Shades of Red (Sharp Edges Duet #1)

Epilogue

As much as things have changed since becoming sous chef at Dix, my weekly trips to Le Fournil to get the best croissant aux amandes in Paris will remain the most steadfast thing in my life. Who needs the fickle love of a woman when you have pastries?

Sophie brings two café crèmes from the back kitchen and sets them on the flat top of the pastry display. It’s late on Monday, and the shelves are picked over and nearly bare. The baguettes are gone, as are most of the pastries. There are always a few straggling tourists this late, but anyone who is smart enough or French enough knows not to go to a boulangerie thirty minutes before closing time, so it’s mostly quiet.

I’ve already devoured one of my croissants, but Sophie was omniscient enough to save me two today.

“You look pale,” she says, her stern brown eyes looking me up and down as she sips on her café crème.

“Thanks, Soph,” I retort, rolling my eyes at her standard French brutality.

“And tired.”

“I do work fourteen hours in a kitchen every day,” I remind her. Every day but Monday, which is my only chance to visit her. I bite into my second croissant and sprinkle pastry flakes all over my black shirt before brushing them onto the floor.

“And sad,” she continues.

“Jesus, Sophie,” I splutter as I choke on the food in my mouth. “Stop tearing into me like I’m one of your fresh baguettes. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” she answers, pointing a bony finger in my face. “You look like too much thinking with that thick saucisse between your legs got your fragile heart broken.”

She’s not wrong. But I’m not discussing this with her or anyone else. “Don’t worry, my heart is stronger than ever. And my damn saucisse is stowed for the foreseeable future.”

“Ahh, so that’s the problem,” she answers, nodding her head like she’s discovered the root of my life’s miseries. “T’as besoin de baiser.”

“I do not need to fuck, you filthy Frenchie,” I snap back.

She smiles at me like a damn Cheshire cat. “I think we both know which one of us is filthy.”

Fuck me. I mentioned liking to use knives on more than food one time when she and I shared too much friendly Cabernet Sauvignon after work, and now she thinks I’m some sort of deviant. Which I am. But she doesn’t need to know that.

Without another word, she leaves the table and walks into the back.

“Great, thanks for the croissants with a side of your usual charm, Sophie,” I call back, assuming she’s decided to leave the glittering conversation at that and get back to work in the kitchen. I’m surprised when she walks back into the bakery holding a small piece of paper with something written in red.

“Here,” she says, holding out the paper for me to take. On second glance, it’s an address for an arrondissement in Paris that I’ve heard of but never been to. Everyone has heard of Boulevard de Clichy. “Go here. They’ll fix what’s wrong with you.”

“Very cryptic, Soph,” I answer with a laugh. “Finally decided to get rid of me? Sending me to the Rue Morgue, are you?”

“Of course not, espèce d’idiot. It is a club érotique.” She gives me a sly smile while I try to decipher if my French is so bad that I’ve grossly misunderstood her. Because there’s no way in Hell that Sophie has given me the address of a sex club and told me to get fucked. She winks at me, and I have a sneaking suspicion that my French is accurate.

“You should fit right in.”

This is insane. On so many levels. Granted it’s not the craziest thing I’ve done as murder is a lot to contend with, but it’s up there. I tried looking up the address online, but nothing existed. From the only picture I could find, Sophie’s address looks like a rundown confiserie. There’s golden paint peeling off the outer walls and tattered, red striped awnings shading large bay windows that would have normally housed an array of sweets and chocolates. Con are the only decorative letters still fully visible on the long rectangular sign above the door.

With very little information other than the ramblings of a crazy old French woman, I show up to the address on Saturday night with no expectations of what I might find. It might actually be just a rundown confiserie, and Sophie is having a go at me to amuse herself. The other option is that this might be exactly what I’ve been looking for.

I went back and forth deciding what to wear tonight. In the end, I decided on black jeans and a black button up shirt. My sous chef salary meant I could afford a new pair of Italian leather boots. This time, I bought two sets just in case. In my back pocket, I’ve got a vial of blood if the occasion calls for it. I made a promise to Blaise Moreau before he died that the next time I came I would be fucking in his blood. And I am a man of my word.

