Deep Control Read online

  Deep Control

  (Dark Dominance Book Two)

  Annabel Joseph

  Copyright © 2018 Annabel Joseph

  EPUB Edition

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This book contains edgy forms of sensuality that should not be attempted by the uneducated or inexperienced. In other words, don’t try this at home.

  All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  One: At Via Sofferenza

  Two: Devin

  Three: Ella

  Four: Devin

  Five: Ella

  Six: Devin

  Seven: Ella

  Eight: Devin

  Nine: Ella

  Ten: Devin

  Eleven: Ella

  Twelve: Devin

  Thirteen: Ella

  Fourteen: Devin

  Fifteen: Ella

  Sixteen: Devin

  Seventeen: Ella

  Eighteen: Devin

  Nineteen: Ella

  Twenty: Devin

  Twenty-One: Ella

  Twenty-Two: Devin

  Twenty-Three: Ella

  Twenty-Four: Devin

  Twenty-Five: Ella

  Twenty-Six: Devin

  Twenty-Seven: Ella

  Twenty-Eight: Devin

  Twenty-Nine: Ella

  Thirty: Devin

  Thirty-One: Into the Horizon

  A Final Note

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  About the Author

  Chapter One: At Via Sofferenza

  I strolled the streets of Pisa’s seedier districts, trying to decide if I wanted to get hammered, or get laid. I couldn’t do both, since I preferred to get laid via kink clubs, and the one in Pisa had a strict no-alcohol rule. As a pilot, I had access to BDSM clubs all over the world, and you’d better believe I took advantage.

  Of course, each club had their community rules, enforced by the locals. I’d flown to the Tuscany area enough times that I was trusted in the clubs, and accepted as a Dominant, but I had to play by their rules. Via Sofferenza—loosely translated to Path of Suffering—was a hedonistic, wild place, but you weren’t allowed to drink because of that wildness.

  I paused on the corner, searching my morally compromised soul. Getting drunk in Tuscany was always an adventure, full of boisterous songs and emotional outbursts from the patrons around me. It was the easy, fun option for killing time. The kink clubs were more complicated, but also more pleasurable. In most cases, I could find a willing Italian submissive to toy with, both sadistically and sexually. My Scots heritage gave me an oversize height and build that was attractive to women, and my un-Italian blond hair and blue eyes drew them in.

  What did I feel like? Alcohol or sex?

  I wasn’t flying tomorrow, so I didn’t have to worry about sobriety. I’d be returning to New York as a charter passenger, having agreed to accompany a flight-phobic theoretical astrophysicist across the Atlantic to a New York research facility. I imagined playing air-support-coach to a nervous scientist while hungover from a night of drinking. Probably not the best idea.

  Sex, then. I started toward Via Sofferenza, pulling my coat tighter against a drizzle of April rain. I’d flown to Pisa to pick up my friend Fort, but he wasn’t available to do the nightlife thing with me. No, he was holed up near Cascina with his submissive, having repaired some issues in their relationship. Issues. Relationship. Both words disturbed me. Another perk of being a pilot: women never attempted to pin you down. They assumed you’d be flying away soon, and gave you leeway to maneuver in and out of their bedrooms.

  I tried to remember if I knew any submissives near Pisa, past lovers who might be open to a sadomasochistic fling. I hadn’t been here in a few months, so none sprang to mind.

  When I arrived at the nondescript club entrance, I paid the exorbitant cover charge for single males, while the women behind me were waved in for free. I didn’t mind the sexist fee scale. It was how clubs like this kept the creepers and gawkers out, and ensured the ratio wasn’t twenty men to every woman.

  Via Sofferenza was well run in other ways, too. It was clean, classy, and generously staffed with dungeon monitors. I walked along the outskirts of the main floor, taking in the current scenes. Unlike my BDSM club in New York—a private dungeon with only male Dominants—this dungeon had a lot of leather- and stiletto-clad Dommes. They abused their groveling subs with enthusiastic pleasure. Sadistic commands in Italian sounded a lot like sadistic commands in English, and the moans and groans of their victims sounded the same, too.

