Black Light: Roulette War

by Grant, Livia

  “Yes—no!”

  Another drip. It lands on her labia. “What do you need?” I let another drip fall, and another. “What is your pleasure, Lady Luck?” I drip wax onto her inner thighs.

  She whimpers.

  If she were ready, I’d make her beg for release, but I haven’t won her over yet. She’s proud and reserved and asking her to beg might make her stubborn. Simply demanding she make a request is the first step.

  “Tell me, kitten.”

  “Will you… touch me?”

  “Here?” I bring my thumb to her slit and find her clit. I drip a bit of wax on her nipple at the same time.

  Her hips buck off the table. “Yes! Um… yes, there. And…” She tosses her head back and forth.

  It’s fucking beautiful. Like I’m witnessing some rare and exotic creature in her native habitat. The snow leopard of the Himalayas. My fierce and sensual lioness.

  Keeping my thumb on her clit, I rub her entrance with my index and middle fingers. Her folds are swollen and wet and my fingers slide right in.

  I ditch the candle. “Is this what you need?”

  “Yes, please.”

  There, I got a please and I didn’t even demand it. “Yes, Master,” I correct her.

  I rub along her front inner wall, seeking her G-spot. When I find it, her muscles contract around my fingers and her legs jerk.

  I take my time. Slow strokes over the sensitive tissue. I could finger-fuck her hard right now, hit that spot with each thrust and she’d come in less than thirty seconds.

  But I want to edge her.

  See how desperate she gets when she really wants release. Break down that resistance a little more.

  I keep at it, waiting until she starts making little noises, until her body quakes and trembles, right on the precipice. Then I slip my fingers out.

  She gasps. Lips part, waiting. When I don’t move, don’t make a sound, she begs. “P-please, Master?”

  My dick gets rock hard.

  I unbuckle her ankles, then her wrists.

  She sits up. “Wh-what happened?” She’s bewildered.

  “On your knees, kitten,” I say softly. “Show me how much you want it.”

  It offends her. I can see in the rigidity that straightens her spine. The way her shoulders spread and stiffen.

  But she does want it. Her cheeks and neck are flushed, the heat from her skin radiates between us.

  I tug her elbow and she drops to her knees in front of the table.

  I unbutton my pants and free my erection. “Find pleasure giving pleasure, kotyonok,” I advise.

  She opens her mouth willingly and I feed my length in.

  It’s a slow start. Takes her a few moments to sink back into the head space I’d created, but she does.

  And when she does, it’s magnificent.

  Her hands come to my hips and she hollows out her cheeks to suck hard. Her knees spread on the floor, her back arches. Her enthusiasm attracts the attention of the people around us and the collective energy sparks.

  I want to tell them to go fuck off, but that would alert my beautiful submissive, and I can’t have her inhibited. I pick up the flogger and flick lightly down the sides of her thighs as she sucks, which makes her moan around my cock.

  I let her go off-leash for a while, let her run the show, until I start losing control. Then I grip the back of her head and drive. She stiffens at first, then relaxes her jaw and lets me pump into her mouth.

  “That’s it,” I praise. “Good girl.”

  Her tongue swirls along the underside of my cock. My balls draw up tight. I want to make it last forever, but I also need this to take the edge off so I can enjoy mastering my Lady Luck.

  I close my eyes and succumb to the delicious sensation of her hot, wet mouth, the little sounds she makes around my cock.

  “I’m coming, kitten,” I warn her. “Suck it hard and swallow every last drop like a good girl.”

  I give it a fifty-fifty chance of her complying, but it seems she is Lady Luck, because she obeys.

  I tug the sash of her dress off her head because I want to see her eyes. She blinks in surprise and pops off, sitting back on her high heels.

  “Good girl.” I hold out her dress and sweep it around her shoulders like a robe, then grip her elbow and help her to stand.

  Confusion flits over her face.

  “I’m going to make you wait for yours,” I explain.

