Savage Tracker by Maggie Cole

4

Selena

I'm mortifiedthe rest of the day. I can't stop thinking about my breakfast with Obrecht and how I almost called him Master.

Jack made me call him that. He told me when I was allowed to call him Jack and when I wasn't. If we were alone, I had to call him Master. It didn't matter if we were in the bedroom or not. I learned early on in our marriage what happened when I didn't call him the appropriate term.

Why am I so screwed up?

Obrecht isn't Jack. He's dominant but continues to show me his kindness, so he can't be a Dom or Master.

But he directs me at times as if he is.

All men must do that, and I couldn't see it, since I was with Jack for so long.

Obrecht must not know what to think of me.

This is happening because all I can think about is him and submitting. I need to take care of this itch and move on with my life.

My laptop dings during dinner. I open it up and take a bite of my salmon then freeze. The subject line of the email says, "Membership approved."

I stare at the screen, chew my piece of fish, then swallow it. My hand shakes as I take a sip of my Pinot Noir and debate about opening it. I shut my laptop and tell myself I'm not going through with it.

It doesn't last long. My curiosity wins by the time I'm halfway through dinner, and I open the laptop back up. I click on the email.

Dear Ms. Christian,

Welcome to Club Everything.Your entry ID is 7289. Your password is DALMATION. This password will expire in twenty-four hours.

Just a few friendly reminders. All guests and member activities must be consensual. Anyone not acting in accordance with our policies will be banned.

Please remember the social lounge is a sex-free zone. No kissing or touching beyond that is allowed. The buffet starts at 8 p.m. each night.

Theme parties are on our website and updated each month.

If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact us.

Sincerely,

The Management

I re-read the email,feeling slightly nauseous.

I'm definitely not going to feel sexy scarfing down a buffet.

I don't understand the buffet part. Jack and I never went to a club with food, only drinks. The last thing I'm looking to do is eat at a sex club.

It's not as high-end as I'm used to.

Jack won't be at this one. Don't be a snob. There's a reason I need to do this. Once I get this out of my system, maybe then I can act normal around Obrecht.

I can't finish my dinner. I scrape my plate, do the dishes, and refill my wineglass. It's a nice night, so I turn on the indie music station and sit on my balcony.

Can I do this?

I've spent ten years in sex clubs.

Yeah, kneeling all night while watching Jack screw other women.

Or submitting to Jack in front of everyone in the club.

My confusion continues to spin. I hated everything about the sex club nights. It was Jack's way of punishing me and showing all of his friends he was my Master, and I was his slave. Lucky for me, Jack wasn't ever going to share me. So, I never had to partake in his orgies or do anything with his friends. No one was allowed to touch me, except him.

Not a bone in my body has changed. Every moment in the clubs with Jack, I detested. It's why I can't understand what is causing me to go to one willingly.

I must be more messed up than I thought.

That's it. I'm staying home.

I replay my breakfast with Obrecht and cringe. The hottest man on the planet is in front of me, and all I can do is tear up, tell him my weight issues, and almost call him Master.

He was still sweet to me.

It's why I have to take care of this itch. He's not going to give me much more attention if I don't pull it together.

Obrecht's face, with his piercing, icy-blue eyes, rock-hard body, and Russian accent coming out of his plump lips, makes me shudder. I wish I could go up to his penthouse and kneel in front of him and wait for his command, but I know my signals are mixed right now. I'm not reading anything right. I'm so far down the rabbit hole of needing to submit and wanting him, I can't think straight.

He's not a Dom or Master.

But he commands himself like one.

He can't be. He's nice and treats me with respect.

I stop myself from having a third glass of wine. It's another thing I started since divorcing Jack. He never let me consume alcohol. I don't drink every night, but when I do, one glass is usually my limit. I've already exceeded my norm, and my tolerance isn't very high.

I leave the balcony and close and lock the door. I rinse my glass in the sink then grab a bottle of water to hydrate myself.

Halfway through the bottle, I stop pacing and glance at the wall clock. Nine p.m.

I'll just take a shower and go to bed.

Instead of sticking to the plan, I shower, then do my hair and makeup. My phone reads 10:10 p.m.

My stomach flutters, and I go into the closet. It's like being in a trance and unable to stop yourself. I keep telling myself I'm not going, but then I talk myself into it.

The drawer I designated for my lingerie only has a few outfits in it. I pull the four out and take them to my bed. I get another bottle of water from the kitchen then come back and stare at the outfits.

