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The Club Owner's Troubles - ebook

Product Type:
eBook
Price:
$8.50
SKU:
PF6213
Author:
ISBN:
9781938897641
Publish Date:
06/13/2014
Quantity:
Available Formats:
PDF
ePub Reader
Kindle - .mobi
Kindle - .prc
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Product Description

The Club Owner's Troubles by Lance Edwards

Dara Dupree was a Caribbean street girl and prostitute who rose to wealth and power running the most popular fetish club in the islands. To treat herself upon reaching such success, she buys an adolescent male to conceal in an underground apartment below her estate.

She settles in to live out all her dreams of slavery and domination, and to slowly expose Drew, a virgin raised in ignorance of anything but his training, to all the amazing challenges and rewards his life will demand. So it goes with emotional up and downs, until competition with a rival nightclub owner escalates into a conflict that sees her club burned to the ground and Dara kidnapped by gangsters.

While she faces death and all the torture and sexual abuse she’d been inflicting on Drew, he is left alone bound and secreted underground to face a lingering, even more grisly end. In their separate desperate straits they resolve the personal issues that had been afflicting them, and escape to find eventual triumph and love together.

Contains tons of bondage, torture, orgasm denial, strap-on and mechanized sex along with unbridled worship of the female. Ending involves degradation, drug use and watersports.


