The Toybox Read online

  THE TOY BOX

  H.G. LYNCH

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, including photocopying, recording, or transmitted by any means without written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, establishments, names, companies, organizations, and events were created by the author. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, companies or organizations is coincidental.

  COPYRIGHT 2016 H. G. LYNCH

  Chapter One

  The crack of leather as it meets bare flesh, the deep groan of pain and pleasure in one, the click of my boot heels on the wooden floor as I circle my willing victim. These are the sounds of my nights in the city’s most infamous BDSM club, The Toy Box.

  “Please, Mistress,” pleads the man on his knees before me.

  I snap the end of the riding crop under his chin, tilting his head up. He’s one of my prettier submissives, with a cut jaw and a shock of blond hair. He’s also one of the least kinky.

  “Did I say you could talk?” I purr dangerously, and watch his eyes light up.

  His erection is straining against the tiny leather shorts he likes to wear, and I can tell he’s one or two more smacks away from toppling over the edge.

  He bites his lip eagerly, and I wait. “I asked you a question, Matt.” His eyes widen. “No, Mistress.”

  “No, Mistress, what?”

  “No, you didn’t say I could talk.”

  “Then why are you talking?” I circle him again and bring the crop down across the upper half of his back, where a lattice of red lines already marks his skin. He tips his head back in a howl of joy.

  I do it again, and then come back around to face him. He’s flushed and sweating, staring up at me with a twisted kind of adoration. I kneel in front of him, taking his chin between my nails and whisper, “Time’s up.”

  He groans, this time in disappointment, but he knows the routine. He holds out his hands, which I’d bound with leather cuffs. I release them, and then his ankles, which are similarly bound. He collects his clothes from the chair in the corner of the near-empty room that is my office.

  After he is dressed and gone, I sit down in the chair and sigh. My thigh-high leather boots are killing my feet, and the skin under my PVC corset is sticky with sweat. I keep the room warm for the comfort of my Subs, most of whom like to wear very little or nothing at all during our sessions.

  I haven’t always been a Dominatrix. I was a med student in University, but after my mother died of cancer, I couldn’t face treating patients who might have terminal illnesses. So I dropped out of Uni and found somewhere that was hiring. The Toy Box wasn’t my first choice, but it’s good money, and in a way, I enjoy my work. It doesn’t get me off or anything, I’m not into it that way—I just find a sort of satisfaction in providing a service for people who couldn’t find that service elsewhere. I give people pleasure. I just sometimes have to use a little pain to arouse the pleasure.

  And anyway, these boots are bitchin’.

  Chapter Two

  I have one more client today, a newbie I’ve never met before. The form he filled out indicates he likes to be tied up. He draws the line at being gagged. Alright. Simple enough. Then again, they usually are. I only handle what we call the light players. The ones who are a little kinky, but not into anything too out there. Mistress Ebony, Kristy to me and her parents, deals with the more exotic clientele—the hard players.

  I check my phone, tucked away inside the pocket of my satin skirt. It’s ten past four. My newbie is late. I hate it when someone is late because, usually, it means they aren’t coming, and I lose out on money. I wait another five minutes anyway.

  Just as I think the newbie has chickened out and isn’t coming after all, the door to my office opens, and in steps Mr. Sex-on-Legs Newbie. Ho-o-oly shit. He’s a good four inches taller than me, even in my heels, and he’s ripped. The white t-shirt he’s wearing is stretched taut across his torso, so I can count his abs. Add in low-slung jeans, a tousled mess of auburn hair, and piercing green eyes, and I’m speechless. Breathless. Wet.

  He glances at me and away, not submissively like my usual guys, but more as if he’s disinterested in me. That’s already a bit odd. I figure maybe he’s just shy, but then he starts taking his clothes off, and I change my mind. He whips off the skin-tight t-shirt, then kicks off his trainers, and drops his jeans to the floor. He’s standing there in tight grey boxers, and it’s all I can do not to drool as I stare at his ass. It’s round, taut, and luscious—like an apple I want to take a bite out of.

  He turns around and eyes me, and I realise I’m not doing my job. I’m just sitting in this chair gawking at him. I stand as gracefully as I can in thigh-high boots with four-inch heels. I tilt my chin up and try to eye him with indifference. But it’s hard—like him. Every inch of him is sculpted, solid muscle, and already I can tell he’s not as disinterested in me as his passive expression would have me believe. His cock is pushing at his boxers, giving him away.

  “I assume you’ve signed all the waivers?” I have to ask it every time. Can’t be too safe when it comes to lawsuits.

  He nods abruptly.

  I pick up my whip. “Good. I’m Mistress Scarlet. You will call me Mistress, and only

  Mistress. If at any time, you wish to stop, you can use a safe word of your choosing and—” His eyes narrow. “You’re the one who’s going to need a safety word.”

  I shiver. That’s not part of this script. I stutter, “W-what?”

