by Grant, Livia
Damn.
Master R leads me off-stage and it’s a good thing he’s holding my elbow because my knees are so weak I can barely walk in the stilettos I usually strut in with ease.
I can’t tell if he’s noticed how scared I am or not. He’s pretty inscrutable.
Because he has a lot to hide, the lawyer in me notes.
We stand beside the stage until the rest of the spins finish. Then Elixxir announces that Roulette starts and he guides me to the costume shop where a pretty young attendant helps him. He requests the wax and a lighter and he also picks up a leather flogger. Despite my trepidation and my total reluctance to be intimate with this criminal in any way, I can’t deny the flicker of interest that runs through me at the sight of the flogger. It’s the one implement I wanted to experience, mostly because Gretchen said it can be used in a sensuous and gentle way in addition to inflicting pain.
I realize I haven’t said a word since we’ve been paired, and the lawyer in me forces her way to the surface. “Why the flogger?” I ask as he takes the items and leads me out. “I didn’t land on whipping.”
“Hmm.”
Huh? What kind of answer is that?
He stops and takes my chin. “I think I liked it better when you didn’t speak.”
My mouth drops open in shock. The nerve.
“Let’s say this: no speaking unless it’s to safe word. You remember of the Black Light safe words announced at the opening ceremony, I’m sure?”
I grit my teeth. Now I’m kind of pissed.
Amusement dances over his expression and I realize that was his goal. His gaze dips to my breasts and I follow it. I didn’t wear a bra and my nipples stand up in stiff peaks. As if I like him being a dick and saying I can’t speak.
Grrr.
“I do require your answer now, kotyonok. Tell me you remember the safe words.”
I narrow my eyes. I want to not speak just to spite him. But I’m too out of my element to push. There are implements of torture all around me and he could pick any one of them. Not that I couldn’t just safe word out of it.
Actually, I could safe word out of the whole thing right now.
All I have to do is say red and the night is over. We both ‘lose’ officially, but I don’t care about that.
Except, I sort of do.
I’m one of those highly competitive type-A personalities who can’t stand losing.
Dammit.
I force the words across my lips. “I remember.”
He touches them. “Less venom, kitten. I know you’re scared. You don’t have to—”
“I’m not scared,” I cut in, forgetting I’m not allowed to speak.
To my surprise, he agrees. “Of course not.” He starts to crowd me. “You’re very strong.”
I step back and he follows, backing me up against a nearby wall.
“But with me, it’s all right to show the fear.” He brushes my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I’m in charge of you. I need you to show me everything so I know how far to push. Otherwise, I can’t show you pleasure.”
A shudder runs through me. It seems every time this man speaks to me, I shiver, only this time I register a lick of heat with the shiver, not the ice-cold fear I felt before.
Goosebumps stand up on my arms. He’s talking about pleasure, like Gretchen promised.
He tugs my hair out of the updo Gretchen told me was all wrong. Then his hand drops to my thigh and slides up, bringing the fabric of my dress higher and higher until it’s at my waist. His brows shoot up in surprise. “No panties?” His smile is feral. “Nice choice, kitten.” He slides one fingertip around to the back of my thigh and traces the inner curve of my butt cheek.
“It’s your first time here, no?”
“Is it that obvious?” I don’t know if he’s going to let me speak, but he didn’t call me on it last time.
He shakes his head. “Not to anyone but me,” he promises, which I doubt is true. I grudgingly appreciate that he’s trying to protect my pride here. It surprises me, considering the name of this game is supposed to be humiliation.
“Here’s what we’re going to do, kotyonok. I’m going to help you focus. Help you let go. Close your eyes.”
I don’t want to.
I really don’t want to.
I stare at him defiantly, but he’s confident. Patient. As if he knows he will eventually get what he wants.
Fine. I close my eyes.
The moment I do, he unties my wrap-around dress and tugs it off me. My eyes fly open. I’m wearing nothing under the dress, so now I’m buck naked in front of everybody!
“Eyes closed.” The command is nothing like the coaxing way he spoke to me a moment ago. It’s a harsh, guttural order. One that demands immediate obedience. My body responds even before my brain agrees. I squeeze my eyes shut.
He wraps the sash of my dress around my eyes and ties it in the back.
For a moment I stand there, waiting for something else to happen.
Nothing does. I sense him in front of me, hear his easy breath, feel the heat of his body. He touches me and I jerk in surprise. His hand connects with my ribs—lightly. Very lightly. He slides it slowly down my right side until he reaches my waist. Then he strokes across my lower back down to my ass.
“It’s easier this way, no? Your attention is on me and me alone. You must trust me to guide you.”
“I don’t like it.”
His laugh is soft. “I know, kotyonok.”
“What does that mean?” I demand.
“It means kitten. An endearment, not an underestimation of your fierceness.” He brushes a digit across my lower lip—his thumb, perhaps. You’ll keep your claws in for me, though, won’t you, beautiful lioness?”
I don’t know where he gets all these ideas about me. They both insult me and assuage my anger at once. But that’s stupid. He probably says the same thing to everyone.
And for some reason, that really pisses me off.
