Free Sweet Pain (The Club #18) by Rebel Adams

Chapter 1
     
     
     
    Was there anything better than well-spanked ass? 
    I never thought so. I enjoyed the bloom of red on pale white skin, the gasps and pleas of the women who had asked for it. I enjoyed teaching men and women to embrace their inner sex demons — be they submissive or dominant. 
    Sex was drug for me. Other people could smoke up or shoot up. I liked to get off. Even more, I liked to watch women come, with a twitch of my fingers, or a ride on my cock. There was a heady power in taking control away from my partners, for just those few moments of bliss. 
    Blinding screaming orgasms were my specialty. When I met Tally and Mak the first time, I knew I would have a home in their club. 
    Karim, Texas, was sex starved and I was arriving with a full buffet. I wanted to feed the hungry. 
    The Club, a simple quiet moniker for a place that could host such magnificent hedonism, was a sacred place. Members were only allowed in through other members. And slowly, the brain child of a wealthy, connected Texan and a masterful Domme from New York grew into a monster. Tally and I were the Master and Mistress of the Floor. If we didn’t like what was happening, the offenders were at our mercy. And not in the good, kinky way. No one crossed Tally. Ever. 
    Well, save for her husband. 
    The demand for memberships had grown steadily, and after several incidents that left the members afraid, Tally and I agreed we would need a screening protocol. 
    And so the Monthly Munch was born at the trattoria. 
    In reality, it was every week, but each week focused on either male Dom or sub or female Domme or sub. The women reported to Tally, and the men to me. 
    Some of the men seeking to be a Dom were rejected before they even sat at the table. 
    That was one of the prospects who graced the table one hot August afternoon. It was tedious, sometimes, to have to them away. 
    Try as I might to keep an open mind, there were few and far between who made my “Kingsman” list — worthy of the effort to turn them into true Doms, true gentlemen. It was a lot of time put into a single person, and it took months to finally feel they were ready. I much preferred the subs who asked to learn. They had an appreciation for the lessons.
    Ill-dressed, my lunch companion dragged his knuckles on the ground and shuffled up to my table. With a jerk of his chin, he smirked. “S’up?” 
    Oh . One of these.
    “Lunch, actually. Far too early for supper.” 
    “What?” 
    “I assumed you were asking about my meal. Did I surmise incorrectly?”
    “No. I mean, yeah. You did. I was asking ‘what’s up?’ Don’t know about no food.”
    “Well, you should probably change your preferred greeting to something more universal, like, ‘hello’.” 
    “The fuck, man. Are you from The Club or not?”
    “I am. And you are?” 
    Pulling the chair out from the table, this knuckle-dragger spun it around and sat down. I bit my tongue and waited. 
    “I am the ultimate ladies’ man. And I want to see what this shit’s all about. Because I am all about dat ass.” He made some sexual grunting noise.
    Of course, they were all about tagging ass. 
    “Do you have a name?” 
    “Hemi.” 
    I nodded. “Hemi. Is that the name your mama gave you?”
    “…no.” 
    I grunted. “And what name did your mother scream at the top of her lungs when you were inevitably being an insufferable douche?” 
    “David.” 
    “Thank you. If you are really here to find out more about the lifestyle, you don’t get to pick a nickname until I say you can.” 
    “Just let me at all that sweet ass in there and I’ll have you begging to give me one.” 
    “I do not beg. Ever. Do you know what the lifestyle is?”  
    “I’m livin’ it!”
    I leaned forward and folded my hands on the table. “One does not become a Dom to tag ass. At all. If the goal is to unload your balls in the depths of a woman, the opportunity is usually found on the street corner. I