Page 64 of His Pet

“I hate seeing you in clothes.” He cups my cock and squeezes, making it harden even more. “You should always be naked for me, pet.”

I try not to focus on how my cock rubs against the fabric of my pants. Cameron hasn’t given me any underwear, and the zipper digs into my skin. “A naked person in your car would attract too much attention,” I say, a little out of breath.

“I know.” Cameron steps back, his gaze turning suspicious. He lets his jacket fall open enough for me to see the gun holstered on his side. “Remember the rules, pet.”

I swallow roughly, my knees going weak. For all the cuddling and sweet talk, it’s easy to forget that Cameron is a dangerous man living in a dangerous world. “I remember, Sir.” This time, my voice shakes for very different reasons. My erection doesn’t go down, though. My cock is a kinky thing.

“Alright.” He checks the cameras again, then throws the front door open and gestures for me to go first. “Let’s go.”

I hesitate on the threshold. It’s just one step, and I’ll still be on Cameron’s walled property, but it feels enormous. I glance at Cameron for confirmation, suddenly worried this is some kind of sick game or a test, but he nods encouragingly.

As I step into the cool night air, I’m grateful for the jacket Cameron included with my clothes for tonight. It’s brand new, like the rest of the clothes, but it’s warm and it fits perfectly. I wonder if he got my measurements while I was drugged. It would be a very Cameron thing to do.

Cameron leads me to a sleek sports car that definitely cost more than my parents’ house and opens the passenger door for me. A very gentlemanly move for someone who laughs at being called one.

The engine purrs in a way only expensive cars do. Gravel crunches under the tires as we roll down the driveway. As we wait for the gate to open, Cameron shoots me another look, this time full-on threatening.

“I remember the rules, Sir,” I say before he can even open his mouth. “I won’t do anything stupid.”

What would I even do? Wave at the passing cars? Jump out of a moving vehicle? With my aptitude for athletics, I’d die the second I hit the ground. Besides, I don’t want to run. I want to be there for Cameron in case the meeting goes badly.

Cameron says nothing. We drive through a street lined with walled-off mansions like Cameron’s house, then make our way onto the highway. Even though I’m sure the car could go a hundred times faster, Cameron drives strictly under the speed limit. He checks the rearview mirror often, and at one point, we make a full circle around a block of high-rise buildings before rejoining the highway. After that, he relaxes a little.

We circle the city, slowed by heavy Friday night traffic. I expect Cameron to take an exit to one of the industrial areas. After all, where else would an illegal sex club be if not in a nondescript warehouse?

That’s why it surprises me when we head downtown. Cameron drives into a parking lot beneath a luxurious restaurant, but doesn’t stop there. Another set of gates opens smoothly in front of us, and further down we go. Now, that’s more like it!

We must be at least three stories underground when Cameron finally pulls into a spot and kills the engine. There are other luxurious cars around us, but also a lot of “normal” ones, and a few sport bikes. Cameron grabs a bag from the car’s trunk and opens the passenger door for me again.

The door at the end of the parking lot looks like it leads to an old Cold War bunker, with all the smooth steel and heavy bolts, but just like the gates, it opens the moment we approach it.

We’re welcomed by a beautiful receptionist and a burly guard who’s definitely hiding a gun under his tailored suit. Cameron hands over his gun without prompting and steers me toward a door marked as dressing rooms while I gape around like a village idiot. I can’t help it. Everything is so luxurious, like an expensive hotel that wouldn’t even let someone like me through the front door. The decor screams money without being gaudy, all polished stone, soft lighting, and textures that beg to be touched. Even the air smells expensive, something clean and subtle that clings to the back of my throat. I feel out of place just breathing it in.

Cameron guides me forward with a hand on my lower back, firm enough to remind me I’m not a guest here. That feeling intensifies when we enter a changing booth the size of a bedroom and Cameron points to a small cubby on the side. “Strip.”

Fuck. I’m about to be naked in a club full of dangerous criminals. How will I hide my erection now?

Cameron smirks as I try to cover myself with my hands. Without a word, he pulls my arms behind my back and clips the cuffs together. That’s it, then. No more hiding. I half expect him to gag me, but what he pulls out steals my breath away. A collar.

It’s made of leather with soft padding on the inside. Beautiful, yet functional if the D-rings lining the surface are any indication.

“Chin up,” Cameron says as he fastens it around my neck. God, why does it feel so right?

Cameron clips a leash to the collar. His eyebrow piercing glints in the overhead light as he raises his brow. He doesn’t ask if I’m ready. We both know I could never be ready for something like this.

“Let’s go, pet.”

Chapter 41

Justin

The inside of the club matches the reception area in style, but it’s a lot darker, both in decor and lighting. We enter what looks like a bar area with private seating nooks. At first, I feel painfully out of place since most guests look dressed for a black-tie event, but then I spot several people who are as naked as me. Well, a few of them are wearing leather harnesses that cover exactly nothing, and one woman’s body is encased in an intricate rope lattice that makes her breasts jut out, but those can hardly be considered clothes. Some of the naked men are wearing cock cages, and judging by the stiffness of their movements, plugs, too.

When a man bends the tied-up woman over a chair, I gasp at the gashes on her ass and thighs. Some of them look like they were bleeding not too long ago. “Bullwhip,” Cameron notes as he follows my look.

I swallow around the lump in my throat, suddenly grateful that Cameron is my Master and not whoever did that to the woman.

Cries and desperate pleas for help make me whirl around toward one of the seating nooks. A group of men in suits is passing around a girl who looks barely legal. “Please, I want to go home,” she begs.