Let's Play a Game

By Lindsay Murray

Megan's life hasn't been quite as colorful since her slavery to Reuben Weston ended nearly five years ago. So when Reuben offers to set her up with something, she jumps at the chance. The catch? She has no idea who he is.

******* What readers are saying *******

"If you’re into edge play this is the book for you. It’s beautifully descriptive. And honestly one the most amazing books I’ve read." ~Ellie

"Loved it. The intensity is outstanding..." ~Literotica reader
"Absolutely stunning story... intense, loving, insightful and most of all, sexy!" ~Literotica reader
"What a wonderful way of building trust... I loved it!" ~Cécile Smiths, Goodreads review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lindsay Murray
• Release date: Sep 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005242169

Lindsay Murray

My books are just the lives of the little voices in my head, written down so I can go on with my own life. I don't wake up with songs in my head, I wake up with scenes and conversations. They don't go away until I write them down. Luckily, they tend to be fairly entertaining.I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Book preview

Author’s note

This story was originally published as a serial story on Literotica as part of the Days Off with Lindsay series, where Lindsay’s friends get a chance to have their stories told. I’d been trying to figure out more about Reuben Weston, so I decided to write Megan’s story. Don’t ask me how thar works, but it does.

That being said, there are some differences between this version and the original version that was posted on Literotica.  

As a rule of thumb, fiction is not real life – please do not use this as a blueprint for a BDSM dynamic. Vet your partners, negotiate, and get consent.

This story has no major trigger warnings. Content includes oral sex, edging and denial, some slight degradation and humiliation, and use of video/recording of sessions. 

Chapter 1

The Secretary

In a pint glass, fill halfway with ice.

Add 2 shots of Jim Beam. Fill the rest with half sweet tea, half unsweet tea.

Add a splash of Peach Schnapps as a float on top.

Serve with a straw and a lemon wedge.

––––––––

Rumor had it he was back. 

Mr. Weston had left the area five years ago, letting the club grow and expand in the hands of some of his trusted friends. Becca, Jack, Tammi, Jackson, and Paul, plus a few older Doms who had been in the lifestyle for ages, continued hosting his weekly events and monthly educational nights. He came by every few months or so, popping in to verify and meet new members, teach an occasional class, or provide mentorship to a new Dom on a specific technique. It wasn’t the same without him here every week, though. I missed him, and although I was mostly over the heartbreak, it still hurt to be in his presence and know I’d been dropped. 

He’d said it wasn’t my fault. He’d been in an accident with his other submissive, and she’d passed away. So many things changed about our dynamic; he’d returned to his religion, we’d stopped having sex, he fell into depression, and I felt... useless. Unneeded. Unwanted.

I saw him a few times a year during events at the bar, and he was always polite and professional, but it felt so strange to know that he knew me better than anyone, and that I’d loved him and submitted to him with everything inside me, and that now we were just strangers on opposite ends of the bar. 

He had asked me one time if I’d be willing to let him demonstrate on me for a Shibari workshop, and I’d turned him down, knowing if I didn’t cut myself off of him completely I’d never get over him. He was the hardest drug. Hell, I’d moved here to be with him. Granted I hadn’t really left much behind, considering my life before him, but still. 

At first, I thought he’d get over his religious epiphany, and time would pass and he’d come back, begging me to forgive him. But after about a year, I’d given up hope. Now, nearly five years after the accident, I was in a much better place, but part of me still believed it was my fault I hadn’t been enough for him.

I hadn’t found another Dom since. Becca had stepped in for me, keeping me accountable to myself and giving me the much-needed authority I needed in my life, but I felt like she was doing it as a favor, not because she wanted to. She’d set me up with a few other people for extended sessions or weekends at some of the cabins, but I hadn’t really found the connection or intensity I’d experienced with Mr. Reuben Weston. Still, it scratched the itch. Or I could pretend it did. 

The bar, which was aptly named Reuben’s, had grown significantly since I’d moved out here nearly seven years ago. It felt like a lifetime ago that Mr. Weston had bought the building, re-branded it, and turned it into what it was today. While before it was a small grungy bar with a picnic table for outside seating, now it felt like a luxury club downstairs, and a dark mysterious exclusive club upstairs. They’d opened the top floor of the building up into a sort of members only dungeon, and only long-time friends of Mr. Weston and those vetted by those members were allowed. There were three playrooms and a bar, with a few tables and some comfortable chairs and couches as the commons area. The common area and bar were fair game for play as well, although there wasn’t really any equipment other than some beams above for rigging, and it wasn’t often anything really happened in the commons area.

