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Brenden (The Doms and Dommes of New York: Book 2)

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BDSM Erotica [Warning: extremely graphic!]

Erotica / Romance
Gavin Lafayette
4.6 203 reviews
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

I stared at the scene before me and couldn't believe my eyes. The people around me were just as surprised as I was. Almost everyone in Club Agalon knew Andrew Maddox, and what he had just done was definitely not in his nature. I walked over to the table and put my hand on the shoulder of the man who was standing with his back to me.

"That was something, brother. Never thought I'd see it, though. Andrew Maddox on his knees in front of his slave instead of the other way around. You've pretty much shocked everyone in here tonight."

He turned around with a smile. "Brenden! How are you doing?"

"Good. You?"

"Better than good. And it was only one knee."

I grinned. "True. Great to see you, man. It's been a long time."

It had been. As a matter of fact, I hadn't seen Andrew in almost a year. Not since that bitch Terri entered his life, but this gorgeous creature standing behind him, the perfect picture of the perfect slave, was most definitely not Terri. I smiled down at her, glad for him that he seemed to have found someone to share his life.

"Besides," he continued, "she's on her knees more than enough to suit both of us. Isn't that right, Heidi?"

"Yes, Master," she said softly but firmly, her eyes glued to the floor and her hands clasped behind her back. A small smile curled her lips.

"Aren't you going to introduce us properly, Andrew?"

He returned my grin and crooked his finger over his shoulder. Heidi stepped closer to him.

"This is Heidi Williams, my future wife. Say hello, Heidi."

Her head stayed down, but she said, "Yes, Master. Hello, Sir. It's very nice to meet you."

“What happened to T—“

Andrew stopped me with a scowl and a clenched fist in my face. “Don’t you fucking dare say that cunt’s name to me!”

When Andrew Maddox scowled at you like that, you quickly changed what you were going to say, which is exactly what I did.

“Why do you have a new slave, Andrew?” I said with a sweet smile.

“Because I beat the shit out of the bitch who fucked me over and threw her to the curb.”

“Fucked you over? How so?”

His eyes grew cold. “She cheated on me.”

My own eyes went wide. “You’ve got to be kidding! Who in their right mind would cheat on you?”

“A stupid bitch who paid for it in pain. A lot of it.”

“Shit, man, that sucks!”

A small smile returned to his face. “Yeah, it did, but because of it, I found Heidi. Best thing that ever happened to me, brother.”

I looked at his fiancée and ran my eyes over her from head to toe. Damn, Andrew knew how to dress his women! Even the harness was studded with diamonds. And that collar was exquisite. Probably cost half my annual salary by the looks of it.

“Brenden, keep your eyes in your head, please.”

“Sorry.” I slowly walked around her, my eyes widening when I saw her back. I knew of Andrew's proclivities, of course, but there weren't numerous bruises and welts covering her skin, like usual; her back looked like one massive purple and black sea of pain. I couldn't imagine how she was not screaming in agony.

"Damn, Andrew! You really did a number on her. What did she do?"

"That is none of your fucking business, Brenden." His smile slipped, and I held up a hand.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to pry. Don't bite my head off."

His smile returned slowly, we talked for a little while longer, and then I shook his hand with a final congratulations and went back to the bar where I had been when he decided to floor everyone in the place with his very unlike Andrew Maddox demonstration. I watched them for a little while, though, and I didn't miss when his hand slid up to his slave's crotch and dipped underneath her latex panties. He leaned close to her, said something, and she smiled brightly, her head still bowed. Moments later, he got up and walked toward the private rooms, and she meekly followed.

