Diablo Blanco Club, Under Control, page 1
DIABLO BLANCO CLUB:
UNDER CONTROL
Qwillia Rain
www.loose-id.com
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Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control
Qwillia Rain
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author"s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
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San Francisco CA 94102-2907
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © May 2009 by Qwillia Rain
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
ISBN 978-1-59632-906-5
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Mary Harper
Cover Artist: April Martinez
Chapter One
Bethesda Naval Hospital
Bethesda, Maryland
“Time to leave, Gunnery Sergeant,” the nurse said. Her crisp command accompanied the squeak of her rubber-soled shoes as she pushed a wheelchair into Vance Justiss"s hospital room.
Looking up from his chair near the window, Vance didn"t bother smiling. He had no reason to. “Packed and ready, ma"am,” he replied. He maneuvered himself out of the chair with his good arm and tucked a crutch beneath it. As his training demanded, he maintained his balance and proud bearing, despite the fact his left arm was secured against his chest in a blue sling and his left leg was immobilized by an air cast from midthigh to ankle.
“If you"ll take a seat,” the nurse patted the chrome-and-vinyl device.
“No, thank you, ma"am,” he declined. “I"ll be fine.” He was a Marine Force Recon.
No fucking way he was being rolled out of the room in that contraption. “If I could have you—”
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A young marine barreled into the room, coming to a quick stop in the doorway.
“Sorry I"m late, gunny,” the younger man said, offering a crisp salute that Vance returned. The kid smiled at the nurse and moved to grab the packed duffel bag on the foot of the bed. “Lennox is in the car, and transport home is waiting.”
“Stationed at Pendleton, Gunnery Sergeant?” the nurse asked Vance as she kept pace with them down the hall. She hovered on his left side, ready to catch him if he stumbled.
Not damned likely he"d let her get hurt trying to support his weight, no matter how his injuries ached. “Yes, ma"am,” Vance confirmed.
“The doctor says your physical therapy is scheduled to begin at the end of the week.”
“Yes, ma"am.”
“You"ll be back on your feet in no time, gunny.” Vance watched the kid on his right grin. The unit was always on Corvus about his inability to curb his enthusiasm, but Vance knew the newest member didn"t pay much attention to the harassment because he just kept smiling.
“No doubt, Corvus.” Vance ignored the pain each step shot through his body.
Push past it, soldier. The damage to his left hand and leg was permanent according to the doc. There was nothing he could do about it. The only thing he could do was get back on his feet so he could honor his word and finish what he"d started.
He had a promise to keep, and he refused to do it on crutches. He just needed to make it through the next few weeks, to get beyond those first few minutes every morning when memories of his last mission—Aimee"s screams and the concussion of the explosion—soaked his body in cold sweat. It was difficult to face his failure to protect her, an innocent civilian. The fact that she was a young woman he"d kept safe periodically over the years when their paths crossed as her missionary parents moved throughout the Middle East only made it harder.
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Those were the mornings when the nightmares had his heart slamming against his ribs, and his disgust at what he"d done caused bile to rise in his throat. Shadowy moments when thoughts of the weight of his .38 in his hand and the chill of the steel against his temple seemed to offer the comfort of a final escape. It was always the same when he entertained thoughts of ending his life. Despite the feelings of hate and disgust, three reasons kept surfacing to keep him sucking air in the here and now.
One, Ben would never forgive him if he took the coward"s way out.
Two, he had to keep his promise to Aimee.
And three, marines weren"t quitters.
And damn it, he was still a marine.
Four months later
San Diablo, California
Voices buzzed and hummed throughout the central lounge of the Diablo Blanco Club. From his place behind the bar, Ben Murphy grinned as he watched a pretty blonde in a gray silk dress lead her lover—a man nearly twice her size—up the stairs by a length of silver chain settled around his throat.
The twenty-foot bar was nestled between the two sweeping granite staircases that led to the second-floor playrooms. Ben relaxed against the polished teak counter and took note of the various entertainments playing out around the room. Just like any other nightclub in San Diablo, the Diablo Blanco Club provided distractions to its members. But unlike other nightclubs, the distractions were not in the form of canned music or live bands. This particular club had its own brand of “shows.” Tonight was no different.
Near the Club"s entrance, Evaline, a Domme, applied punishment to her slave with sharp, forceful strokes from her quirt. Brandon, who was six inches taller than his 4
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mistress, counted each blow in a choked voice. With his hands braced against the wall, he focused his gaze on the paint and chair rail in front of him rather than the few people around them watching the display.