  I found a place against the wall and studied the club’s clientele, searching for a scene partner. I preferred to play hard, so I needed a sub willing to take risks. Body type was secondary. I was more interested in their scening preferences. Did they like to be hurt? Did they like to take chances? Were they self-possessed enough to walk away from an aftercare session with their psyche intact?

  I heard a shriek from the corner, and turned to find a group of men tormenting a blindfolded and gagged woman wearing nothing but a teensy black thong. She was bound, spread-eagled, to an open rack, so her back and front were exposed to the crowd around her. At first glance, the scene didn’t look okay. Too many men, and the sub was pulling frantically at her bonds. I moved toward her writhing body and noticed a torn sign taped around her stomach. I quickly translated the Italian. My last night here. Help me have fun.

  She’d apparently chosen to be tormented by this mob of excited Dominants. Very edgy. Just the type of submissive I liked.

  I joined the circle, admiring the sub’s petite, curvy frame. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, a little waist, and gorgeous, round tits. A man in front of her slapped her nipples and pussy, while a shorter man behind her wielded a paddle, giving her licks whenever the Dom in front signaled him. Each lick brought a strangled shriek from behind her black ball gag.

  The sub was small but strong, a bundle of energy flailing in her bonds. I examined her body language for signs she was in distress, but I didn’t know her well enough to judge. One of the men in the circle looked over as I edged nearer. His gaze informed me that he was the one taking care of her, the one who was here to judge her limits. I let out the breath I’d been holding and nodded a greeting.

  He nodded back. I’d be allowed to watch, but wasn’t sure yet if I’d be allowed to participate. I sauntered around the circle of spectators to the other side of the rack, listening to Italian mixed with English. I heard filthy sounding slang, but laughter too. They called their blonde victim “Ella,” and she was well liked here. Once I made my way around the back, I saw that her pert, round ass had already been well marked.

  Damn, she was sexy, not just because she was recklessness personified. It was her short stature combined with her hot energy. Her wavy hair was a deeper blonde than mine, with thick, tangled curls that bounced when she tossed her head. I imagined twisting my fingers in those curls, and grasping her narrow waist in my hands. If she was my sub, she would have spent a lot of time bent over, offering her glorious ass to be spanked, whipped, or fucked.

  “Want a turn?” asked her Dom, gesturing me forward. I moved to the sub’s front, to get a closer look at her mouth stretched around the gag. She had juicy, full lips that made me imagine a messy blowjob. I wished I could look in her eyes, but the blindfold was part of her scene. She probably needed it to let go, to understand that what was happening around her was out of her control.

  I ran m
y hands over her lovely tits, then pinched her rock-hard nipples. She drew in a breath, audible through the vented ball gag. Drool dripped onto her chest. I wanted to take the gag off too, because I wanted to hear her sighs and screams without the muffling plastic. I wondered if she was a tourist, or a grad student heading home from a study-abroad term. Good for her, capping it off with a Via Sofferenza orgy. This was the most fun thing I’d ever seen here.

  The last Dom had smacked her pussy, so I focused on her breasts, pinching and sucking them. She cried out and shoved her hips forward. “Oh, you like that?” I said against her ear. “You’re a good fucking girl, aren’t you?”

  She turned her head, even though she couldn’t see me through her blindfold. Registering my American accent? Maybe I was the only man in this taunting, horny circle who wasn’t known to her. Maybe that scared her. The thought aroused me, and my cock grew harder, the tip of it creeping toward the top of my pants. Her thong signaled no sex, but others had touched her over her panties, so I did too, pressing my middle finger against the sopping fabric between her legs.

  She moaned through the ball in her mouth. Even with the mask and gag distorting her features, I could tell she was pretty, not supermodel, plastic-surgery pretty, but naturally pretty. “Beautiful thing,” I murmured, so only she could hear. “If you were mine, I’d never gag you like this. I’d keep your mouth clear and open. I’d stick my cock in it all day.”

