The Domme Who Wasn't [Club Esoteria 14] (Siren Publishing Allure) Read online

  Club Esoteria 14

  The Domme Who Wasn’t

  Mistress Calliope Smith has a secret that could get her expelled from Club Esoteria. She joined as a Domme, but over the few months she has been playing at the club, she has come to a startling revelation.

  Master Roane McKenzie takes one look at the Domme dressed as a beautiful gypsy and knows she is not what everyone, including herself, thinks she is. He vows to show her how good life on the other side of the flogger could be, if only she’ll allow him to.

  Will she be able to shed her Domme image and play for the other side? Can he help her without damaging her psyche or her reputation? Will Jenna and Taurus allow her to remain a member of Club Esoteria once her secret gets out?

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary

  Length: 21,422 words

  THE DOMME WHO WASN’T

  Club Esoteria 14

  Cooper McKenzie

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer.

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  THE DOMME WHO WASN’T

  Copyright © 2014 by Cooper McKenzie

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62741-174-5

  First E-book Publication: January 2014

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2014 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of The Domme Who Wasn’t by Cooper McKenzie from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Cooper McKenzie’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. McKenzie’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  To Sarah Boorman, Club Esoteria’s number one fan.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  THE DOMME WHO WASN’T

  Club Esoteria 14

  COOPER MCKENZIE

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter 1

  As always when he entered a room, Roane McKenzie scanned from left to right then right to left, assessing the crowd at the same time he looked for threats. The crowd for Club Esoteria’s middle of January masquerade party posed no threat, except for those submissives present looking to being put through their paces by the dominants who chose them as playmates.

  A pair in the corner to his left held his attention longer than any of the others. He watched for another moment as the woman stroked her hands up and down the bound man’s body as she walked around him. Roane’s cock twitched to life at her movements, which shocked him. Instead of settling in to watch, he scolded his body for its inappropriate interest before he forced himself to turn and head to the bar. As he crossed the room, he could not help but glance over his shoulder again, trying to figure out what it was about that pair that seemed off and why just looking at the woman turned him on like nothing he had seen in the club in months.

  As usual, Taurus and Jackson were working the bar, wearing worn blue jeans and leather vests. Their only concession to the party’s costumed theme were the black masks they wore. Their women sat together at one side of the bar near the St. Andrew’s Cross. Their matching black silk and lace French maid costumes left little to the imagination, though all their sexy bits were covered. The women were leaning forward with both forearms resting on the bar.

  Roane had to fight down a grin once he got close enough to see the women wore wrist cuffs, which were hooked together and then the clips holding their cuffs together were then attached to the either end of a short length of chain, which had been threaded through an eyebolt on the far side of the bar.

  Stepping up behind the women, he wrapped one arm around each of their shoulders. After giving each woman a kiss on the cheek, he looked to the bartenders who had rushed over and now stood glowering at him from the other side of the bar.

  “Gentlemen, ye really shouldna leave yer playthings unattended. Ye never ken who might take advantage,” he said, his accent thickening, making the women in his arms sigh as their men’s expressions darkened even further.

  “And you need to find a woman of your own,” Taurus growled, looking as if he wanted to come across the bar and do some damage.

  “I’m tryin’, me friend. I am tryin’. But I’m verra particular as to who I play with,” Roane said. He gave the women a squeeze before dropping his arms and stepping away.

  “Master Roane, my Scottish hunk,” Jenna said as she approached, her men following a step behind, looking more like bodyguards than slaves/mates.

  She did not hesitate to give him a hug and kiss on his cheek. She was dressed as a risqué Renaissance beauty in red and black while her men wore matching tan leather loincloths with plain black masks. “I need your opinion on something.”

  “Certainly, me lady. Anythin’ for the club’s queen,” he said with a half bow.

  She laughed, and then her gaze dropped and she looked at his costume. “And what, exactly, are you supposed to be?”

  He straightened and brushed one hand d
own the front of his kilt before straightening the black leather vest as he threw back his shoulders. “Why, I am the kilted Dom,” he announced proudly.

