Dom Wars: Round One Read online

  Presenting

  Dom Wars

  Round One

  By

  Lucian Bane

  © 2014 by Lucian Bane

  All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Lucian Bane or his legal representative.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  **Translation: If you make a copy of this file and share it with friends, whether it is one or one million friends, you are breaking the law, even if you receive nothing in return. If you receive this file from a friend, both you and your friend are breaking the law. No readers' clubs, groups or associations are authorized to distribute this book on behalf of the author.

  Acknowledgements

  I'd like to thank several amazing women who came into my life very recently and swept me off of my feet with their amazing friendship. Caroline Baker with Naughty Lit Chic. I love your potty mouth and amazing heart. Don't change. Heather and Amy with Snarky Bloggers. Thank you for the amazing blog tour you guys put together practically on the fly. Teresa Muncus, thank you for your support and direction. Dana DeSchon, my little Energizer Bunny, personal calendar, stabilizer, and friend. Thank you for your dedication and hard work, your spark lights up my day.

  And finally I'd like to thank my entire Street Team. All of you ladies, every single one of you, have rocked my world. I hope I can return the favor. Thank each of you for every image you created, and every minute of your time you gave to help make my first book a success.

  Chapter One

  The newspaper went into the recycling bin with a crisp snap. I usually ignored the book reviews, but one of the titles intrigued me, The True Dom. The reviewer had given it five stars and written a glowing commentary about the author's brilliance. I thought, maybe, just maybe someone gave a different portrayal of those in the Dominate/submit lifestyle. Wishful thinking. It was just another compilation of fuck-font, confusing a Dick with a Dom.

  The lifestyle had become ridiculously overrun with fake Doms exploiting the pool of victims ignorantly, and sometimes openly begging to be brutalized. And with the fifty shades of kink epidemic, the shit had exploded and people flocked to it with barely a clue what they were getting into. The result was a feeding frenzy of epic proportion with untold carnage.

  The wastebasket was nearly empty, but I bundled the items to drop off to the recycling center anyway. The urge to clean something, or put one thing right in the world, was more than I could stand. A bold heading on the back of the newspaper I'd thrown away caught my eye. "Dom Wars". I snatched the newspaper out and read.

  Do you naturally Dominate others? Do you get your way through control and discipline? Do others look to you for leadership?

  If so, prove it and win $1,000,000!

  Audition to compete on a reality TV show and prove to the world that you have what it takes to Dominate!

  The Ultimate Dom wins and will become the new face and spokesperson for the alternative lifestyle division of Gladiator, Inc, producer of bestselling adult novelties and toys.

  I stood riveted in pure what the fuck, no way in hell, shock. The piece went on to list terms and conditions and disclaimers, which I barely skimmed. Holy shit. They had to be kidding.

  A million? The idea of that much money began to dance in my head. Who couldn't use that? I stared at the ad, halfway chewing on my lower lip. The need to conquer infused my bones and suddenly pulsated like a powerhouse of influence in my cock. Challenge of any and every kind had always drawn me, fueled by some vague need to prove myself. The true test became choosing the wisest challenge.

  This was definitely a worthy and wise challenge. Becoming the Ultimate Dom? The face of Gladiator, Inc? Eh. Everything had its con.

  I jotted down the call for more details number, ready to learn what exactly this DOM WARS would require of me. Even though I'd been out of the lifestyle for several years, it shouldn't be a problem. Like riding a bike, for the most part. And my Dom wasn't a role I played, it was my nature. If it was an authentic gig, I should be fine. But until I knew that, the thoughts creating a lightning storm in my head would have to simmer.

  ****

  All the possibilities Dom Wars might entail absorbed my mind as I jogged around the lake at the park a few blocks from my house. Images of sweaty bodies in soft light, the sound of leather smacking flesh, moans of pain mingled with pleasure, and a myriad of other scenes I'd participated in through the years flashed through my head.