Jack always made me roam the clubs naked. He knew it embarrassed me. Plus, he wanted everyone, man and woman, to see what he owned and to know only he could have me. One thing I'm not willing to do is expose myself like that. I always wanted to wear sexy lingerie like many of the other girls wore. At least then I'd have some coverage.

What look do I want?

White and innocent?

Black leather?

Gold and glittery?

Red and devilish?

I finally decide on the gold set with the bling all over it. The bottom doesn't have any fabric. Rhinestones cover gold strands and hang in one-inch rows over my booty. There's a two-inch strip for the front of my body with rows put together so close, it covers my slit but nothing else.

The bra is a similar design. A longer strip wraps from the bottom of my bra around my stomach and attaches to the front of the bottom.

I stare at myself in the mirror. It may not be much more than being naked, but to me, it feels like an entire wardrobe.

This is for me, not Jack. That is the difference.

I'm asking for trouble.

I need this.

Since I don't have a huge selection of dresses, it doesn't take long to choose. I remove from the hanger the only black club dress I bought and slide it over my body. I pair it with the new gold stilettos I bought and open my jewelry box.

Adrenaline rushes through me, and I put my hand on the vanity to keep me balanced. After several moments pass, I lift the gold collar I bought. It looks like an expensive piece of jewelry, but it'll symbolize I'm looking for a new Dom without the leash.

I redo my hair and put half of it up so it's still down, but it's out of my face.

Stay away from the Masters. Find the Doms, and you can get rid of this itch, then never do this again.

When 11:30 hits, I leave my condo. Matvey rises when I step off the elevator. His eyes almost pop open. He's quickly at my side. "Ma'am. Where are we going?"

"I'm going out. I'll have you drop me off and stay outside the building," I direct him, knowing he can't come into the club, nor do I want him to know what I do inside.

He argues with me about safety the entire way to the club, but I'm not budging. When we pull up to the address, he cocks his eyebrows at me. "Ma'am, you cannot go in there on your own."

"I can and I will," I insist.

"You will get me fired," he says in his thick Russian accent.

I point to the door of the club. I hate being rude, but he can't come in, and I can't chicken out. I need this. I use the language Jack always did when he wanted to get his own way. "Do not go in there. If you do, there will be consequences." I walk away from him and into the building.

The lobby has black walls and a reception desk in the middle of the room. A woman wearing a red lingerie set with devil horns smiles at me. "Are you a new member?"

"Yes." My stomach flips, but I give her my number and tell her the password. She reviews the rules with me then motions for me to go through the door and into the lounge.

I step through, and my nervous butterflies increase. The walls are still black. There's a bar with a bartender. He's wearing a cock cage and nothing else. Booths and tables with chairs fill the room. Candles sit in the middle of all the tables. A few people are eating from the buffet, and my stomach does more somersaults.

I feel as if the entire room is watching me. Most women wear lingerie. A few are naked. Two are wearing a dress.

I debate about what to do or where to sit. I've already had my limit of alcohol.

Several men eye me up. I go to a two-top table and sit. A waitress comes over, and I order a club soda with a lime.

I get through half my drink, watching people go through the next door. More come into the lounge, and I realize it's full.

It's time to make this happen.

I can do this.

Then why do I feel like I'm going to puke?

Find someone who looks like Obrecht.I laugh out loud at the thought. There's no way anyone else on earth looks like him or even comes close. I rise.

I'm not sure why or where I plan on going, but as soon as I do, a man leans into my ear. "What are you looking for, sugar? Whatever it is, I'm sure I can deliver."

I spin and swallow hard. He gazes over me, and I struggle to keep my eyes on him. I read the club rules. I have to consent and create my terms outside of the playrooms. I can't do it once I'm back there, or I can get kicked out of the club.

"Umm... I...umm..."

He puts his hand on my cheek, and I suddenly freak out. I spin away from him, right into Obrecht's chest. He tilts my head up and studies my face with his icy-blue flames.

My insides quiver.

"Man, I was here first," the other guy says.

Obrecht doesn't take his eyes off me. "No. I was, but it doesn't matter. She's mine, aren't you?"

Obrecht's. Yes. I want to be yours. Please make me kneel.

I open my mouth to ask him, but no words come out.

If ever a man could look into my eyes and straight to my soul, it must be him. I can't tear my orbs from his.

The other man argues. "No, I came over—"

"Kneel, my dorogaya," he booms, and my pussy clenches.

