This nightclub is a reckless choice. I realize the moment I arrive that I’m on dangerous territory. I’m not normally this crazy. I’d describe myself as a typical girl, with a job that pays just enough for the rent, bus fares, sufficient thrifted clothes for work, and little else. Yet there’s a ticking time bomb inside of me waiting to go off because on Saturday nights, I come alive with the craving for a little adventure, something to spice up an otherwise dull life.
The skimpy dress I’m wearing was borrowed from my friend Brigitte, although she isn’t here with me. She’s in bed with a migraine. If I had any sense, I would have taken her advice and stayed at home. But the dazzling lights and party atmosphere are pure bait for a small town girl like me. I paid a month’s paycheck on the entrance ticket. But this is why I came to the French Riviera, to the glamorous city of Nice. A fresh start means widening my horizons and doing things I thought about at school but never had the courage to explore. What brings me here tonight is curiosity, and I confess, boredom. I’ve never been to a nightclub like this before, and you only live once, so why not be daring?
The buzz is incredible, like electricity. I feel the air swirl around me. It’s hot, sticky, and vibrating with music. The floor thumps along too. When the lights flash, I’m blinded by the glare. There are people dancing so close together, they’re a moving crowd of limbs and bobbing heads. The bar is swaying with people too. The cocktail glasses clink on trays as empty ones are returned dry to be replaced by fresh ones. There’s drunken laughter everywhere.
Slowly, I navigate a path to the back of the club, where the music is less intrusive and the lights are calmer. Here I take refuge under a wall light, lean my shoulders on the cool brickwork, and allow my skirt to rise a little higher up my already exposed thighs. The sequins glitter as I rock my hips from side to side in time to the beat.
On the other side of the room, opposite me, is a curved sofa in an equally curvaceous recess, and in the middle of it lounge a trio of men. They’re dressed snazzily in silky shirts and pants. Gold chains hang from their necks and wrists, and with their ringed fingers, they hold cigarettes loose and uncaring. I notice that the middle one, the one with the darkest looks, knocks the ash off the end, but never draws on it.
He has the look of knowing what he wants and being sure of getting it. The way he snaps his fingers at the passing bar attender, orders another drink without having to wade through the crowd, then has one of his friends collect it, tells me everything. Nobody bothers him; it’s as if he’s surrounded by an invisible force field. There’s energy on that side of the room. It’s magnetic, pulling at me—do I want to feel it too?
A young man around my age approaches me, his hair damp with perspiration. He’s fresh off the dance floor and swaying slightly.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” he says, propping himself up next to me. I note the beer on his breath.
I don’t tell him I’ve been saving up to come out tonight, that I have so little spare cash that this one night of indulgence will be my last for a while. If I can’t find a man to buy me drinks, I’ll be broke in an hour. Brigitte warned me to stick with the clubs in the cheaper districts, the ones we’ve visited together, but I want my night of glamour. I bought fake Chanel perfume especially for the occasion. I sniff—the guy really reeks.
“I’m not your type,” I say, with as much indifference as I can muster. “Whereas that guy over there, he might be. He keeps looking at me.” I cross my ankles, then uncross them with a flourish of legs and shimmering skirt. I aim my attention directly at him and not the sweat bomb exploding next to me.
The young man turns to follow my gaze. He straightens. “If that’s your type, good luck.” He gives a shrug and walks away from me.
The comment sharpens my focus and I stare back at the mystery man. I really think I have nothing to lose tonight. It’s now or never, and I’m tired of never.
I use the lipstick in my purse and cover my lips with gloss. No mirror is necessary; I know the shape of my mouth. I lick my lips. The man raises a glass and nods. Is this an invite? I tilt my head to one side and smile, then when he crooks a finger at me, I sashay over to him, my eyes fixed on his beckoning hand. My hips do the work, and the little bounce in my step jiggles my breasts. I could be walking into a serious danger zone but unless I take a risk, the only men who will talk to me are going to be as unsavory as the kind I shrugged off.
“Hi, doll,” he says. “What’s your name?”
“Katrina,” I say.
