Velvet Submission (3 page)

A tall blond man approached her table, going to his knees near her chair, carefully not facing her and Gregori growled. Trey Fucking Langston. Trey was a popular sub in the club and he'd apparently set his eyes upon Megan.

The other sub knew his etiquette well. He sat silently on his heels, head bowed, and waited for Megan's acknowledgement. Gregori's palms itched as he watched Megan absently pet Trey's head. He actually tightened his hands into fists when Trey slanted a look at her from lowered lashes. He knew what was going to happen; he had witnessed it a dozen times already. She was going to take Trey to the public platform and tease him, whip him and torment him until he came.

Megan stood and straightened her dress with a sinful little shimmy, then indicated Trey should follow her with a negligent flick of her fingertips. She led him straight back through the glass double doors on the right. Gregori's mouth watered as she sauntered by him, breasts bouncing and ass swaying. She looked at him over her shoulder and winked. The wink was like a lightning strike to his already aching cock.

His dick swelled, and the leather strap around his balls he'd taken to wearing on the nights he worked tightened a fraction, forcing Gregori to close his eyes as the tiny bite of pain shot through him. He enjoyed the pain; his first Mistress, the Domme who'd trained him, had taught him how the pleasure could be infused with the pain to create a whole new reality, and Gregori had been a quick study. Perhaps his childhood of fear and deprivation in Russia had uniquely prepared him for her lessons. Whatever the reason, he knew he was intense, his tastes a bit darker than many of the subs who were regulars at Velvet Ice. Somehow he knew Megan could give him what he craved.

He pushed himself from the wall and followed her into the play area, dreading what he was about to see, yet needing to watch.

*

Megan cinched the last cuff around Trey's wrist and stepped back to view her work. He lay spread eagle on his stomach; his tight golden body beautiful against the black leather of St. Andrews Cross. She tilted the cross, lowering the front slightly and exposing his ass to those who enjoyed watching the show.

Reaching over to the small table that held common accessories, she retrieved a small wedge and slid it under Trey's hips. It raised his ass in the air and there were a few ahhs from the tables scattered in front of the play cubes.

"I hope you like an audience, darlin', because I don't close the curtains, ever." Megan gave Trey a moment to object. Instead he raised his ass a little higher and bent his knees slightly to open himself up.

She smiled. "Good boy. Now, do you have a safe word?" She generally preferred to ask her submissives if they had a preference for their safe words. If they did, they'd be more likely to remember it if they needed to. More than once, Megan's subs had needed to.

"Yes, Mistress." His voice was awash in need. This was an anxious one for sure. "Tonight my safe word is Georgia." Megan gave a little laugh, then laughed even more when he shivered at the sound.

"Now, darlin', you should know that's not where I come from," she teased.

"Doesn't matter." The sweet thing was almost panting, and she hadn't even touched him yet. "It's what I think of when I hear your voice, Mistress. It's like fucking honey."

Pleased, Megan laughed again, delighted not only with his compliment, but with the opening he'd given her.

"You kiss your mama with that mouth?" she questioned chidingly. "Didn't your daddy teach you to watch your language in the presence of a lady?" Out of the corner of her eye Megan caught a glimpse of Gregori. Her thighs squeezed tight every time she caught sight of the Russian, even more so on nights like tonight when his civilized veneer seemed especially thin.

She'd only approached him once and, thank God, he'd already been claimed for the evening. He was trouble on too many levels. He worked at the Club; not really a problem, but still a complication, as she intended her membership to be a long and satisfying one.

No, the problem was that she
wanted
him. He affected her in a sexual way and the attraction took her by surprise. She never mixed her Domme experiences with her sex life. Being in control was easy when sex was off limits. Sex for Megan involved emotional ties, and she was rarely in control when love was involved. Since her whole reason for coming to Velvet Ice was to be in control, mastering Gregori was a bad idea on every level.

Besides, he was
so
not her type. While Megan's preference in submissives was the bigger, the badder, the better, she preferred her lovers be more refined. Less formidable. She didn't want to Domme her lover, but she certainly didn't want her lover to Dom
her
, either.

