Salacious Seduction

Chapter 1

Kelsey

“Color, Kelsey…” Claudia grabs hold of my ponytail and pulls my head back when I don’t respond fast enough.

I lick my lips and meet her gaze. “Green, Mistress.”

“You’re sure?” she asks, her blue eyes narrowed.

“Yes, Mistress.” Claudia Renault is intense. She’s the best Domme I’ve witnessed since joining Edge. I’ve heard from other members that she also belongs to another local club called Surrender. Everyone knows her. Now I get why.

I joined Edge two months ago after I graduated from college. The membership for the second-floor tier is five hundred dollars a month, but it’s well worth every penny because Edge is a high-end, exclusive club with very strict membership rules. I feel safe here.

Mistress Claudia tips my head forward, forcing me to face the floor once more. She keeps her hand on my ponytail for a few seconds, her grip firm, reminding me to maintain this position.

I take deep breaths. Tingles race up and down my spine because I know she’s going to begin to strike me with more intensity. My butt burns from the flogger she’s been using, but she’s switching to a different one now, one with heavier falls. The thud will be louder. The pain will be deeper.

I brace myself, lowering my head a bit farther while adjusting my grip on the pegboard rungs. My arms are wide and at the same level as my shoulders. Mistress Claudia angled me so I’m leaning forward, my feet spread, my butt pushed out, my breasts hanging.

Being naked doesn’t bother me. When I first joined the club, I spent a few weeks watching, learning, and figuring out what made my blood pulse.

This is how I discovered I’m a masochist. Not hardcore.

I don’t want to bleed or anything. But I enjoy the release I get from the pain that comes from a flogger or a paddle.

A palm works, too, but being spanked is much more intimate to me. I consented to being spanked the first time I scheduled an impact-play scene with a Dom. I learned two things that night: I don’t take spanking lightly, and I prefer not to submit to men.

I’m a smart girl. I know why I prefer to scene with women. It’s because I can focus and really let myself go when there’s no sexual attraction involved. It’s all about the release.

That’s not the only reason, but it’s the one I verbalize when anyone asks. The other, deeper issue, is that I’m hung up on one particular Dom, and the thought of anyone else touching me makes my skin prickle.

The heavier flogger swishes through the air and lands hard on my ass. My lips part as I try to focus on my submission, trying not to allow myself to think about how much different this would be if it were him striking me.

When my mind strays to the Dom of my dreams, I have a tendency to get hot and bothered. There’s nothing wrong with that. Lots of people think about someone or something else when they close their eyes and submit, but I try to avoid it. Thinking about him isn’t healthy.

Focus, Kelsey. Concentrate on the pain.

My breasts sway with every swat against my heated skin, and I make the mistake of glancing at my nipples.

They’re hard points. Part of me wishes Mistress Claudia would let the falls swing around to my front.

The feel of the leather strips grazing across my breasts and teasing my nipples would drive me almost to orgasm.

I don’t orgasm at Edge. Not for anyone. At least, not yet. Maybe someday.

Images of my dream Dom pop into my head unbidden. His fucking hot body all built and tight and hard. His broad shoulders. His thick, brown, wavy hair. His deep brown eyes. These visualizations make my pussy wetter with each thud of the flogger against my ass.

The crazy thing is that I’ve only seen him once. One time. One evening. It was the night of my graduation. We had a house party in my rental home. It was very crowded. My parents were there.

I lusted over him. I think he flirted with me, but it’s been two months, so I can’t be sure my memory is solid on that.

I may be making that up. We spoke for a few minutes near the end of the evening.

He told me I should apply for a position at his company.

Besides being ridiculously horny for the man, I nearly fainted at his suggestion.

Hollenbeck, Kennedy, and Associates.

No one gets hired by them straight out of college. It doesn’t even matter that my grades were stellar, I had an internship under my belt, and I’d belonged to several academic societies and groups. It was Hollenbeck, Kennedy, and Associates.

And yet, I applied, and I got the job.