He takes my hand, and with a glance to the left, he signals for his neighbor to move over and create space for me. I wriggle down into the red velvet seat and cross my legs. He lets go of my hand.
“I’m Leon. Would you like a drink?” He has a deep voice that cuts through the hubbub without shouting. The edge of it is sharp, the heart of it is mellow, and there is a trace of an accent. His French, though, is perfect.
My stomach has formed a knot, tangling all my nerves into the center of it. I can’t quite tell if what I’m feeling is exhilarating or terrifying. Probably some of both.
“Sure.” I take the offered glass, one freshly poured.
“I haven’t seen you before, Katrina.” He says my name in a way that it rolls off his tongue like treacle.
“I’m new to Nice.” Not a lie. I moved to the big city suburbs a few months ago, escaping the boredom of my little farming town and the drudgery of stacking shelves in a supermarket. My current job isn’t much better. However, instead of handling cans and bottles, I’m cuddling cute puppies and baby rabbits.
“What brings you here?” He leans back.
He has richly colored eyes that twinkle under the lights, high cheekbones, and a narrow, slightly pointed nose. His chin is dusted with late-night stubble. His neck is muscular, and when he swallows his liquor, his Adam’s apple pops out for a second. The rest of him is hidden away behind the white shirt and neat buttons.
“I’m a girl who likes fun,” I say, lowering my glass. The trembling is unavoidable, and increasingly obvious. The reality is my nightclub experience is limited to bars with glitter balls and plastic seats.
Fun used to be a few beers sitting on the park benches, sometimes a movie with friends. Then I progressed to dating and taking solace in a man’s arms, and that became the kind of fun I like too. Some were good at it—they at least knew where to find the clitoris. Some were too quick and finished before I started. I’ve only had one steady boyfriend and the bars we frequented didn’t have chic furniture and illuminated glass dance floors like this place. His bed was lumpy and mine was too small, but we managed to have ‘fun.’
This guy will probably, going by the cut of his clothes, buy me drinks all night without blinking. He might be interested in going further. It’s worth putting in a bit of an effort. I tilt my head and give him my special look. It’s the only one I have that might work. I practiced in the bathroom mirror.
Leon—I like the name—and his soft accent, which hints at something foreign, maybe Italian or further afield across the Mediterranean, waits patiently, and I guess he knows he has the upper hand now.
My abrupt arousal is intense. What drives it is entirely him, especially his equally intense stare. He’s not letting go with his eyes. I blink, and it feels like in that split second I’ve missed a lifetime of his attention. He reaches out and runs his palm up my thigh, stopping right where the fabric ends. He wears one gold band on the little finger.
“My kind of girl,” he says. “What kind of fun?”
I inhale, my breath trapped in my narrowing dry throat. I swallow a large mouthful of drink. “Perhaps you could tell me what you like.”
He leaves his hand on my thigh, snaps his fingers with his other hand, and the two men rise and back off. We’re alone on the sofa.
“You want to fuck? I don’t pay, I don’t sleep with—”
“I’m not one,” I say sharply. “I don’t want your money.” But I do want to be fucked by him. Every inch of me is drawn to him. Why, I don’t know. Having sex was not something I intended to happen tonight. You only live once, though.
His eyebrows rise. “What do you want then?”
“I’m just a normal girl… sir.” The word slips out unconsciously. “I left my ex behind. He didn’t want to leave and come to Nice. I’m single now. And… available.”
“I’m not a romantic guy,” he says, fingering the hem of the skirt, toying with me mentally too.
“Me neither. Romantic that is.” A slight lie. One day… Brigitte knows I dream of love; she says I’m going to be disappointed. Small town girls never succeed in the big cities, she said cynically. I’m more optimistic.
“I have a luxury hotel. They don’t ask questions. They have thick walls and short memories. Do you understand what I’m saying, Katrina?” He taps his finger on my inner thigh. The intensity of his gaze has just gone up a notch or two.
“Yes,” I say, breathless. But no, I haven’t a clue. I’m too embarrassed to admit it, though. What kind of man uses a luxury hotel for sex? A rich one; it’s obvious going by his mannerisms, the way he dismissed his companions, his whole demeanor shouts money.
