Loser Takes All (Up-Ending Tad: A Journey of Erotic Discovery Book 1) Read online

  LOSER TAKES ALL

  UP-ENDING TAD

  VOLUME ONE

  KORA KNIGHT

  Copyright © 2014

  Kora Knight

  ASIN: B00NC2G2FK

  Amazon Digital Services, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the author. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any similarity to real persons, living and or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  LOSER TAKES ALL

  Holy crap. What the hell had Tad gotten himself into?

  Note to self: Never again assume you’re the hottest shit at the table.

  Standing at midnight on the front stoop of a suburban three-story home, Tad glanced over his shoulder at the trio of jocks who’d kindly escorted him there. Leaning against their Mustang—which was parked to the point of nearly kissing Tad’s Jeep’s ass—they watched him intently with beefy arms crossed. He forced a brave smirk as they shot him lewd smiles.

  Second note to self: Never gamble with hustling pricks packing more than 200 pounds each.

  He turned back to the door and inhaled deep. He could do this, man up to his end of the bargain. Hell, he had to do this. It was either that or suffer two broken arms and a caved in nose. Yeah, the crew-cut jerkoffs made that pretty clear after they’d hustled him at the fraternity party a few blocks over. Until he’d actually lost, Tad assumed the words “triple or nothing” were in reference to a dollar amount. Little did he know, “triple” stood for the trio of lugs playing poker with him at that damned table—each making him pay up as they saw fit should he lose that final round.

  Bastards.

  Tad scowled, blew light brown bangs from his eyes, and glared at the door. God, how he wished he was anywhere but here; at the residence of those dickheads’ friendly neighborhood flogger. In fairness, they had given Tad a choice on how he’d rather pay up: a few broken bones or short-term bodily torment. Tad hadn’t been thrilled about either option, but he’d heard in the past from some of his kinkier buddies that flogging wasn’t as scary as it sounded. That some people actually liked the shit. And since Tad had never heard that about a fractured humerus…

  He cleared his throat and rapped on the door. Why the guys behind him even had a neighborhood flogger, he had no idea. Hadn’t really wanted to ask. But they promised he’d be out of there in no time, able to drive home with working limbs and everything.

  “Awesome,” Tad muttered to himself. He was so going to kick his friends’ asses for ditching him for some tail back at that party. But since he’d been running the table at the time, really raking in the dough—or so he thought, the hustling cocksuckers—he hadn’t wanted to fold. He’d been the DD-designated driver for the night and stone-cold sober, for fuck’s sake. No way could he lose against a bunch of stupid drunks. Right? So his buds took off with their hotties and left Tad alone with jerkoffs One, Two and Three. The idiots currently leering at his back.

  Maybe Mr. Flogger wouldn’t be home.

  “Knock again, pretty boy,” one shouted from the curb.

  Tad shot him a glower, but brought his knuckles back up all the same.

  Rap, rap, rap.

  Heavy footfalls sounded from the other side of the door. Shit. The guy was home. Looked like Tad’s luck was staying pretty consistent. Warily, he braced himself, rubbing sweaty palms on his jean-clad thighs. Time to bite the bullet.

  The door swung open, revealing a friendly-enough looking guy not too much older than Tad. Handsome, in a non-gay sort of way, he had a genuine smile and warm, dark eyes. And unlike the douchebags back at their car, decked out in sports jerseys and neon-bright high-tops, this dude was barefoot in black jeans and a tee. But with a short, spikey cut of dark brown hair, he was definitely as muscle-packed as they were. He just didn’t emanate the prickish I’ll-break-you-vibe the other three did. Surprisingly, his whole six-foot-and-then-some presence seemed pretty down-to-earth. Tad exhaled and eased his stance just a smidge.

  Door man tilted his head and took Tad in, then leveled his brown eyes on the trio at the curb. He gave them a chin lift hello, then returned his attention to Tad. “Hey there, card shark. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Tad frowned. “Wonderful.”

  “Don’t look so disconcerted,” the guy chuckled. “This is gonna be fun.”

  “Define fun.”