  Jenna chuckled even as she shook her head at him. “You were supposed to dress up in a costume.”

  “I did. I dunna normally wear the plaid around town. It draws too much attention from the lassies, ye ken,” he said with a wink and a grin.

  “Incorrigible,” Jenna said with a very un-Domme-like giggle.

  Roane shrugged as he said, “Maybe. Now, Mistress Jenna, ye have a problem ye need me help with?” Roane half turned and offered his left arm.

  She took it and nodded toward the corner of the room. “I need your opinion on this pair. The woman in particular.” Jenna stopped far enough away from the station to make it appear they were watching one of the other scenes taking place nearby.

  Roane watched for a few minutes, once again feeling that the dynamic was wrong between the two. As a lifelong dominant, ex-military man, and security specialist, he had cultivated the ability to read people instantly and accurately no matter how hard they worked to hide their true natures. It was a skill Jenna had called upon more than once since he had joined and taken over the security of the club.

  Toby, one of the club’s more popular uncollared submissives, was naked and secured to a straight-backed chair. His arms were behind his back and his ankles were tied to the outside of chair’s legs, spreading his thighs wide. The position gave the woman kneeling between his legs plenty of room as she sucked his cock and ran her hands up and down his body.

  As his eyes drifted down over the woman’s body, his sense of wrongness intensified. Though she was fully clothed in a belly-baring, off-the-shoulder ivory blouse, long skirt with a purple and pink swirling design, and black stiletto ankle boots, she did not radiate the aura of power most of Club Esoteria’s other dominants did. Her golden-yellow corkscrew curls fell down her back nearly to her waist, making Roane’s fingers itch to run through them.

  His cock growing hard as he watched her play with Toby shocked him. Usually watching Dommes play with their boy toys did nothing to arouse him. But something about this wench called out to him.

  Tilting his head slightly, he softly asked, “Who’s the dominant?”

  “She is. Or at least she is supposed to be. But every time she plays with a submissive, she ends up giving them service instead of the other way around,” Jenna returned, her voice equally soft. “She’s new to the club and claims to be a Domme, but there’s just something off about her.”

  “So what do ye want me ta do about it? Convert her ta the sub side?”

  “I’m not sure, but that is an interesting idea. I’ll think about it and let you know. Thanks for your insight,” Jenna said, patting his arm before walking away, her slave/mates following close behind.

  * * * *

  Calliope Smith felt Toby’s legs tense as he grew closer and closer to his orgasm. Not in the mood to torture the sweet submissive like she knew she should, she pulled her lips from his cock, wrapped her right hand around its base, and began to stroke him hard and fast to get this over with.

  Looking up into his eyes, she ordered, “Come, boy, but don’t make a sound or I’ll whip your cock with my new flogger.”

  At her softly worded command, Toby closed his eyes and threw his head back. He then arched his body out of the chair as much as his bonds allowed him to. His hips thrust even higher several times as semen shot from the tip of his cock to coat his hairless chest and belly.

  Once he relaxed back into the chair, Calliope untied his ankles before pushing to her feet and releasing the rest of his bonds. After retrieving a clean washcloth from the cleanup station, she cleaned Toby up as he caught his breath. Once his strength returned, she took his hand and led him to the nearest couch where they settled together with her arms wrapped around him and his head resting on her shoulder.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” Toby whispered once he could speak again.

  A few minutes later, he shifted their bodies so that instead of her holding him, his arms wrapped around her. He cuddled her, giving her the hugs and physical closeness her soul craved. This was why she came here. Not for sex, but for the cuddling afterward.

  Calliope brushed a kiss at his temple. “You’re welcome, Toby.”

  Though she wanted to thank him for allowing her to play with him, to give him pleasure, she held her tongue. That would leave her open for a conversation she did not want to have. She was sure he had questions as all the submissives she had played with in the past no doubt had. Thankfully as a Domme, it was her prerogative as to whether or not she would answer them. Since they had played before, he knew she would not share, so he remained silent for several moments as he settled fully back into his body.