Did my dream man have anything to do with my hiring? Maybe. Who knows? He was only in town for his daughter’s graduation. He’s been in Germany for the past two years working on some giant acquisition. He’s due to return next week.

There are multiple problems with my infatuation.

Hendrix Kennedy is nearly twice my age. He was a young father, so he’s only forty-three, but that’s still pretty old compared to me.

I’m a whopping twenty-two. Most importantly, he’s my friend Maddie’s father.

That’s how I met him. We lived in the same rental house.

We graduated together, and she came to my party that evening.

Even though I hadn’t met Maddie’s father before that night, she’d told me enough about him that I wasn’t blindsided by his younger age. I was, however, blindsided by his looks. I hadn’t been expecting a fit, young-looking, tall man to stroll into my rental house and take my breath away.

The next swat across my ass lands so hard I sway forward, a moan escaping my lips. Shit. I try not to make a sound when I’m in a scene, especially anything lustful. I don’t want to give anyone in the room the wrong idea.

Claudia comes to my side and strokes my back. “Color, Kelsey.”

“Green, Mistress.” My voice is breathy. I try to shake the thought from my head. I’ve gone deep into my mind during this scene, and that’s normal. Expected. It’s what I want. But I prefer to clear my head, not muddy it up with ridiculous images of Hendrix Kennedy leaning over me.

I don’t know why he’s so prominent in my brain tonight. I’ve been thinking about him more lately as the date of his return to the country grows closer, but I shouldn’t.

Plenty of people say submitting like this helps clear their head. Handing over control to a Dom or Domme and focusing only on what is demanded can be cathartic. It would be nice if my mind would clear tonight, but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

“Would you like me to continue, Kelsey?” Mistress Claudia asks.

“Yes, Mistress. Please.” Please knock some sense into me. Hopefully, a thorough flogging will chase away my absurd visions.

As Mistress Claudia resumes, I purse my lips, hoping to keep from moaning. The thud of the falls across my butt cheeks is a welcome feeling, one I’ve grown used to over the past two months. I enjoy the sensation. Submission is in my blood.

My ass is hot. Each strike burns more than the last. It feels amazing.

I have no idea how I became so immersed in the world of Dominance and submission. It started when a few male friends told me about Edge, which piqued my curiosity. I’ve been sliding deeper into this lifestyle ever since.

I love it. I love the way I feel after impact play. I love the heightened awareness I have of my body. The lingering ache after I leave. The tingling in my pussy when I lie in bed at night.

That last part is caused by my visions of Hendrix, though. Not the club. But it stems from the fact that I know he’s a member. He’s been out of the country for two years, but he’s a top-tier member of Edge. Not just the second floor but the third.

The only reason I know all that is because his best friend is Maddie’s fiancé. Myles Cooper. He’s also a top-tier member and a very dominant man. I referred to the poor guy as a DILF when I first met him, but now I see the appeal.

What would Maddie say if she knew I lust after her father?

I gasp as a particularly hard swat lands across my entire bottom. It leaves behind an intense burning pain that causes me to rise onto my toes. Something I relish. I know immediately it’s Mistress Claudia’s final blow.

She’s at my side again in seconds, her hand on my back. “You can relax now, Kelsey.” Her voice is kind and soothing. Damn, she’s good. I’m pretty sure she’s in her mid-forties, probably a bit older than Hendrix and Myles. She’s been a Domme for a long time.

I’m trembling as I release the pegs and bring my feet closer together.

Mistress Claudia holds a water bottle up to my lips. “Take a few sips,” she orders.

I do get thirsty during a scene, and I tend to drink a lot afterward, but I’ve learned that I’m not the sort to slip into a deep subspace like some. I don’t need a tremendous amount of aftercare. It’s not as though I lose track of who or where I am.

Mistress Claudia lets me take the bottle from her, and I down half of it. “Thank you, Mistress.” After a few deep breaths, I turn to look for my black silk robe, the one I changed into in the locker room when I got to Edge.

All the air leaves my lungs, and the blood drains from my face.

Standing a few yards away from me, holding out my robe, is none other than Hendrix Kennedy.