VelvetWhip (2 page)

Ginger turned her back to the audience and allowed the robe
to slide down, catching at her elbows. The movement bared a tempting expanse of
creamy flesh, broken only by the delicate lines of her tattoo. Her skin seemed
to glow against the deep red of the robe, and Stephen could picture the way it
would flush and grow pink for his flogger. When he let his imagination move on
to the crimson kisses his whip would leave on the flawless surface, he had to
adjust the suddenly far-too-tight fly of his leathers.

When the robe dropped to the floor, there were audible
sounds of approval from the audience. Stephen didn’t blame them. Ginger was
entirely bare, save for a pale-peach thong that blended with her skin well
enough that she could have been nude. God, so much gorgeous flesh just waiting
for his marks.

He must not have schooled his expression as well as he’d
thought, because she glanced over her shoulder at him, smirked a little and
tossed her head before offering her wrists. That was perfectly fine, though. He
enjoyed her little flashes of attitude. And he’d enjoy reminding her who was
the boss, at least outwardly, too.

Taking both of her slender wrists in one hand, he pulled the
sash from his neck, savoring the slide of silk over his skin. He wrapped it
around her wrists loosely, more for show than anything else, as silk ties and
scarves had a dangerous tendency to twist and cut off circulation when used in
serious play.

No, this was for the visual, for the contrast of deep-red
silk over luminous white skin.

Ginger might have been new to the club, but she knew her
role well. After holding her wrists up so the audience could get a good look at
their binding, she turned and stepped close to the whipping post, reaching up
for the hook set near the top.

Stephen moved close behind her, pressing against her back
and nestling his straining erection in the crease of her ass. She was soft and
warm against him, and he couldn’t resist grinding a little bit. He
did
resist moaning in appreciation when she rubbed back against him encouragingly,
but only just.

He coasted his hands up her body, letting his fingers trail
teasingly along the sides of her breasts before running his palms up the
lengths of her arms to wrap around her silk-bound wrists.

“Do you need to be bound?” he murmured for her ears alone.

“No, Sir,” she answered, equally softly.

“Do you want to be?”

She hesitated, and he made an encouraging sound.

“No, Sir.” He waited, sensing she wasn’t done, and she
didn’t disappoint him. “I like the challenge of having to hold my position all
on my own. No help from cuffs or whatever.”

Stephen smiled and nuzzled the tender hollow behind her ear.
He liked that, the sheer mindfuck of it. He breathed against her skin, smiling
even wider when she shivered in response.

“Excellent,” he responded, both to her words and her body’s
reaction to his. Making a show of it, he draped the silk sash over a hook high
on the post, but he didn’t tie it. She gripped the hook firmly. All it would
take was a quick tug of her hands and the tie would fall away entirely. The
only thing really binding her was her agreement to be bound. Sheer. Mind. Fuck.

He loved it.

Running his hands back down her arms, he brought them to
rest on her hips. She felt good in his grasp, as warm and as silky as the robe
she’d shed so readily. He toyed with the strings of her thong, tugging so the
lacy scrap would press hard into her pussy and chafe against her clit. She made
a breathy little sound and arched her back, rubbing her ass back against his
cock.

“Naughty,” he whispered, letting his lips brush her ear. She
shivered and sent a quick, saucy look over her shoulder. The movement brought
their faces close, their
lips
so close, he could practically taste the
cherry flavor of her lip gloss.

“Sorry, Master,” she whispered back, the very picture of
innocence.

“No you aren’t.” He didn’t even try to keep the amusement
out of his voice. “But you will be, pet.”

Stephen stepped back a bit and combed his fingers through
her hair. The stage was well lit during performances—all the better to see the
stripes and glowing red flesh of the punishments being meted out—and the
crimson streaks in the long, dark strands glimmered wickedly. Casting a glance
at one of the club employees stationed at the edge of the stage, he gathered
the thick strands in his fist.

Ginger sighed a little at the pull, so Stephen fisted his
hand and tugged a little harder. Her head tipped back with the pressure, and a
slight tension he hadn’t really noticed melted from her shoulders.

