The Debt I Agreed to Pay That Night in His Club

Nadia, Carla, and Lorena couldn’t believe their eyes. That man was seduction in its purest form, and any woman in the place could tell from three meters away. When I answered yes to his command, the three of them were left flustered, staring at me as if I had just done something crazy they secretly envied. Their eyes were so wide they were almost bulging out of their sockets.

—Bruna, what are you doing? —Lorena asked me.

Her concern hit me for a second. I couldn’t explain why, but there was fear in her gaze that made me reconsider my decision for a moment. Only for a moment. It was enough to feel that man’s hand on my wrist again for the doubt to evaporate from my body like a bad thought.

His fingers slid slowly over my wrists, tracing their outline with almost obsessive precision. Every touch was an inspection, a meticulous study, as if he could read secrets in my skin even I didn’t know I had. His gaze, fixed and piercing, kept me in a constant state of alert. The tip of his thumb moved down to my pulse, stopped there, and I felt my blood beating faster beneath his touch. As if that son of a bitch could count my heartbeats and guess, from the rhythm, how wet my skirt was getting without even needing to stick his hand between my legs.

There was something about that man that completely threw me off. His imposing presence, the immaculate black suit, the authority he radiated without the slightest effort… everything about him demanded respect. But at the same time, his determination, that way of holding me as if nothing in the world could pull me away from his side, and that dark magnetism he gave off ignited something in me that was as disturbing as it was irresistible. My nipples had hardened beneath the fabric of my dress until they were visible, and I felt a dull, insistent tug between my legs. A throbbing in my cunt that hadn’t asked permission to start and didn’t intend to stop no matter how tightly I clenched my thighs.

—Come… let’s go this way —he said in a low voice, every word loaded with certainty.

He took my hand with a force that allowed no argument and pulled me along. As we passed one of his security men, he leaned in just enough to whisper something in his ear. Then, without letting go of me, he intertwined his fingers with mine, as if sealing a silent pact, and led me toward a dim corridor where the darkness seemed ready to keep any secret for us.

Within seconds we were in his office. Although the room had changed slightly, it was still the same place I had imagined. With a little more light, the atmosphere felt almost cozy, but the sense of control that space exerted remained intact. A large black leather armchair occupied the side wall, imposing, almost like a guardian. On the opposite side, another armchair, from which he usually watched every corner of his club, seemed to be watching me too.

—This way —he repeated.

His hand, now softer but just as firm, guided me by the waist. The heat of his touch went straight through my clothes, and before I could look away he had already led me toward a door hidden behind a heavy burgundy curtain. His spread fingers on my hip burned through the dress as if he had put his hand directly on my bare skin; I felt his little finger drop and brush, just barely, the top of my ass, and that tiny gesture tore a silent spasm from me that forced me to clench my teeth so a gasp wouldn’t escape.

—Where does this lead? —I asked, trying not to let the curiosity devouring me show in my voice.

—You’ll know soon. —His tone, deep and assured, left no room for more questions—. What would you like to drink?

—What I’ve been trying to order all night… whisky with cola.

A spark of defiance slipped into my words.

—Shhh… —His gaze hardened as his voice sharpened—. Don’t be insolent. Behave yourself.

The silence that followed was dense, almost solid. I felt that warning wasn’t a simple scolding, but an invisible line he had just drawn between us. Crossing it would have consequences I couldn’t yet imagine.

Who did he think he was, talking to me like that?

No matter how attractive he was, no matter how much that elegant bearing and that predator’s stare stirred me up inside, I wasn’t going to let him treat me that way. Not even if he came down from Olympus dressed as a Greek god. Not even if he had the thickest cock in the whole city between his legs and knew exactly how to use it, was I going to give in at the first attempt.

I straightened my back and felt my voice take on an edge I didn’t always dare to show.

—Don’t ever speak to me like that again. I’m not one of your dogs for you to talk to me that way.

I couldn’t explain how what came next happened. In a blink, the gentleness he had shown vanished like smoke, and in its place something darker, wilder emerged. His body moved with a decisiveness that gave me no time to react.