It’s been tested, of course. I couldn’t use spoiled blood in boudin noir. The fucker’s blood was the only pure thing about him. And from what I hear, it was delicious.

When I reach the doors of the location, I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. It looks every bit as run down from the outside as it did from the photo. The windows are all blacked out, so I can’t be sure if anyone is even here. There’s no sound coming from the building. I’m fairly certain Sophie has duped me and is waiting to laugh at my stupidity when I see her next. But the faintest sliver of hope has me reaching for the silver button on the intercom beside the door.

To my utter surprise, the com springs to life. “Bonsoir. Puis-je vous aider?”

Shit, I’m left scrambling to translate French while also being suddenly terrified of what lies on the other side of those unassuming golden doors. “Heu, je viens de la part de Sophie du Maurier.”

Jesus, I sound like an idiot. I’ve got no fucking idea what else to say other than my crazy pastry mentor sent me here to explore my deviant side and put my cock to good use again.

“Ahh, Sophie,” the disjointed voice replies. In English because apparently my French is so terrible that no one can stomach it. “She told us she sent some young blood our way.”

Fucking fantastic. Either the metaphor isn’t a metaphor, and Sophie really has sent me here to be rid of my melancholic ass. Or Sophie is on a friendly, first name basis with the hostess of a sex club. I’m not sure which is worse.

“I’ll admit she didn’t give me many details other than the address,” I mumble back as I shift awkwardly on my feet. There’s still time to run and pretend like I never came. But I can feel something inside the building pulling me in, begging me to look and touch and feel. Somehow I know my destin is behind those peeling, golden doors.

There’s a faint buzz as the door clicks open. With no moment to hesitate, I put my palm on the wood and push.

“Bienvenue au Sucre,” the voice on the speaker calls as I pass over the threshold.

Sucre. They’ve named a kink club Sugar. And the inside is so decadent it seems pretty fitting.

Pastel strobe lights bring the space to life in splashes of pink, blue, and purple. Indie French music drifts through the air, softly enough to lull you into a trance-like state. Multi-colored chandeliers hang from the ceiling, each piece of crystal a different shade and shape reminiscent of bright, tempered sugar sweets. The walls are a pale blue with high ceilings. From the looks of it, there’s an upper floor as well.

And the scenes happening all around me? I’ve never seen people be so free with their bodies. There’s skin everywhere in every hue. Tits, pussies, and cocks are out on full display in all areas of the large club. I feel overdressed and too morose in my all black ensemble. I have the innate urge to strip down and play with the rest of the deviants.

I see things that my imagination never would have thought to conjure. A man is dressed in thin strips of white leather on his hands and knees while a woman rests her bright pink stilettos on his back. She’s got a pink whip in her hand that she occasionally flicks at his bare ass. She laughs every time he flinches, and from the stiff length of his erection, it’s clear he enjoys it too. Women aren’t the only ones to serve here. The men do as well.

I hear alternating screams of pain and pleasure, and I have to swallow down the desire burning in my throat. There’s a girl strapped to a white X being hit with some sort of whip made of multiple strands of white leather. She cries out with every lash. I can almost picture how her tears would taste.

There’s someone about my age dangling from the ceiling, red ropes criss crossing over his naked body like cherry licorice. He’s facing the floor and being fucked between his spread and tied thighs, taking a well-built man’s cock in his ass with moans of ecstasy. From a closer glance, the hanging boy’s cock has been tied up like the rest of him with thinner rope. I suppress a small shiver of discomfort at the sight. To each their own, but having my favorite appendage tied and useless is not my fucking kink.

I hear a sharp cry to my left, and I look over to see a man pounding into a very red and swollen cunt. He’s got one tattooed hand wrapped around his girl’s throat, choking her until her lungs are starved and her face turns pink. His other hand is tugging on a metal ring piercing on the girl’s labia, spreading her open from one side.

