by Sam Crescent
“I see.”
The elevator chimed, interrupting their conversation. They stepped into the reception area where the receptionist waited for them with a friendly smile.
“Welcome to Club Noir.”
“Are these marble floors?” Amalia whispered, stopping in her tracks. Jeffrey glanced down at the black and white tiles. In all the years he’d come to Club Noir he’d never stopped to consider what he was stepping on. He focused on the receptionist, Gina, who was giving Amalia a brief explanation.
“The black stone is onyx, and each tile is inlaid with diamonds. It is considered the most expensive floor in the world.”
Jeffrey took in Amalia’s shocked expression, wondering how it would feel to be her, to step into a place probably worth more than her apartment. He couldn’t fathom it. Was she angry? Disappointed?
“Don’t you feel bad stepping on it?” Amalia asked.
Gina chuckled.
“Not at all.” Offering her a tablet and pen, she continued speaking. “Mr. Clay sent your information beforehand so all you must do is sign the dotted line.”
Amalia took it. She briefly read the document and signed.
“Thank you,” Gina said, taking it all back. “James will now take you upstairs to the dining area.”
A young man dressed to the nines, white gloves included, appeared at the doorway, motioning for them to follow him. After thanking Gina, Jeffrey took Amalia by the hand and led her to James, who welcomed them into another elevator. Amalia stood at his side, quietly taking in the gold accents within. Jeffrey rolled in his bottom lip. Concern ate at his gut. Had he overdone it? He was used to dating women who wanted to be impressed by his money, but Amalia honestly didn’t seem to care. Quite the contrary, she seemed upset to be in such an environment. The elevator chimed, and they stepped into a large room with floor to ceiling windows. Three chandeliers illuminated a set of no more than a dozen tables which were placed around a stage. Glass and ice sculptures shaped in the most original sexual positions made up the rest of the decorations within the space.
“What kind of place is this?” Amalia murmured, stopping to look at a glass sculpture in which a woman on her knees sucked on a man’s penis.
“A BDSM restaurant.”
“That exists?”
“It does here. The art is an exhibition by one of our local artists. It helps set the mood,” he said.
“I see.”
Amalia remained silent as the waiter seated them next to center stage, where already a spanking bench and a table laden with instruments had been set up.
“And the stage?” she asked as soon as he was gone.
Jeffrey grinned.
“You’ll see. Just wait for it, Amalia. You thrive on intrigue, on peril, risk. You will enjoy this,” he said. “I promise.”
She lowered her lashes, then, fixed her gaze on him. “I trust you I will.”
Jeffrey’s heart jumped in his chest. The moment was gone before he could think of an appropriate reply. Amalia picked up her menu card.
“I have no idea what to order,” she said. “The prices are not even on here.”
“They don’t need to be, nor do you need to worry about it. What would you like to have?”
After a brief discussion, they decided on what to eat. Little by little, the restaurant filled up. Their food was brought out, and conversation between them flowed. Jeffrey couldn’t recall a time he’d been so comfortable chatting with anyone. They had just finished their main course, when Jeffrey couldn’t hold back any longer.
“What do you think of a place like this? Had you ever been surrounded by such luxury?”
Amalia’s gaze dropped to her plate. She shrugged.
“I grew up in a middle-class family, so no, I hadn’t.” She paused, tapping her finger lightly on her glass of wine, as if collecting her thoughts. “Being rich has never been a dream of mine,” she said. “Sure, I like pretty things as much as the next person, don’t get me wrong, but if you’d taken me to a nice little restaurant downtown tonight, I would’ve been just as happy.” She paused, stared at her food then looked up at him with a glance which pierced though his soul. “It’s the company that matters. You can be in the shittiest place, but if you’re with the right person it won’t matter.”
“It goes both ways,” Jeffrey said softly.
“I suppose,” Amalia said.
Jeffrey sucked in his cheeks.
“There’s nothing wrong with having the best and wanting to give the best to those around you.”