I liked Andrew Maddox, I really did, even though we couldn't have been more different. He was the genius son of a filthy rich, dead bastard who had beat the crap out of him his entire childhood, the inheritor of a vast fortune, and an overall nice guy. I, on the other hand, was the average son of a dirt poor, alive bastard who had simply neglected me as a kid, the inheritor of nothing but a crappy single-wide trailer in White Brook, West Virginia, and an overall dick, at least toward the general public and people I didn't like. He had one of the foulest mouths on the planet, and I at least attempted to curb my profanities unless I was seriously pissed off or in the middle of a really good fuck. He was a college professor at the ungodly age of twenty-five, and I was a high-school dropout accountant at the same age. He was six-two; I was six-five. I had at least forty pounds on him, but we were both very fit and strong. That was one of the few things we had in common. That and the fact that both our mothers were nowhere to be found. How we had become such good friends, I would never figure out, but we had each used the term ‘brother,’ and that was exactly how we felt about each other.

Our sexual appetites were vastly different as well. Andrew was a sadist who brutalized his slaves until they left him or he tired of them, treated them like precious gems otherwise, never cheated on any of them to my knowledge, and, apparently, fell in love with the latest. I knew that almost all of them loved him as well, and I had seen several of his former slaves in this very club, devastated that he had pushed them aside. I had fucked most of them on the rebound, ostensibly in an effort to make them feel better, but really it was just because I felt like it.

I enjoyed the sense of power and control when I had a slave kneeling naked at my feet, ready to do anything I told her to, just because I told her to. The red blush of shame that filled a slave's cheeks when I told her to finger fuck herself on the subway while I watched, or let me do it; to walk through Central Park wearing just enough so that she wouldn't be arrested for indecent exposure; to suck me off in an elevator, knowing fully that anyone could walk in at any time, turned me on more than anything else. Even when we were alone in my apartment, knowing that a woman would do absolutely anything for me made me hard. It was difficult to find such a slave, however—one that would gladly submit fully just to please me—and that was why I was alone at this bar, watching my friend leave the public area to go fuck and probably beat the crap out of his new fiancée, which, judging by the smile on her face, she would thoroughly enjoy.

I had no desire to hurt my slaves except during well-deserved punishments, and they had to be very well-deserved for those punishments to be corporal. I was also nowhere near monogamous like he was, although I always only had one slave. At any given moment, I might have three or four or six other women that I was fucking. They all knew I wasn't faithful to them, but they didn't care and would take whatever attention I gave them, even if that meant they had to share me, which they did. Often at the same time in the same bed while my slave looked on as punishment.

I looked around the club, searching for Cynthia. She was the best conduit for finding proper slaves that I knew, and she had said she'd meet me here at ten. It was now ten thirty, and I was getting pissed. I wasn't a nice person in general, but when I got mad, I turned into a royal asshole, and Cynthia knew it. She was supposed to be bringing me a potential slave, and I hated waiting. As the minutes ticked by, I got more and more furious until I stood up, slapped a twenty down on the bar, and stormed out of the club. Once on the sidewalk, I yanked my phone out of my black leather pants. I pulled up the numbers of three of my current fuck toys and texted them to be at my place in an hour. I figured at least two of them would show, and if all three did, well, the more the merrier.

Club Agalon was about a twenty minute cab ride from my apartment, and as I rode home, my fists and teeth were clenched, and my blood was boiling. I normally didn't hurt women as I fucked them, but I was really close to breaking that pattern now. I got to my building, nodded to Eduardo, my doorman, and stormed to my home on the first floor. I slammed the door behind me and paced around the living room for about five minutes before my phone buzzed. I grabbed it from the coffee table and was surprised to see that it was Cynthia calling.

"What do you want?" I growled after answering.

"Brenden, dear, where are you? And why do you sound upset?"

I sighed. "What time is it, Cynthia?"

"Ten forty-five. Why?"

"You said you'd be at the club at ten. I wasn't about to wait any longer for you, so I came home."

"Ten? You sure about that? I could have sworn I said eleven."

"Check your damn text, Cynthia. You said ten."

I could hear rustling while she did as I said. "Fuck, Brenden," she said when she came back on the line. "You're right. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you wait."

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to calm. "It's fine. Did you bring her?"