  Tee-shirt man’s smile widened. “I think I’d rather demonstrate.”

  Tad’s hazel eyes regarded him skeptically. He looked a bit too psyched, if that grin plastered on his face was any indication. A smile that, if Tad was honest, was ridiculously perfect—the asshole. Straight, white teeth and full, smooth-edged lips. What, was the guy a super model by day and a torturer by night? At least he wasn’t leering like the Three Musketeers at Tad’s back. Tad could feel their excited stares boring a hole right through him. What a bunch of fucktards.

  “Whatever,” Tad muttered. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Door man lifted a brow then gestured him inside. “By all means.”

  Tad peered past the dude into his ill-omened abode. And what do you know, his feet suddenly didn’t want to work. “Uh…” Tad stalled. “I… um…” He swallowed nervously. He did not want to go in there.

  His host gave another of those damn dashing smiles. “You want one of your buddies to come inside, too? For moral support?”

  Tad stiffened at the thought then glanced over his shoulder. The trio stood attentively, as if waiting for an invite to watch. Tad grimaced, turned back around and shook his head. “Ah, no. No, thanks. But…” Geez, how did he ask what he needed to know so his feet would get with the program?

  Door man sobered. “You want a guarantee you won’t end up in some gutter.”

  Tad shrugged awkwardly.

  He nodded. “Understandable.” A big hand came up to rub his stubbly chin. “Hmm,” he pondered briefly. “How about this: Pull out your cell phone.” When Tad shot him an incredulous look, he chuckled. “For a text message. Enter Chad over there’s license plate number. Surely some people saw you with them tonight.” Tad reluctantly nodded. Smiles gestured to the house number by his door. “Put in my address, too. Then send it to a trusted friend, saying if they don’t hear from you in the morning to come looking for you here.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Hypothetically, that’s info they could pass along to the cops.”

  Tad contemplated his suggestion and figured it made enough sense. “Yeah, okay. Fine.” He tugged out his cell, thumbed it all in, then sent it along with a Tad-style cryptic message to his best bud. If Jay read it right, he’d think Tad was off getting lucky, too. Because over Tad’s dead body did he want anyone finding out anything about tonight’s debacle.

  Door man’s smile returned, but was only half its initial size. “I’m not gonna kill you. But I am gonna work you over.” His big brown eyes glittered. “In a good way, of course.”

  A shiver raced up Tad’s spine. Glancing one last time at his newest enemies—who shot him a thumbs-up with some brow wags to boot—Tad ambled through the door. It clicked shut behind him, the sound of a bolt locking swiftly following suit. The hair on his nape stood on end. Fucking hell, did he just seal his doom?

  Door man chuckled softly, passing Tad in the foyer to lead the way down a darkened hallway. “Relax, would ya? You’re making me feel like a criminal.”

  “So sorry,” Tad deadpanned, eyeing his surroundings. “Never been in a situation like this before.”

  “Well,
it’s not that big a deal, so stop being a pussy.” He flashed Tad a big teasing smile. They came to a door beneath a set of stairs. “I’m Scott, by the way.” He shoved a key into the knob, looking at Tad as he unlocked it. “And you are?” His full lips curved into a smirk. “All they gave me was Loser Boy.”

  “They” being the bastards outside making noise. Tad could hear their obnoxious catcalls even from inside the house.

  He grunted irritably. “Tad. My name’s Tad.”

  Scott clapped him on the shoulder then tugged open the door. “Nice to meet you, Tad.” He motioned for him to get moving. “Age before dexterity.”

  Tad eyed the opening. Oh, God. The guy was taking him down to his basement. A really dark basement. His whole body tensed.

  Scott waited for a second, then reached in and flipped on the stairwell light. “You’re a timid one,” he murmured. “How old are you again?”

  Tad shifted his weight and rubbed his nape. “Uh… twenty-four?”

  Scott chuckled. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “Twenty-four,” Tad scowled. “I’m twenty-four.”

  Scott nodded. “Alright, cool. Just checking.” His chocolate gaze roamed over Tad’s body for a second time. “What with how skittish you are.”