She turned her attention back to the man she
could
safely master and ran her hand up his strong back. He was lovely, built like a swimmer with not an ounce of extra flesh on him. She picked through her bag, pulling out her smallest baby blue flogger and walked to the foot of the cross, completely out of the sub's line of sight.

She stood silently, deliberating over where to begin. Gregori's eyes burned on her back, and in spite of her best intentions, she felt inspired. Finally deciding on a course of action, she trailed the tasseled ends of the flogger up the inside of the sub's thigh. He jerked in surprise, and his body went tight in anticipation.

"You've a nasty mouth, slave," she murmured, her voice as gentle as the touch of the flogger she was now trailing over the sensitive small of his back. "How shall I punish you for your crudity?"

"However pleases you, Mistress," he gasped. Really, all the panting and trembling was delicious, but she couldn't help but crave a struggle. Mastering a weak sub never felt like true mastery to Megan.

"And what would you say if I told you it pleases me to leave pretty red marks on your pretty white skin?"

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered. "I'd say yes, please, Mistress."

"That's the correct answer," she answered, and let the flogger fly. Placing her blows carefully, precisely, she used the leather thongs to create a diamond pattern along the broad width of his back. When she reached his thighs, she slowed her pace still more, varying her timing so he couldn't brace himself, didn't know when to expect the next blow.

When she'd marked him from nape to knees, she paused. When he'd quieted, she teased him, whipping him, but lightly. The leather thongs fell in barely a whisper against his skin. She knew if she gave the burn time to die down, the next layer of marks would be even more intense.

She moved up his body again, put down the flogger and reached for the bottle of oil waiting in her bag. Popping the top, she held it up for her audience to see, then let the clear liquid drip down his back. It was a common enough lube, one with a mild heating agent, but his hips rose dramatically as a long thin line slid down between his butt cheeks.

"Mistress, it's so fucking hot."

Megan frowned and slapped him hard on one thigh. "I thought we'd established that I don't appreciate inappropriate language. If you can't speak respectfully, don't speak at all."

"Sorry, Mistress," he panted. "I'll do better, Mistress."

Megan nodded in acknowledgement, and began to rub the oil along his back, massaging it in thoroughly. She knew his skin would heat up and tingle slightly, and she was interested to see how this particularly responsive sub would perform with the added stimulation. He groaned his approval continuously, a low stream of profanity, and Megan caught the hint. Moving back to her bag, she retrieved a ball gag. This sub was ready to go further. She brought out the device and pushed the ball into his mouth before clasping it into place behind his head. Placing a rather large baby blue dildo in his clenched fist she deliberately deepened her drawl as she instructed him, "If you need your safe word, drop the dildo."

He moaned his understanding, and his skin took on a rosy color indicating the oil had done its job. Grabbing her flogger again she began to drag the leather tails along his spine and the insides of his thighs. He whimpered behind the gag, and she gave him the force he was begging for. The cracks against his flesh grew louder with each strike. His moans behind the ball increased with every blow.

A rush of power came over Megan, settling into her bones and releasing the great amount of tension that was permanently pent up inside of her. Being an emergency room nurse was a pressure cooker anywhere. Being one at Detroit Receiving Hospital was tantamount to torture with all she saw during one of her shifts. But with every crack of the flogger a little bit of that pressure was released; here she had control over what was happening. At her job, she was often powerless to help her patients. In this place, as Mistress, she held the promise of pain or fulfillment for her submissives, and for a little while she was able to forget the realities of the world.

The sub's hips were bucking up and down, moving back and forth in a frenzied dance of agonizing pleasure. He opened his knees wider, allowing Megan's flogger to snap between his legs. She halted her blows, savoring the way his thighs tensed at the loss.

"More?" she asked sweetly, and he groaned his assent. Megan moved to his head and stroked an approving hand down his cheek. She walked back up to the table and slipped her small flogger into her bag, then palmed the long crop the club provided for public play. She tested it a few times against her palm while watching her sub. He jumped with each strike, his eyes dilating with extreme need and want.

