Manwhore, Vol. 2
The Ferro Family
H. M. Ward
Laree Bailey Press
Contents
Copyright
Volume 2
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by H.M. Ward
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.
H.M. WARD PRESS
First Edition: October 2015
ISBN: 978-1-63035-093-2
Volume 2
I follow him into the backseat of the car and slide across the bench. He slips in behind me and slams the door. My heart races harder, faster, as my breathing becomes too ragged. It’s hard to feign confidence when Sean can see what he does to me.
When I glance up at him, wondering what he wants to say, I force my spine straight and relax the muscles in my face. Sean hasn’t glanced away from me since he slammed into me coming out of Club Noir. The way his brows rest slightly lifted on his beautiful face makes me want to reach out and touch him. But I don’t. I remain still with my hands folded neatly in my lap.
I glance past Sean and see the driver standing outside the car as if waiting for something. Before I know what’s happening, Sean’s warm hand is on my chin, redirecting my face so that my gaze meets his. My chest fills with too many emotions at once. The attraction is intense and being this close is like holding two magnets together, but not allowing them to touch. The pull becomes more pronounced, and all those feelings continue to rise. I want to lean into his hand and press my lips to his.
While my control flies away into the night, Sean’s remains completely intact. He tips my face one way and then the other as if he were examining livestock.
I jerk away and frown. “I’m not a horse.”
“No one said you were.”
“What do you want, Mr. Ferro? I have places to be and this—as lovely as it is—wasn’t among my plans for the evening.” My tone is curt, irritated. It’s the only way I can hide the firestorm of emotions burning through me.
“Really? Weren't you coming to take part in Club Noir? Find a partner? Fuck your troubles away?”
I reach for the door, intending on leaving without responding. Sean moves quickly, taking me by my shoulders and twisting me back toward him. He doesn’t wait for me to say anything. Before I know what’s happening, he’s in my space, within a breath of me. He stays there, watching my lips, letting the pull between us build.
My insides twist and, I can’t help it, a small gasp escapes from between my lips. It’s as if that was what he wanted, because he closes the distance between us and presses his mouth to mine. His lips are soft and perfect as he lingers in a chaste kiss, barely touching me. The result is intense. Desire shoots through my body like a bolt of lightning, making me want to do everything all at once.
I’m losing control. That’s worrisome and exciting. It’s like standing on the top of a lightning rod and waving a metal rake around during a storm. It’s not a matter of if I’ll get struck—it’s inevitable.
When Sean is involved, every ounce of control I possess vanishes. I see it now, and it scares me. Something is very wrong with this situation, and it’s not just that I’m part of the team trying to throw his ass in jail—we’re enemies. He should hate me, but this kiss says something else entirely. A jolt of reality pours down my spine like ice.
Breathless, I wriggle away and stare at him with an intensity I normally hide. Two worlds are colliding in my mind. Reality and Club Noir. Normally, they exist separately. They don’t converge. Hell, they don’t even touch. I find it difficult to believe that this meeting is an accident, that Sean Ferro is only searching for solace at Club Noir.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, still mere inches away from him. “You know as well as I do this isn’t possible.”
Sean's expression is placid, all smoothness, as if the kiss left him unbothered, unaffected. “Go on. Say what’s on your mind.” Those eyes reveal too much. As I look into them, I fall deeper and deeper. I sense his excitement and the worry that barely pinches his brow. I can taste the disappointment building in the back of his mouth. I can feel the way his walls become thicker by the second, as if building an impenetrable keep inside a fortress to conceal his heart forever.
But right now, there are cracks in the façade revealing his thoughts, allowing all this emotion to flow out like shafts of light piercing the darkness.
My jaw hangs open, frozen. The moment is too intense, and panic is clawing at my insides, wanting to rise and take over. I shove it down and swallow hard. “If my boss finds out I was in your car, I'll be fired. But this—if he saw this—if he knew you were here, and I was here…”
Sean looks me over and calmly explains, “Mr. Cunning—that’s a laughable name by the way—doesn’t appear to be the sort to frequent Club Noir, and, if he were, he’d already have known about your darker pursuits. What would possibly make him venture here, now?”
My heart is slapping against my ribs, making it hard to breathe. My palms are sweaty, and the remnants of my composure wash away. “I don’t know! Why are you here now? Why is anyone here now?”
He doesn’t answer.
I wring my hands in my lap and glance out the window. My panic is real now, not imagined. I need Club Noir, but not when it means Sean Ferro comes with it.
Lips trembling, I mutter, “I lost my thoughtful spot.”
Sean nearly chokes as he tries to swallow a laugh. “I’m sorry, you’re thoughtful—”
I wave my index finger in his face and cut him off. “Stop coming here!”
“I could ask the same of you.” Those calm blue eyes are hypnotic. They’re like the ocean, vibrant, ever-changing, and with depths beyond comprehension. “But I won’t.”
