She grinned.
She loved wearing Stellan’s mark.
“Nice work back there,” she said, also over the music.
“He’ll make me pay,” he replied.
“Bet that’s a fun game,” she noted.
“My boy’s got a monster cock.”
“I saw that.”
“And he fucks like a freight train and can shoot such a huge load I can taste it in my throat for a week.”
Totally had to bring Stellan to watch that.
Like he read her mind, he shared, “Obviously we do audiences. But you wanna get in there, that’s Molly’s call. Owning goes three ways, but a woman gets her hand on our cocks or our asses, only Molly can call that play.”
How sweet.
“I’m taken.”
He looked down at her with heavy brows raised.
She didn’t expound.
She stated, “We’re not exactly incognito with this shit. Like you just said, you’re owned, and my man and me are out, you might not have heard, but others have. So it’s not exactly a natural thing, you and me taking a stroll.”
“Straight up, you’re Mistress Sixx, you got a man but you’re out on your own, that’ll be understood. And you’re Mistress Sixx, even though I’m owned and everyone knows it, no one would question if me or my boy are offered a shot for you to work us over that we’d want it, and it wouldn’t be a surprise Molly gave permission. So you’re covered.”
That was a nice compliment.
However.
“I’m not going to work you,” she hesitated and tried out, “D.”
He gave a brisk nod.
So Diesel it was.
“Givin’ the impression of feelin’ me out works too,” he said.
She hoped so.
Although Beardsley could have no idea she was on his case, in an uncertain situation she’d learned taking precautions every step of the way, though tedious, was essential.
One of the reasons she’d accepted backup.
She and D skirted the dancefloor, and he threw aside the heavy black curtain to expose the door to the play area for her and held it back as he opened that door.
She went in and felt his big body follow her in his heavy, leather riding boots. A big body that, as well as the breeches and boots, at the shoulders with the ragged ends over his pecs were covered with hides that were banded to his wide chest with buckled leather straps.
The play area of the Bolt was very different from the Honey.
The Honey had a comb of connecting hallways with varyingly-equipped rooms, mostly uniform in size, some smaller, like the isolation room Stellan and she’d been in the night before, and some larger, for multipartner or audience play and demonstrations. They all had at least one glass wall so members in the hallways could watch, with the option for the Dom, if they wanted, to lower the white, opaque blind to silhouette the proceedings, or the blackout blinds, for private play.
Membership fees covered a variety of things, including cleanup. So any bodily fluids spilled, unless the Dom required their sub to take care of it, was seen to by staff.
The only additional charge was receiving a monthly bill for the drinks you consumed at the bar. The staff kept track, and the charges were steep, since you were not expected to do anything as common as take out money to tip while enjoying a beverage in the hunting ground or the social room. But also, Aryas paid his staff handsomely, expecting a certain level of service as well as varied duties performed. So yearly membership, guest passes and bar tabs were set at exclusive levels.
The Bolt, you paid at the bar. The background checks were relatively thorough, but not invasive (as the Honey’s were). Guest passes were a hefty fee and required a weeklong wait for the check to go through. But yearly membership fees were nowhere near the Honey’s.
It showed right there in that large space.
The Bolt had a central, open, communal play area that was sectioned off with stations made obvious by the equipment in them or low partition walls. Bodily fluids outside the natural excretion of sweat were not allowed to be expelled, so every exposed cock she saw was covered in a condom. There were discrete but copious posts providing bleached white hand towels, boxes of large wet wipes and industrial-sized bottles of antibacterial gel.
There were also DMs, or Dungeon Masters, roaming the space, which was not surveilled by copious cameras due to the cost, though there were cameras, just not many of them. DMs kept an eye on the action, making sure Dominants didn’t get out of hand or too in the zone to be at one with their sub. Each DM had on a bright red polo-shirt that had a white lightning bolt stitched over the left chest and a big, white DM emblazoned on the back.
Sixx clocked three of them in that space, which was probably one above necessary. There was a lot of activity. It still said Barclay Richardson liked to take care of his players.
Separated by a wide passageway, all around the outer walls were rooms with varying themes and equipment and glass walls facing the common area. If a Dom wanted privacy, vertical blinds could be pulled over the windows, though Sixx knew the sliding glass doors had no locks seeing as the DM had to have access for regular check-ins. You had to reserve these rooms and pay extra for them above and beyond membership, per use.
As no Dominants or submissives were allowed to play unsupervised at the Honey unless they’d passed the rigorous checks, the intrusive interview and were either referenced in with the experience Aryas required or trained under Aryas’s program, DMs did not roam the halls there. But every square inch was monitored by cameras, and that action was recorded.
As Sixx surveyed the scenes playing out, she saw a lot of talent.
She and D also got a lot of looks.
She ignored them, and with some judicious touches to the small of her back, D led her to, and slowed their going by, what had to be station seven.
She felt her lips had thinned by the time they passed it and knew D’s mood when he mumbled a deep and displeased, “Unh-hunh, that shit ain’t right.”
“She’s barely conscious,” Sixx mumbled back.
“Yup.”
“How many times has she been branded?” she asked.
“Too many,” D answered. “And word, branding only happens with Clay’s approval, and he’s stingy with that shit. Though there’s three DMs, if they get on schedule together, you can bet Clay’s not around, because all kinds of shit goes down where Clay would lose his fuckin’ mind.”
“Are those DMs on tonight?” she asked.
“Nope. Just one of them. Not the gang. Means Clay’s probably in the house.”
“Where’s Josh in this mess?” she inquired as they made their slow turn to go down the other long passageway between open play area and closed playrooms.
“Wasn’t here, but heard there was a bust-up between Josh and Pete. And it was public. No other details to that but noted since word got ’round about that sitch, blood’s bad between them and stayed that way.”
It seemed her stroll with D had been more useful than she expected.
“How many girls, do you know?” she queried.
“I’d say five, but I’m not allowed in the women’s restroom. We’d have to ask Molly her take on that shit since they do their duty then get their reward and go right there to use.”
“Beardsley doesn’t pay them?”
“Not seen any cash exchange hands but have seen dope do it. A lot.”
Sixx was again enraged.
Forced service as a sex-for-hire worker was bad enough, but they were for hire.
It shouldn’t be happening at all, but since it was, at least they should get paid since Beardsley had to be, considering he needed the money to buy the dope. He wasn’t doing it to be a drug fairy.
So he was pocketing the proceeds.
Motherfucker.
“Did you book a private space to finish off your boy, and does it have a view to station seven?” she asked.
“Planned a long night for him, Mistress. Wanted his balls blue before I took Mad and Molly home and fucked him full of my cum while he eats our pixie until she screams.”