  * * *

  Lucy

  He’s got to be kidding.

  All that pent-up need turns to fury when I realize he just made me suck him off with no intention of giving me my hard-earned orgasm.

  Okay, maybe not that hard-earned, but I feel like I’ve been through the ringer. The wax play and flogging wasn’t painful, but the whole experience was intense.

  He must see my anger because he catches my chin with his tattooed fingers. His touch has been nothing but gentle, but I still flinch every time he reaches for me.

  “I wouldn’t say whatever it is you’re thinking about saying. You’re still mine for two more scenes. You’ll get your reward when I decide.” His accent is growing on me. Maybe because his voice was the only thing I had to go by when he had me blindfolded.

  I shake off his hold and pull the fabric of my dress around me now, then tie the sash. The hardened wax still clings to my skin, bringing continued awareness to my most sensitive places.

  Everything’s buzzing. My core is hot and activated. Almost uncomfortable. This must be the female version of blue balls. I didn’t know it existed. I’ve never been so wound up in my life.

  I guess I’m a high-stress kind of person. Tightly wound. I can count the number of times I’ve actually achieved orgasm with a partner on one hand.

  And I was so damn close.

  And the Russian—Master R—had to pull back.

  Seriously, if I don’t orgasm tonight, I will never forgive this man.

  Not that I’ll ever see him again. But he will have to bear the weight of a lifelong stranger-grudge.

  He studies me coolly.

  I want to kick him in the shin.

  All these gentlemen in the room and I ended up with the Russian street thug.

  But that’s not fair. This guy is actually very much a gentleman, despite the extremely rough appearance.

  That doesn’t mean I believe he’s not dangerous with a capital D.

  I represent one of the biggest Italian mob families in Chicago. I know better than to confuse charming with safe. I should talk to Gretchen about getting this guy’s membership to Black Light revoked.

  That thought gives me a pang, though. He’s done nothing wrong. And there’s nothing to make me believe he will. Still, I keep thinking the reason he’s so good at this is because he’s perfected his skills at every form of torture.

  Across the room, a woman yells “It’s not alcohol! Give it back!”

  I see one of the dungeon monitors confiscating a water bottle from her. Her dom leads her to the bar. Hopefully not for more liquor.

  “Would you like a drink?” my dom offers politely, as if this is a date.

  My first instinct is to refuse because my defenses are back up, but the fact is a nice glass of wine might take the edge off.

  I nod stiffly. “Yes, please.”

  He slides his arm around my waist, his palm lightly molding to the upper curve of my buttock.

  If this were a date, I’d elbow that hand away, but my body’s still aflame, and the touch feels good. My body has no idea that I don’t like or trust this man.

  At the bar, the dominant of the woman with the alcohol is speaking to her in a low tone, offering her a bottle of water.

  I order a merlot. Master R asks for water.

  He stays in my space, pinning me against the bar, one hand lightly at my waist. Now that we’re up close, I can see the black jeans are designer. His t-shirt is soft and expensive. He may be dressed as a thug, but he has money.

  Not at the bottom of the Bratva
ranks, then.

  He’s good-looking, beneath the tattoos and scars. Ice-blue eyes. Sandy blond hair cut short and rumpled in the front. His muscles bulge beneath the t-shirt. I must be ovulating because all I can think about is how it would feel to be under him.

  How pretty our babies would look.

  Not that I’d ever choose a guy like him to be my baby daddy.

  A stab of pain runs through my heart. Damn Jeffrey for taking all those years from me without ever sealing the deal.

  “This is a rebound,” Master R says and my gaze flies to his face in shock. “You’re getting over someone?”

  I consider myself a good read of people, but that’s just uncanny.

  My face grows warm. I take a sip of wine to gather my composure. “How can you tell?”

  He runs his thumb lightly over my cheekbone. “A trace of sadness in your eyes. The unsuitability of this place for you.”

  I blink, trying to decide if I’m flattered or offended that he finds Black Light unsuitable for me.

