Chapter 3 We Don’t Fuck the Devil
Calder
The familiar scent of vanilla and antiseptic permeates my nose as I walk into the dark and moody lounge of Lexon Club just
east of Denver. This is a members-only spot for sex-positive individuals looking to exercise all sorts of kinks. Judgment-free.
And with very strict rules.
Both male and female eyes turn, and I feel my body heat as their gazes move over every inch of me. I roll up my flannel sleeves
to reveal my inked forearms because the bad-boy persona serves me well here. And hell, it serves me well pretty much anywhere.
I got my first tattoo when I was only sixteen, and my three brothers were so scared of what my mother’s reaction would be,
they all went out and got tattoos as well to try to soften the blow for me.
We were all grounded for the entire summer.
At the time, I thought the Flatirons on the inside of my bicep were worth the punishment. I was in my rebel teenager phase.
But as I grew older, I began reworking the ink to add more meaning. My most recent addition was my dad’s favorite saying...
We’re not here for a long time, we’re here for a good time . It’s etched around mountain peaks on the inside of my forearm, and every time I look at it, I’m hit with memories of my
dad. It’s been almost three years since he passed now, and it still stings to think about him. Grief is a fucking bitch. And
thoughts of my dead dad are not something I should be entertaining when walking into a sex club.
“Well, where the hell have you been, Calder?” A deep voice rumbles from behind the bar, and I turn to see Tyson, the bartender that’s been here ever since I first stepped foot in this club years ago. “It’s been years, I swear.”
I nod at that comment. I haven’t been back to Lexon since my dad passed. Guess I just wasn’t up for it. It’s probably why
I wanted my brothers to come with me last year, to help shake me out of my funk. But they refused.
Pussies.
I frown at that thought... calling them pussies feels derogatory now that I’m a proud cat daddy. Then again it should have felt derogatory to women for all the years I’ve
used it. Self-awareness is an embarrassing bitch sometimes.
“I’ve been busy, I guess,” I reply as Tyson hands me a bottle of beer. I glance around, not recognizing any faces. “It’s packed
in here tonight.”
“It’s newbie night,” he offers with a twinkle in his eye. “Nonmembers can check out the club, get a tour of everything, try
some things out, and see what they think.”
My brows lift. I remember my first tour. Glory Hole Alley and the Milking Station were not on my bingo card that night, but
there they both were... staring back at me with various stations of towels, lube, and washrooms to clean up afterward.
Talk about baptism by lube.
My eyes scan the various couples and singles all mingling and having drinks. There’s often theme nights at the sex club: couples
night, single females, single males. Newbie nights, however, are a free-for-all. You’ll get all types in on a night like tonight,
and I spot several pink wristbands indicating the first-time visitors. The pink bands are to serve as a bit of warning to
the regulars of the club. Go slow, be gentle, and request consent twice. This club is good at rule-following. Which is why
I think it could be the perfect spot to find a plus-one for this tropical getaway coming up soon.
My gaze drops to the floor where I spot a curvy blonde on her knees in a collar and leash.
She’s wearing a leather mask, and her long hair spills out below it.
I drink in the lines of her body dressed in a super short black corset dress that reveals a few dimples in her thighs.
She has pale, supple skin, and the large globes of her ass capture my attention.
She looks good enough to eat. I wonder if her Dom would share her for the night, and then I spot the pink wristband. She’s a newbie, so it’s not likely.
My eyes widen when the Dom jerks the woman’s leash and yanks her back toward him. Her hands slip out from under her, and she
stumbles, her face nearly connecting with the heavily lacquered wood. I cringe and force myself to look away. I don’t like
to yuck anyone’s yum, but BDSM isn’t my favorite of all the kinks, even if a sub would make a good date for Mexico.
In all the years I’ve been coming here, I still haven’t really figured out what my kink is. I guess you could call me an equal
opportunity participator. I’ll try anything once. Even tried dabbling in dick during a pretty heated group session once. A
masculine set of lips wrapped around my cock wasn’t all that different from a woman’s. But by the end of the night, I deduced
being with a man wasn’t something I needed to explore again.
The female body is just far more alluring to me. Soft and compliant. Strong yet still supple. Big, medium, small... I appreciate
it all. Only sampling one body type is like picking one food to eat for the rest of your life. A damn shame. I crave a mixture—a
buffet of flesh in all shapes and sizes. Variety is the spice of life, after all.