I can’t help but watch as the man slides his shaft from her gaping hole before forcing himself back in. I feel my cock jolt in my pants when I see his dick is full of metal, piercings covering the entire underside of his shaft and a big silver ring attached to the tip. The girl whimpers as every ridge of the metal scrapes against the abused flesh of her pussy. It looks like she’s being tortured, and she’s loving every minute.

I don’t think another tattoo is the only thing I’m getting the next time I visit Claude at the salon de tatouage.

“What’s your flavor?” a sultry and familiar voice asks from behind me. I can tell she’s the one who answered the door. I turn to see a gorgeous woman with ebony skin that looks iridescent beneath the flickering pastel strobes. Most of her curvaceous body is wrapped in matte red leather, and she’s wearing red stiletto boots that go all the way up to mid thigh. She’s as stunning as sin. If the devil was a woman, she’d look like her.

I swallow hard as I try to take my eyes off her ample tits shimmering in the light. “Are you offering?” I ask, my voice so hungry and desperate that I hardly recognize it as mine. Everything I’ve seen has left my cock aching and weeping. If I don’t fuck something soon, I’ll explode.

She laughs, the sound deep and throaty. “I don’t think I’m what you need, boy. I’d let you lick my boots and maybe even my pussy if you’re lucky, but I wouldn’t do anything to help you with that sizable package trying to burst through your trousers right now.” She steps closer to me before grasping my chin in her hand and studying me. Her nails are pointed like claws, and they bite into my skin.

“I know what you need, boy. I can see it in your eyes. But you have to admit it to yourself first.” She releases me and crosses her arms over her chest. “So I’ll ask you again: what’s your flavor?”

I don’t let myself think it over. I just say the first word that comes into my mind. “Pain.”

“Mmm, delicious,” she answers with a nod and a smile on her full lips. “Yours or someone else’s?”

I clench my fists at my sides, wanting and dreading the chance to speak my depraved desires aloud. “Someone else,” I admit at last. “I want to give pain.”

“You want to give pain?” she asks with another laugh. “Not take it or force it?” Her smile is warm as her dark eyes sparkle with mischief. “My, aren’t you the sweetest little sadist I’ve ever seen.”

I wait for the guilt, for the defensiveness that boils over when she attaches a name to my darkest secret. Instead, I feel only rightness and belonging. The word sadist suits me as well as the color black, and I want to wrap myself in the word and make it mine. “I’m not very experienced. I don’t know how to do all of this,” I tell her with a gesture around the room.

“Anyone can see you’re as green as a pistachio macaron,” she chuckles. “But don’t worry, mon joli. Madame M will help.”

I suppose I’ve gained a mentor in my corruption as Madame M scans the room, her pointed nails clicking against the red leather of her corset. “There are pain sluts, of course, but almost all of them are already claimed by masters. And the ones who aren’t,” she looks at me with a teasing smile, “well, it’ll take a little more than you to tame them.”

She nods over to a small group of girls talking quietly in a corner. “We have a few unattached submissives. Not all of them enjoy pain, but many of them can take it for the right Dom. Are you dominant?”

I give her a blank stare. “Umm, I don’t know,” I mumble, feeling like I’ve been thrust into another challenge without knowing any of the ingredients.

“Do you get off on power?” she explains, her expression warm rather than impatient.

My lips curve into a predatory smile. “Doesn’t everyone?”

She scoffs before smacking her hand into the soft flesh of my abdomen. “Of course not. Otherwise people like us wouldn’t get to have any fun.”

Judging from her statement, Madame M is dominant too. It seems as though I am in good company.

“You’re lucky that our numbers are uneven at the moment,” she continues. “So you can take your pick. Boy? Girl? Both?”

“Girl, I think,” I reply, a little thrown to have submissives offered to me like items on a menu.

“Beau will be disappointed,” Madame M says with a sigh. “You’re just his type. But don’t worry, we can work on you,” she adds with a wink. “Most of the submissives without collars are free for use. See anyone who catches your attention?”

I let my eyes roam over the vast room, looking for any uncollared girls. A pretty blonde girl holds my stare, and I have to repress an instinctive cringe of repulsion. I might be ruined on blondes for life. There’s another girl with short black hair, tall and lithe, with porcelain skin and emerald eyes. There’s a pretty sort of sadness in her eyes that draws me in, but more than anything else—she’s the only one in the group wearing red.

