he found it barred from the other side. He rattled the door hard and slammed his hand against the thick wood. “Open up. This is Vince Buchanan…owner of this fucking club and you’re breaking the rules.” When no answer followed, Vince took a step back and planted his foot hard on the door, splintering the jam and sending wood flying. The room was his favorite, equipped with a full rigging system for suspension play and plenty of wonderfully wicked and debased toys to play with, insert or flog with. But what he saw filled him with dread. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered, going straight to the suspended girl lying limp and unconscious in the bonds. He quickly released her ties and she fell into his arms with barely a moan. She looked dead. Her blond hair fell like beaten summer wheat, crushed and damp, and raised welts marred her tender pale skin. Blood trickled from her swollen mouth and her right eye was blackened shut. She was tiny, barely five feet tall if he were to wager a guess, and not an inch of her naked body wasn’t scratched, bruised, or otherwise abused. Consent was a nonnegotiable club rule and one look at the girl told Vince all he needed to know: she hadn’t asked for this.