  He takes a step toward me, and I think, Fuck. I know that occasionally, there’s the odd, violent client, but I’ve never had one before. I try to remember my training. Don’t back down. Don’t show fear. That’s what gets them off.

  But I must fail because his expression suddenly changes, and he backs off. His passive-aggressive expression turns to confusion. “I’m sorry. I thought…they told me you were the submissive.” His rough voice is much less terrifying with that note of apology in it.

  I blink. “Sub…Oh.” My heart stops trying to break out of my chest. He’s a Dom. I go to the chair and check the form he filled out again—then I see it. The little box at the top that says Preference Dominant is ticked. I’m so used to having subs, I didn’t even bother to check.

  “Ah.” I wave the form at him. “Sorry. I should have checked that part. I don’t often get

  Dominant clients. In fact, you’re my first one.”

  He doesn’t look happy. “Is there someone I could see who has more…experience?”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “They sent you to me, so I’m who you’re getting. If you don’t like it…leave. But I’ll still need the money. You’ve wasted my time when I could be with another client.”

  For a second, he looks as if he’s considering leaving—without paying, I might add. Then he checks me out, slowly, and bites the corner of his lip. His hard-on seems incongruous to this discussion.

  “Are you sure you can do sub? You’re very stubborn.”

  I smile sweetly and get on my knees. Looking up at him, I hold out my hands for him to bind. “Is this alright…Master? Or would you prefer Sir?”

  His nostrils flare, and his eyes take on a sharp-edged hunger. “Colton will do. Where are the ties?”

  Ah, yes. His form said he likes Binding. I’d thought that meant he likes to be tied up. Only now I know I’m the one who is going to be tied up. I tilt my head toward the metal cabinet at the

  back of the room. That’s where I keep all my toys. He moves toward it and opens up the doors. I stay where I am, like a good little sub girl, while he rummages around to find something he likes.

  I’m admittedly quite nervous. While I’ve never played sub in my work here, I had done it once with an ex-lover, and it hadn’t really worked out. Hence why he is an ex. I’m not good at taking orders.

  Colton returns with a handful of silk ties and the riding crop I’d laid on the chair. He lifts an eyebrow. “There’s no bed,” he points out.

  “No, there isn’t. It keeps some of my newer clients from getting the wrong idea about what’s going to happen in our session. I’m not a prostitute. I don’t sleep with clients.” Although, I add mentally, I could make an exception for you.

  He looks down at me on my knees before him, my breasts spilling out of my PVC corset, and mutters, “Pity.”

  I bite my lip to keep from saying something sassy and inappropriate. I’m the sub here. I shouldn’t even still be talking. He looks around and spots the metal rings embedded in the wall at the other end of the room. I’ve rarely had occasion to use them, but it looks like he will.

  “Over there,” he commands, jerking his chin toward the rings.

  I do as I’m told, getting to my feet and walking to the wall before turning to face him. He barks, “Face the wall.”

  Swallowing my anxiety, I turn to the wall and wonder what he’s going to do to me. He takes my left wrist and ties a silk scarf around it, lifts my arm, and ties the other end of the scarf to ring above my head. He does the same with my other arm, so I’m posed with my arms sticking up at diagonals, and my breasts pressed into the wall.

  He asks, “What’s your safe word?” “Red.”

  He nods and backs up. From the corner of my eye, I can just see his arm move as he lifts the crop. I close my eyes and prepare for the blow. It lands on the small of my back, a quick sting, no more than a love tap, but I know it’s going to get worse. My Dom ex-lover used to leave some pretty nasty bruises. When he started doing that, I started
arguing that he was hitting me too hard, and our sub-Dom relationship fell apart.

  The next blow is still light, landing just above the last one, and the next two strokes are equally gentle. I turn my head, so I can almost see him over my shoulder and scowl. “You’re going easy ‘cause you don’t think I can take it. Trust me, I can take it.”

  “I didn’t say you could speak, sub,” he grunts, and his next blow is a little harder.

  I feel the burn of the mark it leaves across my back. The next blow makes me yelp. That brief sting of pain makes my toes curl. I’d forgotten the pleasure of this.

  “Stand with your legs apart,” Colton demands.

  I slide my legs apart, so I’m stretched in an X shape. My butt sticks out, and I already know that’s his next target. The leather tip of the crop smacks my left butt cheek, and I tip my head back. He hits again, a little harder, on my right butt cheek, and I moan, “Harder.”

  “No talking!” he barks, and lands a swift blow across both cheeks.

  My legs tremble and my shoulders are starting to ache, but I’m enjoying this. I lean my forehead against the wall, breathing hard.

  Suddenly, he’s pressed against my back, his erection lying between my butt-cheeks, and the crop comes up between my legs to nip me in the most sensitive spot. I yelp in pain and surprise, and he grunts, drawing the leather tip up and down, stroking me through my wet panties. He flicks the crop twice quickly against my swollen clit, and I shudder in delight.