  Tad stiffened indignantly. “I’m not skittish. I’m cautious.”

  Scott inclined his head, lips twitching. “If you say so.” Again, he gestured for Tad to head on down. Tad frowned, then steeled his shoulders and reluctantly began the descent. Twenty-some steps later and they arrived at a small, enclosed landing with two doors straight ahead. Scott’s warm body bumped into Tad’s back as he maneuvered to get around. Tad tensed at the contact and moved out of the way, catching a faint whiff of the guy’s cologne. Subtle, yet masculine through and through. Scott’s nose had good taste.

  Opening the door to the left, Scott turned and looked at him expectantly. Tad peered inside. The room was still dark, so he couldn’t see much. He could, however, smell some stuff. Like lemon cleaner, leather… and faint, musky sweat. “So,” he drawled, “does this place have lights or—”

  Scott flicked on a ceiling fixture.

  “—are we doing this in the…” His words trailed off as he took in the huge open space. Split into two parts, the retracted wall divider made the place seem downright massive. The right half was obviously used as a gym. Housing everything from punching bags and pull-up bars to free weights and a treadmill, every wall—including the two it shared with the adjoining room to its left—was covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

  Tad grunted, impressed. The area was pretty damn inspiring. He already worked out a couple days a week, but this set up made him want to go at it non-stop.

  His gaze drifted warily to the left, to the other half of the room he’d deliberately been ignoring. Because while Scott’s gym was nice and unassuming, its counterpart’s “theme” was considerably more… questionable. Not that Tad should be surprised. He had been taken there for a fucking flogging.

  “Damn…” he muttered. But it wasn’t an awe-struck or curious “damn.” It was a dread-filled “oh, shit” one.

  Scott chuckled, seeming to get it, and ambled deeper inside. “This place is a great escape, Tad. An alternate tension reliever.” He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “It’s also a guilty pleasure.”

  Tugging his tee shirt over his head, he tossed it onto a nearby leather sofa and sauntered further back to the left. Tad frowned. Why the fuck did he take off his shirt? Whatever the reason, Tad took the opportunity to scrutinize the guy again. Not even ten years Tad’s senior, the dude was built like a champ. Tad eyed his massive back. With each step Scott took, tanned muscles rippled down its length. And as his arms swung languidly to and fro, his thick shoulders bunched in time. The guy clearly spent some serious time pushing weights.

  Tad cleared his throat just as Scott stopped at a tall, bulky chest. “So, you an aspiring body builder or some shit?”

  Scott laughed, his voice sounding deeper than before. “No. But thanks for the compliment.”

  Tad scowled. “Just an observation, dude.”

  “Mm.” Scott pulled open a drawer and started to rummage. “My roommate and I take clients down here. He’s the full-time Dom, though. I just like to doddle in the stuff, but cover appointments for him when unexpected stuff comes up. Mainly, I’m a personal trainer. But I also teach kick-boxing and weight-training at the local fitness center.”

  Sounded normal enough. Tad eased up some more.

  Scott shoved something into his pocket then shut the drawer and headed back over. But now it was his broad chest in full view. Huge pectorals and an insane eight-pack moved in time with his hips. Trim hips that lent way to powerful thighs. Envy churned low in Tad’s belly. Or at least that’s what he assumed the sensation was.

  Scott stopped in front of him. “You want a tour?” Again he flashed that killer grin. “And I don’t mean of the gym.”

  Tad blinked, his cheeks growing hot. He was there to be degraded by a stranger. Why would he want a tour beforehand? Shifting on his feet, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Ah, no. That’s okay.”

  “You sure? There’s some pretty interesting stuff to see.” Scott’s words were laced with teasing.

  Tad forced back a chuckle. “Nah, I’m good.” Though to be honest, a part of him was kinda curious. His gaze shifted of its own accord to the nearest, sketchy-looking contraption. The thing reminded him of a medieval pillory that trapped one’s head and wrists—leaving the rest of their body utterly vulnerable. He grimaced and diverted his eyes, only to have them land on a giant wooden X, furnished with two sets of shackles. A padded bench garnered his attention next, followed by a waist-high… cage? Holy hell.

