TIGER SHARK IS LIVE! Go 100% Alpha with Landon and Georgia!
London’s square mile is witness to a revolution, a new breed of business woman. They call us tiger sharks. We out-earn, out-work and out-play our male counterparts. We work the system, play the game and most importantly, win. In a city full of sharks only the most ruthless make it to the top of the pool.
The number one rule: never sleep with the boss. Ever. I had no intention of breaking it until I met my new boss. No matter how strong my resolve, Landon Banks can smell weakness like a shark smells blood in the water, and I’m bleeding. The hunter becomes the hunted, lines start to blur, and I have a choice to make. Screw or be screwed. Of course, I never was much good at taking it like a bitch. Landon Banks will be learning to grab his ankles if I have anything to do with it. Things are about to get interesting in the game of predator versus predator. Who will come out on top?
Masque is where the darkest of creatures come to play, to fulfil warped desires without judgement or persecution. After all, you can’t judge what you can’t see.
I slip the mask out of my hand bag and tie the ribbons at the back of my head, pinning them into my hair with some grips. I knock on the door of what looks like a respectable and extremely expensive town house in the centre of London’s most affluent area. The door opens, revealing a guy in a black suit, a plain black mask covering his eyes. He glances at my membership card and he waves me through.
Inside it looks exactly how you’d expect a high end sex club to look. Dark, luxurious, sensual. Rock music fills the room, contrasting wildly with the velvet chaise lounges and crystal chandeliers. Within the club, people resume a new identity. Their masks become their identity. Mine looks like a cat, the faint stripes of a tiger painted along the delicate lines that outline my face and accentuate my sharp cheekbones. There’s a certain thrill in hiding, because in hiding who I am, it allows me to be who I really am. I come here for one reason, to be liberated on every level.
I go to the bar and perch on a stool, crossing my legs and allowing my short black dress to ride up my thigh. The waiter slides a martini in front of me and I thank him. I allow my gaze to drift around the room, shopping, because everyone in here is on the menu. My gaze stops on a guy sitting on one of the sofas, his fingers buried in the pussy of the woman straddling him. His mask is distinctive, made of white porcelain and depicting a Greek god. I know from experience that he has a body like a god as well. Sometimes I like to be surprised by a new partner, but other times I like to know that I’m going to be satisfied. Apollo as I call him, always satisfies my more aggressive appetites, and tonight I feeling positively savage after my interaction with Banks. There’s nothing like a powerful man to make my inner alpha bitch rear her head with bared teeth.
I down the martini and stand, swaying my hips a little as I make my way to Apollo. He looks up, his eyes meeting mine through the mask that covers his eyes and nose. His lips kick up slightly on one side as he assesses me with a cockiness I’ve come to expect of him. The woman moans, her fingers clinging to his shoulders and scratching over the material of his open shirt.
“Come.” I say to him.
“Well, it would be rude not to finish the lady.” He says, humour lacing his voice.
I tilt my head to the side and study the girl, her long blonde hair cascades down her bare back as she throws her head back. I step close to her and grab a handful of her hair, fisting it. She moans, pushing her chest out. He watches me intensely as his bicep tenses, his fingers sinking deeper inside her.
I bend over, dropping my face into the crook of her neck and placing a kiss to her soft skin before sweeping my tongue up the side of her throat. Her breath hitches and she trembles gently. I lift my eyes to meet his, and I see the spark of lust in them, the need eating away at him as I wrench her head back even further and slide my free hand down her chest, pinching her nipple between my thumb and index finger. She bucks and writhes, moaning like a wanton slut as she rides his hand.
“Fuck.” He says, completely enraptured by the sight of her coming apart under our combined touch. When she’s done, he practically throws her off him and rises to his feet. My eyes instantly hone in on the bulge straining against the material of his trousers. His shirt remains open, the hard planes of his stomach on display. I jerk my head towards the stairs and he follows me without question.
This house has twenty rooms, each one identical to the other. For those who like their play a little rougher, there’s the basement which houses a dungeon. I have certain tastes, but they don’t venture into ‘chain me up and beat me’ territory.
We pass a line of doors, all with a red ribbon tied on the door. These are the occupied rooms, although some people don’t bother with the ribbon in the hope that someone walks in on them. Each to their own. Then of course there are those who like to be watched, like that girl, they just fuck in one of the many public rooms downstairs.
I push open the door and step inside, watching him close it behind him with a resounding click.
I take slow steps backwards into the room, until a chaise bumps the backs of my knees. He pushes his shirt over his shoulders and allows it to fall to the floor. Apollo is a good looking guy, and he’s utterly shameless. He likes sex anyway he can get it, and if it makes him come, he’s game, the harder the better, any means necessary.
I reach behind me and lower the zip on my dress, shrugging the straps off my shoulders and allowing the material to pool at my ankles, exposing my bra.
Of course with that mask, I can’t make out his expression clearly. It makes him seem hard and implacable. For some reason it makes me think of Landon. It shouldn’t be a turn on but it is.
I step out of the dress at my feet and hook my thumbs into my knickers. I pause for a second, call it dramatic effect if you like, before slowly sliding them down my legs. Still he doesn’t make a move or breathe a sound.
Lowering myself onto the chaise lounge behind me, I smile and beckon him forward with a crook of my finger. He obliges, crossing the room and coming to a halt right in front of me. I reach up and trail my fingers down his firm stomach before I unfasten his trousers and shove them down his thighs, exposing his hard cock just inches from my face. I’ll suck dick like a pro when the feeling strikes me, but right now, it doesn’t.
