by Cindy Jacks
Blackest Nights
Cindy Jacks
BDSM-curious Georgia, aka Red, attends a lunch meeting of the Rocky Road Social Club where she meets a Dom who introduces himself as Black. Tall, caramel-skinned and truly gorgeous, Black has a commanding presence that draws Red in.
After one dinner together, Red agrees to explore a weekend as Black’s sub. He pushes her to the limits of pain, pleasure and beyond. Though she delights in his firm hand and even firmer lash, when Black proposes a more permanent arrangement, Red wonders whether she’s ready to submit―body and soul―to the man who dominates her blackest desires.
A Romantica® BDSM erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Blackest Nights
Cindy Jacks
Chapter One
My hands shook as I entered the restaurant, but I was sure I could do this. After months on the message boards, this seemed the safest way to get a peek into this world that both fascinated and intimidated me.
“I’m here for the Rocky Road…uh, munch,” I murmured to the hostess, feeling ridiculous.
Uttering the word “munch” in and of itself set my cheeks on fire. Yes, yes—it stood for “meeting for lunch” but given the people attending this munch, I couldn’t help but focus on the sexual connotation of the word. And at eleven in the morning, why couldn’t they just call it something more ordinary like “brunch”? Then again, I wasn’t here for an ordinary experience.
“Oh, right this way,” she replied.
If she’d passed judgment on me and my fellow munchsters, she didn’t show it. Bouncy and cheerful, the hostess led me to a private banquet room off to one side.
I didn’t know what would greet me as she opened the door. I half expected heavy metal music to roar in the background and men in gimp suits or slaves on leashes to skulk around their masters’ feet, but the scene was nothing like that. Instead, a group of fairly ordinary folks milled about, mimosas and Bloody Marys in hand, surveying the buffet.
Sure, there were some people with alarming piercings, some with brightly colored hair and some wearing collars, but most looked just as vanilla as the other patrons in the main dining room. And no one sported a gimp suit.
Mildly disappointed, I thanked the hostess and slipped into the room.
A beautiful older woman with dyed black hair in a black dress and black Doc Martens greeted me with a toothy smile. “Welcome, welcome. I’m Rocky and this is my little family. Nice to see a new face here.”
She took my hand and patted it.
A lump so large I couldn’t breathe formed in my throat. “I-I…”
“Relax, dear.” She rubbed my back. “You’re among friends.”
“Thanks,” I croaked. “I’m Georgia.”
“Is that how you want to be known? Most of us choose a play name, but since this is your first time we can go with Georgia.”
A play name? I hadn’t even thought of that. Online, I’d chosen the username “CuriousGeorgia” but I didn’t think it appropriate going forward.
I ran a hand over my auburn curls. “How about Red?”
“That’ll work.” Rocky clapped her hands, drawing the attention of the group. “Everyone, meet Red. She’s a novice so play nice…or nicely naughty.”
Some of the others flipped waves at me or smiled, but most went back to their conversations.
“Get yourself a drink and mingle a bit,” Rocky said, squeezing my shoulder. Then she waved at someone across the room. “Nice to meet you, Red.”
As soon as Rocky left, several men walked up. I felt like a wounded fish in the middle of a feeding frenzy. Sharks of all shapes and sizes schooled around me.
“Are you here to meet anyone specific?”
“Is this really your first munch?”
“What kind of play are you interested in?”
“Dom, sub or switch?”
Rapid-fire questions came from every direction and I didn’t know what to say. Searching the room for Rocky, I saw she was on the opposite side, deep in conversation.
Near the banquet table, a tall man with a caramel-colored complexion, cropped black hair and stunning bone structure stared at me. Well, not so much stared as he seemed to be drinking in the buzz around me. The cut of his shirt and slacks spoke of a man with a personal tailor. The clothing skimmed the outline of his well-maintained form without clinging too tightly. His calculating gaze pierced me. I blinked, trying to turn my attention to the bevy of men around me.
“I’m really new at this.” I put out my hands, the universal sign for back away, but this only seemed to intrigue them more.
Showing up here might have been a mistake. I’d been reticent to dive into the lifestyle for this very reason. But what did I expect? Doms dominated. It was their nature. The fable about the scorpion and the frog flashed through my mind. I felt even more absurd and out of place.
But then he materialized in the midst of the throng. Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome. A mere flick of his wrist dispersed the other men, no objections.
“Wow. Thanks.” I drew the tie of my wraparound dress through my fingers.
He stared at me without reply, handing me a flute of champagne, his hazel eyes never wavering. A gulp of the bubbly wine steadied my nerves.
“I’m Red.” I extended a hand, which he declined to shake.
“You can call me Black.” His lips twisted into a predatory grin. “Or ‘sir’ works just as well.”
My pulse quickened, pounding so hard I found it difficult to breathe. It was as if he’d drawn all the oxygen out of the room.
“What side are you on?” he asked.
The meaning of his question took a second to register—he was asking me if I was a Domme or sub.
“I don’t know yet,” I mumbled.
“Oh, you know. You’re just afraid to say it aloud.” He brushed his thumb over my lips. Flinching at the overly intimate gesture, I shifted from foot to foot.
