Stormy Night Publications Publishers of BDSM and Kink Erotica
Prologue
The Tempest.
A secret society where privilege and depraved proclivities reign.
No permanent location.
No public rosters of members.
A single man feeding dark, primal desires, twisting decency into a powerful game.
The predator and the prey.
The innocent and the damned.
And the ceremony of the Sacrifice.
Chapter One
Genevieve
Merriam-Webster defined the word tempest as a violent storm or uproar.
That fit the secret society and the night perfectly.
Lightning slashed across the massive windows, creating an eerie reflective light, the combination of anxiety and excitement as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
This was a mistake.
I’d made them my entire life, some more catastrophic than others.
But I had a feeling this one would be deadly.
Thoughts of insanity erupted in my brain, and I could swear I heard my mother laughing, enjoying every minute of what I was doing. Of course she would. She more than anyone I’d ever known appreciated monsters and madness. I shook off the ugly memory, blinking several times.
Eerie sensations trickled straight to my bones, barbed vines clinging to every molecule. I couldn’t move, the foreboding a heavy weight crushing against my chest. I’d worked diligently for months, tossing everything in my life aside for this single moment in time.
Yet terror threatened to consume me, eliminating the possibilities before they began.
As I dared to risk being tossed out for studying the silhouettes hovered together in a thick circle, my throat muscles tightened.
The darkness swallowed everything in its path, the only light from flickering candles in the gothic sconces lining the tapestry walls. Shadows erupted from the corners, twisted grotesque shapes as famished as the powerful predators encircling the group of participants. They reminded me of feral beasts, only they weren’t allowed to offer a single salacious growl while forced to wait patiently for the master of ceremonies to arrive.
The massive room itself was oppressive, the thick wooden beams and dark furniture lining the walls a reminder this was a man’s club, no women allowed.
Except during their society’s night of debauchery.
I’d chosen the word, anything else far too tame for what the Tempest was offering. The name suited their organization, especially on a dark, stormy night, thunder crashing through the silence.
I did my best to control my nerves, yet the butterflies churned, screaming for escape. That wasn’t possible unless I was prepared to face the wrath of a faceless man, one so powerful that with a single nod I could be erased from my meager existence. I wasn’t alone in my quest, but I doubted my reason for being here was similar in nature. Seventeen other women stood with their backs to the other in a triangular pattern, allowing the men to peruse the trinkets of temptation for the evening.
I was certain every one of them had been forced to wear a butt plug like I’d been, the thick piece of rubber used for training purposes. While still uncomfortable, at least I’d gotten used to it over the last few hours.
A rumble of thunder seemed to shake the floor beneath us. I knew that was impossible, yet as another bolt of lightning lit up the night sky, I tilted my head toward the neon blue light. Perhaps I was looking for forgiveness, or maybe salvation. At this point I wasn’t certain.
My skin still tingled from the electricity coursing through the room, a wildfire of temptation. I was tense, more so than I thought I’d be, the angry butterflies claiming my stomach a clear indication that I was as crazy as I’d been warned, maybe more so. However, the thought of what would occur remained exciting, the notion managing to sear my skin. I would be bought and used, forced to comply with whatever was demanded of me. One month of servitude.
The irrational part of me couldn’t wait even as the other side, the girl with purpose and intent, had tried several times to talk me out of my crazy adventure. But here I was, eagerly anticipating finally meeting the man behind the mystery.
The Patriarch.
As the wait continued, I studied the forty or so men standing in a perfect circle. All were dressed exactly alike, exquisitely tailored obsidian tuxedos matched with crisp white shirts, their silk bowties their only adornment. Every man was tall and muscular, their combined scents of musk, citrus, and sandalwood intoxicating. Each wearing full masks and sweeping velvet capes, there was no possibility of identifying a single man. They were the elite, men who controlled everything from technology to politics, crushing anyone who got in their way.
At least that’s what little I’d been told about their toxic group.
But I considered them monsters, their sadistic desires bordering on heinous.
I took a series of shallow breaths, trying to maintain focus, remembering my reason for being here. Yet I’d never been so uncomfortable, completely out of my element, unable to stop shivering. As I glanced toward the woman on my right, I managed to catch a glimpse of her platinum blonde hair peeking out from the black veil sweeping over her face. She was serene in her moment of mental preparation, staring at the men as if they were gods.
Perhaps they were, their command unequaled.
Where they were the wolves, we’d been called the Illuminati.
How clever.
How gauche.
We were also dressed alike, perfect mannequins in skimpy, dark attire and stilettos, thick collars encompassing our necks. We were nothing more than lambs waiting for the slaughter. It was impossible to get the imagery out of my mind. What little I knew about the organization piqued my curiosity, a trait my mother had called toxic years before. Maybe she was right after all.