My eyes cut to Sean and then back to the Club. I make a strangled sound in the back of my throat. “I knew exactly what I was going to do tonight until you hit me with the door.”
“Then do it, find someone who shares your preferences.” His eyes bore into me as the silence builds between us. He’s still so close, his scent filling my head, making me crazy.
“Don’t follow me.” I reach for the car door again, and this time Sean doesn’t stop me.
I push the door shut and walk around to the curb, hellbent on finding a partner in Club Noir.
* * *
Every inch of my skin hums, demanding to be touched, while my mind blurs with memories I’d rather forget.
I march through the glass doors, past the black bar, and down the golden hallway. I pass the women and men proceeding with caution and lacking my determination. Is that what this is? It’s almost like I have to prove to myself that I can still do this. Where did that come from?
I make it to the elevator bank and pull out my collar for the guard. He’s an older guy with a big nose and gruff voice. “Put it on if you want to go up. You know the rules.” He’s wearing a black suit with a name tag that says GABE.
I lift my hair and tighten the collar around my neck. “I know.”
He pushes the button and calls the elevator. As he stands there, a timid couple walks up behind me. The woman has a white collar on with no stones. The man is giddy and a bit younger than her. She smiles at me nervously. I wonder which of
them wanted to come here.
When the elevator arrives and the door chimes, I walk through. Gabe swipes a key card allowing me to select any floor. When the couple tries to enter, Gabe stops them. “Sorry, novices aren’t allowed upstairs without an upper-level.”
The woman smiles nervously and watches me. My finger is hovering over a button, but I’ve not pressed it yet. She sees my black collar, as does the guy she’s with. I act on a whim, reaching out for her hand and pulling her forward. “She’s with me.”
Gabe nods and steps back. “She’s your responsibility for the evening.”
“I know.” I press the button, and before her man can follow us into the elevator, Gabe blocks him.
“Sorry, but you know the rules. You need a guarantor.”
“But, we’re together.” The man points at the woman in the white collar, very excited and very annoyed that he’s going to miss out.
Gabe shakes his head and scolds the man as the elevator doors close. I quickly press every button for every floor and then lean back against the railing. “I’m going to nine, but you don’t have to. You should probably observe on two and see if this is your thing.”
Her eyes nearly bug out of her head. “You’re going to nine?”
I nod. “Yes, and you should get off here.” The doors open and the pale blue lights spill into the room. She doesn’t move. The doors slide shut, and we continue up another floor.
I shake my head, allowing my hair to fall into my eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why did you say that?” She laughs nervously and tucks a strand of red hair behind her pale ear.
“It’s not your thing. You’re afraid.”
“So. Aren’t you?” She’s visibly trembling by this point.
I feel bad for her. “No, I’m not. I’m here because I want to be. I think you’re here because that guy wanted it. This isn’t for everyone. What’s your name, anyway?”
“Claire.” She looks at the floor and seems sad. “We’ve been together for a long time, and I don’t want to lose him. If I have to start doing this, well, how do I do it?”
I groan inwardly. That is the worst possible reason to show up here. “As a voyeur. Then try some of the mini public shows. If that doesn’t make you leave, try the third floor. But not before watching.”
“Can I watch you?” Her face turns bright red when she asks me. I want to smash my head into the wall for pulling her up here with me. “Please?”
I glance over at her again and consider it. She won’t be in the way and maybe if she sees what I’m into she’ll think twice about doing something like this for someone else. “Fine, but don’t ask me anything until later.”
Claire smiles and nods. “I can do that. So, where are we going?”
“Apparently to the fourth-floor lounge. I need to find a partner and sign you in.”
I feel skittish tonight. That meeting with Ferro has my head spinning. I can’t concentrate on the newbie--or anything else for that matter. The doors slide open, and I head over to the desk in the golden room and check in.
Behind the counter is a tall, extremely thin man with a shaved head. His lanky body is covered in tattoos and piercings. “It’ll be about an hour before we can get you on stage. There aren’t too many niners here tonight. What kind of partner do you want?”
Claire whispers to me, “What’s a niner?”
The man laughs and shakes his head. “How’d you get stuck with her?”
“A niner is a black collar, someone who’s done all this before,” I tell her before responding to the guy. “Don’t be a prick. Everyone starts somewhere.”
“And you’re Mother Teresa helping her out like this. Club Noir thanks you for making a new patron.” His tone is somewhere between sarcastic and serious. “So, for you, oh, I see a good one—unless you already have a partner in mind?”
“Just assign someone.”
He types quickly into the computer and then says, “Done.” We’re both given a keycard and allowed to roam the floor in public and private areas.
I walk straight back with the newbie on my heels, slowing as we approach a seating area around a stage. Two women are up there right now. One has a cane in her hand. She’s wearing a dark leather bodysuit. The other woman is laying on the couch, face down, watching the audience, wearing only a leather harness. Her pale cheeks flush red, and several raised welts mark her thighs. They’re almost done.