Leaning closer, he rested a hand my forearm. Fingertips brushing my skin, he murmured, “I can make you scream out which side you play on.”
A rush of breath escaped me—not so much an exhalation, but my body’s way of saying Yes, please, I’d like that very much. My cheeks burning, my cunt equally as hot, I met his gaze.
He plucked a napkin from the table, scribbling a few lines on it. “Meet me here next Friday at eight. Don’t be late.”
Stare fixed on mine, he paused a second. Maybe he was waiting for my reply or maybe the eye contact was for emphasis. My head swam, a thousand thoughts swirling around my brain. My body buzzed with excitement. Black was the one. No doubt about it.
“I’ll be there.” I took the napkin.
“I know you will.”
With that, he walked away and I watched his retreat, his confident strides hypnotic. Once he’d placed his glass on the table, he said goodbye to Rocky then exited, stage left.
No one else approached me except Rocky. “You’ve captured Black’s attention. That doesn’t happen every day.”
“Thanks.”
I had no idea what she meant, but before I could ask, she skittered off to greet a new guest.
After finishing my glass of champagne, I hurried to leave.
* * * * *
Over the week, I wondered whether I’d really show up for the date Black had set. No, that Black had demanded. I hadn’t had much choice in the matter, but were I honest with myself, that’s exactly what I wanted. And if any man would be able to take charge of me, I was sure it would be Black.
I’d spent some time cyberstalking his online persona. There were no negative reports or cautions on the female sub forums. If anything, he was considered an enigma because he approached few women and played with even fewer.
His interview process is tough.
Too picky IMHO, wrote EatMe_BeatMe.
Great. Surely I’d never make it through the interview. There was nothing special about me at all.
Friday slipped by, a quiet day at work, and I returned home, the dress I’d chosen seeming to stare at me from the hook on the closet door. Emerald-green satin that would cling to my curves, halter straps and a low-cut bodice—it was the perfect dress for my body type and coloring. I’d bought it right after I’d met Black. I knew it would make me feel sexy and I wanted to be sexy for him.
“I’m going, all right?” I snapped at the dress, sure I’d lost my mind. But I had to find out—would I measure up?
Taking meticulous care with my makeup and hairstyle, I lost track of time. It was 7:50 before I noted the clock.
“Fuck,” I swore.
Slipping into strappy silver peep-toe heels, I hurried out the door. As if on cue, a taxi cruised down my block. Whistling as loudly as I could, I hailed the cab and gave the driver the address.
As I rushed into the restaurant, my watch read 8:01. The maître d’ led me to Black’s table.
“You’re late.” Black’s lips formed a flat, straight line and he didn’t bother to look up at me. Instead he inspected the menu and ordered a bottle of wine.
I’d displeased him. This was no way to start the evening.
Taking my seat next to him in the horseshoe-shaped booth, I smoothed my hair. His subtle, crisp cologne wafted on the aura of body heat surrounding him. A shiver darted through me as I breathed him in.
“I wanted to look nice for you.”
“My time is valuable. Don’t be late again.”
I nodded, swallowing hard.
“Say it. Say, ‘I will not be late again’.” He set aside his menu and met my gaze.
His hazel eyes paired with his deep skin tone cut through me.
“I will not be late again,” I murmured.
His expression softened. “Are you hungry?”
“Not just yet. The wine sounds good for now. If that’s okay.”
He set his hand on my thigh. “Of course.”
A shiver coursed through me, his touch and his approval thrilling me.
The sommelier brought Black’s selection then Black sampled and approved it. Dismissing the man with a flick of his hand, Black poured me a glass.
“Taste it. You’ll love it.”
I took a sip and nodded. “Nice.”
Swirling the wine in his glass, he seemed to study it, oblivious to me. But then he said, “Do you know why you’re here?”
Our server approached the table, a petite blonde with perfectly golden skin and a stomach so flat I was sure I could eat off it. Disdain rippled through me, but I struggled to rein it in. It wasn’t her fault she was perfectly formed…and I wasn’t.
“Blessed” with red hair, freckles and a fleshy figure, I hated our waitress for no good reason.
“When I need you, I’ll call you,” Black told the woman without looking at her. She nodded once and retreated.
My affection for him swelled at his banishment of the evil skinny bitch.
“To you.” He held up his glass and clinked it against mine.
“To…” Well, I couldn’t very well toast to myself. “To tonight.”
He sipped from his glass and I followed suit. The lush fruitiness of the wine coated my tongue. Blackberry, oak and a tart finish.
Cocking his head to one side, he gazed at me. He seemed to peer through my dress, through my undergarments, and I felt naked before him.
“How do you want to feel when we play?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I gulped at my wine. His hand covering the top of the glass, he pressed it to the table and forced me to look at him.
“You didn’t show up at Rocky’s gathering only because you’re curious. You came looking for something specific. Tell me what it is.”
I thought about what he was asking. The words were on the tip of my tongue but I couldn’t speak them.
“Don’t be embarrassed.”
“I’m not,” I lied. I was totally embarrassed.
“Then tell me.” He called my bluff.
“I don’t know how. I don’t have the words.”