“Get on your knees.” I command. He steps out of the material at his feet, kicking off his shoes and socks quickly before he does as I say and gets on his knees, completely naked in front of me. I reach behind me and unhook my bra, sliding it down my arms slowly. He watches my every move as I strip, until I’m left wearing nothing but my Louboutins.
I trail my fingers over my thighs and slowly spread my legs open. Wide open. His eyes lock on my pussy and I see his breaths pick up with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
“Kiss me.” I say quietly.
He doesn’t hesitate as he grips the insides of my thighs with both hands and leans in. I feel his hot breath hit my pussy before his lips do, brushing gently across my clit. I bite my lip and lean back, raking my nails into the unforgiving material beneath me. His fingers dig into the sensitive skin of my thighs as he lashes me with his tongue. This is why I pick him. No questions, no bullshit, just pleasure and compliance. He works his tongue over my clit until I’m trembling, lingering on that beautiful precipice and just waiting to go tumbling off the edge. One more flick of his tongue, and I break, rolling my hips against his mouth as I ride out the orgasm. After shocks ripple through my torso as I lean my head against the back of the chaise, trying to catch my breath. I close my eyes, a small smile on my lips, because that was good, but what’s about to come is even better. Sex is about physical and mental satisfaction, and I like to release in every way before I leave this club.
My eyes flash open as I drag myself upright. His hands are still on my thighs and my orgasm is all over his lips. I close my legs, pushing to my feet and dragging a hand through my hair as I step around him. He doesn’t move. I go to my discarded hand bag and take out my favourite toy, also know as The Destroyer. I clip the harness in place around my pelvis and yank the straps tight- don’t want it slipping now. This club is extremely accommodating, and I browse the shelf that’s mounted in the corner, browsing over the range of lubes. I pick up one called Sex Water, the slogan written on the bottle reads; ‘for when spit and courage isn’t enough’. It couldn’t be more apt.
Apollo glances over his shoulder, watching as I move toward him with the big purple cock protruding from between my hips.
He smirks. “You could at least suck a guy’s dick first.”
I laugh as I move beside him, raking my fingers through his short hair. “You know I make you come harder with a cock in your arse.”
He shrugs. “True.” The thing about coming to a sex club is that all the taboo’s that are unacceptable outside this room, are completely acceptable inside it. Apollo likes a dick in his arse. He likes me to fuck him. He gets off on it. Simple. Apollo gets an orgasm out of it, and me? I get to plough the fuck out of a guy. I get to own him and make him my bitch for the small amount of time that I’m in here with him. Trust me, to a girl who is constantly bowing and scraping to men inside the office, fucking him is extremely empowering.
“Stand up and bend over.” I order
He stands up and bends over, grabbing the back of the chaise lounge firmly. “Spread your legs.” I tell him and he does without hesitation.
His cheeks spread and I get a view of his waxed balls and arsehole. I guess if you’re into this kind of shit then you need to make sure the grass is cut.
I squirt a generous helping of lube on The Destroyer, before putting some on my finger and smearing it along his crack, pressing against his hole slightly and going lower until I cup his balls, rolling them in the palm of my hand. He moans as I squeeze them gently and then release them.
I grab his hips, his hot skin burning against my fingers as I line up the purple cock and push forward, pressing against him until the tip of it disappears inside him. He drops his head forward, a ragged gasp leaving his lips as I push just a little more. I wait, letting him adjust. When I feel him relax completely, I slam home until my thighs brush the backs of his. A choked groan fills the air as he pants heavily, trying to catch his breath.
“Take it.” I tell him, my voice laced with warning. Of course he’s twice my size, and could tell me to fuck off easily, but he won’t, because this is what he likes, and I give it to him.
I give him a few seconds and then I move, pulling out and thrusting back in slowly. “Fuck.” He hisses, his back muscles tensing and rolling beneath his skin. I drag my nails over his back, relishing in the way he shivers, and then I grip his hips and I fuck him. Hard. The straps of the toy rub against my clit and a low moan escapes my lips. I fuck him until a thin sheen of sweat covers my body and he’s pushing back against me, panting and groaning whilst he fists his cock with one hand, his arm jerking furiously. I slow the pace, thrusting deeper, harder. He lets out a long guttural groan as every muscle tenses and then quivers violently. I keep going, fucking him until he’s begging me to stop, slamming his hand on the back of the chaise like he’s tapping out, and then I pull out of him. His legs give way and collapses, laying on his back on the thick carpet, breathing heavily. His come is all over the chaise and the carpet, and I smile with a strange sort of satisfaction at having made such a mess.
I go to the adjoining en-suite and take the strap-on off, rinsing it in the sink. When I walk back into the room, Apollo has climbed to his feet and is getting dressed. He looks a little worse for wear, but then he always does and yet he always comes back for more the next week. I pick my dress up before slipping it back on, fastening the zip and turning to check my reflection in the mirror beside the door. I straighten my mask slightly, throw the strap-on in my hand bag before I stride out of the room without a backward glance.
This is what I do every Friday night. It’s my release and at times my salvation, hell, I’d even call it therapy. We all find different ways of coping with the stress of life, this is mine.
Lauren Lovell is an indie author from England.She suffers from a total lack of brain to mouth filter and is the friend you have to explain before you introduce her to anyone, and apologise for afterwards. Lauren is a self-confessed shameless pervert, who may be suffering from slight peen envy. LP loves to hear from readers so please get in touch.