  The memory of a woman's ass as I soothed away the sting of a spanking drove heat straight to my cock. The thrill of a submissive's ultimate trust in me as she gave herself over entirely to the pleasure I could bring her made my heart pound. It also brought the empty feeling I slept with every night no matter how much sex there was. It was as if I ate, but the food left by some hole in my stomach, never providing satisfaction or nourishment. It created a hungry monster inside me.

  My hot shower sluiced away the sweat, but not the memories. The scenes playing out in my mind made my cock throb even though I knew indulging never answered that fucking need I couldn't name. And there was no more ignoring it. It'd dominated me. Bent me to its mysterious will, drove me out of the Dom lifestyle and into a soul search for who and what the fuck I really was. There was a war of wills inside me. Against my Dom and this… other consuming force. There needed to be a truce between the two or a fucking beat down. I wanted my body and mind back.

  Still semi-erect and nude, I headed to the bedroom and dropped to the bed, head hanging. Water droplets fell to my bare legs, those images returning to torment me. And not just images. I could practically feel the warm puffy flesh of a just-spanked ass, begging my touch to sooth the sting away. Just jack the fuck off and get it done.

  I closed my eyes, hating that it was hard for me. But it was. I couldn't seem to convince my stupid Dom brain that it wasn't a fight I'd lost, or me licking my wounds.

  I sat there, torn with the need to crush my own dominance, my own stupid reasoning. I laid back in an act of self-defiance and drew my knees up. Needing to get away from the reality, I closed my eyes. Bodies flashed in my mind and I grabbed my cock in one hand and cupped my balls with the other.

  I searched my memory for the right fantasy, stroking myself. Women bound in various positions. I clenched my eyes tighter, focusing on their moans, the looks on their faces in ecstasy. My cock throbbed with life and I let my knees fall open as I listened to the sounds of her moans, delicate at first. I loved those.

  Another sound encroached on my fantasy, deeper, sultrier. The woman who'd nearly crushed my balls.

  Like a deflating tire, the desire left me. I sat up with a growl and scrubbed my head. Too many fucking memories. Too many women.

  The phone rang and I walked nude to the other side of the couch in the living room and picked up the handset. "Yeah?"

  A moment of silence and then, "Hello son. Tell me why you insist on answering the phone with such a disrespectful tone."

  I closed my eyes. Why didn't I fucking look at the caller ID? I hurried to my room for a robe, feeling like he could see and was sneering at my body. Not bulky enough. Like a little swimmer, he'd say. "Well hi, Dad. Good to hear from you, too." I kept my voice smooth as silk, refusing to give him the flat monotone he'd insisted I use all my life whenever I spoke with him. "Did you really call just to annoy yourself with my lack of phone etiquette?"

  The way his breathing changed sent a l
ittle thrill of triumph through me. The chase was on, reminding me of my teen years. When my dominance set in, I subconsciously provoked him, then ran like hell. Mostly to take his brutal focus off my siblings.

  He grunted. "Actually, I'm calling about your mother. Her birthday, rather. Her sixtieth is coming up next month and your sisters are organizing a party for her." He paused as if to let that sink in. "You will attend, of course, and without your usual arrogance and disrespect. I will not tolerate any sort of disruption or anything that might distress your mother. Hannah will contact you this afternoon with the specifics. Shall I arrange a female companion? Or are you capable of finding a suitable date yourself?"

  The last time I'd gone home, my then-sub accompanied me. The old man had been deeply offended at her blatant disregard for him while her deference to me was obvious. "I'm sure I can manage that one myself." I waited to see what else he would say.

  For a moment he remained silent. "And Lucian? Don't disappoint her any further. I presume you are still pretending to be a journalist?"

  I hardened my jaw to prevent the sarcastic reply from flying out of my mouth. Because I freelanced meant it didn't count. Indie anything didn't count with him, no matter the money it made. He probably thought I whored for rent and really, that was more than fine by me, funny even. I remembered the audition for that adult toy company, and suddenly, winning that reality show and having my face plastered all over the country by some dildo dot com was all so very sweet.