“Before we go there, you’re going to relax. Take your time. Finish that drink. No more alcohol after that, only water. Understood?” He settles into his seat, his arm moving away from me, and he smiles.
If Brigitte was here, she would have dragged me out by my arm. I can’t resist this man with his chiseled features and elegant pose. He’s working some kind of magic.
“Yes.” I sip gently. “Sir,” I add because it feels important to him.
“Good girl. I like that. I like that a lot, Katrina.” He unbuttons his shirt a notch and reveals the pattern of a tattoo running across his collarbones. “What do you like?”
I hesitate, wondering if he’s talking about my drink. Then I realize what he really means. “I’m okay with most things… you know… the usual stuff.” I nearly wince at my charmless reply.
He reaches out and runs his knuckles along my cheekbone. “There’s nothing you can say that will surprise me. I’ve been coming here for some time, and I choose my companions carefully. You wouldn’t get a lot of sleep with me. You’re not tired, are you?”
I shake my head. “I have plenty of energy.”
He nudges me again. “Katrina, don’t tempt me. You might not be up to the challenge.”
It’s too late. I’m terribly aroused and buzzing.
“Good.” He points at the glass. “A little more, Katrina. You’re doing well. We’ve got plenty of time.”
“How do you know I’m nervous? I might just be excited.” I swallow the dregs.
“Excited. Yes. But I’m also seeing nerves. And you should be nervous. You’re going to spend the night with a man you don’t know. I like well-trained, obedient girls, prepared to do anything, and I mean anything I tell them.” He slides his hand into his pocket and retrieves his wallet. He removes a wad of bills and leaves them on the table.
“I can do that,” I say, almost too hastily. “Tip you in a special way.”
“Tsk.” He shakes his head. “You’re new to this city, to my world, and you’ve no clue what I’m going to do to you. The door is over there, Katrina. No shame in saying goodbye and walking out.”
“I want to walk out with you,” I say firmly. I’m high on nothing but my own libido and this sexy man’s beguiling voice and oddly emotionless expression.
He studies me; the silence stretches. “I do this tonight, then you’ll not hear from me again. I’m not into relationships, even casual ones. I don’t need to be followed around by one with puppy dog eyes, whining for attention.”
“That’s not me,” I say. I’ve no idea what I am. I suppose I going to find out—if I dare follow him out of the door.
He rises to his feet and holds out his hand. I grasp it.
“No, that’s not you. You’re seeking something different,” he says, almost seductively. The color must have returned to my cheeks because his smile is delightfully calming.
He walks me to the entrance, and the crowd parts in front of him. “This is my club, did you know?”
“No,” I say, surprised.
“I own a few, here in Nice, and Marseilles. This one, I rarely visit. I have better ones.” He turns, right by the door, and looks at me.
Hotels, nightclubs… what next? “This is the best club I’ve ever been in. Really stylish… and beautiful.”
The henchmen—I realize they are not Leon’s friends—make a path through the crowds to the side door. A few women look at me wistfully, others with pure envy. My knees wobble but I refuse to chicken out. Something is propelling me along, taking me with him, and not the other way around.
He halts outside in the night breeze and draws me closer. “You might regret flirting with me. If you get into my car, come with me tonight, I call the shots,” he says quietly.
For a second, I’m frozen to the sidewalk. The car he’s referring to is a black limo. This time I’m not surprised. The driver waits by the rear passenger door. Nothing can happen in a car without the driver knowing. I’ll be fine. If I back out now, I’ll never know what awaits me, the opportunities in life that I have feared to take. Whoever this man Leon is, I’m sure we can have a good time, and sometimes that’s what matters most. I mean, I’ve never found sex challenging; I’ve done it plenty of times. I’m good at it according to my last boyfriend. Since I arrived in Nice, I’ve been waiting for something momentous to happen and perhaps this is it.
My nerves might win over if don’t move now. I slip into the car seat and smooth out my skirt.