“That one,” I decide, pointing to the black-haired girl.

“Hmm, lovely choice.” Madame M claps her hands so loudly that everyone on this side of the room turns to look. “Collette, here,” she orders sharply, tapping the pointed toe of her red stiletto on the floor in front of her.

The girl, Collette, scurries over and slips down to her knees in front of Madame M before bending down and kissing her boot. “Oui, madame,” she answers with her head bowed, her voice soft.

My cock feels like it’s being strangled at the sight of the girl on her knees in front of me. I’ve given pain, but never in my life have I witnessed submission like this.

“We have a new Dom here tonight. He would like to hurt you.” The girl on her knees doesn’t even flinch. “Would you like that, little raven?”

“Oui, madame,” the girl answers with a nod, not even lifting her head to see who she’s agreed to let torture her.

“Such a good girl,” Madame M praises, slipping her index finger under the girl’s chin and lifting her head so that she can see us. Her green eyes flit to me, and they sparkle with intrigue. “What would you like to do to her?” Madame M asks as she looks over at me. “Spank her, whip her, flog her, cut her? Collette enjoys it all, don’t you?”

“Oui, madame.”

“Do you still have the bruises I gave you on your sweet bottom last weekend?”

“I think they’ve faded, madame,” the girl answers, switching to perfect English.

“Such a shame,” Madame M tuts. “You look so pretty when you have bruises to match your eyes.”

“I would happily go over your knee again, madame.”

“Oh I know you would, sweetness,” Madame M answers with true affection in her eyes as she strokes the girl’s cheek. “But I can’t be selfish with you. Our new Dom has chosen you to be his tonight. Can you be a good girl for him?”

“Yes, madame.” The girl’s eyes find mine again, and I swear she looks as hungry as I feel.

“So, how would you like to hurt her?” Madame M asks again.

I swallow hard as I think about all the possibilities. Spanking is too soft; I’ve done that before, and I need something more. Cutting? I don’t think I trust myself with a knife at the moment. I’m not even sure what flogging is. Whipping—my cock hardens even more at the thought of wielding a leather whip against Collette’s pale, unblemished skin—I think I can handle a whipping.

“I want to whip her,” I announce, my voice even and steady. I see Collette shiver in response to her fate; if I had to guess, she’s pleased with my decision.

“Going all in, I see,” Madame M retorts with a laugh. “Let’s go find you something pretty to play with.”

Collette is strapped to what I learned is called a St. Andrew’s cross with her back to me and her arms and legs spread and tied in an X formation. Madame M verbally instructed me on how to tighten the leather cuffs correctly, but she let me do all the restraints myself. Collette is stripped bare, waiting to be marked by the short, red leather whip in my hand. I’m debating whether I’m brave enough to actually use it.

“She’s ready for you, boy. Give her what she wants. What you both want,” Madame M demands, pushing me toward the helpless girl’s bare back.

I hesitate, twisting the whip around my hand. I want this. But I’m not sure if I have the guts to do it. Murdering sick bastards who deserve it is one thing. Tearing into innocent but willing young girls is something entirely different. “I don’t know if I can,” I mutter.

Madame M snatches my arm, digging her pointed nails into my skin to the point of pain. “If you don’t start using that whip in your hands, I’ll take Collette down from the cross and put you in her place. Waste my time, and you will pay for it in blood.”

She shoves me toward the nearly naked girl. Collette feels warm and tempting beneath me as I run my fingers over her pale and unblemished flesh. I can’t deny that something in me wants to break her and make her skin run red. “Can this make someone bleed?” I ask, running the short whip along the divot of the girl’s spine. She shivers beneath the soft touch of leather.

“Of course,” Madame M croons. “Almost anything can be used to draw blood if wielded harshly enough, but this whip will make it easier for you. Hit her hard enough, and her skin will break very quickly. Is that what you want, boy? Do you want to make her bleed?”

“Yes,” I answer, my tone as dark as pure chocolate.

Madame M claps gleefully. “Such a surprising little sadist. Not many vie for blood their first time.”

