Breaking Free: A thriller, M/F, erotic romance by Danielle Aretino Page A
Authors: Danielle Aretino
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that situation."
"Your bullshit might have worked on me before, but not anymore." And with that, Sandy disconnected the call, an overwhelming sense of pride rising up through her chest. As far as she knew, Red hadn't followed her here. It would take him at least ten minutes to drive out into the wooded countryside, and by the time he got here, Dan would be ready to put a bullet in his head.
Unfortunately, some of her ego deflated as soon as she was actually in Dan's house. He was so drunk that she marveled at his ability to string a sentence together. Bumbling over and covering her with sloppy wet kisses, he groped everything he could within thirty seconds of her arrival, pinching her tits and ass, grunting his approval.
"But I really need to talk to you," she protested, squirming out of his reach. However, the glazed over look in his eye told her he wasn't going to digest anything she had to say right now anyway. Sighing, Sandy did a quick check out the front window, ensured that they were still alone, then bolted the front door shut. If Red just happened to show it, she could probably slap Dan around enough to sober him up for a fight.
Then they could go back to screwing afterward like it never happened.
"Fuck first," Dan demanded, tugging at her clothes, "then talk."
Well, at least she didn't have to beg him to sleep with her. Her fee was already sitting on the coffee table, and since she figured she'd be safe if Red showed up, there was no harm in screwing first, then talking. At least after they fooled around he might be a little more sober.
"Have you been a bad boy today?" she asked, trying to gauge who he wanted her to be that evening. As soon as he nodded his head sheepishly, she knew that she was supposed to be the dominant. She'd been dominant yesterday too—a preference was appearing. Even if Dan did backstab her someday, at least she had dirt on him: big strapping Dan liked to be tied up and paddled by hookers.
"Yes, Mistress," he slurred, blinking his glossy eyes at her. Sandy smirked, then shoved her bag of toys into his hands.
"Go ready yourself then. Mistress doesn't want to see your face," she instructed, adopting a fake British accent that she liked to do when she was in charge. "No clothes, get my handcuffs, and Mistress will join you in the bedroom."
He toddled off like an obedient little boy, hugging her bag close to his chest. In it was the tampered collar, the one she was supposed to use on him tonight, but she just couldn't bring herself to use it. Not only did she not want, or need, the wrath of the other bikers raining down on her, she needed someone to put Red in the ground to clear her debt once and for all. Squealing on him got her everything she wanted.
Grinning, Sandy sauntered over to the coffee table to collect her fee, counting out the hundreds with delight. Dan was willing to pay whatever she demanded—all because she marketed herself as a professional dominatrix. Idiot. Attractive idiot. Idiot who was finally going to get her somewhere in this gang, in life. Once she was sure everything was there, she slipped the cash in her boot, then peeled off her brown trench coat. She'd come prepared in a leather corset, frilly panties, and thigh-high boots.
Since he was almost belligerently drunk, she figured he could use a little extra time to get everything ready. It was a power play, forcing him to wear the outfit of a submissive, and she wanted it done right. A full twenty minutes had passed when she finally moved toward the bedroom. Red was nowhere to be seen: if he was smart, he would have high-tailed it out of town.
"Are you ready for Mistress?" she asked as she pushed open the bedroom door, wincing at the smell. Clothes everywhere. One of the bedside tables was clean and organized—she always assumed that was Missy's side whenever she bothered to sleep here. Dan had done an adequate job at getting ready. He was naked, his dick
"Your bullshit might have worked on me before, but not anymore." And with that, Sandy disconnected the call, an overwhelming sense of pride rising up through her chest. As far as she knew, Red hadn't followed her here. It would take him at least ten minutes to drive out into the wooded countryside, and by the time he got here, Dan would be ready to put a bullet in his head.
Unfortunately, some of her ego deflated as soon as she was actually in Dan's house. He was so drunk that she marveled at his ability to string a sentence together. Bumbling over and covering her with sloppy wet kisses, he groped everything he could within thirty seconds of her arrival, pinching her tits and ass, grunting his approval.
"But I really need to talk to you," she protested, squirming out of his reach. However, the glazed over look in his eye told her he wasn't going to digest anything she had to say right now anyway. Sighing, Sandy did a quick check out the front window, ensured that they were still alone, then bolted the front door shut. If Red just happened to show it, she could probably slap Dan around enough to sober him up for a fight.
Then they could go back to screwing afterward like it never happened.
"Fuck first," Dan demanded, tugging at her clothes, "then talk."
Well, at least she didn't have to beg him to sleep with her. Her fee was already sitting on the coffee table, and since she figured she'd be safe if Red showed up, there was no harm in screwing first, then talking. At least after they fooled around he might be a little more sober.
"Have you been a bad boy today?" she asked, trying to gauge who he wanted her to be that evening. As soon as he nodded his head sheepishly, she knew that she was supposed to be the dominant. She'd been dominant yesterday too—a preference was appearing. Even if Dan did backstab her someday, at least she had dirt on him: big strapping Dan liked to be tied up and paddled by hookers.
"Yes, Mistress," he slurred, blinking his glossy eyes at her. Sandy smirked, then shoved her bag of toys into his hands.
"Go ready yourself then. Mistress doesn't want to see your face," she instructed, adopting a fake British accent that she liked to do when she was in charge. "No clothes, get my handcuffs, and Mistress will join you in the bedroom."
He toddled off like an obedient little boy, hugging her bag close to his chest. In it was the tampered collar, the one she was supposed to use on him tonight, but she just couldn't bring herself to use it. Not only did she not want, or need, the wrath of the other bikers raining down on her, she needed someone to put Red in the ground to clear her debt once and for all. Squealing on him got her everything she wanted.
Grinning, Sandy sauntered over to the coffee table to collect her fee, counting out the hundreds with delight. Dan was willing to pay whatever she demanded—all because she marketed herself as a professional dominatrix. Idiot. Attractive idiot. Idiot who was finally going to get her somewhere in this gang, in life. Once she was sure everything was there, she slipped the cash in her boot, then peeled off her brown trench coat. She'd come prepared in a leather corset, frilly panties, and thigh-high boots.
Since he was almost belligerently drunk, she figured he could use a little extra time to get everything ready. It was a power play, forcing him to wear the outfit of a submissive, and she wanted it done right. A full twenty minutes had passed when she finally moved toward the bedroom. Red was nowhere to be seen: if he was smart, he would have high-tailed it out of town.
"Are you ready for Mistress?" she asked as she pushed open the bedroom door, wincing at the smell. Clothes everywhere. One of the bedside tables was clean and organized—she always assumed that was Missy's side whenever she bothered to sleep here. Dan had done an adequate job at getting ready. He was naked, his dick
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