The Favor
I think everyone would like a love story that happens as quickly as it does in our favorite romances, between the pages of a novel, love can blossom and develop in the beat of a heart. Unfortunately, the harsh reality is, real life just doesn’t work that way. We have more space to play and develop bonds and trust than a couple hundred pages. We have more time to get to know the very bones of someone before we jump into something with them.
That being said, please, no matter what you chose to do, be safe. In life, and any kind of lifestyle choice, you need to be sure of what you’re doing, who you’re doing it with and always make sure there is trust there. Do the proper research, practice safety and precaution and keep yourself out of harms way. Much love to you all, please be cautious out there.
Elle
Elle Luckett
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except that of small quotations used in critical reviews and promotion via blogs.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination only. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or deceased, events or any other incident is entirely coincidental.
Front cover image by
L.J. Stock (all images were purchased from 123rf.com)
Edited by
Heather Ross, Claire Allmendinger, Victoria L. James and Katleen
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For me, this manuscript has become a bit of a word baby. I wrote this in a transitional part of my life and sat on it for a while, not really knowing whether or not it was going to see the light of day. Mainly because I wrote it for myself, in fact, it was written on my iPhone, pacing around the pool of an evening because the characters had so much to say they never stopped.
That being said, I have some huge thanks to be sent out there. Firstly, to my amazing friends who always floor me with their support and faith in my writing, and in me. Heather and Vic, I honestly can’t thank you enough for that. You both kept prodding even when I swept it under the rug and ignored its existence. There are no words for how much I love you both.
To my beautiful, wonderful, intelligent and very patient editors, Heather, Victoria, Claire and Katleen, I learn so much from you all ever time you honor me with your talents of catching my “dancing” faux pas through the “bayou”… I know some of you who had a very early, bare bones, version are probably rolling your eyes, or snaffling in some cases, but your patience and help has been invaluable. You make my words legible and prettier that they were before your touches of magic, so thank you for that, and thank you for your endless patience. My love and gratitude are both endless.
Amy Trevathan, thank you for your support and belief, and the continuous encouragement you give, even when you don’t realize you’re doing it.
To my family, who have been endlessly patient and promised to never read this! Thank you for saving me from a week or two of squirming. This is possibly a moot point but just know your support means everything, even when I’m chatting away to people who only exist in my head.
Last, but certainly not least, Wendy Shatwell and Claire Allmendinger of Bare Naked Words. Thank you for being more than a blog and being great friends and cheerleaders. I love you ladies.
My family, and friends. Each and every one of you inspire me every single day,
and you make my world a brighter place to be.
The bass rumbled through the club and I could feel the vibrations buzzing in my knees. It was another busy night in
Stigmata
, which included the dozen or so protesters that had set up camp outside. They had done the same thing every weekend since the club opened. Most of them were religious zealots that chose to spit on us and shout passages from The Bible or curse us into hell. For most of us, it was nothing new; we entered the club with our heads held high and a smile on our faces. For the new attendees, there was a back door that not one of the religious sects knew about.
My Mistress, Kayla, was something of a star in the club, which was exactly why we frequented the place most weekends. She had her own corner booth where she entertained the men and women who wanted her training, knowledge, or her expert beatings. Diversity was something
Stigmata
had in spades, and tonight was no different. Mistress Kayla sat lounging at the end of her booth, her fingers trailing through my hair reverently as I kneeled in perfect submissive position, something I'd mastered a long time ago. It was the most basic level of self-preservation, after all. Mistress Kayla was fair and loving, but also a perfectionist. One hair out of place and I knew about it.
This was just one of the reasons I was in love with her. She knew what I wanted, what I needed, what I craved, and for some reason she'd chosen me to be hers. Me. When she could have had anyone. I knew she loved me in return, but she had no question about sharing me with her trainees. She knew my limits, she knew my tastes, and she flaunted it by allowing men and women who wanted to learn the lifestyle to take me under her watchful eyes.