“This won’t work if I don’t know what you need. Acting out scenes isn’t only about me—it’s about both of us getting what we want. What we need.” He folded his hands on his lap. “Or should I treat you like a tissue, something to be used and discarded. Is that how you think of yourself?”
My temper flared. How dare he compare me to a snot rag? “I’m not a Kleenex.”
“Then tell me what you want or I’ll treat you as I see fit.”
Drawing a deep breath, I tried to picture where tonight would lead. I wasn’t even sure I could do this. Could I cross the line from uninitiated to submissive?
I lowered my gaze. “I want to test my limits. I want to see if I can take it.”
“Take what?”
Again, the words escaped me and my mouth ran dry.
“The force of someone else’s will?” he offered.
“Yeah. I guess that’s it.” But I wasn’t sure.
“Do you want to find out about pain and submission as part of pleasure?” he asked.
I shrugged, nodding a little.
“Say it, yes or no.”
“I think so.”
“Yes or no.”
Swallowing hard, I resolved to be honest. “Yes.”
A hint of a smile curved his lips. My heart pounded. I couldn’t believe the things I was admitting to this man, but I wanted to admit more. I wanted to tell him everything. Already I longed to please him.
“You want to feel desirable enough to be dominated.” He took a sip of wine.
“I don’t understand.”
“Close your eyes.”
I did as he instructed.
Lips to my ear, he murmured, “Imagine yourself, rope wound around your breasts and cutting into your swollen pussy, your hands tied behind your back. I’ve whipped your ass raw and filled you in ways you’ve only read about. You’re whimpering and begging me to release you. Then I do release you, not from the ropes binding you, but from the self-doubt, from the fear that your red hair and freckles make you less desirable than our blonde and tanned waitress.”
The insight shook me and I opened my eyes to meet his gaze, my mouth agape. How had he seen that moment of insecurity? It had been fleeting, I thought I’d covered well.
“I will set you free by claiming your body, mind and soul.” He drew in a long, slow breath. “There is no more beautiful woman in the world than one who has let me tame her, take her beyond anything she’s ever dared. Do you want me to want you like that?”
The image he’d painted unnerved me, but it also intoxicated me. My body buzzed with arousal, my pussy already swollen and throbbing and he’d hardly touched me.
“Yes, I want that.”
Black sat back against the booth, stroking my hair. “Very good.”
But I wasn’t finished. Suddenly, I understood. In that moment, when he’d seduced me with his words, told me in no uncertain terms what he would do to me, time seemed to have stopped. All that existed was our bodies and our desires.
“I want to blur the lines of what’s acceptable, what’s normal. I want to embrace what I think I’d like to feel as opposed to what I’m supposed to feel.”
He nodded, tenting his fingers and flexing them up and down. One touched his bottom lip as he seemed to consider what I’d said.
After a several seconds had passed, he covered my hand with his much larger one. “I’ll figure out how to get you there. Since you’re unsure of your limits, I’ll take it slowly.”
“What do you need me to do?” I chewed at the inside of my cheek.
“I need you to stop making that face.” He shook his head, his lips pursed a little. “It’s not ladylike and it’s a sign of doubt and weakness.”
The admonishment flustered me. Who said something like that? Clearly, Black d
id. I’d have to get used to his brutal honesty.
I shrugged. “I thought I was supposed to be the weak one.”
“Submissives are not weak. It takes more strength to endure a whipping than to give one.”
The realization broke over me that he was right. A seed of appreciation sprouted inside me. With just a few words, he had changed my view of myself. What would an entire evening with this extraordinary man do?
“What else can I do to give you what you need?” I asked.
He ran his hand over my cheek. “So eager to please already. I like that. All you have to do is give me honest feedback and obey the rules.”
He went on to detail what his rules were.
No one else was to touch me now that I was his. He did not share.
Black entered his cell number into my phone, but instructed me never to use it.
“I’ll contact you when I want you,” he said, handing me my cell.
I wanted to ask why, then, had he given me his number, but he answered the question before I could voice it.
“You need to know I’m the one calling.”
Well, that made sense and I felt foolish that I hadn’t guessed as much.
“I don’t do degradation—no crude names, no bodily functions, no dog collars—it’s a base form of dominance and I prefer more…sophisticated methods of controlling you.”
I nodded, a little relieved. Words like bitch, slut, whore didn’t appeal to me either, but I’d been willing to put up with them as part of the process.
“Have you had an STD panel since your last partner?” he asked.
His bluntness surprised me. “Yes—as part of my annual physical—and I haven’t been sexually active in almost a year.”
“I’ve been tested too and I’m negative. I prefer no condoms.”
“I’m on the Pill.” To be honest, I wanted him to fill me with his cum—wet, hot and sticky—dripping down my leg. “No condoms is fine with me.”
“Good. And you need to pick safe words. One that means ease up but don’t stop and one that means stop now.”
Our chosen pseudonyms flashed through my mind. “Scarlet for slow and midnight for stop.”
“You will spend the next weekend with me. Here is my address.” He handed me a cream-colored business card with raised gold lettering. “Feel free to tell family members or friends that this is where you will be next Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”