Amalia smiled. “I guess you’re right, and, you know what I want now?”
He shook his head.
“Chocolate cake.”
Chapter Fifteen
Amalia watched as Jeffrey thanked the waiter for removing their plates. Dinner with him had been more than pleasant, and she hadn’t lied when she’d meant she’d be just as happy any place else. She was at ease with him, comfortable enough to speak about any topic. At times she had to remind herself she had just met Jeffrey, that this wasn’t their third, fourth, or fifth date.
The lights flickered and dimmed.
“The show is about to begin,” Jeffrey said. “And we’ve been skirting around the elephant in the room.”
“What do you mean?” Her heart skipped a beat. She knew exactly what he was referring to. In all this time, they hadn’t talked about what would be happening tonight.
“How much do you know about BDSM? I take it you know enough to venture into a club but—”
“I’ve never tried it. The night at the club was my first, er, experiment. Most of what I know I’ve read in books and online. I’m not fool enough to go into a BDSM club without knowing anything about what I’m getting into.”
“I imagined. So, you know about safewords, boundaries?”
She nodded.
“What boundaries did you set with that guy at the club?”
“No touching beneath the skirt and no hair pulling. Also, no bondage.”
“I see.”
“What do you want our boundaries to be for the night?”
“I don’t want any,” she said.
Jeffrey’s eyebrows rose.
“Would you be okay with me pulling your hair? Taking off your clothes? Putting clamps on your nipples? Using toys on your pussy? Tying you to my bed?”
“Well—” Amalia shifted her weight. “Maybe not all of it. I mean, it’s only one night.”
“But it’s enough to do all that and more.”
She barked out a laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. I’ll take it slow, but I need to know if there is anything that’s a firm no for you.”
She nodded.
“I guess clamps on my nipples. I’ve never tried them, but it just sounds painful.”
“All right. No clamps.”
Amalia rolled in her bottom lip. The lights dimmed again. The show was about to start.
“What safewords would you like to have tonight?”
“I think red, green, and yellow will suffice.”
“Perfect.”
Jeffrey reached across the table and squeezed her hand. The gesture reassured her, and she let out a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding.
“Now, watch carefully, Ms. Garcia. I want to know your impressions by the end of your first live BDSM show.”
She sat up straighter, focusing her attention on the stage. The spotlight shone on a tattooed man who was dressed in a black shirt with sleeves pulled up to his forearms and a woman dressed in a lace bodysuit. The man pointed to a spot on the floor and she gracefully kneeled, placing her hands on her thighs. She dipped her chin forward and kept her gaze down. She appeared relaxed, as if she’d done the same thing countless times.
“Ladies and gentleman, welcome. My name is Master Levi, and this is my submissive, Andromeda. Today, we’re going to offer you an exhibition on spanking implements. At the end of the show we’ll be happy to answer any questions.”
; The crowed clapped politely, and classical music filled the air. Master Levi touched Andromeda’s head, and she looked up. Amalia sucked in her breath. The adoration in the woman’s face was complete, her focus one hundred percent on her Master. He spoke to her, and she stood. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the spanking bench. Amalia’s heart summersaulted. The contraption was similar to the one she’d used at the club, except, even from this distance, she could tell the material was of better quality. Andromeda climbed onto it, resting her legs on the sides, her belly on a velvet central area and her forearms on supports at the front, which were at the same width as those where her legs were.
Amalia moved closer to the edge of the seat. She wished she could hear what Master Levi was saying. He spoke to Andromeda every step of the way, assisting her when she had problems and no doubt comforting her in front of the crowd. They acted as if there weren’t a host of people watching them, immersed in their own private bubble. Master Levi skimmed his fingertips across Andromeda’s back, and a visible shiver ran through her. Tenderly, he began to knead her ass. Unlike her experience with Adrian, she could tell Master Levi knew his submissive and the way she liked to be touched. He alternated between gentle strokes and stronger grasps of her meaty flesh.