I feel her press up against me, her lips brushing over my neck. “Don’t take too much, of course.” She grabs my hand from behind and brings it to Collette’s back, making me stroke my fingers over the blank canvas of her skin. “It is an art of balance. Strokes of red are beautiful against the white, but paint her in one color and you lose the lovely contrast.”

The metaphor helps to calm my nerves. I’m not a deranged psycho with an insatiable urge to bleed a helpless girl. I’m an artist, and the whip is my brush. I’m just painting in shades of red.

“What is your safeword, little raven?” Madame M asks as she continues to run our joined fingers over the girl’s back.

“Meringue, madame,” Collette answers, her voice full and heady.

“That’s right, sweetness,” Madame M says with a pat on the pretty girl’s ass. “If she says ‘meringue,’ you stop immediately and make sure she is okay. Understand?”

“Yes, Madame M,” I respond, the formal address feeling strange on my tongue.

“None of that, boy. You and I are equals. You may call me M.”

“Yes, M,” I revise, my mind trying to wrap around the unusual hierarchy.

“Good. Now, set loose that monster inside you that clamors for blood. It’s time the real you came out to play.”

I roll my shoulders, the gesture pulling the fabric of my shirt tight against the muscles of my arms. Too tight. I need to breathe. I tuck the whip into my back pocket and reach for the buttons on my shirt. With deft fingers, I unbutton each one and slide my shirt onto the floor. I hear a few gasps from around me, several people pulling closer, drawn in by what the novice sadist might do. But I don’t pay them any attention. I stretch out my arms again, the strobe lights casting colorful shadows on my tattooed skin.

I feel comfortable. I feel like me. And it’s high time my monster and I learned how to play together.

Without any hesitation, I pull the small whip from my back pocket, draw back my arm, and fling the leather against Collette’s back. She flinches with the suddenness of it, but I’ve barely left a mark on her. Frowning, I swing again, a little firmer this time. A thin streak of pink blossoms on her shoulder. I stare at it with disappointment. I hate pink.

“Why are you holding back? You need to hit her harder,” M instructs from behind me.

Huffing, I swing hard, the whip making contact with Collette’s skin with a loud crack. My cock stirs in my jeans at the sound of her soft whimper. That lash hurt her, and I want to do it a hundred times more just to hear that sweet sound of pain leave her lips. I hit her again just as hard, the short length of the whip wrapping around her side and licking her belly. Collette shrieks again, and I have to adjust the uncomfortable hardness of my dick as it presses against my zipper.

“Shall I help you with that?”

I look over my shoulder to see Madame M staring pointedly at my noticeable erection. “I thought you said you had no interest in getting me off?” I ask, my voice hoarse and gravelly with pent up need.

“Oh, I don’t kneel for anyone. But that pretty little thing I mentioned earlier would beg for the honor of taking your cock down his throat. And I’d certainly appreciate the sight of you fucking his slutty mouth while you whip sweet little Collette until she screams.” M walks around the side of me and stretches out on a lounge so she has a good view of my cock and my whip. “What do you say, boy?”

I hesitate for the briefest of moments; honestly, my pause is so short that I surprise even myself. “Yes,” I almost growl. I haven’t come in weeks, and the need is driving me so feral that I’d do anything to get off right now. “Bring him.” I whip Collette again, trembling with the need to satisfy more than just my bloodlust.

“Beau,” M shouts with a snap of her fingers. “Here.”

I turn again to see a pretty boy with olive skin and green eyes crawling on his hands and knees toward the lounge.

“Oui, Madame M,” the boy says, resting on his knees in front of the dominant woman.

He’s nearly naked, wearing an open vest of forest green leather and a very short pair of matching leather shorts that show off the firmness of his ass. I’ve never considered fucking a man before—with the way I was raised, it was never even an option—but Beau is certainly a treat as sweet as any of the women I’ve been with. It makes me wonder what it would feel like to be inside him. Would he scream when I force him to take all of me? Would he enjoy the pain as much as I’d enjoy giving it?

