Velvet Submission

by Violet Summers

  She placed a few favorite toys in a beaded satin bag, and checked her reflection in the mirror. Her silky blonde hair fell in soft curls around her shoulders. Her make-up was expertly applied and finished off with cotton candy-colored lipstick. Her nails matched her lips, and she kept them the perfect length to tease without causing serious damage.

  Her costume for the evening was a long pink dress that hugged her curves, showing them off to perfection. While it covered her from neck to wrists, a deep, keyhole neckline bared a generous amount of cleavage. The tight fit of the skirt made a dramatic slit necessary, and Megan knew that with every step she took, an equally dramatic amount of satiny thigh was revealed. For a final touch, she buckled on her favorite gold stilettos. They looked like pure, agonizing sin, but they were actually the most comfortable footwear she owned.

  Megan picked up her bag and slunk toward the door. It had been a hellacious week. She'd pulled two doubles at work, and it seemed the whole of the city was celebrating the country's men and women in uniform on Memorial Day by drinking themselves sick and then playing with pyrotechnics, automobiles or boats. She'd cleaned up more fireworks burns over the last four days than in the last four months, and if she saw one more baggie holding a finger or toe, she thought she just might retch.

  Tonight she wanted to play, and play hard. And she knew it would be an especially good night since he was working. He being Gregori the Hot, head of Velvet Ice security, and almost irresistible submissive. There was something about the huge man that called to Megan. Since the first time she'd seen him, blocking her way to the fabled third floor, she'd wanted to pet him, to feel all those large, sculpted muscles jump under the whisper of her touch. It was purely an ego thing. He was a big, powerful man; she was attracted, and she wanted him on the other end of her flogger.

  Checking her lipstick one last time, Megan scooped up her bag and stepped out the door and into the fantasy.

  *

  She was here again. Gregori leaned against the wall in the third floor public play area, eyes locked on his golden goddess. He'd tracked her from the moment she'd come from the private rooms and claimed her favorite table near the balcony. She'd ordered her usual red wine and sat watching the dance floor below her.

  Tonight she was wearing pink. An insanely hot candy-pink dress that clung to her breasts. Her long shapely legs crossed and her skirt fell to either side, offering him a tantalizing view of pink garters and soft white thighs. She trailed one finger lingeringly around the rim of her wine glass, and his dick pressed hard against his zipper as he was reminded once again of the night he'd turned her down, the night he'd already been committed to serve Master Dorian and his lovely wife-to-be.

  He shivered at the memory. It hadn't been the first time he'd watched her at the club. It hadn't even been the first time he'd spoken to her. But it had been the first time she'd really seen him as a submissive, as a potential play partner.

  She'd approached him slowly, a long, tall cat moving gracefully through the crowd. She hadn't yet been a member, but she'd acted liked she owned the place. Gregori watched her drink, and savored the memory.

  She walked right up to him, and Gregori automatically cast his eyes down to the floor. Long elegant fingers brushed aside his shirt collar just enough to reveal the plain black collar that marked him as a submissive.

  "So, sugar, you enjoy taking direction from a woman who knows what you need." It wasn't a question and her husky southern accent licked down his spine like fire.

  "I do, Mistress."

  "Mmm. I thought you might." She trailed her finger the width of his shoulder, and he didn't even try to control the shiver that followed in her wake. A brief, sultry laugh escaped those glossy pink lips, and he shivered again. "Where are you from, Sug? That lovely accent certainly isn't from around here."

  Gregori was trying desperately to maintain control in her presence. She'd always affected him, but now, without his role as security and babysitter to stand in his way, every instinct he owned screamed for him to be on his knees at her feet. He'd never regretted a commitment more than he did at that moment.

  "I am from Russia." His mouth was dry, and he had to clear his throat before he continued. "From St. Petersburg."

  "You sound as pretty as you look," she murmured, giving a little hum of pleasure. Damn, he wanted to raise his eyes and look at her face up close, see if she was truly as spectacular as he remembered.

  She bent to his ear. "Tell me, Sug, do you like a bite of leather across your fine ass?"

  "Yes, Mistress," he rasped. The tip of her nails lightly scraped the back of his neck, and he shuddered in reaction. His balls drew tight as she continued to torment him.

  "Do you get off on a little pain? Strapped down, spread wide and at the mercy of a woman?"

  "Yes, Mistress." The image she described exploded in his brain and all the blood in his body went straight to his dick. This woman was a fireball, beautiful and dangerous at the same time.

  "Would you enjoy that with me, sugar?" Her nails teased the top of his spine, dipping tauntingly beneath the collar that marked him as hers for the asking.

  "God, yes, Mistress," he hissed, thinking that, if she didn't stop touching him, stop talking to him, he'd come in his pants and be useless to Master Dorian, and the Master's tender little sub.

  She held out a hand to him and waited, and Gregori wanted to howl with frustration.

  "To my very deep regret, Mistress, I am promised elsewhere this evening." The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.

  "Is that so?" He risked a glance up and, yes, she really was as beautiful as he remembered. She focused in on Master Dorian, who had his submissive collared and leashed, and was heading in their direction with an intent expression on his face. "Ah, I see," she murmured. "Well, sugar, you have a good night." Her warm breath tickled his ear and she turned on her heel and walked away.

  That had been two years ago, but the memory was burned into Gregori's mind forever. He'd played with other Mistresses, been strapped down, spread wide and at their mercy, but no other had captured his imagination the way his golden goddess had. He'd lost count of how many nights he'd lain in bed getting himself off to the memory of her words, her nails teasing over the nape of his neck.

  It had only gotten worse since Brady'd granted her club membership.

  While at the club she was Mistress M; as head of security, a position he'd taken with stunned honor a mere eighteen months after he began working at the club, he knew she was Megan Jamison, best friend to Celia Jenner and Kendra Moore, the sweet-faced fiancee of Velvet Ice's events coordinator, Sinclair Martin. More, he knew she was trouble, if only to his peace of mind.

  Since her admission to the third floor, Megan always arrived alone and left alone, which suited Gregori just fine because he was overwhelmed by unjustified bouts of jealousy every time the woman even looked at another man. She had yet to take anyone to her private room, but every time she led a submissive to one of the public play areas he suffered the torments of the damned. He wanted to rip the fucking flogger from her dainty little hand, and beat the clueless ass that'd caught her attention into a bloody mess.

  He wanted to feel the sting of her lash on his bare skin while she talked to him, taunted him, and owned him with that sexy southern drawl. It was both heaven and hell having Megan Jamison on the third floor.

  Gregori was a sexual submissive, true, but he wasn't a submissive man by nature. Yes, he craved the pain and ecstasy to be found at the hands of an experienced Mistress, but he also craved the battle, the gentle, inexorable bending to his Domme's will. And, complicating things, he'd come to crave one particular Domme. And, dammit, spending his evenings watching the woman he wanted to serve take another male to play with was the worst kind of torture.

  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 Receivi
ng 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."