He shoved me. Not with gratuitous violence, but with calculated force, just enough for my back to slam against the wall. The impact stole my breath, and before I could pull away he had me trapped, his body taking up all my space, his heat invading every inch of my skin without quite touching me. I felt the bulge of his cock, hard, against my hip bone; a thick cock, tight inside the trousers of his suit, that was looking for me without any pretense. It was only a brush, a warning, but it was enough for a tiny, contained moan to slip out of me, one he heard perfectly.

—What do you think you’re doing? —I managed to say, though my voice sounded shakier than I would have liked.

He tilted his head, so close I felt his breath against my cheek, and locked his eyes on mine with an intensity that anchored me in place. He lowered one hand to my thigh and hiked up the hem of my dress just enough for the cool air to hit the tops of my legs. His fingers climbed a centimeter, two, and stopped on the inner side of my thigh, so close to my cunt I forgot to breathe. He didn’t touch me there. He didn’t need to. He knew damn well I was soaking through my panties and he wanted me to know it too.

—No… —he said slowly, in a low tone packed with promises and warnings—. You’re not one of my dogs. What you’re going to be… —he paused, letting the silence wrap around me— is mine.

The world seemed to shrink in that instant until it fit in the nonexistent distance between his voice and my skin. I knew he was playing a game whose rules I hadn’t written, but in which I had already wagered more than I was willing to admit. The fingers on my thigh withdrew with the same slowness with which they had climbed, and he, without taking his gaze off me, brought them to his nose. He smelled them. And smiled like someone who had just confirmed something he already knew.

When those words escaped his lips, I felt like I was going to explode. Outrage rushed up my throat like fire. I wanted to scream at him, hit him, wipe that arrogance off his face with a slap. But reality was very different.

His voice, so close to my ear, had left an invisible pressure in my chest, a wave running through me that had nothing to do with anger. His words had touched a dark, hidden corner of me, one I didn’t understand… but that burned. It burned between my legs, it burned in my tits, it burned in my mouth, which filled with saliva as I imagined what it would be like to have his cock inside me. My cunt tightened on its own, clenching the emptiness as if something were already there to milk. Never in my fucking life had a man gotten me so wet with just two sentences and a shove against a wall.

His gaze, almost blasphemous, cut through me as if he wanted to rip the truth out from inside me. And worst of all, it was working. No man had ever made me feel like this.

What the hell was this? Why did it turn me on to be called his? Why, deep down, did the idea of belonging to him make me burn? Why was I already imagining myself kneeling in front of him with my mouth open, pulling his cock out of his pants and sucking him until he came on my tongue?

—Let me leave here… please, let me go —I begged, though even my own words sounded weak.

—You agreed to come with me. You’ve got your drink now. You can’t leave.

—What do you mean I can’t leave? Are you holding me here?

—Not at all. You’re free to leave when you pay your debt to me.

—Debt? What debt are you talking about?

—You agreed to come in exchange for your drink. That comes at a price… and I decide how you’re going to pay it.

—Let me go —I insisted, with less and less conviction.

He didn’t answer. He simply moved farther into the room, no longer touching me, no longer holding me back. And yet my feet seemed rooted to the floor. There were no chains, but I couldn’t move. My panties were stuck to my cunt, soaked, and I could feel a thread of slick beginning to slide down the inside of my thigh. If I took a step, I was going to drip. And if he turned around, he was going to smell it.

***

When the pressure of having him so close finally eased, I started to look around. What I saw chilled my blood and quickened my pulse at the same time.

The walls, lined with stone and leather. The metallic, sweet smell of oil mixed with wood. Chains, shackles, tools whose purpose needed no explanation. Dildos of different sizes lined up on a low table, some black and thick as arms, others slimmer, with shapes I didn’t know how to name. A red leather padded bench with rings on its legs. A polished wooden cross bolted to the wall.

I had heard about places like this. I had even seen images, cold photographs that conveyed nothing… until that night.

I didn’t need to ask. I knew. I was in a dungeon.

A thousand atrocities flashed through my mind then, atrocities that sent me into a panic. I lifted my gaze and, despite the fear, met his eyes. What I got from him instead was a calm look.

—Easy, you have nothing to fear. I won’t use anything you see… unless you beg me to. And if that’s the case, you’ll have to earn it.