  “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugs but leans in close and brushes his lips across the side of my neck. He smells of soap and light aftershave. It’s a pleasing mixture. “You’re uncomfortable. This isn’t your scene. You want to be dominated, but not this way.”

  He’s not wrong.

  I take another sip of wine. “How do you think I want to be dominated?”

  His smile turns feral. “You want to have control taken from you, so you don’t have to think or be right. You already do too much of that. You might like it rough, but you’d have to trust the man. You’re not there yet with me.”

  I note he said yet. As if he thinks he’s going to get me there tonight.

  The excitement that elicits in my body tells me he’s right. I would like it. And now I’m already fantasizing about it being with him.

  But rough probably isn’t just a scene for him. This man gets rough for real.

  My next sip misses and I dribble wine down my chin like an idiot.

  Without missing a beat, the Russian grips my hair in the back and uses it to tilt my head back and expose my throat. Then he licks the droplets from my skin with little flicks of his tongue.

  My pussy clenches.

  “H-how do you know so much about being a dom?”

  I just can’t stop myself from interrogating the defendant.

  Another casual shrug. “I make it my business to know what people want. What they’re willing to do for it.”

  I drain the last of my wine and set it on the bar. “I’ll bet you do.”

  He indicates my glass. “Would you like another?”

  I shake my head. Gretchen explained it’s a two drink maximum at Black Light. They don’t want people playing inebriated, which is why the submissive had her contraband liquor taken away.

  “I would like to see you intoxicated,” he observes.

  I lift my brows. “Why?”

  “You keep yourself under tight wraps. I wonder what might come out if you let yourself loose.”

  His words hit a little too close to home and I’m unnerved at how much he seems to see. “Well, it’s not going to happen,” I tell him.

  “Of course not.” Always the easy agreement. “Ready for the next roll?”

  I stubbornly refuse to move. “Are you going to let me come?”

  I see amusement dancing in his eyes. “We’ll see, kitten.”

  Grr.

  Chapter 3

  Lucy

  I’m grateful I can see and wear my dress to return to the stage. I throw the ball into the spinning roulette wheel. It bounces off the walls and finally settles in a slot.

  I hold my breath. Please don’t let it be something horrible.

  “Anal play for Lady Luck,” DJ Elixxir announces.

  My anus contracts at the pronouncement.

  Oh God.

  I’m so not up for this. I am a total anal virgin. But who am I kidding—I have zero experience with almost everything on that wheel.

  At least I didn’t get fisting. Oh, but that was a hard limit, so it would’ve been thrown out.

  Well, at least I didn’t get all the other things that were not quite bad enough for me to pick as my four hard limits, but still scare the bejeezus out of me.

  I steal a glance at my dominant, but as usual, he shows nothing in his expression. Just the same cool indifference.

  “Are you into… ass play?” I ask as he leads me off the stage. I don’t know why I’m trying to make conversation. I guess I just crave more information—any information—about what to expect.

  He shrugs. “It’s good. Good for you. You’ll like it.”

  I arch a doubtful brow and one corner of his mouth ticks up in a lopsided smile. “You don’t believe me yet?”

  “I’m beginning to,” I admit. He does seem to not only know what he’s doing but understand me and my needs far better than I do.

  My response elicits a genuine smile from him. “Don’t be afraid, kotyonok. I know how to make it good.”

  We return to the costume shop where he buys an anal plug, lube, and a vibrator. She gives it to him in a drawstring bag with a re-sealing packet of disinfecting wipes.

  I find that somewhat reassuring. I notice most of the doms are carrying their own bags of implements, but mine came empty-handed.

  “You don’t bring your own toys?” I ask as we stand at the counter getting checked out.

  He shakes his head. “No.” Single syllable. No elaboration.

  I try again. “Do you come here often?”

  I catch another lift of his lips. “Is that a pickup line, kitten?”

  “Dream on, my friend.”

