Spinning Out of Control – By KL Hill
SPINNING OUT OF CONTROL
A MASQUERAVE ANTHOLOGY
BY KL HILL
Callie
“ Harder . Yes, baby. Yes!”
I tighten my fingers around the flogger’s black leather handle and flick my wrist, the sound of the tendrils cracking against skin filling the air.
The man cries out, his hips bucking as much as they can.
The leather straps that keep him in place groan as he wiggles beneath their hold, trying to find his release.
I walk around him, letting the sound of my heels click against the hard floors, the sound making him tremble.
Yanking his head up from the U-shaped headrest, I force him to look at me.
His identity stays concealed behind the hood he wears as a mask, which is required to enter Masquerave and to use one of the private rooms. The only features of his face are his wide, silver-rimmed eyes and lips that glisten with his drool.
“Did I say you could speak, you pathetic piece of shit?”
He sucks in a breath as I yank his head back harder. “I’m sorry, Mistress,” he whimpers as drool slides from the corner of his mouth.
I let his head drop, and it thuds against the headrest. “That’s what I thought, you fucking worm.”
I trail the flogger along his back as I make my way back down to his ass before I give him a few hits in quick succession. He moans, his ass cheeks flexing as the skin reddens to a deep crimson.
“Do you want to come?” He quickly nods, whimpering like a dog left out in the cold.
I bring down the flogger again and watch as his balls tighten up.
His cock turns purple from all the edging he’s been through, the tip dripping with his precum.
“Are you going to come like the disgusting,” whack , “little worm,” whack , “you are?” Whack .
He lets out a guttural moan as he finds his release, his cum covering the floor beneath him until he slumps against the bench.
Pulling on my leather gloves, I undo the buckles, ensuring not to touch him.
Part of the deal with this guy is no skin-to-skin contact.
He believes that it doesn’t count as cheating on his wife if he’s never actually touched.
So, it's a good thing one of his kinks is degradation—because I mean every foul word I’ve said to him.
If his wife knew about his little escapades around the club, fine. But I know she doesn’t have a clue what he’s up to, or he wouldn’t be so adamant about his rule. Plus, he’s not fucking fooling me; I’ve seen his hands all over people in the club dozens of times. Fucking piece of shit.
But of course, he’s a powerful white man, so the rules of human decency don’t apply to him. However, he’s on his own to pull out the butt plug he brought, one he had specially made for him. I’m only here to get paid.
A wicked smile pulls at my lips, completely hidden by my mask.
The custom-fitted lace covers my entire face, only showing off my eyes.
Typically, they are bright blue, but tonight they remain hidden behind the colored contacts I wear.
My boss, Tasha, likes to keep us anonymous because the men who pay for scenes aren’t afraid to use whatever and whomever they can to get what they want. The less they can identify, the better.
Without a word, I leave through the door at the back of the room, entering the narrow hallway that leads to our dressing rooms. I am ready to call it a night and shower off the filth from tonight’s scene.
Thank fuck that I have a strict no-talking rule unless they’re saying their safe word, because I almost took his dick off for opening his mouth just to moan.
The app patrons use to book scenes states the rules of the staff you’re booking with.
Even though people slip up out of passion, I just couldn’t handle this guy after finding out he was deliberately cheating on his wife.
It’s the one part of the job that I have trouble with. The rest? It’s all part of the job.
I love the life that I have built for myself, including the positions in the club that Tasha and the other bosses have allowed me to explore and grow into.
Three years ago, I found myself at the bar downstairs, begging for a bartending job.
Instead, I landed the chance to show off my body and build my reputation in this dark world.
The big bosses, Tony and Devin, are rarely seen, but have eyes and ears everywhere. Meanwhile, Tasha is the face of the club, a powerful dominatrix who controls more than just the Underground. She willingly took me under her wing while offering me an escape from my previous life.
For years, I’ve lived in a studio apartment on the fourth floor of the club, which is deemed the employee lounge. Rent free. I’m not special since this is a courtesy offered to other employees, but I’m one of the few people who take it up.
