Taming Kit Pt 02 Ruining Amber

Author's Note:

This is Part 2 of Taming Kit, told from Jake's point of view. If you haven't read Part 1: Lessons for Gia, I highly recommend starting there. This is a dark, emotionally charged BDSM scene centered around control, not intimacy. Please read with care.

FUCK.

I knew Kit was back in town. I knew she'd end up in my club eventually, but never in a million years did I expect to see her top.

Never, in the 15 years I've been in the BDSM scene have I lost control, but I came close tonight.

I've never had a submissive like Kit. From the moment she walked into this club 12 years ago, I was hooked. She was sweet and innocent, but filthy in all the right ways. She could take pain like no one I'd ever seen, and it wasn't long until we were exclusive.

We spent two glorious years together. I never pictured a life without her until I woke up one morning and she was just gone. I've spent the last ten years trying to forget her.

She's no longer the innocent girl I knew, the hot headed spitfire that needs to be tamed.

No, she's plenty tame now.

She was calculated and controlled as I watched her play. I used to know Kit like the back of my hand. I knew exactly how her skin flushed and her lips parted just before she'd lose control, and it was glorious when she did. Tonight, I saw that same blush rise against her skin. I saw her lips part exactly the same as they did back then, but tonight, rather than lose control, I saw a mask slide over her face. I saw her stuff that passion away somewhere deep.

Don't get me wrong, she was incredible. The girl she was playing with was obviously new. It takes discipline to play with someone so new and not take it too far.

I can feel my cock growing just thinking about it. The newbie was magnificent. I wouldn't mind playing with her myself, but I'd give anything to watch Kit with her again.

Kit didn't like women when we were together. Clearly things have changed.

I shake my head trying to dislodge the memory of the girl spread out on the bed moaning with each crack of the flogger, and the stoic look on Kit's face despite the catch of her breath each time the girl moaned.

I find myself scanning the room for Allison. I told myself it was over. Maybe I even meant it. Lately, I can tell she's been wanting more than I can give her.

She was there when Kit disappeared. Allison stepped in like she'd been waiting for her cue. She's every man's fantasy with long legs, perfect hair, and a pouty mouth made for sin. The front row always fills when she's on stage, and she plays it like a game. She knows what men want, and she uses it.

Maybe that's why I never wanted more with her. She was always too perfect. Too polished. Too practiced. One night turned into ten years of me using her to forget. She made herself convenient. Always there when I needed to lose myself in someone else.

I don't love her. I never did.

But right now, I need to forget what I just saw, and Allison has always been good for that.

She's at the bar, batting her lashes at some overly confident asshole who probably thinks he's God's gift to women.

He's leaning on the bar like he owns it, one elbow propped up, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off a tan that's definitely fake. His laugh is loud, too loud, and he tosses it around like money.

Allison's got her hand on his arm, nails grazing the sleeve of his shirt, head tilted just enough to let that perfect blonde curl fall across her shoulder. She's smiling the kind of smile that looks sweet if you don't know her, but I do. She's toying with him.

He thinks he's running the show. Poor bastard doesn't even realize she's reeling him in just to watch him squirm.

I stop behind her, close enough she feels me before she sees me. Her back straightens.

"Stage. Now."

My voice is low and steady. Not a request.

Allison moves like she's just been crowned queen of the fucking world. That smug little smile plays on her lips, hips swaying as she steps up onto the stage like it's her throne and I'm the prize she's finally claimed.

She thinks this means something. She knows Kit is here. By now the whole club does.

She thinks she's won.

She's wrong.

I follow her up, silent, simmering. I don't bother to hide the edge in my voice when I tell her to strip. She does it slowly, showy, playing to the crowd. She wants the whole room to know I chose her.

But I didn't.

I chose pain. I chose control. I chose distraction.

She wanted a scene, so I'll give her one. Rough, public, humiliating. I want her gasping, trembling, ruined by the time I'm done.

Allison's on her knees before I say a word, thighs spread, head bowed like she's submitting out of instinct. But her eyes are sly when she glances up, lips parted like she's already imagining my cock down her throat. She knows who's watching. She wants them to watch.

The first crack of the crop against her bare ass makes her moan. She's loud, theatrical, and attention-seeking. I give her another. And another.

Red blooms across her skin in perfect lines. She's dripping before I even touch her pussy. The lights of the stage make her slit glisten for the crowd.

For half a second, I see Kit, her back arched, wrists bound, mouth open just like that. It's not Allison's face I'm looking at. It's hers. My rhythm falters. I clench my jaw, shove the thought down.

She lifts her hips toward me like she's begging for it, shameless, greedy. I slide my fingers between her thighs. She gasps when I push inside, but not from surprise, from satisfaction.

This is the game she loves. Being used. Being seen. Being fucked like she's nothing but a hole for my cock while the whole room watches.

She thinks that makes her powerful.

She arches her back when I push her down over the bench, her cunt on display, throbbing, raw. The men in the crowd are leaning in, watching like they'd trade everything they own just to be where I am. She loves it.

She moans when I slide my cock inside her. Not sweet, not soft, but filthy. Like she wants the whole club to know she's being fucked. Her voice echoes through the room as I slam into her, fast and rough, like I'm trying to break her in half.

Then I look up and there she is.

Kit.

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her breasts, her eyes locked on me like she can see straight through the facade. My heart jerks... just once.

She doesn't flinch. Doesn't look away. Just watches.

And I let her.

I don't change my pace. I don't soften and I sure as hell don't feel sorry.

She left. Without a word she just packed up and drove off in that rusty old impala and never looked back. Whatever she thinks this means, that's on her.

Allison screams when she comes, trembling around my cock, soaking the bench beneath her. She's shaking, breathless, undone.

But I don't kiss her.

I don't praise her.

I don't even look at her.

I just pull out, zip up, and walk away.