It was a small group of us who used the lounge, maybe a little under fifty altogether, and never more than twenty people in there at one time. Becca and I always went on Wednesdays, as it was a little busier than the other weekdays, and I liked to see Julia when I could. 

One Wednesday evening, Julia was draped over Paul, her head in his lap, and I was sitting on the floor next to Becca on a soft floor pillow. Becca would occasionally reach down and stroke my hair or touch my neck, just a little bit of a reminder that she was there for me, but it was mostly in affection rather than ownership. 

Julia was scrolling through photos on her phone, showing me her most recent work. She’d always been crafty and creative, but when she’d moved in with Paul and left her minimum wage job to pursue leatherwork full time, she’d blossomed. Her work had gotten so much better over the past few months, and she showed me her favorites; a gorgeous set of cuffs, lined with faux fur, three inches wide at least, with brushed nickel D-rings. A collar with a posture corrector, red embroidery running through the stained chocolate leather. And a gorgeous black leather collar with thick hardware, purple embossed designs on the background.

Whoa, I gasped. That’s amazing. I zoomed in on the photo of the collar. It had a buckle and a heart-shaped padlock on the closure. The purple embossing was rich and bright against the shiny black leather. 

I have it with me, do you want to see it?

Yes please! 

Julia sat up and dug through her bag, pulling out a black leather box. She set it on the small coffee table in front of us, and gently opened it up, pointing it in my direction so I could see it. 

It was even prettier in person. Julia, this is the best work you’ve ever done. 

Is that the collar Reuben ordered? Paul asked just as I turned the box around to see the front. His name was engraved in the front of the leather. Property of Reuben Weston.

I froze and felt a trickle of cold run down my spine. Mr. Weston had ordered a collar? For who? I didn’t even know he had another submissive. I’d heard whispers he was in the area, but nothing had been confirmed.

Yeah, he’s coming by tomorrow to pick it up so I’m leaving it at the bar with Jack. You don’t even want to know what he’s paying for it, she added as an embarrassed whisper. 

No, I didn’t want to know how much he was paying for it. I wanted to know who it was for. Five years ago we’d separated, and now he was collaring someone else? And he was going to be here? Tomorrow? Would she be here too? I hadn’t seen him in almost a year. I’d taken to skipping my visits on the days he was in town.

Becca probably sensed my discomfort, and sat up straighter and waved a hand to Jack, who was leaning against the counter of the bar. A moment later he brought two drinks over to us. Becca always ordered Lindsay’s Choice. I always ordered The Secretary. Jack knew I liked it without the lemon wedge though. Bless that man, I thought. He was always on top of it.

As he handed us our drinks, he glanced at the collar in the box. Julia beamed as he let out a low whistle. Your latest work?

She nodded. 

Hey, you guys hear the news? Jack said before he turned to go back to the bar, raising one eyebrow suggestively. He was tall, lanky and lean, with long black hair that hung flatly. Today he had it up in a low half-bun. His face looked perpetually pissed off, and his pale skin was flushed from a four-hour shift with no help behind the bar.

About Mr. Weston? I asked. Maybe Jack knew more about my former Dom’s new choice and why he was collaring her. 

"No... well, Mr. Weston is coming by. But that’s not the news," he said, louder than he needed to. 

I looked around. A few other people had heard him, and were now paying attention. Some were glancing over their shoulders, while others just let their conversations die down a bit. Tension hung in the air slightly. Jack relished it. 

You gonna hint and flirt, or spit it out? Becca laughed, grinning widely. 

He finally broke into a very rare smile. 

The Sadist is back. 

There was some murmuring when he said it. He took the box from Julia and exited the room, presumably to lock the beautiful collar in Mr. Weston’s office. 

My head spun. I had never met The Sadist, but she’d gained a reputation. She and Mr. Weston were friends, but she’d been kicked out of the bar a few months ago for a situation that nobody ever wanted to talk about. To this day, if I brought it up, Paul shut down the conversation, Julia shut down on herself, and Becca gave me a scolding. 

I didn’t know much about them. The Sadist had done a few chapters in one of Mr. Weston’s books, specifically writing about psychological domination, predicament rigging, and torture techniques that bordered on cruel and unusual punishment and pushed the