Tasha insists that I stay within the walls to protect myself from those lurking outside, wanting a peek behind the mask, and for my convenience. And after tonight, I’m fucking thrilled I don’t have to leave and can go right up to my bed.
My phone continues to buzz as the group chat floods with messages from the other girls as I step into the elevator.
My lips kick up into a smile as I scan over the emoji-filled bubbles, telling me about their nights.
I type out a quick message while there’s a lull in the conversation, letting them know I’m signing off for the night.
I reach for the button to take me to the fourth floor when a new notification appears.
A request from a patron, a username I haven’t seen before, explicitly requesting me .
My finger hovers over the decline button—I don’t know if I can handle another service call tonight.
But a voice tells me to take it. I stand in the quiet elevator, the doors wide open as they wait for me to decide what the hell I’m doing.
I sigh loudly, as if anyone can hear me, and against my better judgment, I click accept .
This one better be fucking worth it.
LUKE
This place is nothing like I’ve ever fucking seen. My usual stomping grounds are shitty dive bars overrun by bikers, but this place? Masquerave . It’s fucking out of this world.
The atmosphere is euphoric, and the mandatory masks put me on high alert. I lounge back in the booth I reserved weeks ago, noting every person around me while scanning for an enemy of the Brotherhood.
Men in suits take up the other booths, showing off the women on their laps, lost in their elite world of deals and favors.
Others are being catered to by the staff, ready to whisk them off to a private room and finish another deal entirely.
Not to mention the whispers of the world beneath my feet.
The one that people pay big money to take part in.
Until tonight, the reality of this place was a myth—an urban legend.
I clock business prospects along with top names on our hitlist. The safety they think their little masks bring them is pathetic. But tonight, I’m not here on Kings’ business. I’m here to settle a score and take back what is fucking mine .
On cue, my phone lights up with the notification I’ve been waiting for. A smile tugs at my lips, pressing my cheeks against the thick, black plastic of my full-face mask. It’s custom-made to cover my features, but with a tear-away section around my mouth, in case I need to do… more than breathe.
I’ve waited three years for this night.
For her .
My heart races at the thought of seeing her again, of tracing my fingers over her soft skin as I glide my cock in and out of her, listening to her chant my name.
I should feel like an asshole for hiding behind this mask and an auto-generated username, but if she’s insisted on hiding from me all this time, then I sure as fuck can hide from her all the same.
I am impressed that she was able to stay hidden this long, protected by the high walls and hidden passageways of this club.
I’ve heard rumors about the people who run this place: they ruthlessly protect what’s theirs and have no remorse for who they take down.
I’m sure they won’t mind if I return the sentiment, and if they do, then I’ll fucking make them see my way. Or I’ll kill them.
I hope my special request went through, because I only have a single room number and a one-time-use door code that deactivates once you exit the room.
Clever.
Sliding from the booth, I straighten to my full height of 6’5”, catching the attention of the people around me.
In my thirty-three years, I’ve been the center of attention more times than not.
And as the top Enforcer of the Rebel Kings Brotherhood, it’s given me the ability to take control of any situation with charisma, intimidation, or brute fucking strength.
I move through the club, feeling the heated gazes on my skin and catching the stolen glances from both men and women.
I approach the security guards at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the second floor, flashing my phone at them.
One takes a long moment to look at it, side-eyeing me warily as if he can see my true intentions.
A bolt of adrenaline hits me like lightning, but I keep my body relaxed as if this isn’t my first time doing something like this.
The closest I’ve ever come is a private room at the back of a strip club, pounding into anyone I could, trying to find the release that’s driven me to madness and always falling short. A fucking waste of my time.
The guard unlatches the maroon velvet rope and begrudgingly lets me pass to make my way up the stairs. My heart races with each step as I navigate to the assigned room, entering the code with shaky fingers.
Get your fucking shit together, Luke.
The door unlocks, and I step into a dimly lit room, one that looks straight out of a fucking movie. A large, metal, four-poster bed takes up the back wall, the posts winding up to the ceiling, bolted in place. A wall of toys filled with leather and silicone piques my interest.