I drop to the floor, my butt on my ankles, my shoulders straight and head lowered.

"Fuck off. You know the rules," Obrecht growls to the man, and I see his feet move away from us.

My entire body feels as if it's on fire. Obrecht takes my hands, pulls me up, then leads me through the door and down a hallway. He opens another door, locks it, then moves me to the middle of the room. It's dark. The corners of the walls are neon pink, but nothing else is registering right now.

I just need to submit.

"Kneel," he demands, and sweet relief fills me.

Obrecht crouches in front of me and takes my chin in his hand. He puts his face an inch from mine. "This is not the club for you, my dorogaya. You can get hurt here. Let me take you home."

My lips quiver, and a tear falls down my cheek. I'm not permitted to speak unless he tells me to if I'm kneeling for him.

He wipes my tear with his thumb. "Why are you crying, baby girl?"

So many thoughts race through my mind, and all of them have to do with him. All I manage to say is, "Please. I need it."

His face hardens. I think he's going to make me go home. Instead, he says, "What do you need?"

My voice shakes. "To submit. I don't know why, but I do. Please."

He strokes my cheek then drags his finger over my lips.

"Will you be my Master? Please," I beg, surprising even myself when it comes out so freely.

He shakes his head. "No. You do not need a Master. You are not meant to be anyone's slave."

"But, I-I feel so lost," I admit, and more tears fall. "I need to submit."

"Shh." He strokes the side of my head.

"Please," I whisper.

He studies me then freezes. "Okay. I will be your top."

"Top? I don't understand. Do you mean my Dom?"

"Similar, except you are free to do what you want after we leave here, Selena. You are not tied to me in any way, understand?"

"Is that not a Dom? I-I don't understand," I repeat.

He takes a deep breath. "You want to submit to me?"

"Please, Ma—"

He puts his fingers over my lips. "I am not your Master."

"What do I call you?" I ask.

He strokes my cheek. "You can call me sir."

"Yes, sir." More relief floods my body. I don’t know why calling him sir makes me relax or feel better, but it does.

"What are your hard limits, Selena?"

I tilt my head. "I-I... why are you asking me this?"

"So I don't do something you don't want to do."

"But it isn't my choice."

Obrecht scoops me up and carries me to a couch. He sits down and straddles me on his lap.

I gasp as my almost-bare pussy rests against his hard erection.

"You like what you do to me, baby girl?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. If you want me to do this, I want you to understand that everything is your choice. Nothing happens unless you want it to. If I do something you don't like, you use our safe word. What should it be?"

"Safe word? I... I've never had one."

His jaw clenches again. "We aren't doing this without one. Pick a word."

"Umm...can you pick, please?"

He smiles. "Sure. Let's say faucet. And if you want me to stop at any time, you say faucet. Now tell me you understand."

"I understand, sir. I will say faucet if I want you to stop."

"Good. What do you need? Is it pain?"

I shake my head hard. "No. I don't like the pain. I kind of like some ass slapping, but nothing too hard."

"Good, my dorogaya. I'm not really into pain, so that's good."

"You aren't?"

"No."

"Wh-what are you into, then?"

"No attachments. Controlling another person, including when they can and can't come. Some mind games. Bondage at times. Toys. Penetration anywhere in your body I want, with whatever I want. Is that what you need?" He stares at me and licks his lips.

Everything he says turns me on. "Please, sir."

"Kneel," he commands.

I slide off his lap and onto the floor. He scoots to the edge of the couch so I'm between his legs. He roughly grabs my chin and pushes it up so his face hangs an inch above mine. "Before we get started, you owe me a promise."

"Sir?"

He keeps his firm hold on me, but his index finger grazes my cheekbone. "You're never stepping foot in this club again. If you want a club, I will tell you where to go, understand?"

"I'm-I'm sorry, sir. I—"

"I want to hear you promise me," he insists.

"I promise."

He licks my lips with the tip of his tongue. I moan, wanting to open my mouth but knowing he hasn't permitted me.

His Russian accent becomes thicker. "How much do you think of me, my dorogaya?"

"All the time, sir." It comes out raspy and desperate, but it's what I am. So needy for him and what he can make me do.

"The first time you saw me, you wanted to kneel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?"

My cheeks burn. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

His lips curl, and my flutters take off again. He releases my chin, sits back on the couch, and points in front of us. "Strip. Then crawl to me like the sexy baby girl you are."