  I stroked her through her panties as I spoke, and felt her shudder. Such a sensitive pussy, or had my words aroused her? The frenzy around her quieted as the other men watched me fondle her. Did I look as turned on as I felt? I didn’t want to be the asshole who made her come when it was so much more fun to torment her, so I drew my fingers away. She pressed her hips forward, whining behind the gag.

  Horny little slut. I moved behind her, gesturing for someone else to take over the front. I needed a little time with her enticing ass. After the paddling, someone had cropped her with loud, rhythmic slaps until her cheeks were spotty and red. I stroked a hand over her heated flesh, then pulled the back of the thong up between her crack. She balanced on her toes with a groan.

  It took everything I had not to groan too. If it were just her and me, no rules, no clothes, I would have buried my cock inside her that second, popped open my fly and gone to town. Instead, I cupped her cheeks and fantasized, taking a deep breath against her soft, blonde hair. I wanted to grab her neck and squeeze. I wanted to bite her ear and shove a couple fingers in her asshole to scare her, but she wasn’t mine. I was a guest here, sharing a masochistic sub in good faith.

  I satisfied myself with spanking her. I held her waist and walloped her a few times with my palm. My hand was as big as her ass cheek. After each smack and shriek, I closed my fingers around whichever buttock I’d just punished, reveling in the round, feminine globes. She tensed and moaned, not just from what I was doing, but from the clamps that had been applied to her tits by her Dominant.

  I could have stood there groping and spanking her all night, but I’d already taken a longer turn than everyone else, so I stepped away and gestured for the next guy. Her Dom would finish her off soon if he had any heart at all. I wasn’t the only man who’d taken her to the edge of orgasm as she squirmed in her bonds. So much sexual energy. What a magnificent submissive. Her Dom was a lucky man.

  I knew I should head to some other corner of the dungeon and try to find a sub willing to relieve the pressure in my pants, but instead I stayed in the circle around Ella. Her Dom took charge shortly after I left, and the harder he played with her, the hotter she got. When he rolled on a condom with theatrical flair, the assembled group gave a cheer. I watched her, fascinated by her horniness. She practically climbed the man when he uncuffed her ankles. So hot.

  I wanted to see her come, wanted to hear the noises she made, but another part of me didn’t want to watch someone else fuck her, because I’d rather have done it myself. I prowled the dungeon instead, flirting with some women, but my senses were still trained on the corner where Ella played. I wasn’t watching when she came, but I heard the pleased reaction of her voyeurs. Fun and games. Kinky adventures.

  Why did I feel so wrought up?

  Her Dom took off her blindfold and gag to clean her up. There was nothing wrong in the way he treated her, except that I wanted to be the one touching her, the one experiencing her post-scene emotion. I wanted to be the one checking over her curvy body, then wrapping her in my arms. I wanted to be the one who got off inside her pussy, or maybe her asshole.

  As the group around them dissipated, I watched her from across the room. I couldn’t see her eyes that well, but she had a full, sexy mouth now that her lips weren’t stretched around the gag. She was smiling, snuggling between her Dom and another submissive. How sweet. When he spoke, she grinned up at him.

  If you were mine, I thought, you wouldn’t look at me so casually. There’d be a lot more fear in those eyes.

  Chapter Two: Devin

  The next afternoon, I slouched in a chair in the Galileo Flight Lounge of Pisa’s international airport, waiting to board the charter jet outside. My friend Fort and his submissive Juliet sat beside me, lost in each other’s eyes.

  No, she wasn’t only his submissive anymore. She was his girlfriend. The two of them had weathered a season of ups and downs that ended in this Tuscan reunion, and a tumble into love. Good for them. After all they’d gone through, they’d earned the right to irritate everyone around them with handholding, stolen kisses, and disgustingly tender exchanges that were loud enough for me to overhear.

