Page 8 of Knot Their Princess

“That’s right. You’re nothing unless I tell you what you are.”

I press the sole of my boot into the Alpha’s shoulder and push down. His wrists are bound behind his back, his eyes covered with a silk mask. His chest is bare, a white bow-tie is settled around his neck. Around his waist is a frilly French maid’s skirt and apron, his legs wrapped in white stockings, the garter belt peeking out from beneath the black tulle.

The outfit is all his idea. Alan or Adam, something like that.

Usually, I’m better at remembering names, but this is the first time I’ve worked with this Alpha, and I am still distracted by the incident in the makeup room earlier. Maybe my threat went too far. Maybe I should apologize.

“Eat,” I demand, putting my bare pussy in front of Albert’s face, having pulled the removable panel off my pants earlier in our scene. He groans with absolute delight, sliding his tongue along my labia, then flicking it across my clit.

I think bringing Bert into my little talk with Tasha was the error. If I apologize for that threat, I’ll have to do it in front of an audience. I can’t trust that she’d actually tell anyone I did it.

The fact I’m not grouped in with the Omega subs, and instead, given preferential treatment, has always kept me an outsider with most of them. Not that I mind. I don’t particularly want to be close to them. But I don’t want them hating me, either. And I do my best to keep people safe and maintain peace.

I let out a porno groan to encourage the Alpha between my legs, despite feeling absolutely numb. He’s paying to pleasure a dominant Omega, and I need to ensure he’s satisfied, even if I’m not.

He continues his task with renewed vigor until I cry out dramatically, grind my pussy in his face for a bit, then back away, just as our time is up.

I release his restraints, and while he goes to clean up and change in the attached bathroom, I begin to clean and straighten up. The motions are automatic now.

Disinfect, return tools to their rightful places, straighten everything out to look like the room hasn’t been used yet tonight.

Same thing, different day.

Once I send the Alpha off, who reminds me that his name is actually Jake, I go to the bathroom to wash and re-secure the panel of my catsuit. After I finish, there’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?”

Thompson, one of the bouncers, peeks his head inside the room. “Mama wants to see you in her office.”

My body jolts with concern. Mama never interrupts my work shift for impromptu meetings. Does this have something to do with my altercation earlier?

I swallow, my throat dry. “Okay, I’m coming.”

Outside in the hall, I take the back way around to her office, through utilitarian corridors with breaker boxes and controls and minimal lighting illuminating the way, all so I don’t have to pass through the main room and chance being seen by someone who would delay me.

Once I’m at Mama’s door, I lift my fist to knock, loathing how it quivers before rapping on the wood.

“Enter.”

Pushing open the door, the office beyond is as decorative and loud in décor as usual. Bright and vibrant colors are everywhere, mostly violets and reds popping from black backdrops. Her ornate, wooden desk is covered in papers and paper tray stacks, a typewriter on one end, and old fashioned rotary phone on the other, neither of which she actually uses. It’s all for show. This business is run by computers everywhere, though the only ones patrons see are at the check-in and bar.

“Sin. Take a seat.”

After closing the door behind me, I move further inside and gingerly sit in one of the plush red chairs in front of her desk. My heart is racing, my mind whirring at all the possibilities of why I would be called here when I should be working.

“Your presence has been requested by one of your regulars.”

I blink at Mama, a pinch forming in my brow. Why would she call me here to tell me this?

“In New York.”

My mouth falls open. “What?”

A sly smile stretches across Mama’s face, her gray eyes glint in the dim light of her desk lamp. “Mr. Petrov has requested that you accompany him to an important function to ring in the New Year in Manhattan. You’ll be leaving in two days.”

“M-Manhattan?” I nearly choke on the word. “I don’t understand.”

One of Mama’s perfect eyebrows rises, much darker than the rest of her hair. “Mr. Petrov has been invited to a New Year’s Eve party in New York, because of his business connections. He’s requested you as his date for this function.” She shifts in her seat, places her elbow on the desk and leans her cheek against her fist, waving her freehand. “He’s been coming here to see you for years, and would rather you accompany him than hiring an escort. He’s paying handsomely, of course.” She blinks lazily. “And I’ll be giving you a pay bump as well. At his request.”