Read the 1st Chapter of Destined for the Dom Free

Read the Prologue and 1st Chapter of Destined for the Dom

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Dressed as Genghis Khan, Hunter Black scanned the large room. The New Year masquerade party was going down a blast. Club Submission was packed to overflowing with party revelers. They all wore fancy dress costumes, most of which revealed plenty of flesh, leaving very little to the imagination. He smiled knowingly, but then what did he expect.

Submission was a BDSM club, and just about anything and everything went down here. Yeah, every sexual fantasy a man or woman desired could be enjoyed right here at Club Submission. As a Dom, he felt right at home.

Quite early on in life he’d discovered his predisposition for the D/s lifestyle. He needed the buzz of a woman’s submission as much as the air that he breathed.

The clock struck twelve, and a huge cheer went up. “Happy New Year, everyone,” shouted the tall well-built guy fondling his sub’s naked breast.

As the club erupted into a slightly out-of-tune rendition of “Auld Lang Syne,” he moved across to the bar and pulled out a stool. “Hey, Todd, give me a bourbon will you. A large one to see the New Year in, and have one yourself, buddy.”

“Thanks, Hunter.” Todd filled two shot glasses, and slid one across the bar. “So where’s Trudy?”
Hunter raised the glass. “Me and Trudy split.”

“That’s too bad. I thought you two were getting serious?”

Hunter lazily swirled the golden liquor around his glass. Settling down was the last thing on his mind. He’d seen too much destruction in the world. “Nah, you know me, Todd. I’m not a settling-down type of guy.”

“That’s what Zane said. Now look at him.”

They both watched Zane dancing with his gorgeous new sub, Emma. Dressed as the devil and Cleopatra, they looked incredibly happy as they embraced. Hunter had to admit he felt a little envious, but he wouldn’t let on to Todd. Instead he turned away from the smooching couple.

This year everything seemed more poignant than ever. A young woman who’d frequented the club had tragically lost her life. Why had it happened? He’d only known her by sight, but he just couldn’t shake her image from his mind. It seemed such a waste, but it also underlined how fleeting life could be.

His thoughts drifted to the past. His life simply overflowed with regrets. Why couldn’t he keep any of the promises he’d made? Maybe then he wouldn’t be so lonely.

Trying to stave off his melancholy, he asked the barman, “So have you made any New Year’s resolutions, Todd?”

“Nope, not a one. As a single guy, I just take life as it comes. What about you?”

Hunter threw back his head and took a large slug of bourbon. “I only ever made one New Year resolution in my whole Goddamn life. I didn’t stick to it, so I’ll be damned if I make the same mistake again.”

Once again he was reminded of his past. Of course, as a thirty-two-year-old man, he’d had his fair share of regrets, but failing to keep a New Year’s promise fourteen years ago was a low point in his life. He remembered the girl he’d made it to—Zoë Leighton. He’d made a pledge back then, but hadn’t seen it through. Even though they were just kids at the time, it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. He recalled his very words.

I promise I’ll come back for you, Zoë. I’ll find a place for us to live. As soon as you’re old enough to leave here, I’ll come back for you.

It was all going to be so simple, but as usual, life had other ideas. That was a long time ago now, and he’d never once returned to Pittsburgh in all that time. Fuck. He shook his head. What a selfish, uncaring prick he’d been, but he just couldn’t face seeing Zoë’s disappointment.

At eighteen, he’d enrolled in the Marines, figuring the don’t-give-a-fuck lifestyle would suit him perfectly.
Some decisions were right, while others were downright suicidal. The Marines had seriously fucked him up. He’d really enjoyed the intensive physical training, but a stint in Iraq, followed almost immediately by a long tour of duty in Afghanistan had changed him beyond all recognition.

The sheer horror of what he’d seen and done had fucked with his mind. Just like vultures picking over the bones of a dead carcass, his time in the US Marine Corps had stripped him clean of all feeling and emotion. Now all that remained was a fighting machine devoid of love and intimacy.

So just where had the freethinking and optimistic Hunter Black gone—the young guy Zoë had depended on?
He took another slug of bourbon, and slid the empty glass across the counter. “Same again, Todd.”

Melancholy forced him to wonder what had happened to that beautiful green-eyed girl. Was she happy? He hoped she was far happier than he was. He guessed by now she’d be married with a family of her own.

Funny how life sometimes threw you a curveball. Just over six months ago, he’d bumped into an old friend. As a Federal Air Marshal, he met a lot of people, and Jake McGovern just happened to be on the same flight as him. He’d grown up with Jake and Zoë at St. Mark’s, a children’s home in Pittsburgh. The three of them were close buddies, all trying to survive life in care as best they could. Similar in ages, Jake and himself had been ten. Zoë was barely eight years old when he’d met her for the first time. As three frightened kids all alone in life, they’d huddled together looking for comfort from each other. He knew the children’s care system well. Families were few and far between who were willing to adopt older children from broken homes. He figured prospective foster parents thought they’d be a handful to look after. They’d have been right, too. On the flight to New York, Jake had told him that he’d briefly seen and spoken with Zoë. Apparently she was working as a dancer at Les Belles, a club located in a seedier part of Pittsburgh.