On the other side of the room, close to the double doors that led into the dining hall, four men and two women relaxed at a round table playing a game of poker. The pile of green, blue, and red chips on the table had shifted ownership multiple times in the two hours since the group had begun their game. On the floor beside five of the six players sat their submissives. Each sub assumed the posture his or her Dom or Domme required of them, whether it was kneeling upright or resting against their master"s leg.
They all held their hands in their laps, some resting on their thighs or folded or relaxed on their legs. Three of the subs kept their heads bowed and their gazes directed to the carpet between their parted thighs, while the other two had their eyes closed as if they were napping.
As he continued to scan the room, Ben stifled the urge to laugh out loud. Earlier he"d served drinks to three newcomers—a man and two women. They"d each come in separately. The man had taken a seat in a comfortable chair across the room from the bar, his attention never remaining on one person or group for very long. One of the women had left not long after Evaline had begun to punish Brandon. Ben surmised her departure was probably due to guilt since it was her repeated and adamant attentions to the slave that had resulted in him rebuffing her with a very colorful and caustic series of suggestions. It had been his failure to remain silent that earned him a punishment from his mistress.
The second woman had flitted around the room before drifting over to the poker table. Her attention seemed focused on the only unaccompanied Dominant involved in the game: Mike Halsey. Ben recognized him as one of the descendants of Collas Brysson Halsey, the Diablo Blanco Club"s founder. Ben watched as the woman smoothed her hand across Mike"s shoulders and leaned down to whisper in his ear.
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Ben was acquainted with the cheerful smile Mike pasted on his face in response as one meant to soothe. The careful way he lifted the woman"s hand from his shoulder and cupped it in his larger palm could be viewed by some as romantic, but the lack of interest or heat in Mike"s amber gaze was lost on everyone except those closely familiar with him. The kiss he pressed to the palm of the woman"s hand seemed to placate her, and the smile and words he offered her, whatever they were, took the sting out of his rejection. So much so that the woman smiled at Mike and slipped a piece of paper into the pocket of his shirt before she moved away from the table and found a seat on one of the couches.
Ben allowed his gaze to wander once more. On one of the comfortable sofas in the lounge, facing the bar, another descendant of the original owner
Having been present two months earlier when Bryce first publicly fucked his wife at the Club, Ben could recall what the sight of Bryce"s firm, tanned hands around his wife"s hips looked like. Now, though only three months pregnant, her belly already showed a distinct curve, and her full breasts, exposed by the lowered straps of the light purple halter on her dress, displayed tight, strawberry-colored nipples.
Glancing around at the men and women enjoying the performance, Ben wasn"t surprised when Dina, a longtime Club member, rose from her chair and tugged at the leash connected to the nipple chain adorning the tits of her submissive and life partner, Lonnie. The two women made their way up the staircase to his left. Lonnie maintained just enough distance from her mistress to keep the chain taut, while Dina gave the occasional pull to tease her. Even the male newcomer settled into the armchair farthest 6
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away from the activity seemed to take note of Mattie and Bryce, despite having shown little reaction to the other scenarios playing out around him.
No, the Club wasn"t a regular nightspot, but rather an exclusive retreat for adults interested in bondage, discipline, and slave-master relationships—BDSM for short.
Ben had been an official member of the Club for nearly six years and had come to appreciate the easy acceptance of the different visitors and guests. He had heard about the Club from Vance Justiss, a friend from his Force Recon unit. Vance had even introduced him to the Club owners when Ben first visited San Diablo after the younger man transferred into his unit eight years ago. Subsequent visits as Vance"s guest had only cemented Ben"s interest in what the Diablo Blanco Club offered.
After leaving the Marines, Ben had moved to San Diablo and had taken the opportunity to continue his education on the West Coast. It was while he was working through his residency and short on cash that he applied for a bartending position at the Club. The money was good, and the job had additional benefits. As a Club employee, he wasn"t expected to entertain any of the patrons, but off the clock, if one of the women or men caught his eye or he caught theirs, the rooms upstairs or the lounge could become their playground.
As a switch, Ben enjoyed both dominating and being dominated. Topping and being topped each held their own appeal, and Ben had become well versed in the various forms of discipline and bondage. Under the tutelage of Bryce Halsey and Richard Bennett, another partner of the Club, Ben"s knowledge and skill in the world of BDSM had grown. His awareness of his own needs and the San Diablo residents" open acceptance of his bisexual nature had helped heal wounds created by the rejection he"d endured from his own family when he admitted his attraction to men to them.
He"d joined the Marines when he was eighteen just to prove to his father, Francis Murphy, that he was still a man, despite his sexual inclinations. Four years of hard work had gotten Ben into Force Recon. By twenty-four, he was leading his unit. Not Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control
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that it had mattered much, at least to his old man. Even in the six years since Ben had left the service, his dad still remained distant.