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Excerpt

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!” My ecstatic cries reverberate around this spacious basement apartment for the first – but certainly not the last – time.
I’m not worried that someone might overhear me masturbating. For one thing I live alone (though that’s about to change) and the few servants have been dismissed for the day. For another my house is quite secluded even on this teeming resort island: set back amid expansive grounds behind a high stone wall and guarded by a state-of-the-art security system. And finally this carefully concealed, rather specialized living space has been soundproofed completely. I could be holding a party for hundreds upstairs and no one would have a clue that anything at all was going on a few meters below their feet. The renovations I’ve been planning for so long have finally been completed.
My name is Dara Dupree, and today is an extremely big day for me – one I’ve been looking forward to my whole life practically. Now that it’s here at last I’ve chosen to celebrate it, and christen this sumptuous, wondrously equipped and hidden alternate universe of mine with a bath and orgasm or three before heading out on my most momentous shopping excursion ever. Lounging in the huge marble tub, immersed in hot, churning, bubbly water up to my admittedly enormous breasts, I’ve finished slowly bathing the spectacular body that first made me rich. Now I’m using a waterproof vibrator to pleasure myself to the kind of climax no man has yet proved capable of giving me. Despite having had so much sex I’ve become intolerably jaded at the young age of twenty-eight, I’ve never found it properly satisfying.
Starting today all of that will change. Soon I’ll be able to live out all my scandalous fantasies, indulge all of my most depraved desires. Business at my nightclub (the most celebrated and exclusive one on the island, possibly in this whole part of the Caribbean) has been simply fabulous for over two years straight. I’ve been able to remodel the spacious basement according to my extremely specific needs at last. Now, today, this very afternoon, I’m finally going out to buy the perfectly raised, trained and groomed slave I’ve always wanted to keep down here.
Mistress Nera, the procurer I finally hooked up with, won’t tell me anything about him physically beyond his age (he just turned eighteen), claiming to want to keep her surprise. So I have to use my imagination as I fantasize. But that’s all right. It’s never really been about how he looks – though of course, he must certainly be very attractive. What turns me on is picturing all the things I’ll finally be able to do to him. And so I thrash and splash, moan and cry and play with myself for upwards of an hour as I do so, until I’ve climaxed the requisite three times and am at least temporarily sated. Then I lounge and soak in blissful recuperation for a while before I sigh and climb up out of the huge sunken tub.
The water level drops appreciably when I do so, even though I’m not even five feet tall. I’m not going to tell you or anyone else my weight – my measurements will have to suffice. I’m a 46-28-42, with a double-H bra cup. Growing up I was always derided as a ‘chubby shorty’, but I definitely have the last laugh now. Though I don’t have a traditional fashion model body, I’m not what you could call truly fat either.
Okay, my breasts are gigantic, as are my hips and ass. My arms are thick and meaty and my thighs are absolutely huge too. I’m stout around the middle, yet not enough to detract from what remains a classic hourglass shape. The point is that I’m not flabby anywhere. No rolls of fat pooch out my nice smooth belly and nothing jiggles that shouldn’t. No stretch marks, cellulite or indeed blemishes or imperfections of any kind mar my acres of light brown skin. The only dimples are in my cherubic cheeks and though my neck is thick too I still have only the one chin.
The fact is, I’m the perfect example of a body type that a vast number of men have always found outrageously appealing, so much so that I was a hugely successful exotic dancer and then high-class call girl from the ages of sixteen to twenty-three – by which time I’d earned enough to buy my own club and put my equally gifted brain to work instead. Fashion designers and casting directors may worship rail-thin stick women. But mankind has been carving my shape, the ultimate fertility goddess/Venus figure, into stone for tens of thousands of years. Men have lusted after and even truly worshipped big hips and breasts since time immemorial. And if you want them, baby I’ve got ‘em! Grinning happily to myself I towel my short but unbelievably lush figure off, wrap my curly black hair in another thick towel and slip into a monogrammed silk robe. Then I move from the bathroom facilities past the enormous bed (everything is all open space at this end of the high-ceilinged apartment) to one of the nearly silent elevators that allow access to this place.
The door is undisguised down here and I merely tap a five-digit code into the keypad to open it. I step in, close the door and tap the button that sends me quietly upward. Moments later the door slides open two floors above on a pane of tinted glass. I trip an unobtrusive catch and this swings outward. I step through into the roomy wardrobe off my master bedroom and close both the door and glass behind me. Now the latter is simply a full length mirror on the back wall of the closet, undetectable even to the maid who comes in here several times a week. Grinning smugly to myself I move to pick out an outfit appropriate to the occasion.
Eschewing any underwear I slip into a tight white strapless minidress and pull on soft white boots that rise to just past the knee. For jewelry I go with silver: a couple of big bracelets and an almost inch-wide necklace that’s close to being a choker. After drying my hair and trapping it behind my ears with a matching white band I apply a little makeup and I’m ready to go. Slipping on mirrored sunglasses I make my way through the empty house to the garage. Bypassing the three fancy cars (a Mercedes convertible, an Audi sedan and a gleaming white Corvette) I climb into the strictly functional black van and I’m on my way.
As always when passing through the grounds – fountains, flowerbeds, fruit trees and immaculately manicured lawns – I feel a strong stirring of pride. I’ve come quite a ways from the poor dancer and hooker of mixed heritage and unknown parentage! It makes me happy to know that I’ll be bringing my even lower-born slave into the lap of such luxury.
He’ll have to suffer dearly for the privilege, and he’ll likely never see more of the estate than the lavishly appointed and equipped apartment I’ve provided to enjoy him in. But he’ll certainly find himself in far more luxurious circumstances than he’s yet encountered in his severely circumscribed life. I have no doubt about that whatsoever. Using the dashboard remote I let myself out of the gate and lock it behind me. Then I wend my winding way downhill from my own exclusive neighborhood, through the touristy part of the island and toward a part of the coast well away from the main harbor. While not in the teeming slums I came from, Mistress Nera’s establishment is naturally tucked a bit off the beaten track where business can be discreetly conducted by sea as easily as by land. I’m expected and when I pull up to a nondescript warehouse door and beep the horn it trundles right up. Feeling my excited anticipation crank up another notch I pull in.
Nera herself steps out of a steel door and greets me with a wide smile. Stork-tall and thin she makes me feel like a chubby shorty all over again in her elegant black suit and stiletto heels. That’s all right though – it takes all kinds to make a world. All gleaming teeth and twinkling eyes in her dark-dark face she gestures for me to back up to the loading dock. Either salesmanship or natural confidence that I’ll be delighted enough to make my purchase on the spot this assurance is welcome and I do as directed. By the time I’ve parked and climb out of the van she’s right there to exchange beaming cheek kisses with me.
“Miss Dupree – or should I say Mistress Dara, as you will shortly be known – how wonderful it is to see you again!”
“Likewise, Nera! Tell me again how delighted I’m going be with this slave you have for me. It seems like I’ve been waiting forever.”
“You’re going to be simply enchanted, darling. And the timing has worked out perfectly. You know I don’t like to sell them until they’re legally adults and this one has just turned eighteen today. Come, let me go into my sales pitch all over again as we head downstairs. I know you’ve heard most of this before, but I just can’t contain myself. This boy is simply delicious, a perfect mix of genes, training, and circumstance. I’m truly sorry I can’t keep him for my own stable, but this one is just too valuable not to sell, especially to a discerning first-time customer – and hopefully soon-to-be dear friend like you.”

Artist Credit

Ollyy - Shutterstock.com

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