She moved back down his side and stood behind him. Raising the crop, she brought it down none to gently to the back of his balls. He moaned, and she could see his jaw working as he bit down on the ball gag, writhing in pleasure. She struck again: once, twice and on the third pass his legs stiffened and his scream pierced the small cubical.

The rush she felt made her want to run a marathon. Instead she petted his back through the spasms. Once he'd calmed, she went about picking up her things. She motioned one of the third-floor attendants for water and soap. The girl nodded once and left to get Megan what she wanted.

She flattened the St. Andrews Cross so Trey was lying prone and locked it into place. She removed the bonds at his feet, then his wrists. Finally she removed the ball gag. She reached under and took out the wedge. "Lay still and we'll get you cleaned up."

He grabbed her wrist gently. "Mistress, please… Please can I stay with you for the rest of this evening?"

Megan gently removed his hand and touched his shoulder. She bent over for his ears only, and whispered, "I don't spend the evening with anyone." He made a small sound of protest, and she met his eyes, giving him a level, implacable look. "You did well, don't ruin it." She ran her fingers through his damp hair and moved back, speaking in a normal tone. "Now just lay there and relax and we'll get you cleaned up."

The attendant returned with a hot bowl of soapy water. Megan took the cloth from the bowl, wrung it out and washed the oil from his body.

Chapter Three

Gregori wanted the floor to open and for Trey Lancaster to fall through on his ass. He wanted to slam his fist into the pretty-boy's dazed face and beat him to a bloody pulp. He wanted his Mistress to take him in hand and punish him for his presumption.

His body was strung tighter than he'd ever experienced before. Every flick of her wrist, every crack of her flogger was like a caress across his cock. At one point he'd bitten the inside of his cheek so hard he was bleeding.

Mistress Megan was gasoline to a fire, specifically the fire in his pants. He rolled his eyes at the poor metaphor, but he was no poet. He was simply a man who'd found the woman he wanted to belong to, and was suffering her absence. He gritted his teeth and kept his gaze upon her as she cleaned and petted her sub for the evening. She always brought her partners down gently, respectfully. Then she would collect her playthings and retreat to either the public changing rooms or, now, her private room. Within the quarter hour, she'd be at the first-floor bar, serenely sipping a glass of wine.

She'd be dressed completely differently, her Mistress persona long gone and replaced by a "normal" looking woman. Though to Gregori, even in a pair of artfully faded jeans and a plain t-shirt, Megan was exceptional. He brushed his hands down his thighs; what he itched to touch was the valley between her breasts. He absently pushed his tongue against the roof of his mouth—what he wanted was to taste her. His fantasies always started with his mouth on her, worshipping her body from head to toe. She smelled like honeysuckle and he'd bet his paycheck she tasted sweeter than honey fresh from the comb.

Gregori was losing control of his wayward body, a first for him. He'd been trained to go without pleasure, without release, and in the past it was never a problem. The denial only made the ultimate pleasure more intense.

Wanting, but never having Megan's touch, her taste, wasn't a denial he could enjoy. Perhaps it was because of his unacceptable possessiveness; perhaps it was the probability that his thirst for her would never be satisfied. Whatever the reason, his craving for her had long passed anticipation and was well into the territory of sheer torment. Standing in the dark watching Megan stroke a soapy cloth over Trey's red-striped legs, Gregori wanted to launch himself at her and beg to be taken.

He groaned as he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. Watching her with her hands all over another man took him forcefully back in time, to his school days in Soviet Russia. He remembered going hungry, wanting but never having. He remembered the day United Nations relief supplies had been delivered to his school.

He'd stood, hypnotized, staring in mute wonder at the crates of fruit and vegetables. Wanting, but forbidden to touch. Once the photo op had ended and the world press had gone, he and his classmates had been sent on their way, each clutching a single apple or orange like a precious treasure. They'd never seen the rest of the supplies again; the school officials had taken them, glutted themselves with pleasure.

That
was what watching Megan touch another man was like: like having everything in the world he wanted or needed right in front of him, but not being able to reach out and take it. He released a rough sigh. The night was still young, and his cold shower was still hours away. Time to pull himself together.