  When I didn't rise to the bait, he continued as if we were chatting about the weather. "By the way, who is Jude Flerk? He's called my private line several times, trying to reach you. He said it was a matter of life and death for Little Sister and Momma, whoever that is. Something about new owners of Hank Delacour's business. You need to tell him to not call this number again."

  A cold frisson of dread shot down my spine. Dear God. Several of my subs had come to me with habits, and like any good, ignorant Dom, I provided what they needed. I finally realized I was only enabling them, but by that time, I'd ran through my small inheritance from Aunt Alexis. A lot of the subs had become addicts and like any addict, they did what they had to for a fix. Even charge it to my tab without me knowing. Either I paid or the subs did and I couldn't let that happen. I considered it miraculous that Hank, the pusher, was a halfway decent man and let me make notes. Fuck, this was bad news.

  I assured my father I'd handle it and we said our stiff cordial goodbyes and hung up. Thank God.

  I went to the bedroom and dressed, contemplating the possibilities and opportunities of the reality show. Fuck. Getting paid to get under the old man's skin was no longer on my mind. Fucking drug debts for drugs I never used, would be my downfall. I needed to make a real effort of winning the fucking competition.

  Chapter Two

  "Mam. Mam! Line's moving."

  I snapped to attention and closed the gap, then assessed the amount of people standing around for nearly two hours. So much for thinking I could get some kind of early-bird advantage at the audition. I put my nose back in my Kindle, devouring every letter of the BDSM lifestyle manual. I was on my third read and that's all it would take to be able to ace any test they threw my way.

  I discreetly snuck my eyeballs to the woman and man behind me wearing poorly stitched black shiny leather. It was just the right amount of strange that you wanted to stare and see what exactly was wrong with it. Most of the people there wore things that looked like costumes for a Halloween party. Corsets and high heels, leather pants, studded collars and heavy chains. Clothes for another species, it seemed.

  Laughter came from somebody down the line behind me. The strong deep sound compelled me to lean over and try to locate the source.

  "The line's moving, sugar." The gravelly voice of the man at my back startled me and I dropped my damn Kindle.

  I lurched for it, praying it hadn't cracked and my backpack toppled off my shoulder and onto the ground, sending my little tin of lucky pennies exploding out of the thing. Geeze. "Go around, go around." I shooed the people waiting behind me. "Just… keep driving."

  I snuck glances around me, not letting my gaze get much higher than knees as I collected the cute little third grader tin can and change scattered to kingdom come. I felt like a beggar, picking up pennies someone flung at me. Gramma insisted I take it to my awesome new job interview in the next town over that paid so much money she'd be out of the nursing home in a month if I got it. It was cruel to give her that kind of hope but damn it, I couldn't help it, she needed it so badly. We both did.

  Jesus there were a lot of knees and legs. Don't look at the competition. I was ready to leave the rest of the change on the ground, but with my luck, somebody would say hey, you missed some and then I'd have to talk to them. Wasn't happening.

  I glanced at the front of the line and calculated the distance into the audition. Fifteen minutes maybe. Fear cut at my stomach.

  "Need some help?" A man stooped next to me, directing his intense blue gaze at me.

  "Uh. Thank you." I continued picking up the change, realizing I'd misspoken. No thank you was the intended response. And now he was helping me pick up my lunch money.

  It was so awkward there were no words. I hurried through the humiliation as fast as I could and before I knew it, he held his hand out to give me the money. I was suddenly terrified to touch him. "Keep it. For your help."

  His hand remained, no doubt in confusion, because who gave you their spilled pennies after you helped pick them up? Girls from Missouri with social paranoia with men. Handsome men with blue eyes. Black hair. What was he doing there, anyway? He didn't match the crowd. I hurried back in line, leaving him to deal with the handful of unwanted change.

