#1: She’s FBI

~Ryder~

THWACK! I smack the submissive’s reddening ass in time with the dark beat of the old-school Depeche Mode tunes pounding through my dungeon at The Red Room. Clenching my jaw, I curl my palm into a fist, then shake out the sting.

The sub gasps and sticks her butt out for me. Oh yeah, Callie likes pain and punishment, which is why she frequents this BDSM club. But the past two hours have proven that her attitude doesn’t submit half as well as her body. Given enough time, I’ll change that.

She gasps and pushes back for more, her usual bratty fire still burning bright even after twenty minutes of this.

“More,” she gasps.

I land another spank, harder this time, watching the way her flesh blooms red. “You’re not learning. Who’s in charge here?”

“But I need it,” she whines.

I step closer, pressing my body against her heated skin, my hand sliding between her thighs to feel how soaked she already is. “What you need and what you think you deserve are two different things. You come here chasing pain because it gets you off, but you never actually submit. You want the high without the surrender.”

Her hips rock against my fingers despite her words. “I submit when it’s worth it.”

I pinch her clit lightly, making her jolt. “You’re disrespectful, sub. What do you call me?”

“Sir,” she gasps. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m so close. You’ve kept me on edge forever–”

“For thirty minutes,” I cut in. “It’s your role to stay on edge for as long as I wish and to accept my commands with grace and dignity… and silence.”

Her breath hitches. She sobs, then catches herself. “Yes, Sir. You’re right, Sir. I’m sorry.”

Damn, that’s the most progress we’ve made all afternoon. It’s better, but still not enough. “You’re going to have to learn to control yourself.”

She bites her lip. “I’m trying, Sir.”

“Not hard enough. You know I have to punish you.”

Her entire body perks up. “Yes, Sir!”

I race around her and smack her ass again. “No coming unless I give you permission.”

Her head drops between her shoulders as her hope deflates, but she takes my edict in blessed silence.

I reach for the nipple clamps on the tray beside us and attach them slowly, one after the other. Callie hisses at the bite, her body tensing. Next comes the vibrating egg, which I slide into her pussy with two fingers, turning it on low. The low hum mixes with the music as I step back and resume the spanking, syncing every strike with the increasing intensity of the toy until she wails.

“Quiet. Take your punishment. You haven’t earned an orgasm. You’re not getting one for a long while.”

Thirty minutes pass like this. I edge her relentlessly, bringing her close, then pulling back, over and over. She whines, curses, begs in that pretty, frustrated voice that never quite loses its edge. Sweat beads on her skin. Her thighs tremble. Finally, after the fifth time I deny her, something shifts. Her shoulders drop just a fraction, her breathing changes, and for one brief moment her voice cracks with real need.

“Please, Sir… I can’t… I need to come.”

I slide in front of her until I fuse our gazes together. Fuck, her wild, fully dilated eyes, red cheeks, and heaving breaths tell me that she is close not just to orgasm, but to her breaking point.

“Callie . . .” I warn, dialing back the egg’s remote control to let her cool down. “No coming.” This time, she winces, but doesn’t complain.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Her breathing hitches, and her head bows completely. “How can I please you?” I smile. Finally… some measure of surrender.

I savor it, that tiny crack in her armor. A part of me whispers that I should throw caution to the wind and enjoy her delicious turmoil for just a few minutes more. God knows she’s earned a little sensual torture for her defiance.

But a sub’s responsibility is to please whoever tops her. A Dom’s role is to give the sub what she needs. Callie needs to come. This is the only time I feel anything deeply anymore, this absorption of a submissive’s pure, unfiltered state. My cock strains against my pants, thick and aching, but I ignore it. I always do.

I motion to the door. “Zane.”

My friend enters a moment later, that easy grin on his face. He is the one-man cleanup crew around here, reliable with aftercare and whatever else a scene needs. Callie looks at him, then back at me, her expression falling.

“You’re not going to fuck me?” she asks, her voice smaller now.

I shake my head. “Not tonight. You’ve earned an orgasm, though. Ask me nicely.”

She bites her lip, letting the bratty mask slip further. “Please, Sir. May I come?”

I slide my fingers back inside her, curling them against that spot that makes her knees buckle while the egg vibrates higher. “Come for me, Callie. Then you’re going to submit properly to Zane while I watch.”

Her body obeys almost instantly, clenching around my fingers as she cries out, hips jerking. I draw it out until she is shaking, then step back and let Zane take over. He uncuffs her gently, guiding her down to her knees with quiet praise. Callie glances at me one last time, disappointment clear in her eyes. Everyone here knows my reputation. I have not fucked a submissive in years. The celibacy is not a secret.

I leave them to it and head for the private shower attached to the room. The hot water hits my shoulders, but my hands still shake slightly from the emotional intensity I absorbed from Callie. Her fear, her thrill, her desire, her trembling greed for more have bled into me and I’ve sucked in every drop. Subs like her are the reason dominance works for me.

Part of me wishes I’d taken her up on her offer and fucked her. It has been more than five years since I’ve felt the silken clasp of a woman’s pussy. But nothing has changed. I have no reason to hope that being with Callie would provide any different outcome. Crushing emptiness and disappointment would level me the moment the orgasm ended – if I had one at all. The woman always either feels inadequate or irate. Sex has been that way every time I’ve tried with anyone after–

No. Damn it, I am not having thoughts of her.