"Of course I did. Can I bring her by your place?"

"Sure. I've got a few women coming over in about thirty minutes, but they can just wait for me."

"Gotcha. I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Get ready, Brenden, dear. I really think you'll like this one."

I just grunted and hung up. I went to my study and quickly made sure everything was ready for the interview. Exactly twenty minutes later, my doorbell rang, and I slowly walked to the door and opened it.

"Brenden, dear!" Cynthia grabbed my biceps and tried to kiss my cheeks, but I was almost a foot and a half taller than her tiny five feet nothing, so I chuckled and bent down to give her access to me. "Thank you, babe."

I stood up straight and looked behind her. The woman standing there was maybe five three and had short, brown hair cut just above her shoulders. At the moment, she had her head down and her hands clasped behind her back. She was stiff, and she looked uncomfortable, scared even. I hoped that would change quickly. She had on a leather dog collar, and that made me more mad than I already was. That would change immediately if I took her as mine. My slaves were always collared, but not with dog collars. They weren’t animals, they were my treasures.

"Do you have her paperwork, Cynthia?"

"Of course, dear." She held out a file folder, and I took it before moving aside and gesturing them into my home.

My apartment wasn't anything spectacular, but it was a thousand times better than the two bedroom piece of shit trailer I had grown up in. White Brook, West Virginia was a coal town with very little coal left, and my father had been one of the miners until he was diagnosed with black lung disease ten years ago. Since then, he had blown the compensation he had gotten from the government on booze and whores, once again leaving absolutely nothing for his one and only child. At the age of sixteen, I had left home for New York City, went to a community college, got my degree in accounting, and now worked for a major firm on Long Island. I made more in a month than my father saw in a year, and my apartment reflected that. I had learned early on in life how to spend my money wisely, and although I would never be on the same playing field as Andrew Maddox and his millions, I still had a healthy six-figure balance in my savings account and almost twice as much in my checking account.

"Wait here, Cynthia, if you would. You may answer the door if anyone shows up. Just tell her to wait for me."

"Sure thing, Brenden," she answered with a smile, and then she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Follow me," I said to my potential slave. I turned from her and opened the file folder, reading it as I walked Her name was Angelina Wykes, she was twenty years old, and she was an on-again off-again waitress. That was fine with me. If I accepted her as my slave, that's what she would be twenty-four seven, three hundred sixty-five. She would take care of my needs, and I would take care of hers. She would have no need to work outside my home.

I had no chairs in my study except the one behind my desk, and I sat down. Angelina paused by the door, and I saw her glance around surreptitiously at the bookcases that lined the walls. I rested my feet on my desk and held her open folder in my lap.

"Close the door." She obeyed at once, which was a good sign.

"Take your clothes off." Again, she was almost frantic in her rush to obey. I was beginning to like this one.


She jumped at my cold tone but immediately dropped to her knees and hung her head.

"A few preliminary questions, Angelina," I said, glancing at her file. "First of all, have you ever been a slave before?"

"Yes, Sir. I've been someone's slave since I was eighteen."

"How long have your relationships lasted, on average?"

"About six months, Sir. I've had three masters before now."

"Why are you no longer with them?"

She shuddered. "They all got tired of me, Sir." Her voice caught on the last word. "I don't know why."

"You don't? Think hard."

She did. For several minutes, she knelt quietly by the door, and then she whispered, "Maybe I wasn't obedient enough for them, Sir. Maybe they got tired of disciplining me. I fuck up a lot, Sir."

"Mess up," I said slowly. "Watch your language around me."

"Yes, Sir."

"Tell me how you mess up, Angelina."

Another shudder ran through her. "I don't clean things properly, Sir. I can't cook well, Sir. I'm ugly, and my body is disgusting, Sir."

I frowned. I didn't know about the cleaning and cooking, but she was far from ugly, and my feet thudded on the hardwood floor as I dropped them. She jumped violently, and I wondered what her former Master had done to her to make her so jittery. I may have been a jerk, but I wasn't completely heartless, and her reactions bothered me greatly.