  Cracking his neck anxiously, he glanced away… to what looked like an exam table housing—surprise, surprise—foot stirrups and corner cuffs. And what on earth was that big, horizontal plank, suspended in the air by cables? Ugh. He didn’t want to know.

  Hung from black cinderblock walls were countless dubious tools he couldn’t even begin to fathom the purpose of. Still, he searched for the dreaded flogger; one infamous handle with a ton of long, leather strips. There, by a bunch of other whip-looking thingies. He really needed to brush up on his torture device know-how. As he eyed its many tassels, his body tensed back up. How bad would it hurt? How long would he have to endure it? But more importantly, could he endure it? If he didn’t follow through on his end of the bargain, he’d have two arm casts and a fractured face to look forward to.

  He winced, shaking himself from his thoughts, only to find Scott curiously eyeing him. As if the guy was wondering if he’d changed his mind about the tour. “Seriously. I’ll pass.”

  Scott’s beefy shoulders shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He pointed to yet another door. “We’ll be going in there.” He headed inside and flicked on another light. Tad lingered in the threshold. A huge center structure took up nearly half the room. He had no idea what it was, so he continued his perusal over to an entire wall of dark tinted glass, like those one-way mirrors in interrogation rooms. He frowned. That couldn’t be good. He glanced around the rest of the space, no bigger than a large bedroom. The other walls were a pleasant beige, with trim and minimal décor. A chocolate-crimson love seat sat opposite the glass wall, a stereo system off to the left—which Scott proceeded to bump on to a nice low volume. Three Doors Down. “Need my tunes,” he drawled. Rock droned softly from flush-mounted speakers.

  Tad almost smiled. He liked music, too—even this particular band—but under normal circumstances. He shifted nervously, but still didn’t enter.

  Scott chuckled, curling fingers around Tad’s tense upper arm. “Such a shy one,” he murmured, tugging him inside. “You’re gonna be a blast.”

  Tad didn’t like the sound of that. In fact, he wanted to dig in his heels and stay put. But instead he ambled grudgingly along, probably because of the smug bastard’s remark.

  “I’m not s
hy,” he grumbled. “Just exceptionally unenthused.” His eyes locked back on to that big, bizarre center piece; what looked like an eight foot tall, stand-alone headboard. “What the fuck is that?” he muttered, almost afraid to ask. He glowered around some more. “And what the fuck is this room?”

  Scott shut the door behind him. “This is the observation-slash-demonstration room.”

  Oh God, Tad thought, going ramrod stiff. Just as he’d suspected. All blood promptly drained from his head.

  Scott laughed, clearly reading his thoughts. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s watching.”

  Tad exhaled in relief. “Thank fuck. But wait, so why are we in here, then?”

  Scott motioned to that strange looming structure. “’Cause tonight that’s going to be your whipping post.”

  Tad’s eyes shot back the headboard-minus-a-bed monstrosity. Gulp. “Oh.”

  “Time to lose the clothes, shy boy.”

  Every muscle in Tad’s body wrenched tight. “Come again?”

  Scott’s eyes glittered. “And again. And again.”

  Tad scowled. “What?”

  Scott grinned then crossed his arms. “You can’t be dressed for a proper flogging, Tad.” His voice sounded suspiciously husky.

  “But—”

  He held up his hand. “This isn’t up for debate. It’s what your boys specifically requested.”

  Anger surged in Tad’s already churning gut. “No one said anything to me about getting naked. So, your boys can take their “requests” and shove ‘em up their—”

  Scott barked out a laugh and thumb-pointed over his shoulder. “Hey man, there’s the door. I won’t stop you from leaving. Go settle-up with your buddies some other way. Hell, they’re probably still outside.”

  Tad stiffened. He knew what “some other way” would mean to those dicks. “God damn it,” he cursed, turning to re-eye that ominous structure-of-doom. His fists clenched anxiously open and shut.

  Scott snorted. “You are such a pussy. Seriously? People pay to have done to them what I’m about to do to you.”