  He turns to face me. “Oh, I wouldn’t call us friends.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not yet, anyway.”

  My heart starts beating faster as we lock gazes. He looks down at me impassively, his blue eyes showing nothing but clear-minded intelligence. Heat races along my skin.

  Dammit.

  I’m finding this man more and more attractive.

  I can’t decide if it’s his mysterious nature or his skill as a dominant. Or is it just all the masculine attention he’s pouring into me?

  It’s not something I’ve had much of. Jeffrey wasn’t the most sexual of boyfriends. I suppose that’s why Gretchen thought this experience would kick start my new love life. Open me to a new world of possibilities.

  “Come, beautiful.” He takes my elbow and leads me out of the costume shop, scanning the large room.

  It seems noisy and distracting now. I find myself almost wishing for the blindfold. The chance to shrink my world back down to the man beside me and what he’s going to do to my body. As off-putting as I found it, I have to admit, my dom actually knows what he’s doing.

  He heads for one of the scary spanking benches, but another couple claims it first, so he takes me to a couch instead. “I’ll have you over my lap. It’s more intimate, no?”

  I cringe just a little at the word intimate.

  Maybe intimacy isn’t really my thing. Maybe if Jeffrey and I had more intimacy we wouldn’t have gone on for so many years without really getting anywhere. He would’ve known how important children were to me. Or I would’ve recognized he wasn’t that interested.

  The blindfold worked for me because it kept me from intimacy. I was in my own little world. I didn’t have to think about the man touching me. About his tattoos or scars. About what illegal things he probably does for a living.

  He sits on the sofa and tugs me face down over his lap, taking his time to arrange a pillow under my head and shoulders.

  “Are you comfortable, kotyonok?”

  I nod my head.

  “Yes, Master,” he prompts.

  “Yes, Master.” I don’t even grumble it. Maybe it’s the growing sense of appreciation I have for this man’s care of me.

  He pushes my dress up to my back and runs his hand over my ass. In my mind’s eye, I picture those tattooed knuckles. The mu
scled forearms. His brutal face.

  As much as I wanted him least as my partner because of those things, I get damp between my legs thinking of them. He’s scary.

  And some part of me finds that thrilling as much as the other part wants to run the other way.

  But he’s proven himself to be a thoughtful and attentive partner.

  He pulls my arms behind my back and ties my wrists together with some soft fabric. It immediately puts me back in that helpless space. I still wish my eyes were covered, but I can turn my face toward the pillow and block everything out.

  Everything but his hand slowly caressing my ass.

  Crack!

  I nearly leap off the couch when he smacks one butt cheek.

  So much harder than I expected.

  He smacks the other side, then repeats right and left.

  Holy wow. Um, yeah. That hurts. I scramble on his lap, trying to dodge the spanks, but he wraps an arm tightly around my waist to hold me in place.

  I roll my lips together to keep my cries in and smash my face into the pillow. He continues, spanking me hard and steady until my entire ass burns.

  “Ow,” I finally moan.

  “Pain invites pleasure,” he tells me, resting his palm on my heated skin.

  I’m tempted to say any number of things that aren’t ladylike, so I keep my mouth shut.

  He slides his fingers between my legs and I’m shocked to feel how slippery wet I am. Apparently, he’s right. Pain does invite pleasure.

  He rubs lightly, his touch unambitious, soothing almost. Sensation blooms into more heat.

  But then he parts my cheeks and I clench in response. It’s embarrassing. Exposing.

  Not. Right.

  I hear the rustle of plastic and smell the slightly astringent scent of alcohol wipes. He’s cleaning the toys he bought.

  I flinch at the dollop of cool gel that lands on my anus. I expect to wait—the way he made me anticipate the wax, but the rounded tip of the buttplug immediately prods my back entrance.

  I squeeze everything closed—my eyes, my butt cheeks, my anus.

  He slaps the back of my thigh, which hurts fifty times worse than his spanks on my ass.