Dark Needs (Tales of Dystopian Decadence Book 1)

BOOK: Dark Needs (Tales of Dystopian Decadence Book 1)
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Dark Needs ~ Tales of Dystopian Decadence, Book One

By Finley Blake

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and not to be construed as real.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Published by Wicked Hearts Publishing

Copyright 2016 Finley Blake

Cover Art by Nicole Thomas

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Edition

Explicit content:
This book contains scenes of light BDSM, forced submission, and ménage.

Trigger advisory:
There is a brief scene of attempted sexual assault in this book.




Other Books in the Series

Tales of Dystopian Decadence, Book 1: Dark Needs

Tales of Dystopian Decadence, Book 2: Sweet Desire (coming August 19)

Tales of Dystopian Decadence, Book 3: Wicked Surrender (coming September 9)


Other Books by the Author

Geared for Lust: A Trio of Sensual Vignettes


Check out Finley Blake’s
mailing list
for exclusive giveaways, contests, and sneak peeks!



Dark Needs

~Tales of Dystopian Decadence, Book One~




Chapter 1


I was no stranger to spankings. So Mr. Breckinridge’s hand rubbing over the cheeks of my buttocks, taking a moment to fondle each one, before his fingers slipped beneath my lacy white panties, was a familiar sensation. Not necessarily a bad one, either. Quite the contrary, as Mr. Breckinridge was very, very good at his job.

“Miss Adette Johnstone,” he said, his fingers testing the wetness between my legs, “how can you ever do your mother or the headmistress proud if you carry on like this? I discipline on a weekly basis, and yet your behavior tonight was absolutely reprehensible. Shouldn’t you know better by now? Are you not sorry for what you have done?”

Draped over the principal’s lap as he sat in a plush armchair in his office at St. Eden’s School for Young Ladies, it was easy for me to appear contrite. In retrospect, however, it was difficult to
contrition when he touched me with those warm, strong hands. There were few things I enjoyed more than his punishments and he knew it. Besides, I wasn’t actually sorry for what I had done that night. Still, I had to
to apologize convincingly. Good behavior was my only way out of this situation – both the punishment and the reason for it.

“Sir,” I said, then bit my tongue as his hand came down on my bottom with a resounding smack. My flesh burned and tingled simultaneously with the contact and I wriggled my hips in response. The moisture between my thighs was very telling. Spankings weren’t effective, but they were certainly fun. All he had to do was dip his fingers inside my panties again, as I ached for him to do…

“You have not yet been given permission to speak. Remember your training, you impudent girl!”

He had asked me questions, though! Rhetorical ones, but still…

Lowering my head, my dark brown hair brushing along the exquisite Oriental carpet, I let my dark lashes sweep down over my brown eyes and waited for my punishment to continue. This was the pleasurable part, the spankings and the teasing pussy play, but I knew he was just warming me up for something else.

“We arranged a rendezvous with the wealthiest young man in the Western Territories, and you humiliated him. This is what you came to this school for. This is the pinnacle of your achievements, to be matched with a man such as him.”

Another smack followed and I tried not to sigh as the heat spreading across my bottom settled in. With the radiator warming the room and the principal’s hand warming my backside, I felt listless with longing; drowsy with desire. This was nothing but foreplay, as far as I was concerned. It wouldn’t change my ways.

Spanking was all very well and good with the submissives in the school, but it was not in my nature to submit to anyone. As both the headmistress and principal very well knew, I found punishment enjoyable. Therefore, St. Eden’s provided a very different education for me.

I was in a rather elite class of young ladies, all of whom were educated as long-term lovers and mistresses to serve the Regime’s desires. Our skill sets were unique, from the most pliable masochist to servile slave girls. Some patrons expected obedience and service from their courtesans, while others preferred those like me – those who begged to experience the most sensual and humiliating experiences. The headmistress often told me I was fortunate in that regard, since having something that set one apart from the usual compliant fare often paved the way for bigger and better opportunities.

Unfortunately, when your mother was remembered as the most beautiful and graceful courtesan in Regime history – when you had the name Delilah Johnstone to live up to – and you really didn’t care to do so, you had problems.