I walked toward her slowly and stopped in front of her. She wasn't in the position I liked, but I would easily train her to that. I reached down and grabbed her chin in my hand. "Stand up." She did, and I tilted her head back until I could see her face. She was very pretty. Her eyes stayed down, though, and I wanted to see them. I couldn't even tell what color they were. "Look at me."

She trembled. "Oh, no, Sir. I couldn't do that."

I growled, and she flinched. "It seems you do need a lesson in obedience. I said look at me."

She slowly raised her eyes, and I almost gasped but caught myself just in time. They were a stunning light brown, almost golden, color with a dark brown ring around the iris. Matched with her short brown hair, she looked like how I had always pictured an elf or a fairy.

"Don't ever make me repeat myself again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir." She gulped, her eyes widened in fear, and I frowned.

"Are you scared of me, Angelina?"

She bit her bottom lip hard and nodded.


"I'm afraid you'll beat me, Sir, because I disobeyed you."

"Is that what you're used to?"

Again, she just nodded, and a tear trickled down her cheek. I reached out to brush it away, and she cringed. I slowed my hand's speed down considerably and gently wiped the tear away with my thumb. She gasped, and I dropped my hand and walked behind her. I scowled when I saw several wounds in various stages of healing on her back, ass, and thighs. I ran my hand gently over the scars that had formed on her back.

“Did you consent to this, Angelina? Do you enjoy pain?”

“No, Sir.”

“Your last Master did this to you without your consent?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I growled softly, and she pulled away from my touch. I moved back in front of her, and took her chin in my fingers so I could look in her eyes.

"Listen to me," I said. "I will not beat you in punishment except for the worst transgressions. Even then it will be the belt only enough to get my point across. I will spank you during sex, but that will be to arouse you, not to hurt you."

"Then how will you punish me when I fu—mess up, Sir?"

"I'll find out what you like and withhold it from you. Or I'll find out what you don't like and make you do that. There are a lot of alternatives to marking you."

It dawned on me that we were talking as if it was already decided that she was going to stay, and I dropped my hand. For some reason I couldn't explain, I really wanted her to agree to be my slave, but I couldn't let her know that. I heard the doorbell ring, and I grinned, knowing that at least I'd be getting to fuck someone tonight. I left Angelina standing where she was, and moved back around my desk. After I sat down, I tapped the top.

"Come sit, Angelina."

"Yes, Sir," she whispered and did as I commanded, hanging her feet off the edge with her back to me.

"Turn around and face me."

"Yes, Sir."

When her feet were toward me, I gently set them on the top of the desk so that her knees were bent. Then I spread them wide so that her pussy was displayed to me. It was waxed, and her outer lips were spread just enough for me to see that she was not aroused at all. No shit, Sherlock! She was scared spitless. Of me. That bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

"There is something you need to understand if you are to become my slave, Angelina. I am not now, nor have I ever been, in a monogamous relationship. I like to fuck women, and I do it a lot with a lot of different women. You heard the doorbell?” She nodded. “That’s one of them now. Will you be able to handle that?"

Her lips pressed together tightly for the briefest moment, and then she said, "Yes, Sir. If I am not enough to satisfy your needs, you have every right to go elsewhere."

I leaned forward and ran my thumb, the one that had wiped away her tear, up between her legs. She only shifted her hips slightly but made no sound. I reached her clit and slowly rubbed it in an attempt to get her wet. She once again bit her bottom lip, hard enough that I thought she might draw blood, and with my free hand, I pulled it free.

"Don't do that."

"Yes, Sir," she said breathlessly as she shifted her hips again.

I dipped my middle finger into her slit up to the first knuckle, pleased to feel that she was starting to get slippery. I could smell her arousal, and I stared into her eyes.