  “What about you, Mistress Calliope? Don’t you want…something?”

  “I’m fine, Toby,” she whispered. Taking a deep breath and easing from his embrace, she turned and prepared to stand.

  “No, Mistress, you’re not,” Toby said, capturing her arm to keep her from standing and walking away. He continued his voice low and intense. “I know it’s not my place, but you are not fine. You’re stressed out, and in need of something you obviously aren’t getting from playing with me or any of the other submissives here.”

  Though he was right, Calliope would not, could not, admit the truth. It would be too humiliating for the other dominant club members to find out that during the six weeks she had been a member of Club Esoteria, she had discovered she preferred giving pleasure instead of demanding pleasure from the men she played with.

  Taking a deep breath, she frowned at the man. “Mind your place, sub.”

  He immediately dropped his eyes and eased his hold. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Pulling her arm free, she pushed from the couch and marched to the restrooms at the back of the club’s main room. She needed some time alone to pull the tattered remnants of the dominant veneer she wore in the club back into place before she faced the eagle-eyed men who worked behind the bar. They had been watching her closely these last couple of weeks, as if they had figured out she was not the Domme she claimed to be. But until now no one had said anything. No one but Toby who recognized her as one like him.

  Closing herself into the last stall in the ladies’ room, she leaned against the wall and fought to control the screams of frustration that were pushing for release. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths as she counted backward from a hundred. By the time she reached fifty, she could breathe without the pain pressing at her throat.

  Five minutes later, she felt calm enough to leave her hiding place. She walked around the oval bar to where three empty stools stood together. Climbing onto the center one, she rested her elbows on the bar and leaned her head forward so she could massage away the pain thumping at her temples that had begun as soon as Toby had ejaculated.

  Toby had been correct in his assessment. She was stressed, and exhausted, too, but nothing she tried seemed to work. She had not been able to sleep more than a few hours at night for nearly a month. She juggled her way through her days, trying to get everything done while protecting and nurturing her creativity. She could not recall the last time she had felt completely relaxed. Being a single, self-employed artist without a steady man to call her own on any horizon added to the stress she lived with on a daily basis.

  “You okay, Mistress Calliope?” Master Jackson asked, forcing her to open her eyes and be social.

  “I’m fine, thanks. Can I have a glass of white wine, please?”

  “Pinot or Merlot?”

  Too stressed to make such an easy decision, Calliope shook her head. “Never mind, make it a ginger ale instead.”

  In the mood she was in, it would not take but a sip or two of wine before she was crying on the super-shiny bar. Deciding to spend the evening at the club had been a bad decision. Yet another in a long string of bad choices she had made over the last few months. Maybe it was time to take a long, hard look at her
life and figure out how to get back on track to a life of contentment instead of continuing the quest for something she would never find.

  “I don’ believe we’ve met yet, though I dunno how I could have missed such a beautiful gypsy,” a deep male voice said as a large, warm body stepped into her peripheral vision on her left. Calliope knew she had a larger than usual personal boundary, but having this man close enough to feel the heat of his chest on her upper arm wasn’t making her want to back away.

  How unusual, she thought with a frown.

  She took a moment to thank Jackson for the drink then down half of it. Then she turned just her head to acknowledge the man who was crashing her pity party. She blinked when she found herself nose-to-sternum with a broad, muscular chest finely dusted with black hair and only partly covered by a black leather vest. She took a moment to admire the rippling skin as he shifted before tilting her head back she looked into his face. Instantly she was captivated.

  Inky black hair pulled back from his face, showing off the strong lines and übermasculine features. His nose had been broken a time or two, but that single imperfection just emphasized how perfect the rest of his features were. Then she looked into eyes the color of well-worn denim and the world shifted in ways she would never be able to explain.

  “I’m Roane McKenzie, the kilted Dom,” he said with a grin.

  Calliope had to swallow and lick her lips as she thought about an appropriate response. Her hands dropped to her lap to wipe the sudden dampness away.