“Icharus DeVille is not to be toyed with in such a way.” Mr. Breckinridge dropped another smack against my bottom and I wriggled again, this time in annoyance. He knew me well enough to realize a spanking would not get through to me. The perverted principal just liked being hands-on with the student body, particularly when that body wore school-issue white lace undergarments beneath their regulation plaid frocks and white pinafores. I was ready to move on to the next phase of punishment. Receiving a lecture, however, frustrated me. Was he going to talk me to death?

He knew me too well, because he shoved me off his lap and rose to his feet when I tumbled to the floor. At that motion, my breath finally came a bit faster. He had finished toying with me and would now push my buttons in earnest. Words would, as he was fond of saying, “go in one ear and out the other.” Actions, however, might bring results.

“To whom do you answer, Miss Johnstone?” Mr. Breckinridge looked down at me, his jaw tense and his fingers curling at his sides. Oh, how he wanted to break me, and how I wanted him to try. All the years I’d spent at this school would be for naught if I refused the match chosen for me, and then there would be hell to pay. “Speak and make it good, girl.”

“I answer to you, sir,” I replied, tilting my chin so I could look up at him. If there was one thing I wasn’t afraid to do, it was look any of the members of the school faculty in the face.

And Mr. Breckinridge had a face worth looking at, according to most of the girls. He was only in his mid-thirties, with dark eyes, chiseled features, and a mop of wavy dark hair. I thought him rather too slender and pretty for my tastes, but many of the other students spoke enviously of those he punished. He had punished me enough times for me to know he excelled at the task. Was that enviable? Perhaps, especially since I always returned to my room with my coif wrecked and my panties drenched in my own dew. It was unfortunate that the principal never crossed that one line – that very thin little line between sexual torment and intercourse with the students. I had a feeling it would be an incredible experience.

He placed his hands behind his back in a position I knew all too well and stood over me, his crotch only inches from my face. In his dark suit and backlit by the fire, he looked like an ominous shadow. Fear and excitement rippled through me in unison, the conflicting sensations making me shiver despite the heat in the room. What would he do to me to make his point? I held my breath and waited to find out how this night would end.

“You know how important it is that you find a benefactor who will keep you,” he scolded, looking down his nose at me. “It is not just a point of pride as a graduate of St. Eden’s for us to see you well placed in society, to know you are a credit to our teachings. It also allows you to have a secure living. Ever since the Regime change, women’s opportunities have dwindled and serving our Regime is one of the only ways to protect yourself. You must take advantage of the chance to live under the control of someone such as Icharus DeVille. The DeVille family is the most prominent financial supporter of the Regime. Your only other option is to spend your days trying to eke out a living in the sewing factories and cloth mills. Do you think your mother would have wanted that for you?”

“No sir, but are you telling me there is not another match the headmistress can make for me? Surely there is.” The Regime had more than enough soldiers and financial backers to spare.

“The headmistress determines your placement in society and this is what she has chosen for you. Your future is in her hands and your choice should be very clear, Miss Johnstone. This is the life you should want.”

“There’s always the gutter with the other dregs,” I said with a shrug. “Some things are preferable to shacking up with a DeVille. Then again, anything is preferable to letting anyone associated with the Regime have me.”

He reached down to entangle his fingers in my hair and tug at my scalp, bending my head back so far, I had to flail for balance. “Speak again, and you’ll find my cock down your throat faster than you can blink, young lady,” he hissed, his lips hovering over my exposed throat.

I was tempted to say more, to see if he would stay true to his threat, but I held my tongue.

For now.

“How dare you treat this opportunity with such disdain? You have enjoyed a great deal of privilege, and yet you think you can dismiss it so easily. You ungrateful brat.” He gave my hair another thank and brought his face close to mine. “But brat or not, a life with Icharus DeVille would mean comfort and security, and surely you want those things.”

I said nothing, because no answer I could honestly give would please him.

The principal narrowed his eyes. “He also has very specific tastes when it comes to women – tastes we have trained only a handful of our students to indulge. In deciding between you or Miss Morningside, we felt he would appreciate your family legacy, not to mention the fact that you match up better with his sexual appetites. However, now I am not so sure you were the right choice, despite the way the match initially looked on paper. What possessed you to refer to him as…” He paused and continued to glare down at me as he no doubt replayed the events of the evening in his memory. His brow furrowed and he said, “‘Icky,’ I believe it was. When did you regress to childhood? Bratting is never, ever appropriate, not even for you! You may now speak, Miss Johnstone.”