Another rumble of thunder vibrated beneath my feet, the dazzling display of God’s power flashing in a vibrant blue hue outside the floor-to-ceiling arched windows.
It had all come down to this.
A thirty-second reel.
Two months of waiting.
A questionnaire delving into every aspect of my sexual lifestyle.
An invitation embossed in gold.
An NDA and contract.
All that was left was the auction, participants awarded to the highest bidder.
After the termination of the contract, I’d be a wealthy woman.
Or I’d be dead.
The thought was never far from my mind.
I’d sensed I’d been watched, believing certain cameras had been placed inside my condo, but I’d never found them. In my mind I’d imagined someone riffling through my things, touching my intimate attire, fingering my panties. There’d never been a single thing disturbed, not a finger brushed through the dust covering my shelves, but my instinct had never been wrong.
This could likely be the worst mistake of my life.
Suddenly, there was another form of electricity crackling the dense air. Then I sensed his presence, the Patriarch, a man both respected and feared for his brutal method of handling members. I dragged in a sharp intake of air, this time the sound raspy and guttural, annoying the woman to my left, her huff evidence. The mystery surrounding him was partially of my own creation given the lack of information that existed. However, what little I’d discovered was terrifying.
Then he walked into the room.
And the dark desire I’d fought for years began to spiral out of control.
Chapter Two
“The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.”
—Edgar Allan Poe
Genevieve
I held my breath, half expecting to see a grotesque monster instead of a normal man, a cruel beast with two heads and horns with sharp points.
I was very wrong.
The Patriarch was tall and muscular, and even though he was dressed in the same stunning attire, the dark apparel was unable to hide his majestic physique. A part of me had wanted him to be gorgeous. Why? Why in God’s name would it matter?
A series of shivers coursed through me, red-hot and startling. Was I actually attracted to this man? I almost laughed at the audacity of my thought. How could I be attracted to someone who hunted human beings for sheer fun?
As the Patriarch made his approach toward his members, the men backed away in formation, every aspect of their actions ritualized. Seconds later, the floor beneath the Illuminati began to rise, providing a perfect platform for the members’ viewing pleasure.
Every heavy footstep made by the Patriarch was jarring, more so because I knew the consequences of disobedience.
Severe punishment.
If the person was lucky.
If not…
Shuddering, I held my head high as the Patriarch made his way to the thickly gilded chair, the only color in the room the brash crimson of the upholstered seat. A podium stood in front, a silver chalice waiting in the center. I studied him as he closed the distance, taking a few seconds to move around the group of women, perusing his prized collection.
His steps matched the hard thumping of my heart.
Words of the Mistress who’d provided our initial training shifted to the forefront of my mind.
Do not speak.
Do not touch a member.
Do not look away.
Obey.
As he rounded the corner to the last side of the triangle, I purposely looked away, my natural rebellious instincts kicking in. I turned my head forty-five degrees, the ugliness of my knowledge clawing into my skin like a ravenous beast. The Patriarch’s presence was oppressive, my mind swimming with cryptic thoughts, malevolent images.
Then he stopped right in front of me.
I refused to look into his eyes for fear of being captured by the devil. But the second his cologne filtered into my system, the deep musky scent of a damp forest filled with sandalwood trees, my eyes flew open of their own accord.
I sensed he was smirking behind his mask. This was all a game.
In a shocking move given the strict set of rules the members were required to follow, he gripped my chin with his index finger and thumb, roughly pulling my head toward him. The gauzy material of the veil couldn’t hide the predatory look.
The jolt of electricity was startling, capturing my breath as I peered into his eyes. When I did, true terror replaced the rush of adrenaline. They were mesmerizing, pulling me into a surreal space. They also held darkness, the shade darkened by the dim lighting, soulless. There was a level of sadism that was easy to read, flickering from his delight of my discomfort.
Evil.
Holding my breath, I did everything I could to break from his powerful hold.
His grip became painful, his lips twisting in a smirk. “Un perfetto uccello non addestrato,” he whispered in Italian, his accent sending a wave of chills into my system. He thought I couldn’t understand the language. But I did and his words pulled at the deepest, darkest part of me.
A perfect untrained bird.
I hadn’t anticipated the effect his rich, husky voice would have on me, the skimming apprehension mixing with a thread of excitement. Even as the disgust for the man and his empire remained, a wave of desire rose as undeniable as it was powerful, a sledgehammer smashing into my senses.
The sultry tone enticed and terrified me, his Italian accent everything fantasies were made of.
“Who are you?” I dared and sensed shock in the room. I’d broken the precious rules.
He followed his hold with a heated gaze easing down to my breasts, his nostrils flaring. As he slowly lifted his eyes, his smirk became a sensual smile. “A disobedient girl in need of punishment. Perfect.” He gave my chin a little squeeze then brushed the fingers of his other hand down my arm, shifting to my breast. “And it will be provided to you.”