He traces a fingertip around my right nipple. My shivering grows.
“You are not cold, Lady Luck?”
I shake my head. They have the heat turned up in this place—I imagine it’s to ensure the scantily-clad submissives are warm enough. I’m not sure the men in three-piece suits love it, though.
As much as I hate having my eyes covered—and I absolutely detest it—Master R was right about what it achieves.
I am highly attuned to him now. His proximity. His voice. And especially his touch. Every time he makes contact, a shock of heat rushes through me.
And the fact that every contact is feather-light, sharpens my awareness. I’m now searingly aware of his every breath. The distance between our bodies. The space between them.
He shifts his touch, connecting the backs of his knuckles with my breastbone and lightly draws them down. My belly shudders as he strokes over it, down my freshly waxed mound.
I embarrass myself by letting out a tiny mewl when he strokes down my labia.
“Spread.”
A single-word command. No please. No thank you. Total certainty he will be obeyed.
I swallow. Shift on my heels to widen my stance by a half-inch.
“More.”
One finger strokes lightly over my slit.
My pussy clenches. Belly tightens.
“Not ripe, yet,” he comments. “Soon.”
“Soon what?” I’m still expecting him to punish me for speaking one of these times, but he hasn’t yet.
“Soon she’ll be weeping for it.”
“She? Did you just personify my pussy?”
His lips brush my collarbone and I jerk at the sensation. “No more speaking, kitten. Not unless it’s to tell me yellow.”
“Yellow.” I’m so damn stubborn. I know I am. That’s how I made it through law school and made damn sure my dad’s partners respected me when I joined the firm.
“Speak, kitten.” There’s a note of indulgence in his tone. Like I’m a preschooler testing him an
d he’ll allow it to show me the rules work as intended.
“I don’t like the blindfold.”
He adjusts the fabric. “Is it pulling your hair? Too tight?”
“No,” I admit.
“Then it stays.” When I open my mouth, he repeats it with a don’t-fuck-with-me tone. “It stays or you say red and end this. But I don’t believe that’s what you want.” He takes my left nipple between his fingers and squeezes, gradually increasing the tension until I gasp. “Is it, kitten? You may answer.”
“No.”
“No, Master,” he corrects.
Fucker.
“No, Master.”
He releases my nipple. “Good girl.”
* * *
Ravil
She’s exquisite. Lovely and strong but also fragile. I love playing with her.
It’s a long game. I’ll have to work slowly. And while I understand the Roulette event is one of chance and entertainment, I’m inclined to use multiple stimuli to create an experience. So, for my Lady Luck, wax play alone probably won’t get her wet. I need to start with sensory deprivation. Get her bonded to me. Heighten her senses. Make her ache for my touch.
Only then will the hot wax be sensual enough to turn her on.
Bondage would help, too. I need her to feel as vulnerable and exposed as possible.
“I see a place for us to play,” I tell her. “Would you like me to lead you, or carry you? You may answer, now.”
Some women, you take away all their choices. Dictate everything. With her, I’m offering a small sliver of control for her to cling to. It’s not real, of course. The only real control is her safe word, but I’m willing to provide the illusion.
“Lead me.”
I knew that would be her answer. Too bad. I’d love to have those slender arms wrapped around my neck and feel her weight in my arms. Later, perhaps.
I wrap one arm snugly around her waist and take her elbow with my other hand so we’re closely joined at the hip. It’s easy to steer her this way, despite her hesitant steps.
Stripping her completely naked was to help her head space. It does nothing beneficial to mine, however.
I issue a death-glare to everyone looking on with interest and appreciation as I guide my beautiful Lady Luck through the audience. I’m not usually a jealous man. Something about this one inspires a fierce protectiveness in me. Perhaps it’s because the women we played with in the past enjoyed the attention.
This one, I believe, would not. Or at least not yet.
I bring her to a padded table, then turn and push her until she sits. “On your back, kotyonok.” I guide her into position, cupping my hand behind her head to lower it.
Moving swiftly, I buckle her ankles and wrists into the cuffs. She immediately tests them, turning her wrists and tugging against the leather cuffs.
She’s a lovely captive—pale skinned and nervous, not lusty, like the rest of the submissives here. There’s desire underneath the uncertainty, but it will have to be coaxed.
Her breath shudders in and out, making her flat belly quake with each inhale. Her lips part and she turns her face slightly to the right, as if listening for me.
“I’m just looking, kitten,” I tell her and she snaps her unseeing focus in my direction. “You are a beautiful sight. Angelic, really.”
Her lips move, start to form a word, then drop open again. Perhaps she finally remembered my rule not to speak.
I pick up the flogger and trail it from the hollow of her throat and down between her breasts. “You were interested in this.”
Surprise flickers over her face—whether she’s surprised I noticed her interest, or wasn’t aware of her own interest, I can’t say. A flogger is an excellent instrument for a beginner. The leather strands can feel like the softest caress when used sensually. And even their bite can be warm and diffused, when applied correctly.
I take my time, tracing over her breasts, down her sides, tickling her ribs. Up the undersides of her outstretched arms. I stroke down the side of her face, slowing my movement and watching her breath match my speed.