Lost to my fantasies, I miss the exchange between Beau and M and look down to see the beautiful boy is on his knees in front of me, presumably on her order.

“How may I serve you, master?” he asks in a soft tenor voice, his English just as perfect as Colette’s. Unlike her, he’s looking straight at me, the mossy green of his eyes warm and trusting.

I don’t know what I expected to happen when I walked through that door tonight, but sticking my cock down another guy’s throat definitely wasn’t it. Although, I suppose a mouth is just a mouth, even if Beau’s got a dick between his legs. “Take out my cock,” I command.

Collette turns her head a little to try to see who has joined us. I whip her hard, disappointed by her lack of focus when she’s meant to be serving me. “Eyes forward, Collette,” I chastise.

“Sorry, master,” she answers, the words strained.

As Beau handles my cock, I stare at Collette’s back in awe. The pink stripes have turned red, and she looks a bit like a candy cane with the lashes wrapping around her white skin. It’s a beautiful sight, and I only want more. I moan when my cock finally springs free from the confines of my jeans, my hard length nearly poking Beau in the eye. With the whip still in one hand, I grab my thick, veiny shaft in my other hand and direct it toward his full lips. “Open up.”

He obeys immediately, sticking out his tongue so that he can taste me as I force myself into his mouth. I fist his hair and pull his head down until I’ve fully sheathed myself inside him, the tip of my cock stabbing into the back of his throat. I hear him gag, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Good boy,” I praise with a smile, my hand still twisted in his hair. “Now, suck me hard.” I groan loudly when he does exactly what I ask, sucking me deep and hard before pulling back and flicking his tongue over my slit. And then he swallows me down again. My eyes flutter shut for a moment as I guide his head up and down while he works on my swollen shaft.

I’ve never gotten head from a guy, but if Beau’s skilled mouth is any indication, I’ve been missing the fuck out.

I gain enough equilibrium to throw the whip at Collette’s back again. The whip is short, so it doesn’t require too much precision to hit her while getting my cock sucked. She screams at the sudden pain after a long reprieve, the leather falling on relaxed skin and muscle. The sweet sound of her cries makes my cock thicken even more in Beau’s both, and I feel him smile in approval around my shaft. Collette’s agony is the other half of what I need for complete satisfaction. Beau gives the pleasure, and I give the pain.

“Harder, boy. She needs more,” Madame M calls from her reclined position on the lounge as she watches our little performance. I see her hand slip between her thick thighs as she strokes herself. Her panties are discarded on the couch, and I notice her arousal dripping down onto the pink velvet beneath her. When her fingers slide into her cunt, she moans, the sound thick and rich like ganache.

Jesus Christ, I don’t know much longer I can withstand so much sexual stimulation without coming. I take a deep breath and whip Collette again. The boy on his knees reaches up and cradles my heavy balls in his warm hand, squeezing them with just the right amount of pressure to make me want to explode. I groan, forcing his head down until his forehead is against my abdomen.

I hold him there, suffocating him with my cock while I whip Collette over and over. I get in seven lashes before Beau starts to squirm for air. I hit Colette three more times before pulling the boy away and letting him choke on the oxygen he so desperately needs. “Deep breath,” I order before slamming my cock back down his throat and thrusting into him in alternating strokes with the lashes I give Collette.

After several minutes of harsh whipping, Collette’s skin splits, red bursting from a cut along her lower back. I watch, mesmerized, as the blood drips down and slides over the curve of her ass. And I can’t hold it in anymore. I throw the whip to the ground and pull my cock out of Beau’s mouth.

“Hands and knees,” I order, pushing him to the side so that he lands on unsteady palms facing Madame M. He adjusts so that his back is arched and his leather covered ass is up in the air. I spank his ass once before sliding my hands underneath the band of his shorts and jerking them down to his knees. He’s bare and waiting in front of me, his tan skin smooth and hairless, and his pulsing pink rosebud begging to be claimed by my thick cock.

I slip my hand into my back pocket and pull out the vial of blood. “I don’t have any lube, but I do have this.” Beau looks over his shoulder, and I wave the little red bottle so he can see. “May I fuck you with this?”

