by Livia Grant
“We have to move to let the next couple up.” He pointed toward the stairs, and they left the stage together. While they’d had one of the less eventful spins of the night, Madison couldn’t help but be curious exactly what the calm and confident dom would do with such a kinky spin.
Someone better tell me what happens out there.
Relieved that the numbers were once again even, four dominants to four submissives, Madison called over the next dom.
Number eleven had called himself ‘Dr. Dom’ and had shown up in a very nice suit, which ended up working well when he was paired with ‘Russian Doll’ — a tall, beautiful, blonde in a slinky black dress that was short enough to almost be scandalous. Neither of them looked like they had planned to arrive at a BDSM club that night, though. If anything, Madison would have assumed they’d gotten lost on their way to Runway — but who was she to judge? The pair seemed interested in each other, and their spin of violet wand had ‘Russian Doll’ practically bouncing with excitement.
The youngest dominant on stage, Lewis, was next with number twelve. At first Madison was tempted to ask if anyone had carded him since he had such a baby face, but the security team was way too good for that. He probably just looked young, which she’d had to deal with in her career too.
Stowing her opinion, she was ready to celebrate his spin, until she saw who it was. “Ivy! Please join your dominant on stage.”
Whistles rang out as Ivy made her way toward the stairs. When the tattooed sub stepped onto the stage, all that Madison could think was that poor Lewis was going to get eaten alive by the punk rock painslut. Ivy had tattoos running over her arms and back, a short, messy, blonde pixie cut, and enough piercings to set off a metal detector at fifty yards. Madison had seen her play before and knew just how far the girl could go.
As she expected, Ivy showed up with attitude. Crossing her arms, she stopped in front of Lewis, looking him up and down before she scoffed out a single word. “Really?”
Lewis smiled and closed the space between them, taking over the sub’s personal space. In a flash, he’d caught a handful of Ivy’s short hair and bent her head back, leaning down to whisper in her ear. The dom was only a couple of inches taller than Ivy, but the sassy expression on her face melted away as Lewis said… whatever he was whispering to her.
Finally, he lifted her upright again and stared down into her eyes that were a little more than dazed. Trailing one of his fingers over the dermal piercings on her sternum, he grinned. “Did I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Ivy whispered, and Madison felt her own eyes widen a bit.
Well, damn. I really should learn not to judge a book by its cover at Black Light.
“Spin,” he commanded, and Ivy held out her hand for the ball while Lewis kept a firm hold in her hair. Madison set the wheel in motion and smiled at the smart-ass sub who often mouthed off hoping for a little more punishment. The woman’s pupils were already dilated a bit, and that just made Madison even more curious about what the young Lewis had said to her.
“Looks like we got whipping,” he said, a dangerous smirk spreading over his not-so-innocent face. “Guess we’ll get to test your limits, won’t we, Ivy?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, and Lewis nodded at Madison before he led her off the stage.
Still a little stunned, Madison rallied and clapped her hands together. “Lewis and Ivy spun whipping, and as you can see — you never know who is going to be paired during Roulette! We’ve got three couples left, so let’s bring up lucky number thirteen.”
The next man was an older dominant wearing leather pants and a black button-down, with short-cropped gray hair. He went by the name ‘Leather Master’ and was definitely part of the Old Guard in the larger community in L.A. Madison knew from some of the DMs that he’d mentored a lot of dominants at other clubs, and while he was definitely the oldest dom of the night, she had to admit he made his age look good. When he spun ‘Kitty,’ the girl in the cat ears jumped up the stairs with a glean in her eye that told Madison all she needed to know about how successful their evening would be — even before they spun ‘high protocol,’ which had both the sub and her dom grinning broadly.
With only two couples left to pair, Madison felt like she was ready to cheer because they were finally on time. Elijah couldn’t be mad at her for starting the night off badly, and she’d finally be able to grab a drink, a few appetizers, and relax for a bit until the next round of spins started. The fourteenth dom of the night was ‘Daddy Etheridge,’ a broad-shouldered man dressed in a pale blue button-down and slacks. His match with ‘PainQueen’ was interesting enough, considering the masochist had DD/lg role play, student/teacher role play, and ABDL on her limits list. It was when they spun ‘vacuum table’ and they both looked like they’d been kicked in the stomach that Madison struggled not to giggle.
“I wish you both luck!” she called out, trying to sound encouraging, but the two didn’t even look at each other as ‘Daddy Etheridge’ led his submissive off the stage.
Yikes.
She’d expected the last pair, Orlando and Juliet, to join her center stage as soon as it became clear they were destined to be together for the night, but neither of them moved.
“Well, you two, what are you waiting for?” Madison asked, waving her hand to encourage them. “It’s time to come up and spin!”
When they finally got near each other, they started whispering intensely, and she moved a little closer trying to figure out what was going on, but she couldn’t really catch what they were saying. The only thing that was obvious to her was that they definitely weren’t strangers.
“It seems like you two know each other,” Madison said, bringing their attention back to her — and the entire audience waiting to kick off the event.