"You are not mine, yet, Angel, but if I wanted to fuck you right now, would you let me?" My finger went deeper.

"Yes, Sir." Her voice was barely audible.

"Do you want me to fuck you, Angelina?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Beg me to."

"Please, Sir," she gasped as my thumb picked up speed. "Please fuck me. Please let me be your slave. Please let me serve you."

My eyebrows went up at that. Although that was what I wanted, it wasn't what I had told her to do. I continued to fuck her with my hand, adding more fingers, but she barely made any noise. I could tell she wanted to, and again, I wondered what kind of bastard her last Master was.

"Make noise, Angel. Let me know how this feels."

She froze for a moment, looked at me as I were trying to trick her, and then relaxed a tiny bit for the first time since entering my home.

"Lean back on your elbows," I said and picked up the speed of my motions as she did so. She let out a small moan, but it cut off almost immediately. Shit! There was going to be a lot to untrain in her, and now I was getting angry. Not at her, but at the asshole who had her last. I had been going to bring her right to the edge and leave her there for disobeying me earlier, but I wanted her to know that I would take care of her, so, I continued with my hand and leaned forward.

"Do you want to cum, Angel?" I whispered in her ear.

"Yes, Sir!"

"Well, then. Let's see what I can do about that."

I pushed her onto the desk a bit more, bent down, and captured her clit between my teeth. She groaned, but again, it was cut off quickly.

"Scream out your pleasure for me, Angel. Let everyone in the other room know what I am doing to you." I returned my attention to her clit, and her groan got a little louder, but it would never have been heard through the thick oaken door of my study. We'd definitely have to work on that. I had made sure that none of my neighbors would ever hear a thing that went on in my apartment, and again, I was furious at the bastard who had done this to her. It only took a few more minutes before I felt her start to shudder, and she whimpered softly. I stood up and intensified my hand motions. She squirmed, and I almost screamed out my frustration when I saw tears leaking from her closed eyes. "Angel, cum for me." A violent shudder finally ran through her, her juices coated my fingers, but her noises never got louder than a soft groan.

I pulled my hand from her, gently pulled her up to a sitting position, and kissed her forehead. Someone had really screwed with her head, and I was determined to find out who. Then I was going to beat the shit out of him. No slave should ever be in this condition. Slaves were cherished treasures—women who voluntarily gave up control of their lives to a Master they barely knew.

"I need to ask you something, Angel. Do you want to be my slave?"

"Oh, yes, Sir."

"That is also what I desire, so we can try it for a week. I want you to understand, however, that there are many things about your behavior that I am not happy with." She shuddered at that, and I trailed my hand over her shoulder. "It is not your fault, Angel, it's your former Master's fault, but it has to change, or you can't stay here. Do you understand?"

She looked like she was going to cry again, but she took a deep breath and said, "Yes, Sir, I understand.”

“Good girl.” I pulled out my standard slave contract out of the desk, grabbed a pen, and filled in the pertinent information for our situation. Then I handed it to her. “Read this, and if you agree with it, sign it. Then you will be mine. At least for the next week.”

“Yes, Sir.” She took it from me and spent the next several minutes reading it. Then she asked, “May I have the pen, please, Sir?”

I handed it to her, and she signed the bottom of the contract. I took the pen from her and signed it as well. Then I put it in her file which I placed in my desk.

"Come with me," I said, standing up and walking toward the door of my study. I pulled my phone out as I did so, and texted the three women I had before and told them to stay home, that I had changed my mind. I knew one was already in my living room, but she could just leave. I was sure I would fuck other women in front of Angel later, but not now. She was too damaged, and I had a lot of work to do with her before I did that.

Without hesitating, she followed me into the living room, but I didn't miss the fact that the trembling had started again. I wanted her to obey me out of devotion, not fear, but it seemed that would take quite a while. As I entered the living room, I heard the front door shut, and I knew whoever had shown up had left. Cynthia was still on my couch, a beer in her hand, and I stopped with Angel behind me.