“Which hotel?” I should text Brigitte the address.
“The Castelans Palace Hotel.”
“I don’t know it. But I’m still learning my way around Nice.”
Leon settles next to me. “What makes you think I’m taking you somewhere in this city?” He grins. “The best hotels are in Monaco. In Monte Carlo.”
“Monte Carlo!” I gasp. Kat, what are you doing?
He moves closer to me, his eyes bearing down. “You should have stayed on the other side of the club, kept your eyes off me. I want you, and I’m going to have you.”
The car door is shut and the streetlights are gone. It’s just us in a dimly lit vehicle with blacked-out windows.
Katrina is enchanting. She has a perfect hourglass figure, a rounded ass, and good leg muscles. I notice her breasts are just right, as are her shapely hips. Her neck is narrow and her hair, rich and heavy, is streaked with red dye and cascades down her back. There’s plenty to like about this woman because she’s not a girl; that stage of her life is over. She’s matured into a beautifully crafted body and allowed herself the pleasure of keeping it so.
She keeps fiddling with her skirt hem; it won’t be smooth for much longer. My driver knows to say nothing, and what he sees is only ever the road ahead.
“Now, Katrina. You’re in my car. So, you will do as I say. From now on, you’ll always do exactly what I want. Don’t worry.”
She pales slightly.
“This is what you like, remember? But to be sure, I will give you a safeword.”
“You know what that is?”
She nods, and her hazel eyes widen.
“It’s to protect me as well as you, however.” I inhale deeply. “If it’s not working out, we stop, and it ends.”
“Not working out?” she says slowly.
“If you use the safeword, then we’re not okay. If you don’t use it, and regret things, then I can’t help you, Katrina. Water under the bridge. We’ve only got this one night, so it’s best to play it safe and if you’re not able…”
“I won’t use it—”
Her naive bravado is making me hot for her. My patience is wearing thin, though. I press my finger to her lips. “It’s up to you. I can’t read you. We don’t know each other. It’s a dangerous game, don’t you think?”
She’s trembling slightly. “What is it you like to do?”
“Fuck,” I say without emotion. “No compassion. No yielding to kisses and cuddles. I will fuck you hard until I’ve had enough. You can have orgasms, I won’t begrudge them, but they’re not what I seek.”
Katrina’s eyes dip. She’s contemplating, weighing things up. She so wants the passion, which I cannot give her. However, that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy the time we have together. I’m not a brute.
“Okay,” she says eventually. “What’s the safeword?”
“Mars. The red planet. Get it?”
She shrugs. “Not really.”
She’s far more innocent than she realizes. This is going to be one hell of a night.
I squeeze her hand. “Katrina.”
“Kat, please. I’m Kat with my friends.”
“We’re not friends, Katrina.” I offer her my best contrived apologetic look.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Sir.”
“Very good. Now lift up your skirt and remove your panties. I want your bare ass on this leather seat.”
She hesitates, and I know why. She’s freaking wet below and ashamed of the mark she’s going to leave on the black leather.
“I shouldn’t have to ask twice,” I say politely. My dominance is coming out, and this is a test. She knows it already, I think.
She wriggles her panties off, but keeps her skirt tucked underneath. After she stuffs the tiny patch of fabric, which is molten with her lust, into her purse, I tap the seat.
“Please, sir. Do I have to?”
I love the pleading as her eyes become large and glassy. I’m amused but unaffected. The tone of my voice reflects no humor. I can role play too. “You will do as I say, or I will tell Aleks to pull over and drop you off.”
She’s breathing quickly, staring around the interior. The windows have privacy glass. Finally, she lifts her skirt to her waist. I can see her tufted mound, and the damp of her inner thighs. She’s drenched and needy.
“Spread your legs.” My cock aches for the space in between.
She drags her knees apart, painfully slowly, her heels jittery on the mat.
I slip my hand behind her neck, grasp her long locks, and tilt her head back. Then, as she gasps for air, I reach below, and without warning, plunge two of my fingers into her pussy. She squeals and tries to pull her head away.