I flick my wrist and snap the tips of the strands across the side of one breast. She cries out, jerking in surprise. I know it didn’t hurt—maybe a momentary sting—but I have her completely in my thrall now.
I reward her by trailing the soft strands down her belly and between her legs. Her shiver gives away her excitement. I follow down her inner thigh and tickle the bottom of her foot, then work my way to the other foot and up her opposite leg.
I give a quick flick to her pussy and she bows up off the table. Her cry is more erotic this time. She’s falling under my spell.
My dick pushes against the fabric of my jeans, but I ignore it. Another submissive here might get into the head space by being forced to her knees and having a cock stuffed in her mouth, but not this one.
Long game.
Her pleasure first.
I have to convince her to receive from me before I can expect anything back.
I trail the flogger strands between her legs again. I see the glistening of her juices gathering there. I want to test with my finger, to taste with my tongue, but I hold back. Fingers and tongue would be jumping ahead.
She requires more priming. Flogger and wax.
Then her next roll. Then her third. I have this creature for three hours. I can take my time with the seduction.
It’s odd how much satisfaction this game is giving me—I’m actually glad Valdemar dragged me along. I suppose it’s the challenge. I haven’t been challenged by a woman in years. Even American women throw themselves at my feet now with the wealth and power I’ve amassed.
So, this one presents a challenge and The Director in me—the engineer of possibilities, the mastermind behind the Bratva’s success in North America—loves a problem to solve.
I continue my slow exploration of her skin with the falls, stroking, flicking, engaging her body as I tease her mind.
“This is a change for you.”
I have to hide my irritation at hearing Valdemar’s voice. He’s standing across the table with an adorable schoolgirl submissive cuddled up to him.
“What is?” I grit out.
“I’m not accustomed to seeing you so gentle with a woman. Where is the crop? The tears? Is this one made of glass?”
Mudak.
Really, what a dickhead. For a diplomat, Valdemar seriously lacks delicacy.
I want to bitchslap him right now.
“Lady Luck requires a slower approach. Not every submissive loves pain. Does yours?”
The pig-tailed schoolgirl giggles. “Only when I’m a bad girl.”
My tactic worked, because Valdemar’s attention moves to his submissive and they move along.
“Forgive my friend,” I murmur, trailing the flogger across her breasts. “I have no intention of making you cry.”
Her lips part, then close. I slide a soft leather tassel across them.
“Thank you,” she says finally as I drag the strands down her neck.
I mark that concession from her. Maybe Valdemar’s remarks helped more than harmed. That’s good.
I fall into the zone. She deepens into the space I’ve created for her. I want to start flogging her in earnest, but that would warm her skin up and detract from the shock of the hot wax, so I set the tool aside and give her a moment to cool down.
For a long moment, I don’t move. I watch her tilt her head, seeking me with her senses. Last time I reassured her. This time I let her wonder.
Her lips open, as if she’s going to speak, but she stops herself. I give it another few beats, then circle one of her nipples with my fingertip.
She jerks and a tremor runs through her body.
“These are pretty,” I observe, circling the other beaded nipple. I pinch both at once and squeeze. “They would look good in clamps. Would you like that? Nod your head if you would.”
Her head rolls in an indeterminate direction. Not a nod or a shake.
I lightly slap her breast. “Yes? All right. I’ll get some later. I won’t leave you here unattended.”
I don’t know what makes me reassure her that way. I should be keeping her more on edge. Playing both sides of reassuring and making her guess.
“Have you felt hot wax on your skin before?”
She shakes her head.
I light the candle and let the flame burn a pool of wax. “It’s nothing to fear. A bit of heat, then it cools. This wax is made to burn at a lower temperature so it won’t damage your pretty skin. It’s where I choose to use the wax that can make you plead mercy.”
She shakes her head.
“That’s cute.” I touch her nose. “You don’t get to tell me no. Not unless you safe word. But I doubt you will. You’re not a quitter.”
She shakes her head again, as if agreeing.
I swirl the wax around in the candle and then hold it over her belly, letting a drop go.
I love watching her belly contract, her breath expand on a gasp. She’s too skinny, this one. If she were mine, I’d make sure she was kinder to her body. Didn’t hold herself to such strict standards.
I wonder what she does for a living. Drug rep? No, she has the looks, but she’s not a pleaser. She’s more of the CEO type.
My curiosity is strange. I never want to actually know my partners. I prefer to keep exchanges like this impersonal. The mystery lends to the excitement.
Besides, Black Light is about anonymity. A place where the rich and famous, the influential people in the world, indulge in their kinks without fear of being outed.
I allow another droplet to fall, then another. I circle her belly button, making a pattern around it. Then I move to her nipples. She jerks and hisses at the first droplet, but her nipples grow longer, swelling and hardening beneath the wax.
Her breath shortens, comes in little pants. She stirs restlessly, tugging against the bonds.
“I want to hear your voice now,” I tell her. “Tell me what you need.”
“Need?” She’s breathless. Sounds confused. “I-I need…”
“What kotyonok? Does your pussy need some attention?” I drip some wax on her mound and she gasps.