Amalia’s pulse quickened. Raging desire swept through her, and she leaned forward, wishing to hear and see more. The first spank came unexpectedly. Amalia gasped. Andromeda didn’t even blink. A swift second, third, and fourth followed. Amalia grasped her knees to keep from shaking. Her flesh tingled. She wanted to be there. To be at Jeffrey’s mercy, waiting for him to decide on her pleasure, to touch her in ways which bordered on painful and erotic.
Once Andromeda’s ass was red, Master Levi crouched in front of her. They exchanged a few words. Then, he went to the array of instruments he’d set up earlier. Amalia bit her lip. Master Levi brought out a leather strap. He showed it to the audience, then stood behind Andromeda and gently stroked her bare bottom with it. She squirmed slightly, but he placed a hand on her lower back and she stilled. He then proceeded to hit her almost playfully with the material.
Amalia held her breath. Any moment now, he’d spank her hard. Every nerve ending in Amalia tingled in expectation. Cool sweat gathered at her nape.
It came fast and without warning.
Amalia stared. The vision before her was electrifying, erotic, inspiring. She watched in fascination as little by little, Andromeda surrendered to the experience. The transformation was magic, both uplifting and grounding.
She wanted to be Andromeda. She wanted to let go and fly into the stars by Jeffrey’s hand. She turned to him, expecting to find him equally enthralled with the performance. Instead, he was watching her intently, the emotion in the depth of his eyes undoing her.
“Jeffrey,” she whispered. “Sir.”
His lips tilted sending her heart soaring.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jeffrey drove as fast as was legal and safe. His dick throbbed relentlessly, and his mind was a convoluted mess of emotions. He’d watched Amalia throughout the complete performance. Her face was a painter’s dream. Every ounce of pain, arousal, and excitement, was expressed on the wideness of her eyes or the movement of her lips. He’d been acutely aware of the moment she’d processed the pleasure over the pain, of when she’d decided that she, too, wanted to experience what Andromeda had. He couldn’t wait to have her and give her what they’d both longed for since the moment they’d met.
Finally, Jeffrey entered his apartment building and wound his way down to his private garage. He parked and hurried to open Amalia’s door.
“Welcome home,” he said.
“Is the whole building yours?”
“No. Other people live here, but we all have private garage entrances and the last two floors are mine.” He directed her to the private elevator which took them upstairs. Neither of them spoke, the sexual tension between them increasing with every inch the elevator rose. He yearned to kiss her, to touch her, and ease her nerves, but he didn’t want them to be interrupted. The ride became endless, and he shifted his weight several times. The doors slid open into his place. “Come on in.”
Amalia stepped inside, the lights flickering on. She left her purse on the long glass and steel table he had at the entrance and ventured further in, taking in every detail. His apartment was sleek, decorated in blues and grays throughout. Everything, from the TV down to the sound system, or even the microwave, was state of the art appliances. The artwork hanging on his walls included a Banksy and a Warhol.
“It’s nice,” Amalia said, after a while. “Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Considering the diamond and marble floors in Club Noir, or the chandeliers in the Clay mansion, I thought you’d opt for the same.”
“Club Noir doesn’t belong to me, and the chandeliers were my grandparents’. That house is still under renovations.”
“Aha. Really, it makes sense. This style favors you. It’s practical, easy to control.”
“You seem to read me like an open book.”
Amalia smiled. “You’re pretty easy. It’s why I’ve been teasing you all this time.”
Jeffrey moved closer to her.
“Is that so? Should I be the one to consider myself duped?”
Amalia took a step in his direction. Her chocolate eyes were hooded, the desire in her gaze evident.
“Most certainly,” she said in a seductive tone which made his dick jump to attention. “You wanted a challenge, and I gave it to you.”
“How so?” he asked, closing the gap between them.
Amalia placed her hands on his chest. Slowly, she trailed her palms up to his neck, and looped her arms behind him, forcing him to lean down slightly, until their faces were but a breadth away.
“You hate to be told no, so I made sure all I said to you was no.”