In response to his unspoken command a club submissive
approached, eyes down, to kneel at his side and offer up a pair of red
lacquered chopsticks. Stephen took them and dismissed the sub with a soft word.
Working quickly, he wound Ginger’s hair into a somewhat messy knot near her
crown and speared the sticks through, pinning it in place.

Once he had her positioned to his satisfaction, Stephen
moved back to take in the whole picture. And what a stunning picture it was.

Ginger was maybe five-six in her four-inch heels, and every
bit of her was firm, rounded, irresistible curves. She stood with her feet at
shoulder width, making a steady base to take whatever he wanted to give her.

Hell, what
didn’t
he want to give her?

Her back arched gracefully to the dip of her spine, the apple
blossom tattoo emphasizing the elegant line. Her hips flared generously,
curving into a full, rounded ass that just begged to be paddled.

Stephen couldn’t remember why he hadn’t requested to do a
scene with her before. She was sheer perfection, custom designed for him, and
he intended to enjoy every inch of her.

“Ready?” He tugged the flogger free of his belt loop as he
spoke. He wouldn’t just jump in with the whip. He wanted to prepare her,
sensitize her a little bit first.

“Yes, Sir.”

She didn’t look back at him, but he heard the smug
satisfaction in her voice without having to see it in her face. He’d change
that soon enough. He moved close enough to trail the tails of the flogger over
her shoulder and down her spine, then did it again just to watch her shiver in
reaction.

“Okay, pet. Set of five. Count it out.”

With no more warning than that, he laid the flogger along
her right shoulder blade, hard enough to pink the skin up a bit, but not hard
enough to actually hurt.

“One, Sir.” Her voice was firm, though it was soft enough
that most of the audience wouldn’t be able to hear her.

“Louder, pet.” A second smack, this one a little harder,
across her left shoulder, just above the line of her tattoo.

“Two, Sir.” Louder, as he’d commanded, which was good. Still
filled with mischief, which he intended to change right now.

The third smack was back on the right side, along her rib
cage, and he barely waited for her count before laying the matching blow on the
left. By the time her count reached five, her voice had gone deeper, somehow
quieter, though the volume didn’t actually change.

It was more like something
inside
Ginger had gone
quiet and was starting the slow descent into pain that would ultimately allow
her the ecstatic flight to subspace.

“Second set of five. Count it out, starting at six.”

* * * * *

If the tug of his hand in her hair had relaxed her, when
Master Stephen began his light, teasing flogging, Ginger just plain melted. He
wasn’t going for pain yet, and while her back was starting to feel warm and
sensitive, it didn’t hurt.

The pain was coming, though. She couldn’t wait.

When the count reached ten and the music changed, he paused,
giving them both a moment to catch their breath. He came closer, not touching,
but close enough she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. His scent
surrounded her too, citrus and bergamot and just a hint of musk. Delicious.

Then his hands were on her again, not rough from manual
labor, but firm and undeniably male. He rubbed over her back, pressing into the
heated flesh, forcing a tiny sting where the tips of the flogger had bit a
fraction deeper.

“All good?” He’d placed his lips against her ear again, and
his soft words buzzed against the sensitive flesh.

“Yes, Sir.” Even she could hear the low purr in her voice.
Oh yeah, she was good. And she was about to be much better.

“Ready for more?” He flicked his tongue against her earlobe,
and she fought the urge to rub back against him. Now wasn’t the time for that.

“Yes, please, Sir.” She rested her forehead against the
whipping post and tilted her head, offering her neck—maybe she couldn’t rub
against him like a cat in heat, but she could darned well offer him easy
access.

“Excellent.” He placed a soft, surprisingly chaste kiss on
the spot where neck and shoulder met, and she shivered. She shivered again when
he stepped back, taking his heat and scent away.

She’d seen Stephen do scenes, though they’d been informal,
and she’d seen him dance, so she had an idea of what he’d look like, spinning
away from her and moving to the far end of the staging area. She also knew the
audience would have been moved back by several feet as a precaution as he
uncoiled four feet of braided leather.