“Keep still. This is mine now. For this one night, I own this cunt. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She lifts her bottom up and tilts her hips up.
My fingers, trapped by her walls, exercise themselves. I tickle and twist, stretching her open. She’s not as experienced as she thinks. This pussy is still tight and her mound needs to be smooth and bare. Her virginity was probably taken weeks ago, and in that time, she’s only been with worthless boyfriends, and only discovered what she thinks she should know.
“Your ass is mine, too,” I say. My voice betrays my own increasing lust. I nearly call out to Aleks to pick up speed. Virgins are rare, and hard to please if unprepared. I will enjoy finding out if she is.
She arches her back and twists away from me. I drag her around, loop my arm around her chest, and hold her against me.
“Your ass,” I hiss. “Ever had a hard cock in there?”
She’s gasping, struggling, and very wet. Each plunge of my fingers makes her clench inside while her hands claw at the seat with her bright red nails.
“A few times,” she stammers. “He said it was… fashionable.”
A boyfriend of hers watched too many adult movies. Nobody calls it fashionable. How wonderful for me that I get to find out for myself what she thinks she knows but doesn’t really. She’s going to be pounded on all fours.
My embrace tightens. “If you come on my fingers, there’s no way back for you.” My cock won’t take a change of heart. She has to be mine, whether she can take all of me or not. “You’ll be mine.”
I add another finger and stretch her to the point my knuckles are close to sliding in. She writhes and whimpers with those little gasps of neediness. I recognize the signs. Her warm channel is delightful. I cannot wait to feel it with my bare cock.
“No, no,” she moans.
I wait for the safeword. Nothing else comes out of her quivering lips but the sounds of a frustrated woman on the brink. My joy is palpable, my erection is close to piercing the fabric of my pants. Soon, I’ll be piercing her. The way she wriggles and squirms excites more of me, and I pin her tighter, fucking her harder with my pumping fist. Her eyes water, then close and she starts to pant.
“You’re in deep now, doll. I will spank you, fuck you every way possible, and you’ll wish you never looked at me with those flirty eyes.” I vigorously rub her clit with my thumb.
She shivers. “I… didn’t flirt… you did…”
I laugh. “I’m not going to argue with you. You’ll be punished because I wish it.”
“Punished?” she whispers. By now, her wetness fully coats my hand.
She comes on a powerful unforgiving thrust, just as I hoped, and continues to after I withdraw my fingers from her pulsating channel. I remove my other arm and she flops to one side, curling into the seat and clutching her ravished pussy. I watch her jerk with the spasms and admire the crimson flush of her face. Her alabaster ass cheeks are taunting me. Fuck, I want to spank her hard right now in the car. Instead, I wipe my fingers on a handkerchief.
“Sorry we had to finish there; you’ve warmed up nicely,” I say unapologetically. “We’re nearly there. Lower your skirt.”
She fumbles with unsteady fingers.
I can’t believe I was gifted a gorgeous girl, who should know better than to take such risks as this. But she is lucky too. Contrary to what my reputation might be, I’m not without integrity. I simply don’t want to be dragged into a relationship. I’ve seen what has happened to others like me, how love reshapes lives. I can’t imagine why anyone would want it. They’re fools.
I stare out the window at the harbor lights and the marina with the super yachts lined up. Some are owned by allies, others by my enemies. I don’t want to think about that tonight. It’s why I visited the club; I need a distraction. I dwell instead on the twinkling stars on the calm seas. My heartbeat isn’t calm, though. It’s racing.
The car pulls up. I help her out and steady her. “Not long now, doll.”
The doorman says nothing, nor do the reception staff. Everyone is trained to keep silent when I appear; I’m the one kingpin they fear to cross. I sweep past the other late-night guests and steer my wobbly companion to the elevator. It takes only a few minutes to ride the car to the penthouse, unlock the door, and with a few swift moves, strip her startled body naked. She barely has time to register the voracious pace of my actions, the scant care I give to her feelings. I’m in the heat of the moment, and I want her submission to be utterly complete and unwavering.
“Now kneel, Katrina. Open your sweet mouth, and warm up my cock.”