Jeffrey’s lips tilted. “In this game, that has a name.”
“Does it?” She brushed her mouth against his in a teasing peck. The hairs on Jeffrey’s neck stood and blood rushed to his dick.
“Yeah.” His voice came out husky and low. Amalia’s pupils dilated. “It’s called topping from the bottom, and it’s a punishable offence.”
Amalia kissed him harder. Her mouth smashing against his firmly, taking a full taste of his lips before pulling back.
“You did threaten to punish me at one point.”
“I think for tonight, I’ll let it slide.” Jeffrey tugged her against him. Amalia gasped feeding his ego. “We only have a night, Ms. Garcia. And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.” Jeffrey kissed her. There was nothing sweet about the kiss. It was demanding, possessive. His tongue dueled with hers, commanding surrender. Amalia moaned. She pressed herself closer to him, unconsciously seeking more. He would give it to her.
Reaching behind her, Jeffrey unzipped her dress. He ran his fingertips across her spine delighting in the way she shivered. Inch by inch, he slipped it over her breasts and swollen nipples. Amalia whimpered, thrusting her chest forward. Jeffrey dipped his head and sucked on her breast. Amalia closed her eyes and threw her head back.
He switched to the other one, reveling in the way she hung onto him, as if the mere act of suckling her nipples made her knees week.
“Jeffrey, fuck me, please,” she begged.
He released her tit with a slobbery pop and took a step back. Amalia was a remarkable sight. Her dress hung at her waist, all but forgotten. Her hair was disheveled, her eye makeup slightly runny and her lipstick completely gone. An overwhelming sensation of possession took over him. This was his woman now. Headstrong. Intelligent. Witty. Adventurous.
“You’re stunning,” he murmured.
Amalia’s eyes widened slightly, and then her lips curled into a sensual grin.
“Then, what are you waiting for?” She tugged the rest of her dress down where it pooled at her feet.
“Beautiful,” Jeffrey said. “You’re a good girl, Ms. Garcia.”
Amalia sucked in a breath. This was the first time he called her a good girl, and he wondered what was going on in her mind. In future, he had to make sure their lines of communication were open and she could feel confident enough to completely trust him. For now, though, he was going to give her the spanking she’d been begging for from day one and then, fuck her until she pleaded at him to stop.
“Follow me, Ms. Garcia.”
Chapter Seventeen
Amalia’s heart was going to jump out of her chest and she was going to leave a pool of arousal on Jeffrey’s floor. She was grateful when he ordered her to go with him. They entered a dark room, which came alive with a soft glow no sooner than Jeffrey clapped his hands. His bedroom was like the rest of his house, useful but impersonal. It was missing what made a house a home. Family portraits, moments with friends, souvenirs.
He stood in front of his bed, a king size with grey sheets and a white comforter, and rolled up his sleeves to show his strong forearms. A dollop of arousal trailed down her leg. Shit. She wanted more. She licked her lips.
“Come here.” He took her hand and led her to the foot of the mattress. “Feet on the ground, ass up.” He helped her get into position.
“Spread your legs, Ms. Garcia, let me have a good look at your soaking cunt.”
Without an inkling of fear, she did as he requested.
“Gorgeous.”
Her chest tightened at the compliment, and her pussy clenched in expectation. Jeffrey moved in behind her, and Amalia’s heart climbed to her throat. Heat radiated off him, feeding her lust. He skimmed her ass, making goosebumps sprout on her flesh. Little by little, his full palms came to rest on it. She held her breath, waiting for him to do something, but nothing happened. Amalia closed her eyes. The weight of his hand became leaden, a physical reminder of his presence, of their connection.
Then, he grasped the flesh, squeezing it. A gasp tore from her. Jeffrey kneaded the flesh, gradually increasing the intensity. Amalia moaned. His fingers slipped between her legs, swirling over her hole. She pushed back, in a silent plea to be filled. Her clit throbbed, and she tried to find friction amid the bedsheets by rolling her hips.