Then Ben met Vance. Just thinking about his fellow marine made Ben"s cock stir.
Eight years ago when the young marine had transferred into his unit as their new sniper, Ben had a hard time tamping down his interest. Even now at thirty-two years old, he still had problems maintaining his composure around Vance, but at least he"d gotten better at hiding it.
On their first leave, Ben had forgone a visit home to Virginia and accepted Vance"s invitation to meet his parents and check out his hometown of San Diablo. Ben had been drawn to the town and the people from the second they"d hit the city limits.
At that time, he had still regretted that his father would never accept him as he was. Gaining his degree as a physician assistant and taking a job at the hospital had made it easier for Ben to stay as far away from Virginia and his family as he could get.
And as close to Vance as possible, at least until Vance"s unit was deployed overseas fifteen months earlier. Now, since hearing about Vance being wounded six months ago in a skirmish with terrorists somewhere in Iraq, Ben was waiting for the stubborn bastard to come home.
A drink request from a patron pulled Ben from his thoughts. As he watched the varied reactions of the members to the different activities playing out around the room, waited on customers, and turned down two guests curious about meeting for drinks after he got off shift, Ben realized it had been a while since he"d last had sex. Pausing as he ran a damp towel over the taps on the draft beer dispenser, he had to take a few moments to actually remember when he"d last been with anyone. Despite the frequent offers he"d received lately, he"d had no problem turning the interested parties down.
The truth behind his lack of interest was that he found it difficult to maintain a hard-on while his best friend, the man he loved, was halfway around the world fighting a bloody war.
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Six months ago, he had received word that Vance had been wounded and shipped stateside. After hearing how close he"d come to losing him, Ben decided it was time to finally tell Vance the secret he"d been keeping for years. How the object of his affection would handle the confession was another issue entirely. Although he didn"t doubt Vance"s friendship and he had long ago identified his friend"s attraction and interest in members of both sexes, Ben was unsure just how accepting of his feelings the younger man would be.
Though their attraction had been simmering below the surface for years, Ben knew Vance fought his feelings. With his military career, Vance needed to maintain a certain facade befitting his rank. Publicly outing himself would mean the end of all that; even if he admitted to being bisexual, all anyone would notice or comment on would be his male partners. Ben didn"t begrudge the younger man his denial, but he hoped for the day when he could hold Vance in his arms as both friend and lover.
But Vance hadn"t made any effort to contact him since he left the hospital in Germany and was shipped to Bethesda, not even since he was shipped from Bethesda back to Pendleton four months ago. The fact that he continued to stay quiet and out of reach made the point of Ben"s confessing moot. Justiss was a determined soldier, but Ben knew, having heard through mutual friends both in and retired from the Marine Corps, that the injuries Vance had sustained could spell an end to his being available for active duty.
If the rumors were true, the decision would be a difficult one for the soldier to handle. Vance"s entire focus the two years they"d served together and the six years since Ben had been out of the corps had been maintaining his standing in the military until he had put in enough years to retire. His skills with languages and training as a sharpshooter, as well as his leadership abilities, had moved him through the ranks, but if the injuries he"d received were debilitating, active duty would no longer be an option, ending any further climb in rank. Ben knew that despite the closeness of their Diablo Blanco Club: Under Control
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friendship, Vance needed time on his own to come to terms with his changed future.
And when he was ready, Ben would be waiting.
The opening of one of the double doors leading from the reception area to the lounge had several Club occupants, including Ben, turning.
The sight of the very man his thoughts had been centered around and the silence that followed the closing of the door had Ben reaching for an unopened bottle of twenty-five-year-old scotch. Though his heart hammered against his chest, his years in the corps and emergency room training helped him hide his surprise behind a mask of calm. Cracking the bottle"s seal and sliding a crystal rocks glass onto the teak bar, Ben stifled the curse that pressed at his lips as Vance approached.
Not quite six feet tall, the battle-hardened marine still bore signs of his recent deployment in the barely hidden limp and the healing scar that stretched from the corner of his left jaw to the spot just below his Adam"s apple. Black slacks hugged his narrow hips, tailored to accommodate the thick muscles of his thighs and calves without looking bulky. His black polo shirt stretched tight over his broad shoulders, massive chest, and taut abdomen while the short sleeves emphasized the impressive bulge of his biceps. Though he was just two years shy of thirty, Vance"s buzz-cut black hair was liberally sprinkled with gray, due more to his Apache heritage than the action he"d been involved with as a member of an elite reconnaissance unit.