I pointed to a spot on the carpet by the fireplace. "Kneel, Angel. Wait for me." She scurried over to where I indicated, irritatingly reminding me of a mouse. "Cynthia, come with me to the kitchen, please."

"Sure thing, Brenden." Glancing once at Angel, Cynthia followed me. There were no doors separating the dining room from the living room or the kitchen from the dining room, so I knew I had to keep my voice calm in order to not let Angel know what I was saying, but I didn't know if that was going to be possible. My blood was boiling with the rage flowing through me, and if I didn't do something soon, like rant and rave to Cynthia, I was going to explode. Once inside the kitchen, I whirled on my friend.

"Who the fuck had her last, Cynthia?"

Her eyes widened at my profanity, and her mouth dropped. "I don't know, Brenden. Why?"

"Why? You haven't noticed? How long have you known her?"

"I've only known her about a week. Noticed what?"

"She's terrified of me! She thinks I'm going to beat her because she disobeyed me!" I knew my voice was rising, but I couldn't stop it. "Did you know I made her climax in my study, Cynthia?" At my friend's head shake, I sneered, "Of course you didn't because the jackass who had her last obviously wanted her to stay silent! Even while cumming! She was fucking crying she was so scared! She’s got fucking scars she didn’t ask for!"

I never swore like this, and Cynthia knew it. She frowned. "She wasn't like that around me, babe. Maybe it's just around men. What else did you notice?"

"She didn't cum until I told her she could. She told me she was ugly and fucked up a lot and had to be disciplined a lot, and that's why her Masters got rid of her. She fucking flinched when I brushed away a tear!" I snarled and spun toward the refrigerator before slamming my fist into the stainless steel front, denting it slightly. Then I glared at Cynthia. "I want you to find out who her last Master was. You have the resources to do that, surely."

She nodded and looked toward the living room. "I do. Does that mean she is staying?"

"Yes, she is. Someone needs to teach her that all Masters are not total fucks who care nothing for their slaves."

"Is that why you sent Naomi home?"

"So that's who was here. Yes, that's why. Angel is too fragile to be subjected to that right now."


I blinked. I hadn't even realized that I was calling her that. Not only out loud, but in my mind as well, but it fit her. She was a broken, beautiful angel, and I wanted to fix her if I could.

"She's already gotten to you, hasn’t she?" Cynthia asked softly.

"Fuck!" I fisted my hands in my hair and started pacing. I really didn’t need this complication in my life, but I wanted it badly.

Cynthia stepped in front of me and put her tiny hands on my chest. "Calm down, Brenden. It's all right to want to take care of her, you know that. Especially if she was abused like you think.”

“I know that, but I have to decide whether I have the time and the energy to help her like I want to. She’s really screwed up, Cynthia.”

She patted my arm and smiled up at me. “And there is no one better to figure out what she needs. Just give it time. Now, I’ve got to go. I thought I’d stick around and join in your fun with Naomi and the others, but I can see that it’s not going to happen tonight.” She shrugged. “Maybe next time. Call me.”

I just nodded and walked her to the door, bending down once more so she could kiss me. Then she disappeared.

When I walked back into the living room, I was pleased to see that Angel hadn’t moved. She was still kneeling by the fireplace, her head down, but as I looked closer, I realized she was actually asleep on her knees. I gritted my teeth as anger flowed through me, not anger at her, but anger at whatever had happened to her to make her that tired. I hoped that it wasn’t the one climax that wore her out, or I’d soon be finding myself a new slave.

I walked silently to her, gently lifted her into my arms, and carried her to my room. Other than shifting her position to lay her head on my chest and letting out a small whimper that pounded nails into my brain, she didn’t move or make a sound. Even when I put her in my bed and covered her with the sheets and comforter, she barely moved. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep right away, so I changed into workout clothes, locked my apartment door behind me, and went to my building’s gym to run away the heat in my blood.
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