The thin material of the corset was no barrier against the rush of pain as he pinched my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I gritted my teeth, refusing to react. When I managed to smile, he cocked his head, twisting my hardened bud until lights flashed in front of my eyes.
“A rebellious little bird. That should prove interesting.”
He was right. The other women were docile, as if they’d waited for this moment their entire lives. After what I’d been through, there was no amount of money that would calm my rage.
Quivers pulsed through my system, my core heating to a thousand degrees. When he slid a single finger under the short skirt, rolling the tip across my lace-covered pussy, the butterflies expanded, my throat tightening. Shock nearly electrocuted my system when he slipped his finger past the thin elastic, driving the entire length of it into my tight channel. The look on his face was carnal, as if he’d just claimed a possession to add to his prized collection. He thrust several times, immediately pulling me to the precipice of extreme pleasure.
He was the master of pleasure, but at this moment I sensed his touch was all about control.
A slight moan escaped my lips, and I fisted my hands, never taking my eyes off the savage man. Pleasure erupted, my senses on fire. I loathed my body’s reaction, struggling to maintain an appearance of false enjoyment.
He added two more fingers, thrusting hard yet there was no sign of exertion. My legs began to tremble, my body swaying just enough I feared falling. I loathed the flash of amusement in his dark eyes, as if he’d hadn’t just captured the little bird but her soul as well. He rolled his finger around my clit, the sensations he created tearing through me like a wildfire.
Lights flashed in front of my eyes as I struggled to maintain even breathing. As hard as I tried to keep from climaxing, I wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.
The bastard refused to stop, bringing me to close to the precipice, demanding my release. I did everything I could to control my breathing. When I tried to turn my head, he snapped his hand around my jaw, yanking my head forward.
“It will be a joy to see you broken,” he growled, a slight agitation in his tone.
I tried to smile against his hold. “That will never happen.” My control was slipping, and he knew it, his actions becoming brutal, almost knocking me off my feet. As an orgasm swept through me, I clenched my fists until my nails punctured my palms. How had I gotten here, losing partial sense of myself?
A raging swirl of ecstasy and excitement erupted, my core overheating. This couldn’t be happening. Oh, God. No. I lost all sense of myself, falling into the sweet abyss as the climax continued.
And I hated myself for it.
Seconds later he chuckled, pulling his hand away and lifting it into the flickering light. When he slipped his slickened fingers into his mouth, his eyes became hooded, his breathing labored. As if undressing me inch by inch, he allowed his gaze to fall all the way to my feet. The way he lifted his head was judgmental, assessing if I deserved to be present.
What was likely to be my fatal mistake was the hard crack of my palm against his face. While the force was just enough his head was pushed to the side, it wasn’t strong enough to dislodge the mask he’d expertly hidden his face behind.
Coward.
Several of the women gasped, oh-so horrified that I’d fucked up their chance. To hell with them.
Within seconds, four huge figures approached, all dressed in dark fatigues, acting as if ready to drag me into some dungeon.
“That won’t be necessary,” the bastard told them as he threw out his hand. “I can easily handle one of the Illuminati.”
I hated the stupid name they used, the pomp and circumstance of the ceremony. He believed himself to be superior to everyone. I should have anticipated his brusque response.
He snapped his hand around my throat, pulling me onto my toes. “It would seem the little bird doesn’t understand the rules. Perhaps I should be the one to provide proof of penance. If you disobey, you will be punished.”
His hold was firm, tight enough I struggled to breathe. He yanked me closer, so much so the heat of his body resonated through every cell and muscle. I was jerked in front of him, led past the group of women, through the circle of hungry men, tossed over an ornately crafted pulpit. My skirt was ripped and the feel of his hand as he slipped his fingers under the thin elastic of my thong sent a shower of electricity straight to my bones.
I was horrified that I was on display, my naked bottom becoming the focus of everyone in the room. He fisted my hair with one hand, holding me in place. With the other I sensed he was removing his belt.
Dear God. The Patriarch was going to spank me in front of everyone in the room. A wash of humiliation tore through me, my mind sputtering, skipping and restarting as I tried to process the horror. Heat tickled my cheeks, and I was momentarily frozen, gasping for air. Then I reacted, refusing to take the horrible punishment.
I slammed my hands on the hard wood, managing to push up by a few inches. The Patriarch slammed me down with enough force the wind was knocked out of me.
“If you disobey, you will face the consequences as will every other Sacrifice.” His voice was gruff yet sensual at the same time, evoking dozens of prickling vibrations, a rush of unwanted excitement. My body betrayed me, the treacherous bitch almost eager to be treated like a bad little girl.
Shivering, I twisted back and forth, hating the butterflies, the lump in my throat.