“What is it?” he asks, his warm green eyes latched onto my jutting cock rather than the bottle in my hand.

“Blood,” I reply, my tone nonchalant as I stroke my hand up and down my cock, tempting him.

“Yours?” he asks with an arched brow, his heated eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and lust.

My lips stretch into a seductive smile. “Does it really matter?”

“Non,” he whispers, his smile matching my own. He spreads his legs as wide as he can with his shorts down at his knees and turns back to face Madame M as she watches us with one hand on her tit and the other in her pussy. “You can use me as you’d like, master.”

“Good boy,” I say as I run my hands over his ass and spread his cheeks wide. I’ve never done this with a guy before, but the mechanics can’t be any different. I unscrew the top from the vial and pour the blood down Beau’s crack, smearing the red liquid over his back hole. I feel him clench beneath my fingers, and it gets me even harder.

My hand is still covered in blood as I rub it up and down my shaft, coating myself in what remains of Blaise Moreau. Using him to lube up a pretty French boy’s ass before fucking him seems like a little more than the dead prick deserves, but a promise is a promise.

I line my blood-smeared cock up with Beau’s asshole and press against him. He’s not nearly as tense as the last person I fucked in the ass, and I slip past the tight ring of muscle easily as he opens up for me. He and I groan in unison as I grab his hips and slam in all the way, my balls slapping against his ass.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” I sigh, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting deep inside him again. “You’re taking my cock so well in your tight little hole.”

Hearing a soft whimper from beside me, I’m reminded that I’ve neglected Collette. “Is someone feeling left out, little sub?” I ask her before pounding into Beau again, nudging something in his ass with my tip that causes him to moan loudly beneath me.

I reach over and run my fingers along her back, making her shriek when I dig my thumb into her open skin. I slide my fingers down to her ass while leaving a trail of red over her pale skin. Traveling further down, I dip my fingers between the cleft of her ass cheeks and find her sopping wet cunt. “Did you like your whipping, pretty girl?” I ask before slipping a finger inside her.

“Yes, master,” she sighs, sounding breathless and almost high on endorphins.

I keep thrusting into Beau as I shove two fingers inside Collette’s pussy. “You were so brave to let me bleed you,” I praise, loving the way she clenches around my hand. “Do you think you deserve to come?”

She gasps when I twist my fingers inside her. “I-if you think I deserve it, master,” she mumbles, her legs starting to shake in the restraints.

Beau moans loudly, and I look down to see he’s balancing on one hand with his other hand greedily jerking his cock. I smack my palm against his ass sharply, leaving a five fingered red mark on his pretty skin.

“I did not give you permission to touch your dick, Beau,” I scold. “This is not for you. This is for me.” I thrust into him even harder than before, forcing him to fall to his elbows on the hard ground. “So serve me like the good little slut you are.”

“Yes, master,” he responds, taking everything I give him with small whimpers and moans of pleasure.

With Beau in check, I give my attention back to Collette, slipping my bloody fingers back into her cunt. She gasps when I slide my thumb up to her clit and rub soft circles over the bundle of nerves. “You earned the right to come by bleeding for me, little sub,” I tell her, giving her the gentle touches I’ve withheld all night. “I want you to climax before I stuff Beau’s pretty ass with my cum. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, master.”

“Good girl. Tell me when you’re close. I want to know when you go over the edge with my fingers deep in your pussy.”

I take my time with Beau, thrusting slow and deep, letting him feel the ridge of my cock as it slides against his sensitive tissue. The blood has dried, and I feel Beau flinch in discomfort with every scrape of my shaft. I spread his cheeks with one hand and lean down to spit on his asshole, using the head of my cock to spread it around before slamming back into him.

Since she was overly aroused from being edged with pain, it’s only a matter of minutes before Collette starts to quiver beneath me, her legs jerking against the restraints.

“I’m coming, master,” she whimpers as her cunt clenches my fingers.

“That’s it,” I reply as I pound my hand faster into her dripping pussy. “Come on my fingers, little sub.”