Hunter raised his glass, and silently toasted the young woman from his past. To, Zoë, I sincerely hope you’re happy, love. If I’m ever in Pittsburgh, I might just look you up and make sure. If only to ease my conscience.

Three months later

Wishing to apply her makeup as professionally as possible, Zoë Leighton leaned closer to the dressing-room mirror. Those damned lights covering the frame did nothing for her complexion. Their overexposed brightness made her skin appear gray and lifeless. She smiled resignedly and shook her head as she carefully applied fiery-red lipstick. Who was she kidding. At the age of thirty, she guessed it was a case of diminishing returns.

In the mirror she couldn’t help but be distracted by the naked butts and breasts as the other girls got ready for work. Laughing and joking with one another, the stars of today and tomorrow were getting ready for opening time. Just like them, she had burned brightly once. She’d been in demand, too. Rich, important men had wanted her to dance for them all night long, but now she was lucky to get a fraction of the attention and money she’d once received. Soon it wouldn’t be worth her time and effort to come in at all. Then what would she do? Waitress? The money she earned at Les Belles had been fantastic in her early days at the club. Far more than she could have earned in a boring but safe nine-to-five job.

Some of the girls would even leave with the men who frequented the club. They weren’t supposed to. It was strictly against the rules at Les Belles. The management knew it went on, but they turned a blind eye to it. Zoë had been propositioned on several occasions, but sleeping with men for money just wasn’t her style. She knew it was prostitution by any other name, and she’d rather go hungry than give herself away like that. Men could look all they wanted, and she knew they jerked off to a mental image of her when they returned home, but under no circumstances were they ever allowed to touch her. This was one rule the management at Les Belles did enforce without exception. She knew that being naked yet untouchable gave her the power over the men who paid to see her dance. Guys acted like real jerks when a woman danced for them. Just watching a scantily clad girl seemed to disconnect their powers of reasoning and judgment. They were like lambs to the slaughter, happily parting with ten-dollar bills, just because the dancer gyrating in front of them flaunted her tits and ass.

The door to the changing room suddenly swung wide open, and her friend and work colleague, Karen, burst in. She was breathless as she spoke. “Thank God I made it in time. That fucking babysitter turned up late again.” Sighing loudly and shaking her head, she sat down at the dressing table next to Zoë’s. “I don’t know, I pay good money and yet the babysitter treats me like shit. She knows what I do for a living, so she thinks she can treat me like crap, and get away with it.” In an effort to get up to speed, she hurriedly began applying makeup to her face.

Zoë picked up a brush and proceeded to pull it through Karen’s mane of blonde hair. “Here, let me help.”

“Thanks, you’re a real doll.”

They both knew that the sooner they got ready, the sooner they could attract the attention of a paying customer. Time was money in this business.

Karen patted Zoë’s hand, and smiled. “Thanks, doll, you’re a true friend. You don’t get many people you can rely on in this game.” Changing the subject, she said, “Hey, on my way in I noticed there’s a lot of new faces out there. It should be a good night.”

Zoë brushed Karen’s blonde locks once more. “Let’s hope so. I’m a month behind with the rent, and my landlord isn’t noted for his patience.”

Karen swiveled in her seat, and looked at her. Caring, soft brown eyes studied her more closely. “I can lend you some money, Zoë. You’re the only real friend I’ve got in this stinking world.”

Zoë shook her head. “Thanks, but I can’t allow you to do that. I still owe you fifty bucks from last month. You’ve already done more than enough. If I don’t start getting more attention from the guys out there, I’m gonna have to look elsewhere for work. I’m gonna give it till the end of the month before I finally hang up my G-string for good.” She forced an unconvincing smile.

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m not getting any younger, Karen, and in this business we’re not allowed to grow old and lose our looks.”

“Tell me about it, doll. It’s a fucking crying shame that men cast us aside as soon as our tits and ass start to sag.”

Zoë put her head back and roared with laughter. “Honey, believe me they cast women aside at any age.” As a young teenager, a kid of just sixteen, she’d been let down by a man. Men just couldn’t be trusted, not a single one of them.

“I know exactly how you feel, Zoë. I’m five years younger than you are, and I can already sense a lack of interest in some of the guys. At least there’s some fresh faces out there tonight.”

Zoë squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “Hey, you’re such a beautiful girl, Karen. You’ve still got plenty of time left to make good money here at the club, and at least you’ve got your kids and Dale. I don’t have a man to care for me like you do.”

Her friend’s brows drew together. “What about Mike?”

“I threw him out a week ago. Just look what the animal did to me when he’d had too much to drink.” Zoë unclasped a large leather bracelet from around her wrist to reveal the dark, ugly bruise beneath.