—Are you going to hurt me? —The question slipped out of my mouth all of a sudden.

—Never, princess. That’s not what I want from you. —His tone was measured, almost tender—. What I want with you is to fuck you until you don’t even remember your name, and I want it with both hands free and yours around my neck. The whips and chains will come later, when you ask me for them on your knees.

He was trying to win my trust. He wanted to give me a calm that would let him get exactly what he wanted from me. And at the same time, with that sentence, he had just left my cunt throbbing so hard I had to cross my thighs.

—What do you want from me then? I can’t trust you.

—I just want to get to know you. —It sounded convincing.

—Interesting way of doing it, don’t you think?

Actually, despite the shadow that room cast over me, I couldn’t help it: I was curious to know which things he didn’t plan to use on me. Some of the objects resting there, silent, seemed to be watching me in turn and, to my surprise, stirred an interest in me that I didn’t want to admit. I would have liked to have the courage to ask him about each one, to touch them, to feel their weight in my hands. Especially the thickest black dildo, the one that looked designed to split a cunt in two and that, just from looking at it, made me clamp my thighs so hard it hurt.

I took a step closer almost without realizing it, toward a row of leather straps hanging on the wall. The low light drew muted reflections from the buckles. He noticed. Of course he noticed. Nothing escaped him.

—Go on —he said, not moving from where he stood—. Touch it. I want to see what you choose.

I snatched my hand back as if the leather burned. No. The only thing I should be thinking about was getting out of there as fast as possible.

—I’m not touching anything —I replied, trying to regain control of my voice.

—You’re lying badly, Bruna. —He smiled for the first time, and that smile was more dangerous than any threat—. Your mouth is saying one thing and your eyes have been saying another for a while now. And your cunt a third, which I can smell from here. I’m just waiting for them to agree.

I swallowed. He was right, and that was what scared me most. Not the leather, not the chains, not the door closed behind me. What terrified me was the way my own body had started betraying me, throbbing in places it shouldn’t, breathing deeper than necessary. My panties were stuck to my soaked cunt, my nipples were showing through my dress like two hard pebbles, and I could feel my clit swollen, tight, pulsing every time he breathed. If I put a finger inside myself right then, I’d come in two touches. And he knew it. That son of a bitch knew it and was enjoying every second of my humiliation.

He sat down in the big leather armchair, crossed one leg over the other, and watched me with the patience of someone who knows he has all the time in the world. I saw him adjust the bulge in his trousers with the back of his hand, without trying to hide it, making it clear that he was as hard as I was wet. His cock outlined beneath the dark fabric was a promise that made me swallow.

—Sit down —he said, indicating a spot in front of him—. I’m not going to touch you. Tonight we’re only going to talk. That’s the first installment of your debt.

—Talk? —I repeated, disbelieving.

—Talk. I want you to tell me what brought you to my club with those two friends. What you were looking for. What made you so afraid to accept a simple drink.

I stayed standing for a few more seconds, weighing the trap. Because it was a trap, I knew it. Sitting down meant accepting his rules, entering his game, acknowledging that the debt existed. But leaving… leaving meant giving up on finding out how far this went, and a part of me, one I barely recognized, wasn’t willing to give up yet. A part that wanted to see that cock out of his pants. A part that had spent ten minutes imagining what his cum would taste like, how it would sound when he came inside me, how heavy his body would be on top of me when he finally collapsed exhausted.

I walked slowly to the seat he had indicated and lowered myself into it. The leather was cold beneath my thighs, and that contact, together with the dampness soaking my panties, drew another shiver from me that I clenched my jaw to hide. He smiled again, satisfied, as if he had just won a hand without showing a single card.

—Good girl —he murmured—. Let’s start with your full name. And with what your body has been asking me for all night without you daring to say it out loud.

I pressed my lips together. Outside, on the other side of the burgundy curtain, the club music kept playing, oblivious to everything. Inside, there was only him, me, a debt whose price I still hadn’t dared calculate, and the unmistakable smell of my wet cunt filling the air between us.

And, God forgive me, part of me wanted the bill to be a long one.

—Selene —I said at last—. My name is Selene.