I sit at a small table toward the back, one reserved for black collars and their tops. Claire tries to sit next to me. “No, over there. You have to stand and watch.”
She nods and backs away, standing by the wall. She winces when the cane comes down. Her eyes widen, shocked, as the sound of it striking flesh makes other viewers lean in. I remember doing this. I liked being on the receiving end, but not the cane—I preferred the cat. The way the tails feel stinging nine different places at once makes it impossible to think about anything else.
That’s what this place is for—to forget. The people who have lived the darkest lives turn up here, ready to banish their pain, hoping it never returns. But it comes back, which is why I have every level, every stone. The pain never stops because life never lets it.
As I watch the last delicious strike of the rod, I notice tears streaming silently down the bottom’s cheeks. She may enjoy the idea of being a bottom—a submissive—but Club Noir isn’t her thing. It stuns me how many people wander in here, how many people will go this far for someone else when they can’t bear it.
I’m a different story. I want something to feel, something that makes sense to me. I understand this. It’s action and reaction. It also forces the bottom—the person in the slave role—to learn how to conceal their emotions. The master is called the ‘top’ here. The patrons flip roles between ‘tops and bottoms,’ doing whichever they please, and it sounds a little less scary than, ‘dominant and submissive.’ The actions are far from cute, though. Being a bottom isn’t for everyone, but it helped me hide the horrors that were so evident on my face all those years ago.
I order a cocktail and lean back in my chair. After it’s gone, I shuck my leather coat, revealing my collar, leather bralette and mini skirt, and shiny black thigh high boots. It’s warm in here.
The music pulses and the golden lights flash. The stage curtain drops.
Claire rushes up behind me, whispering, “When it's your turn, are you taking me with you? I don’t think I can do that.” She's visibly shuddering and turning a shade of green. I feel sorry for her.
“You should go home,” I say firmly.
“I can’t.”
“I won't do anything with you or to you. I only signed me up. You just stand by the wall all night. When you can’t stand anymore, leave.” I speak sternly, not looking her in the eye until the end.
Claire nods and resumes her position at the wall behind me. We watch another couple and then a trio. The hour passes quickly. I head to the back room to get ready and meet my partner. We need to go over any rules or safe words ahead of time. Most people have a firm line they won’t cross. If we don’t talk about it before time, there’s no way to know when to stop.
As I head to the backstage area, I see a couple doing more than they should. I look away, rushing past them. Sex in public spaces is a no-no. Sex, in general, is a no-no here. The owner will kill them when she finds out. And she will find out.
I walk into the women’s changing room. It’s decorated with soft silvers and shades of gray with lots of mirrors and warm light. There are white locking cubbies to store my things. One wall has costumes hanging on a long silver rod running the entire length of the wall. There are sheer dresses, revealing lingerie, harnesses, and more. Anything you could possibly want to put on the perfect show. And the price tags that dangle from each indicate they cost more than my weekly check.
I can take anything I want--Level Nine perk--but decide to remain in the clothes I’m wearing. I sit down in front of a mirror and braid my hair so that it’
s not falling in my face. As I do so, I hear the other women in the room talking.
A brunette with ample cleavage dusts blush across her cheek and then says, “I didn’t see him either, but Angie said he’s here.” Her accent is thick, like the water in Jersey.
There’s another woman next to her, spraying enough hairspray to form a lingering cloud. Her accent is dually thick. “Lots of guys are here, but not too many leave the main floor.”
“I’m not new! He’s in the waiting room. Can you imagine? Sean Ferro on stage!” She’s giddy.
I drop my hairbrush and jump up quickly.
He is not.
He did not.
I’m going to…
* * *
I want to scream. I rush out of the changing room and race down the hallway to the waiting area. Sean’s standing there, shirtless, with dark slacks and a belt around his narrow waist. In the golden light, the muscles of his back are defined perfectly under smooth pale skin.
I walk up behind Sean and shove him hard. “What the hell?”
Sean turns around and looks at me. “No touching, Miss Driskill. We’re following my rules tonight.”
“The hell we are!”
Sean watches me, his face devoid of emotion as he calmly steps closer. I step back. “You know how this goes. Unless you want to lose face in front of your peers, you’ll do as I tell you.”
“You asked for me? What’d you do, follow me inside?” I go to shove him again, but he grabs my wrists. When I try to jerk away, he leans in close, tugging me until we are nose-to-nose.
“I left. When I returned, I signed in downstairs--where I remained until a few moments ago. They didn’t tell me which bottom I was with, so stop acting like you matter. You don’t.” He tosses my hands back and steps away.
I stand there, stunned, jaw hanging open for half a beat before I snap it shut again. “I’m not doing this with you.”