“Holy shit, Zoë. I’d never have thought Mike was like that. He always seemed such a nice guy.”

“Yeah, well, when he used to pick me up, let’s just say he was on his best behavior.” Zoë had grown tired of defending Mike’s drunken rages. Enough was enough. While he was out at work one day, she changed all the locks, packed his belongings, and threw it all in the street. He hadn’t been happy, but then neither was she. He was frustrated by life the same as she was, but she was tired of being his punch bag. Let him find someone else to vent his anger on.

Looping a band around her beautiful golden locks, Karen put the finishing touches to her hair. After drawing it into a ponytail, she stood up. “Well truth be told, I’m glad the bastard’s gone. I never liked him anyway. I never thought he was good enough for you, doll.”

“But I thought you liked Mike?”

“Zoë, he was your man, and I respected that, so I’d never do him down to you, or any of the other girls at Les Belles. But now he’s history, I can tell you I never trusted the creep.”

“Well that makes two of us now, Karen.” She laughed.

They made their way out front where the action was, squeezing each other’s hands as they parted company. The heady music throbbed and pulsated, easing away Zoë’s worries and insecurities. She switched off her emotions. Nothing could hurt her when she was in the zone. Here at Les Belles she was no more than a mannequin, a doll to be studied and observed. Men never wanted to know the true Zoë Leighton. They were quite happy to accept the facsimile of the woman she presented to them. At Les Belles she could be anything she wanted to be. Tonight, she’d imagine she was a beautiful young girl waiting to dance naked for her sexy man. It was her defense mechanism, a way of surviving the soul-destroying business she found herself in. Zoë’s coping strategy had served her well these past twelve years.

As she scanned the faceless men before her, she wanted more than anything else for her time at Les Belles to become just a distant memory.

She watched Karen climb onto the stage, before placing her bottle of mineral water on the floor. She then began dancing to the beat, whirling her sexy body around the chrome pole.

Zoë moved to the bar, and ordered herself a drink. “An orange juice please, Frank.”

“Coming right up, Zoë. How’s life treating you, honey?” He shook the bottle, then tipped the contents into a glass.

“Fine, Frank. Getting by in the shitty world we find ourselves in.”

“That’s all we can do, honey. Ice as usual?”

“Please.”

He topped her drink with crushed ice, then added a sparkle and handed it to her. “You’re the prettiest girl out there, honey.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Frank, you make my day as always.”

Completely in a world of her own, Zoë never once looked at the guys in the audience. In her mind they just didn’t exist. She watched Karen, gyrating around the pole. Her lithe, athletic body flowing from one sinuous movement to another. She was such a beautiful girl, she soon had an audience of men willing to slip ten-dollar bills into her G-string, taking a long, lingering look at what lay inside. When a fat guy beckoned to Karen, she moved across and leaned provocatively forward, pushing her breasts together as he tucked money inside her bra.

Jocelyn, the floor manager, came across and whispered in Zoë’s ear, “The guy sitting at table eight wants you to dance for him. Shouldn’t be a problem, Zoë, he’s a real looker. If I were ten years younger, I’d be tempted to do it myself for free.” She laughed.

Zoë smiled at Jocelyn’s humorous comments. She grabbed her orange juice and wound her way through the tables. It seemed her sexy man awaited. She hoped he was as fit as Jocelyn had made out, and not an ugly four-hundred-pound guy with halitosis. Table eight was hidden in a discreet alcove. Sometimes it was deliberately chosen by customers, aiming to get the girls to do more than just dance.

As she squeezed into the alcove, she glanced quickly at the man. There was an air of danger about him. Each of his well-developed forearms sported large tribal tattoos. “Hi, I’m Chantelle.” At Les Belles they never used their real names. She made direct eye contact with him. Men loved this. It made them feel special and important. Dumb jerks. Dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, he somehow seemed familiar. His dark-blond hair appeared streaked by the summer sun. The thick texture caressed idly around his collar. His vivid blue eyes held hers. The familiarity of this guy unnerved her. She shook the unsettling thought from her head. Most probably she’d danced for him before, although she couldn’t remember when. “Would you like me to dance for you?”

“No, just sit down. I prefer to talk.”

Zoë looked at him again. Just who is this guy? I feel sure I should recognize him, but I don’t. Is he dangerous? His shoes were well polished, and he wore an expensive watch. He didn’t seem like the average jerk that frequented the club. “Sir, I’m happy to dance for you, or just talk, but nothing else. I hope I make myself clear.” She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

She heard him let out a long, slow breath. “You don’t recognize me do you, Zoë?”

Her body stiffened when he used her real name. “How do you know me? How do you know my name?”

“It’s me, Zoë, Hunter. Surely you remember me?” His voice was deep and strong, and reminded her of safety.

Her lower lip quivered. The only Hunter she knew had broken her heart when she was just a teenage girl. She shook her head, not wanting to believe it was really him.