And the fact my pussy was already damp, juice trickling down the inside of my thighs. I was a sick woman, so much so I’d lost my mind. This was crazy, horrible. Embarrassing.
He took a few seconds twisting and turning the plug, my jaw clenching in reaction. Then I heard him chuckle, obviously amused by being in utter control. Slapping him hadn’t been enough.
I jumped when the bastard cracked the thick leather against the floor, the sound reverberating in the dense space. There wasn’t another sound. Not a whimper from one of the women or a grunt from the men. But I sensed they were eager to partake in the debauchery.
“You will receive twenty-five strikes as punishment.”
There was no wavering in his voice, the deep baritone pounding in my ears, his accent almost comforting.
And when his wrist snapped, I cinched my eyes closed only a split second before pain tore through me, rattling my senses.
The shame had a ripple effect, forcing me to jerk up from the table, hissing as I tried to move my head from side to side, but his hold was too powerful.
Just like the man.
He delivered four more, the savage cracking sound matching the bolts of lightning electrifying the sky. Tears immediately formed; my mouth twisted as the pain ignited a fire I hadn’t known existed.
There was no way to describe the intensity of my emotions or the cataclysm of vibrations skittering through me. How could anything so horrible feel so incredibly good?
“You will learn,” he roared, loud enough the entire crowd heard his sharp display of disappointment. “One way or the other.”
He wasn’t hesitant in providing the others with a full understanding of what they’d face, the harsh punishment just part of what was to be expected. If any of the women were terrified, I wouldn’t know it, not a single sound interfering with the discipline being doled out.
Another rumble of thunder rolled through the massive hall, several more strikes brought down in rapid succession. Then the Patriarch took the time to caress my aching bottom, acting as if only he could provide any sense of comfort.
“Please,” I moaned, hating myself for showing any weakness.
“Please what? Provide leniency? Forgiveness? Or more because you accept what you did was wrong?”
Did he expect me to answer? Fuck him. Fuck this. I was a fool to think I could pretend to be something I wasn’t.
He didn’t wait for my reply, returning to his brutal task.
One.
Two.
Three smacks, the strap brought down on my upper thighs.
Four.
Five.
Six strikes, the harshness keeping me on edge, but my nipples ached, my pussy clenching and releasing. I wanted to laugh through the tears, pretending as if I was anywhere but here. That wasn’t possible.
I pressed my face against the cool wood, resigned to accept my punishment.
Like a good little girl.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I became aware he’d finished, saying something to the crowd. But I no longer cared, the hint of things to come, of pure and raw euphoria swirling throughout my body.
He gathered me into his arms, pressing me against his muscular body. I couldn’t stop a moan as I realized he was rock hard, his cock throbbing against my bruised backside.
“Yes, you will be a challenge, but one that will be very enticing.”
He held me tightly against him as he led me back to my place, lifting my chin with a single finger. His eyes were even more mesmerizing than before. I could easily get lost in them.
“A very special Sacrifice to the Tempest.”
What did that mean? Had I been discovered after all?
When he finally backed away seconds later, he gave me a slight nod of approval.
Then he headed for his throne, lifting the chalice of silver.
I swayed back and forth, pain continuing to mix with abrupt tingles. God help me. I wasn’t certain I could go through with my original plan.
Men dressed in all white filtered into the room, their masks more garish than the others. They carried trays holding the same goblets, presenting them to every member, vanishing as quickly as they’d arrived.
“Possa il tuo impegno essere audace, instancabile e implacabile.”
May your endeavor be bold, tireless, and relentless.
Jesus.
Every member lifted his chalice, toasting to sins of the flesh.
The Patriarch eased onto his throne as if he was king of the world. That’s all he needed for the sudden flurry of activity. There were no commands given, no discussion amongst the members.
Two women dressed in dark gray dresses appeared from the shadows, their selection of participants from our group random. After thick leather leashes were snapped around the metal ring on their collars, they were presented like cattle on the outer edge of the platform as a droll-looking man read off the information they’d provided on their application.
Likes.
Dislikes.
Fetishes.
Hard noes.
There was no reaction from a single member, no grunts of satisfaction or excitement in their body language. They’d been indoctrinated well.
As the women posed, presenting themselves as tempting treats, another clap of thunder rolled through the austere facility. How befitting the horrid event.
My skin crawled, my mind foggier than it should be. I’d been captured out of the blue, blindfolded and shackled, dumped in a trunk and taken to an unknown destination.
All because I’d sent a video to a mysterious email address.
I couldn’t stop shivering from the thought.
White paddles were raised, the bidding war following its damning course, eliminating each participant one at a time.
The clock ticked.
My pulse soared.
My heart raced.
There were no women unclaimed.
Except for me.
Now it was my turn.