Kink Club owner, Zachary Coles would openly tell you commitment and monogamy are for fools and hedonism was the only game he subscribed too.
That was until he agreed to help out his long-time friend, Max Jenson and offer his son, Ellis a summer job...
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~ ~ Zachary Coles ~ ~
Life does not require us to be consistent, patient, or loving. It neither asks us to be wise, selfish, or cruel.
Life does, however, require us to live with the consequences of our choices.
But all that being said. If anyone ever asked me for advice for a happy life. It would be simple... Seek out and nurture every hedonistic urge, thought, desire—whatever.
And please don't sit there, sneering from your ivory tower, telling me you didn't have them.
Because that sweetheart, would make you a liar.
We all had them, waiting, hiding, in the furthest, darkest parts of our minds.
It was the very reason places like I'd created existed.
That, and oh, lose the conscience. Never had much use for mine.
I'd heard it said, although never to my face. That they had graced me with the world's blackest soul—or was it a heart?
Was either true? Did I even care?
No.
Because here, in my clubs, I was the bastard who enjoyed making people beg, often with tears streaming down their faces. A dominant, every submissive wished would look his or her way. I was a fucking God here. The one with the keys to the garden of Eden... and sometimes with a sadistic streak a mile wide.
I loved my life. Fucking embraced it and I didn't need any blue pill to keep up with the pace of it.
I denied myself nothing. Why should I?
And being wired the way I was with my sexual orientation. I would preach my love for a man's ass just as vocally as I would for a woman's pussy.
I wasn't shy or discreet. That's just who I was...who I am.
Or it was, and you might wonder why I was telling you all this?
Or maybe I was out to prove something to myself. Because normally, I loved a man on his knees, begging for my cock up his ass.
Even better, if it was a virgin ass.
Or in this case, today, legs spread, ass up in the air, bent over my desk.
But these past few days, maybe stretching to a week, I'd had a conundrum of thoughts that something's not right? I felt off. Out of sync with myself. And for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why.
So, here I was, all up in someone's shit, literally, and yet I felt, for what's a better word... bored.
Why the fuck was I bored!?
Because it's becoming all the fucking same?
And there goes that nasty little nagging voice that had accompanied the feeling, answering my question.