I close my eyes and wrap my hand around my cock, stroking slowly as memories surface unbidden. Twelve years ago. Bud. My Rosebud. She had been so young, so innocent, as she had undressed for me the first time. Her shy smile when she had parted her thighs to accept me. The way her voice had cracked when she whispered, “I love you,” right as I pushed inside her, taking her virginity with all the care I could manage. Her nails digging into my shoulders, her soft gasps turning into moans as she learned what pleasure felt like with me.

God damn it, why can’t I get past her after twelve fucking years?

My hand moves faster, the water streaming down my back. I remember the small rose tattoo she had surprised me with on her hip, matching the one I got on my thigh for her. “My Rosebud,” it says in simple script. She had laughed when she saw it, tracing the ink with her fingertips before pulling me down for another kiss.

The orgasm hits me hard, pleasure spiking through my body as I pump my cock and let the memories wash over me. In seconds, the sensation fizzled as I pant, propping myself up with a palm against the wall and releasing my softening cock.

But the moment fades and the familiar self-loathing rushes in. Twelve years, and I still cannot come without thinking of her. And once again, I’m left to feel exactly how pathetic I am because I can only come by thinking about a girl who’s surely gotten over me long ago. A girl, now a woman, whom I’ll never have the chance to touch again.

I rinse off quickly, disgusted with myself, and step out of the shower.

Zane is waiting when I walk out, fully dressed and composed. “Callie’s fine. She’s resting in the aftercare room. Said to tell you she hopes you change your mind someday.”

I grunt in response, pulling on fresh clothes.

Zane smirks. “Thorne wants to see you in the main observation lounge. Something about a special training request. Oh, and nice bud work earlier. Fingering your favorite flower again?”

He nods toward the tattoo visible on my thigh where my shorts ride up. I shoot him a warning look, but he only laughs. “Everyone knows, man. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

~

I ignore the jab and follow him down the hallway to the lounge where Nico Thorne stands with a small group of other experienced Doms. Nico became the club's new owner after Selena, the previous owner, got married and moved away. Nico has been doing a wonderful job in the one year since he began managing this place.

As soon as I enter, he gestures to the large one-way mirror that looks into the adjacent training dungeon.

“Gentlemen, we have guests tonight. Two FBI agents preparing for a deep undercover operation. Pretty high stakes according to what I gather. The gist of it is… the ring auctions off high-end submissives for millions to the worst kind of clientele, and they have already taken one federal agent hostage. They need training in power exchange dynamics to infiltrate, retrieve her and gain whatever information they can. Time is short.”

Through the glass I see a man and a woman in the middle of a scene setup. The man, Agent Marcus Reed according to the file Thorne slides over, is struggling. He keeps hesitating, his posture is uncertain as he tries to issue commands. The woman keeps arguing back with her arms crossed, clearly not yielding an inch. She's wearing a black sports bra and tight shorts that hug every curve, her red hair pulled into a high ponytail that sways when she shakes her head.

Instant, violent attraction hits me low in the gut at the sight of her. My cock twitches again, hardening almost immediately at the sight of her defiant stance, the fire in her movements. I have not reacted like this to anyone in years.

One of the other Doms, Axel, speaks up. “The woman volunteered for her first field assignment. Courageous, but she is resisting the training hard. Marcus is not cutting it as her temporary Dom.”

Thorne nods. “The mission is critical. They need to sell the dynamic convincingly or they will both end up dead or sold. The ring does not tolerate fakes.”

I cannot take my eyes off the redhead. The way she plants her feet and lifts her chin when Marcus tries again. She is smart and quick with her retorts. I feel the pull deep in my chest, mixed with the sudden rush of blood lower down.

“I’ll do it,” I say, my voice cutting through the conversation.

The other Doms turn to look at me, clearly surprised. I rarely volunteer for anything outside my own scenes, especially not with my reputation for staying hands-off.

Axel raises an eyebrow. “You sure, Kane? You have a way with the defiant ones, but this is different. She’s FBI, not a club sub.”

Another Dom chuckles. “And everyone knows you’re not even gonna fuck her. So what’s the point?”

I ignore the questions, my gaze locked on her through the glass. “I said I’ll train her. Tell them the change is happening now.”

Thorne studies me for a moment, then nods. “Axel, make the introduction.”

I followed Axel and Zane down the hall to the next opening on the left. Marcus looks up, tensed, clearly not digging the assignment. The female agent just sets her shoulders and ignores him.

That will change – damn quick.

For now, I let Axel ease the way. Quickly, Axel explains the situation. The male agent glances at his female counterpart as she rises to her feet. Poor bastard actually looks relieved. I smile, fighting back the urge to rub my hands together.

“You want me to introduce you two?” Axel gestures between me and the redhead.

I shake my head. “I got it from here. Face me.”

The woman gasps, stiffens… then darts to the other side of the room.

So she wants to play games already? That is no problem for me.

I take off after her and grab her from behind, grasping a handful of that siren red hair. Damn, it’s soft. Her breathing hitches, and I get harder in an instant.

“On your knees. Stay there until I say otherwise. You’re in training with me now, and I won’t be as lax as Axel. I’d rather complete introductions before I spank you, but that’s your choice.”

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” The woman fights my hold. “Ryder.”

She knows my name? Her voice resonates in my head, crisp yet feminine. So fucking familiar. Impossible. It can’t be…

I release her hair and grab her shoulders, still subduing her struggles. Heart pounding, I spin her to face me. That familiar face, angry dark eyes, and the mulish set of her pert little chin has me mentally flailing with shock.

Holy fuck.

I gasp, staring. “Bud?”