  “I’m going to check our flight status,” I told Fort. He gave me a brief thumbs up, turning from Juliet for the barest moment. Adorable, the two of them. And annoying. I might not find them so unbearable if I’d managed to get laid last night, but I’d left Via Sofferenza soon after the group scene ended. The one woman I’d been interested in fucking had already been orgied into a subspacey orgasm. She would have been useless for the kinds of things I wanted to do to her.

  Too bad.

  I walked over to the airline liaison stationed in the corner of the room. Samantha was an old friend from the European circuit, a statuesque brunette with sultry eyes.

  “Captain Kincaid,” she said. “How nice to see you.”

  “Likewise.” I leaned on the counter beside her. “Think Dr. Novatny will show? We take off in less than an hour.”

  “We’ll see.” Samantha smiled and slid a look over my blue cashmere sweater, then down to my jeans. “You look handsomer in your pilot’s uniform.” Her gaze lingered, returning to my chest with obvious interest.

  Nope. She was vanilla, and too high maintenance for a man like me. “I don’t have to look handsome,” I said, giving her the side eye. “I just need to keep an astrophysicist calm.”

  “Nice of you to step up, Dev.”

  I shrugged. “I had to fly back to New York anyway. The big boss gave me two days off for this chivalric act.” The big boss being my father, one of the owners of Gibraltar Air.

  “Ever ready to shelter the vulnerable and weak,” Samantha replied with a touch of acid.

  She was aware of my Dominant proclivities—we’d known each other a long time—but she didn’t understand them. She only understood the pull she felt when I was around, the impulse to flirt and struggle, to attack and retreat. I didn’t trifle very often with non-kinky women. Too traumatic for them, and a waste of time for me.

  The desktop phone rang and she picked it up. “Galileo Flight Lounge, Samantha speaking. Okay. Yes. I’ll let Captain Kincaid know.” She hung up and made a face. “Your doctor is here, but very nervous. She’s going to meet you and your party at the gate just before takeoff.”

  “Just before takeoff, huh?” I shook my head. “She’s going to back out.”

  “She’d better not. The NSF chartered this plane for her, and they’ve already loaded her luggage.” Samantha looked past me to where Fort and Juliet sat. I could see she was as enchanted as I w
as irritated by their lovey-dovey flirting. “You’re taking your friends along for the ride? They make a cute couple.”

  I rolled my eyes. “A week ago he was blocked on her phone, but love conquers all. I’m happy for them, even if they’re acting like idiots.” Let it go, Dev. You should wish your friend well. “They belong together,” I conceded. “They make each other happy, which is what matters, right?”

  “I agree.” She turned away from them and stared at my chest again. “So, anyway, do you know your astrophysicist’s backstory? Did they tell you what happened on her last flight?”

  “I haven’t heard anything except that she needs to get to New York to work on some national science project.”

  A smile tilted the corners of Samantha’s lips. “From what I understand, she went a little nuts when she flew here a couple years ago. Wigged out, screamed, caused a ruckus in the cabin. She’d tried to manage her anxiety with pharmaceuticals, but it didn’t go well.”

  Aviophobia: fear of being on an airplane while in flight. Often aggravated by acrophobia (fear of heights), claustrophobia (fear of confinement), or the gut-wrenching, panic-inducing fear of losing control.

  I couldn’t relate, honestly. I loved to fly, just like my father. “She hasn’t flown anywhere since then?” I asked.

  “No. She’s been working at that high security lab in Santo Stefano. They collect planetary waves or something.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re listening for aliens, or mapping outer space.”

  “And she’s afraid to get on an airplane?”

  It didn’t make sense, but that was none of my business. The National Science Foundation wanted Dr. Novatny in New York, so I’d get her to New York. They’d chartered a flight so we wouldn’t have to make a stopover, and so Dr. Novatny wouldn’t lose her astrophysical shit in front of a couple hundred passengers while we were thirty-five thousand feet in the air.