A soft scream escapes her as she orgasms, the sound of it driving me toward my own release. I dig my fingers into Beau’s hip and hammer into him hard and fierce, my balls slapping against his ass with every thrust. He groans as he struggles to take the force of my cock while remaining upright. When I feel my shaft thicken and my balls swell, I slap his ass and drive into him as deep as I can go, filling him with my load. I ride out the rest of my orgasm with sharp stabs of my cock before collapsing on top of him and pushing him to the hard ground.

It takes me a minute to catch my breath before reaching over and unbuckling Collette’s leg restraints. I slip a single finger between her folds, scooping up a dollop of her cream and putting it to my lips. I moan when I slide my tongue over my index finger, licking up every sweet drop of her. She’s fucking delicious.

Beau rolls onto his back, his chest heaving and his very erect cock an angry, swollen red as it juts into the air. The poor boy needs to get off. I stand up and undo the girl’s wrist restraints, letting her slip to the floor in exhaustion. I reach for her chin and force her to look at me.

“Think you can handle a little more?” I ask. She nods in agreement, and I chuck her under the chin before tugging her toward Beau. “Go to him.” Her movements stiff from being restrained and whipped for so long, she crawls on her hands and knees, stopping when she reaches Beau’s side and kneels.

“Fist his cock.” She does as I ask, wrapping her fingers tightly around his shaft and tugging. “Again,” I order as I tuck my still bloodied cock into my jeans and walk over to the lounge where Madame M is reclining with a post-orgasmic flush on her cheeks. I slink down onto the cushions beside her, content to watch rather than perform this round.

“Straddle his face,” I command. “I want him to taste how delicious you are.” Collette obeys, facing me and placing a knee on either side of Beau’s head and sliding down until her pussy is directly above him. “Drop down. I want him drowning in that sweet cream dripping out of your cunt.” She spreads her legs more, putting the full weight of herself on Beau’s pretty mouth.

“That’s a good girl,” I growl in approval as she starts to grind her pelvis against Beau’s tongue. He keeps his hands at his sides, but Beau’s fists are clenched with the effort it takes not to touch himself while he has a gorgeous girl smothering him with her pussy. “I think Beau deserves a treat for making you moan so pretty. What do you think, little sub?”

“Yes, master,” Collette sighs, her eyes closed as she moves up and down, getting the pressure on her clit just right.

“Bend over and suck his cock,” I order. “Use your mouth to show him how grateful you are for his tongue in your pussy.”

Not needing to be told twice, Collette bends at the waist, taking Beau’s cock into her mouth as she rides his face. And it’s the sexiest sixty-nine I’ve ever seen as the two subs use their mouths to get each other off at my command.

“That was a brilliant performance,” Madame M drawls in her smooth voice.

I look over to see her cunt is still bare, her arousal glistening in the twinkling, pastel lights. If I wasn’t still spent from my orgasm, I’d be tempted fuck her right now. The thought of slamming into her soft, warm folds has me semi-hard already. I’ve never had such an insatiable hunger for sex and chaos, and I don’t know if I can ever starve that side of myself again.

“I haven’t watched anything so stimulating in ages,” M continues, stroking her pointed nails over my upper thigh. “It was a treat getting to play the voyeur for your first time.” Her fingers travel higher, brushing against the growing erection in my jeans. “Will we be seeing more of you here?”

I laugh, my eyes still fixed on the scene of Beau and Collette fucking as the air fills with the wet sound of sucking and moans of pleasure. “I’m not sure anything could keep me away.”

“Delightful,” M says with a happy clap of her hands. “Welcome to our twisted family—” she pauses, a flicker of amusement on her face. “Silly me, I just had the loveliest petite mort while watching your cock pound into Beau’s sweet bottom, but I realize I never even asked your name. What should we call you, boy?” I tear my eyes from the naked subs and find Madame M studying me curiously.

What name fits the man who plays and fucks in blood? This person composed of my darkest shadows woven together and thrust into the pastel lights to be seen for the first time. I’ve been Grey. I’ve been Nine. I’ve been Chef. But the person I’ve become tonight is someone I haven’t met before. And I have a feeling he’ll be sticking around for good.

“You can call me Master Greyson.”