“I can’t breathe in this fucking thing!” a female voice shrieks, and I freeze with the bottle of beer between my lips. I think
I recognize that voice.
Jerking around, I gaze back at the blonde on the floor to see her sitting back on her heels and struggling with the strap
of the mask. Her outburst is drawing the eyes of the people at the Dom’s table, and he doesn’t look pleased.
“I didn’t say you could take that off,” he growls and yanks her chain again to bring her to heel.
“I don’t give a shit. My knees are killing me,” she retorts as she struggles with the strap. “And this mask smells like ass. Who wore this before me? I hope you washed it.”
“That is none of your concern.” The Dom looks around the room as everyone watches the scene escalate with rapt fascination.
A Dom with no control of his sub isn’t a familiar sight this club. “Leave it on and sit down at my feet, or you will be punished.”
She laughs and presses her hands to the floor to stand, revealing her garter belt and thigh highs. She’s stunning.
“Lambchop.”
“What?” The Dom’s eyes go wide.
“Lambchop.” She props her hands defiantly on her hips. “That’s my safe word, right? Lambchop, lambchop, lambchop.”
The man looks up at her completely flabbergasted. “You’re only supposed to use your safe word when I’m pushing you to your
limits, pet. We haven’t even gone upstairs yet.”
“I don’t care. This isn’t my thing. I don’t know what my thing is. But this isn’t it. This is just... hard on the knees.”
She finally rips her mask off and confirms what I suspected to be true. The bratty sub is none other than Dakota Schaefer
from my hometown of Boulder, Colorado. She’s my oldest brother’s wife’s best friend, a T-shirt shop owner downtown, a former
client whose house I renovated many years ago... and the biggest pain in my ass for the past seven years.
She removes her collar and plunks it loudly on the table. “I’m going to go check out some of those voyeur rooms. Have a good
life, sir.” She gives him a cheery salute, and I watch in awe as she turns on her heel and confidently marches up the staircase
that leads to the themed sex rooms.
With a frown, I chug down my beer and struggle with what to do next. The reason I’ve appreciated this damn club all these
years is because I’m anonymous here. My brothers and I have a sordid past with women back home, and I thought I was safe here.
Invisible.
Leave it to Dakota-fucking-Schaefer to prove me wrong.
Without realizing it, I’ve carried myself up the stairs over to the theater room.
It has one-way glass wrapped around three walls for voyeurs to watch, and from the crowd gathered, I suspect there’s some heavy action going on inside already.
My eyes scan through the watchers in search of Dakota, and there’s not a blonde in sight.
I begin to worry she took a wrong turn. I can’t imagine Dakota at the Milking Station or, worse yet, Gangbang Lane.
Before turning to leave, I glance at the sizable orgy going on down inside the theater, and my fists clench when I spot her.
“No fucking way,” I say under my breath and am immediately shushed by the couple beside me.
I press my face to the glass and watch in rapt fascination as Dakota stands in the middle of the U -shaped sofa, watching the group around her nervously like she’s not sure where to insert herself.
She’s in way over her head.
There’s at least six couples and trios going at it. Hard. Women eating out other women, men taking women from behind over
the arms of the sofa. A pair of men sucking on a woman’s breasts as she holds another man’s mouth at her cunt.
Normally... I’d be hard right now.
Normally this would work me up into such a frenzy that I’d be desperate to find someone to join in on the fun with.
Tonight is not normal.
I’m too laser-focused on the bane of my existence looking nervous and unsure. Something I’ve never seen that girl look like a day in her fucking life.
Dakota is... well, if I’m being blunt, she’s a bitch.
She knows it all, she doesn’t want anyone else’s opinion, she’s demanding, impatient, nagging, and just... yeah, a total
fucking Karen. The biggest mistake of my life was agreeing to help renovate her house years ago, and I swear she has made
me pay for it ever since.
Yet still, I can’t look away.
A half-naked older male approaches her from behind, and I feel my shoulders tense as he grips her wrist and plays with the pink band wrapped around it. He presses up behind her and whispers something in her ear, and I watch her recoil and shake her head, yanking her hand away.
“Come on, now... put him in his fucking place,” I murmur and wipe the fog off the glass that my voice caused. “Where’s
the woman who turned a Dom into a sub just five minutes ago?”
When the man leans in to whisper in her ear again and she recoils for a second time, I see red. Heart hammering in my chest,