I blinked when he let go of my hair and straightened. It was difficult not to let my disappointment show. Punishment was much more fun and educational than attending actual lessons at the school, particularly when it involved pushing my limits. I had so few, after all, and exploring them was thrilling.

“Sir, I was trying to ascertain what sort of man Mr. DeVille is. Had I known he had no sense of humor, I would have never agreed to such a meeting.” Actually, I hadn’t agreed to the meeting, but I couldn’t stop the insult.

“Is that truly your excuse?” he asked, his eyes widening.

“Yes sir.”

“Miss Johnstone, after all I’ve said tonight, that is beyond unacceptable.” He shrugged out of his coat, discarded it on the desk to his right, then unbuttoned his pants and stepped toward me. I glanced past him at the fire and then back up at him while he rolled up his sleeves to the elbows. In his white shirt, black pinstriped waistcoat, and black pants, with a pair of revolvers in the holsters draped over his hips, he looked rather dangerous. Of course, as a student, I need not worry that he would use the guns on me. They were for my protection. Mr. Breckinridge always personally escorted the students to and from their assignations. He was a valiant guardian who had defended my peers from unsavory types on more than one occasion.

The only man from whom he would not defend us was himself.

He unbuckled his belt and gently set the holsters on the desk. When he shoved his pants down to his slim hips, I saw that he was ready. The firm head of his erection pressed against my lips and he grabbed a fistful of my hair once again, this time with both hands. He did not allow me to control the entry. Instead, he slammed himself forcefully into my mouth, gagging me with his hardness. Rather than let me breathe through my nose, however, he pressed my face firmly against him. Robbed of air, I struggled to escape his hold. With my nose buried in his thatch of pubic hair, all I could do was inhale in the scent of his body, which smelled of soap. Even as he kept me from breathing, his actions made me shudder with yearning. His low laughter fueled my efforts to escape, as much as it amplified the desire I felt at that moment.

The contract between student and school was one that authorized the faculty to do whatever they deemed appropriate in the education and training of its girls. Their authority, once consented to by the student, was absolute. Which meant the principal could do whatever he wanted to me, so long as I came to no lasting physical or emotional harm. Years of getting to know a student taught a teacher what the girl could endure, and they were experts at capitalizing on it.

When he finally pulled back to look down at me, I knew this was his one and only warning. If I pushed him further – if I did not capitulate – then the consequences would be severe.

“You will meet with Icharus DeVille again tomorrow night,” he said, “and I will let him test you as he sees fit. If you do not cooperate, the headmistress will step in and you will not enjoy what she has planned for you in the event of your disobedience. Do you understand, Miss Johnstone?”

“Yes sir,” I answered between gasping breaths, looking up at him from where I sat on the floor. We students were precious commodities, but we were still commodities. I blinked up at him, not sure how to end this exchange, but hoping he intended…

“What do you want to ask me, young lady?”

“Are… Are you going to finish what you’ve started, sir?”

Mr. Breckinridge laughed, stepped back, and zipped up his pants. I winced when I realized this discipline wasn’t going any further. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he said. “What kind of principal would I be if I gave you what you wanted? You don’t deserve a reward like that, do you?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, just as it continued to enflame other parts of my body. Although St. Eden’s taught us to embrace our wantonness, it sometimes seemed I was the most immodest of my entire class – begging for punishments, getting in trouble intentionally…

But the difference was tonight, I hadn’t done what I’d done in hopes of getting punished. I’d done it because no punishment could be worse than going through with this match. With DeVille. It could never be DeVille.
Why did she choose him?

“Yes, that’s what I thought.” Mr. Breckinridge was oblivious to my deeper thoughts as he walked around his desk and sat in the chair behind it, loosening his tie. “If you misbehave tomorrow, the punishment you’ll receive from Headmistress Eden will be far harsher than any you have ever received. I will also recommend the chastity device, should you merit additional punishment. Do I make myself clear?”

BOOK: Dark Needs (Tales of Dystopian Decadence Book 1)
7.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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