I much preferred trainee subs to the Dominants who always felt the need to prove themselves. I felt more useful helping her calm them, or showing them how to behave, answering questions and leading by example. More importantly, I loved to please her, which meant responding to her every request with grace and eloquence – something I was rewarded greatly for.
All night, Mistress had been entertaining a small group of men who were interested in becoming Dominants. Her laughter seemed to cut through the music, and I kept peeking through my eyelashes to watch her as she threw her head back, her long, dark hair dancing in waves down her spine. She was beautiful and men flirted with her constantly, but, as a Dominant she was formidable, so none of them would have ever been able to tame her, and as a sadist, her need to give pain far exceeded anyone else I had met, which meant most would never have been able to handle her.
The moment her fingers left my hair and swept over my shoulder, I rose to my feet. This was her signal, and as I stood before her naked, hands clasped behind my back and eyes averted to the floor, I waited for her next command.
“Kitty, I think these gentlemen would like a sample of what they'd be getting this evening. Display yourself for them.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I whispered in response, turning to sit on the edge of the table. Hearing the glasses being slid out of the way, I lifted myself up, my back arching as I laid my body out on the table before them. Sliding to the middle, I bent my legs, spreading them apart while my hands lay at my sides. The only concession I allowed myself was turning my head to face her, her eyes meeting mine, offering praise and pride in my display.
“Kayla, can we–”
“Yes,” she responded with authority, her eyes never leaving mine. “But no penetration. One stray finger without permission and you'll be ejected from the club and blacklisted.”
I almost heard the swallow of nerves over the music. The men knew as well as I did that Mistress Kayla didn't make idle threats. No one knew how far her network of contacts went, and no one wanted to find out.
This wasn't something new for me. I'd been touched by more people than I cared to admit. I could switch off my mind and be unresponsive to every hand that danced over my skin, or I could switch on and feel every warm palm and calloused finger that explored my body. I lived for this. I loved every bit of it, but I performed to commands from my Mistress, and tonight, she didn't want me to react. She wanted them to work for it. Their frustration would ensure that they took a lesson with her, their need to become Dominants themselves the only thing allowing them to seem so inexperienced in a club filled with accomplished peers. For me, if it made her happy, I was more than willing to oblige.
“Does she not like to be touched?” one of the two men asked, his finger and thumb poised over my nipple as though the action without physical contact would have the desired effect.
“My pet loves to be touched.” She paused for dramatic effect, holding their attention captive, another power play to ensure control over them. “The right way.”
“Show us.”
I had to fight the need to open my eyes wide in surprise. The way they were speaking to her was disrespectful. It didn't happen very often, but when it did, well... there would be a lesson in manners, and I would be treated to my Mistress’ touch, which guaranteed a small indulgence my body would react to most favorably.
Taking a deep breath as she rose to her feet, I waited. This was her favorite game to play.
Make the domineering man feel impotent.
Some men assumed that because she was a woman, she should have been beside me on her knees, but they underestimated her. Most men did until they saw her in action. Those were my favorite nights, the masochistic side of me shuddering into wakefulness, greedily begging for more as the pain spread over my body and seeped into my core.
Looking down at me with hooded eyes, Mistress Kayla curled her lips at the corners for a brief moment before the small smile was replaced with her game face. “You don't just touch a sub like this. You caress her.”
Her warm, soft palm landed low on my abdomen, and my body responded immediately, the muscles in my stomach flexing and trembling under her hand.
“Every position of your hand and fingers should be about bringing pleasure.” The heel of her hand pushed against my trembling flesh as her fingers spread out, tickling the spots she knew I reacted to.
My eyes widened as my breath grew labored. She would take as many orgasms as she needed to prove her point, and I was along for the ride, a slave to her every whim. It only seemed to encourage my immediate arousal.
“Kitty,” she whispered, leaning forward and kissing my raised knee. “You may come freely for now and have no restraint on the way you express your pleasure. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I squeaked in response, my fingers twitching at my sides.