  His breath is hot against my neck, his body hard and rigid against my back. His hips are moving almost of their own accord, rubbing his hardness against my ass. This is the most full on

  I’ve ever been with a client, and it almost feels real—that’s dangerous. I can’t let the boundaries between me and the client blur. But damn, Colton isn’t some sub begging me for one more whip.

  He’s strong and demanding. He’s a Dominant. And fuck, that turns me on. Then my watch beeps loudly, and I sigh. “Time’s up,” I mutter.

  Colton stays where he is, pressed against my back, for a moment, and then pushes away with a grunt to untie my hands. My arms drop to my sides, my shoulders aching, and my back stinging from his blows. I’m aching between my legs too, and I know that as soon as I get home, I’m hopping in the shower with my good friend, Mr. Jellybean the Waterproof Wand.

  I straighten up and turn around. Colton is already getting dressed, and I hate to see that magnificent ass covered up by those loose jeans. He pulls on his t-shirt and boots, and reaches

  into his pocket. He pulls out a wad of cash, and I take it, feeling a little guilty. That session was as good for me as it was for him. It almost seems wrong to charge him for it.

  I take the money. I have bills like everyone else and an expensive shoe habit to pay for. Thigh-high boots don’t come cheap, and neither does the third-floor apartment I’m living in. It’s £800 a month in rent, and I live alone—if you don’t count my fat cat, Bagpuss.

  As Colton is about to leave, I ask him, “Will you be back for another session?” I’m really hoping he says yes.

  He looks at me and smiles for the first time. It’s a wicked curl of his lips, and it makes me desperate to have that salacious mouth between my legs.

  “Yes. I think I will.”

  Chapter Three

  As I lie in the warm, bubbly bathwater, limp and sated thanks to Mr. Jellybean, I sip a glass of Bucksfizz and breathe in the vanilla aroma of my bath cream. Bagpuss is curled on the closed toilet lid, dosing in the steam. Perverted cat always likes to watch me bathe.

  I lay my head back and close my eyes, sinking into the bubbles up to my chin. I can’t stop thinking about Colton. His hard body and hard whipping. His forest-green eyes and the hunger in them as he stared down at me on my knees. Thinking about it, I can almost feel his hot breath on my neck, his cock against my ass.

  I’m horny again. I sit up and set my glass down on the edge of the bath, and eye Mr. Jellybean, propped behind the taps. But no. I want something more delicate, more intimate. So I part my knees and slide my hand between my legs. My index finger circles my clit, and I run my middle finger along the seam of my entrance. My nipples are hard and sensitive, and I imagine

  Colton’s mouth on my breasts, sucking and nipping.

  I imagine his auburn hair, wet and dripping around his face, his naked body slick from the bath water. My hips roll of their own accord, and I feel myself start to quicken. I slow my fingers, drawing this out as I picture Colton handcuffing me to the shower bracket and shoving my legs apart to reach my wet sex.

  In my fantasy, he clenches his hands on my thighs and nips a line upward to where I really want him. Then his mouth reaches its destination, and I moan as his smooth tongue licks me slowly, back and forth. He lifts my legs over his shoulders and sucks my clit, while his fingers come up to slide inside me. The combination of his hand and mouth send me over the edge too soon, and my muscles clench and unclench as I ride wave after wave of ecstasy.

  Trembling with aftershocks, I open my eyes. My fantasy banished, I see Bagpuss sitting up on the toilet lid, watching me with unusual intensity. I make a face and flick water at him across the bathroom. “Pervert,” I mutter.

  Then I sigh. I can tell this guy is going to be bad for my health, since I’m already fantasizing about him, but I can’t help but wonder when he’ll be back for another session.

  I’m waiting for my usual Thursday three o’clock appointment to arrive, but she’s ten minutes late. Suzanne is my only female client, and I often enjoy working with her. She’s less

  all-or-nothing than the guys. Sometimes, we just play about with the toys, testing them on each other. She’s more of a friend than a client—if you ignore the kinky play.

  I’m standing at the metal cabinet, wondering which playthings Suzanne will want this time, when I hear the door to my office open. I grin over my shoulder. “Hey, Suz…” My voice trails off as I see it’s not Suzanne.

  Colton runs his eyes over me. Today, I’m wearing a velvet playsuit and fishnets. From the look on his face, I’d say he approves.

  “The fishnets are a nice touch but I preferred the boots,” he says casually.

  I blink. Then cock my hip and frown. “I’m waiting on another client, so if you don’t mind…” I flourish my arm toward the door meaningfully.

  “Actually,” Colton says, stepping toward me and undoing his belt. He’s dressed in a crisp white button-down with a red tie and black trousers. He looks like a businessman who just got off work. “Your other client cancelled. I got moved up.”

  My eyes are on the leather belt in his hand, and I feel a quiver of excitement. Did he bring his own toys this time? Then my mind refocuses. “What? I wasn’t told there was a cancellation.”

  Colton shrugs, unconcerned as he begins to unbutton his shirt. I force myself to look away and pull my mobile phone out of my bra. I hit the speed-dial for the club’s receptionist.