  "No cutting."

  I looked at the woman who'd spoken. "I was in line."

  "I didn't see you." The deep voice came from a few feet back.

  I searched for the couple I'd been near and suddenly finding the two odd people in the sea of oddness was the last thing I wanted to do in that second. I made my way to the end of the long line. It'd give me more time to study. Good.

  I froze when the hunk who'd helped me pick up spare change approached. Eyes on Kindle. Studying.

  "You mind if I tag along? I'm not in a big hurry."

  Something in his tone drew my gaze. "You're not here for the audition?"

  "Oh, yeah, I am…" He shrugged a little and lowered his head with a cute smile before angling his eyes at me, his look sending my heart to my stomach. "Came to win a million dollars. You?"

  The mention of money woke me from my dork daze. "Yes, me too."

  He chuckled and turned an exact gaze on me. "You realize we can't both win, right?"

  I nodded slowly then more firmly.

  "You have a plan?"

  Realization bloomed all bubbly inside. This was the informant I so desperately needed for all those questions I didn't dare ask out loud. "I plan to win?"

  He grinned all cute, his brows raising over mirthful blue eyes. "How do you plan to do that?"

  "How do you?"

  He threw his head back and gave that laugh I'd heard earlier. Now I wondered who had made him do that before and a twinge of something like jealously ran through me. He put his arm around my shoulder and whispered at my ear, "Sweetheart… what are you doing here?"

  A million signals went off in my mind and body like fireworks, all shooting in crazy directions. Threat. Friend. Threat. Friend, blared all over the place. The low husky tone was the threat and it sent electricity arcing through all my nerve endings, practically begging for his touch. But the kindness, the concern, maybe some compassion, was the friend. The friend I desperately needed.

  I regained my backbone and removed his arm from around me. "I came to win. I told you."

  He put his hands in his black slacks, biting the corner of his full lower lip.

  I eyed his outfit. "You're dressed differently than everyone else."

  "So are you."

  I snorte
d at the understatement. "I don't dress to impress."

  "Really. What do you dress for?"

  I looked at him, puzzled with his genuine tone. "For me." I looked him over deliberately, allowing my gaze to linger at certain points. "Who do you dress for?"

  "For me as well." He was smiling like he had a secret about me that I didn't know.

  I rested my case with a little salute.

  "Subs usually dress for their Doms."

  Ah. He was going to dig. "That's nice." I'd let him dig a bit and see how much I could learn before asking questions.

  "So you're saying you came without your Dom." The corners of his luscious mouth tipped upward, just the barest hint of a smile.

  "No," I corrected in a sweet voice. "I'm saying I'm my own Dom."

  There he went with that amazing laugh again, the one that reached out and stroked you. Only this time it was accompanied with the burn of shame you get when somebody laughs in your face at how stupid you are.

  "What?" I didn't hide my annoyance and he laughed more like I was just a piece of work.

  "What?" He looked at me, all Mr. Perplexed to the extreme. "Your own Dom?"

  I turned away from his dumbfounded raised brows. He thought I was stupid. I could see it, even hear it in his theatrical tone. "You find that funny, I see. But a Dom is merely a personality trait, sir. I didn't read anywhere in the manual where you can't be your own boss."

  He stared at me in wide-eyed bafflement. "Wow. I mean you're right, of course, it is a personality trait." I braced for the except he clearly intended to voice. "But this is in regards to those in this lifestyle. The lifestyle you clearly have no clue about. The lifestyle you're auditioning to become the image for. People in the BDSM community don't consider a Dom just someone who's her own boss. It's far more than being assertive or bossy."

  "The ad described me. I'm a perfectly good Dom. People listen to me when I tell them what to do. I take charge. I get things done. If there's a problem, I solve it I don't whine and cry about it. I'm my own boss in my life, and I don't take shit. Or cry."