Closing her eyes, Ginger pictured Master Stephen. He had a
way of sauntering, getting where he was going with a deceptively lazy-looking
stride. There was something graceful and sensual and crazy masculine in his
movements that never failed to leave her with a nagging ache of arousal pulsing
deep inside.

The stage was well lit, the better for the audience to see
but, more importantly, the better for Stephen to keep absolutely aware of what
was going on with her. Ginger knew the light would be glinting off the subtle
blond highlights in Stephen’s hair, sparking off the silver barbells in his
nipples. It would gleam on his bare skin and cast intriguing shadows on the
curves of his thighs and, oh dear Lord, the heavy thrust of his erection under
those tight, tempting leathers.

She was lost enough in her imagination that the first crack
of the whip, a sharp accompaniment to the music throbbing through the bar,
startled her. The second, then the third, falling on every other beat of the
song, filled her with stillness. Anticipation. She knew he was performing to
the crowd now, but in just a few moments he’d be performing for her.

“Now.” His voice was pitched just loud enough to carry over
the music, and meant all for Ginger.

The next crack of the whip kissed her shoulder with fire.

She knew she cried out, felt it in her throat, but she
didn’t hear it. She wasn’t hearing anything but the beat of the music and the
percussion of the whip. Stephen would be moving with the beat of the song in a
sexy box step, punctuated every fourth beat by the bright snap of the whip.

Each strike, moving in an irregular circle on her right
shoulder—the shoulder without the tattoo, she’d later realize—was the perfect
strength. Each bite of leather was perfectly placed, slicing into her with
searing precision.

And each biting, searing, slicing crack of the whip sent
lightning from her shoulder to her clit.

The music slowed, but the beat grew in intensity, and the
blows intensified with it. The whip danced across her shoulders, kissing skin
warmed by the flogger with sparks of fire. Later, much later, she’d look in the
mirror and the sight of the short, crimson streaks would flood her body with
heat and her pussy with arousal.

Now? Now she was a pillar of flame, ready to combust for the
man who was playing her body so expertly.

* * * * *

Absolutely stunning.

Ginger undulated against the post, moving in time with the
music, though he knew that was unconscious on her part. It was deliberate on
his
part. Every snap of his wrist, every crack of the whip, was precisely timed.
Each bloom of red on her creamy flesh was precisely placed.

As the music changed again, Stephen began working his way
down, painting a strip of red blooms to the right of the apple blossoms that
emphasized the graceful curve of her spine. When he’d made a path of short
crimson lines the length of her back, he paused, coiling the whip in one hand
and approaching the woman all but writhing before him.

Heat poured off her body, wrapping around him as he laid his
hand—the hand holding the whip—against the soft curve of her hip. Her damp,
satiny flesh contrasted vividly with the rough coiled leather, making his palm
tingle.

This time when she arched against him, rubbing her ass over
his groin, Stephen let her. In fact, he pressed closer, grinding against the
luscious globes even as his free hand landed on her belly, pressing her more
firmly against him.

Her breathy moan was soft, more felt than heard, and the
heat pouring off her was making him dizzy. It was easy, natural, to drop to his
knees and feather light kisses down the length of her tattoo, then back up,
opening his mouth against every mark he’d left on her silky skin.

As his mouth moved up, the hand on her belly moved down,
sliding over the soft slope and into the lacy front of her thong. Scant, silky
hair met him, then plump, slick folds. Then, oh holy fuck, a curve of metal,
hot and slick from her body, neatly piercing the tender hood of skin over her
clit.

Perfect, beautiful little pain slut. He wanted to eat up
every fucking inch of her.

He bit down lightly on a spot of unblemished flesh under her
shoulder blade at the same time as he gave the clit ring a sharp tug. He was
rewarded with a shudder and a moan, and a gush of moisture over his fingers.

“Can you take more, pet?” He murmured the words against her
skin, enjoying the way she shivered in response. Any other submissive he’d
think was done, but Ginger’s curvy body seemed to be growing tenser, rather
than relaxing into subspace.