“You could say that,” Orlando replied, not looking away from his submissive for the night.
“Intense!” Madison joked, fanning herself. “Are you ready to spin the wheel, Juliet?”
Juliet moved a little stiffly as she took the ball, but Madison decided not to press any further and just spun the wheel. The pretty submissive dropped the marble, watching it spin and spin, until it finally started to bounce around the slots.
Then it landed on, “Knife play!” Madison grinned at them, hoping to see some excitement, but neither of them seemed too excited, so she added, “And it’s not on either of their hard limits.”
Orlando leaned over to his submissive, whispering something, but she shoved his hand away.
“I can handle anything you dish out,” she snapped, and several people in the audience let out ‘ooohs’ in response.
“Well, there’s a challenge if I ever heard one,” Madison replied with a laugh. “Looks like someone is looking for a spanking!”
“Let’s go!” Someone in the audience yelled, followed by a titter of laughter.
“You’re right!” Madison waved at Orlando, who wrapped his fingers around Juliet’s arm, leading her off the stage. “It’s time for our participants to go and start Valentine Roulette! Good luck!”
She almost couldn’t believe they’d made it on time this year, but somehow… they’d pulled it off.
Now, they just had to see what the couples would do with their spins, and Madison had a feeling it was going to be a very interesting year for
Heel
A Black Light: Roulette Rematch Novella
By
Measha Stone
Chapter 1
James
Fifteen more minutes.
He could last fifteen more minutes before shutting off the lights in the main tasting room. The Wicked Ways Brew Company closed at ten o’clock. In a few short minutes, James could politely kick out the last bunch of hipsters and lock up for the night.
He stared at the digital clock on the iPad, waiting for it to roll to the desired time. It had been a solid decision to let Carson, the bartender scheduled to close, clock out early. Tuesday evenings weren’t exactly moneymakers. As
the owner, James didn’t mind sticking around to let Carson get home to his kids and wife. But now, after having listened to the over idealistic hipsters groan about things they knew very little about, he could not wait for closing time. The first half hour of their rantings had been easy to drown out with cleaning up and checking stock, but the last hour had burned his ears.
“A watched clock never moves,” a silky voice teased him.
He hadn’t heard the new customer come in.
“Yeah, I guess it doesn’t.” He took a step to the side, away from the register to focus directly on her. “We’re actually about to close,” he said, glancing at the group of four who looked nowhere near ready to take off.
A short brunette stood at the bar, looking at him with a wary smile, windblown hair, and tired eyes. Had they shared the same kind of day?
“Oh, I know.” She placed her purse on the bar. “I actually only stopped in to pick up a—what did she call it?—a growl?”
James’ lips twitched. “You mean a growler.”
Her cheeks went pink. “Yes. Thank you. That’s what I meant. I’m supposed to pick up a growler of IPA.” She tilted her chin up and surveyed the chalk written menu posted above the bar.
“We have two. West Coast and Grapefruit Hazy.” He narrowed the choices while taking a moment to admire the sweetness of her blush.
She pinched her lips together, blowing out her cheeks in frustrated uncertainty, trying to find the unwritten answer on the board. “What’s the difference?”
“Westcoast is a pretty typical IPA. I keep it on tap mostly for the locals. It has a hoppy flavor but not piney. The Grapefruit Hazy has a citrus element.”
She nodded along with him, her brow wrinkled in concentration. He doubted she understood a single thing about what he’d said.
“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning in closer. “My roommate said to grab a growler of IPA. I’m really not a beer drinker. Which do you think is best?”
“It’s for your roommate?” He knew it wasn’t for her. She looked at the board with as much confusion as he would a menu in a French restaurant. “What kind of beer does he normally drink? What brand?”
“She,” the young woman corrected. “Mary doesn’t really drink beer either. It’s for a party we’re going to later tonight.”
Later? It was already ten on a Tuesday. Maybe she was part of the L.A. scene where life didn’t even begin until midnight.
“Oh. Then I’d probably just go with the Westcoast IPA.” He grabbed a fresh chilled growler from the cooler behind him.
“Okay. Let’s do that.” She tapped the bar top. “Or… you know what? Give me one of each. They can sort it out.”
James gave her a brief nod as he grabbed a second growler and went to the end of the bar to fill them both while she took a seat on a stool. He looked up to find her tapping away on her phone, her lips twisted up to one side.
He wasn’t blind. The woman was more than pretty, but not in the typical L.A. party-girl way. She had a graceful beauty to her. Other than some mascara and a little eyeliner, she wore no makeup.
Her phone rang, and she picked up the call. He pulled the tubing from the growler slowly, then twisted on the cap.
“Thanks, man!” One hipster waved to him as the four of them shuffled from the table toward the door. “Great beer!” he said, giving James two thumbs up before following his friends out.
James grimaced. Great beer? Whatever. Those assholes wouldn’t know an IPA from a Lager. He placed the growler on the counter and grabbed the second jug, catching the tail end of the phone conversation his last customer of the night was having.
“Okay, Mary, I hear you. I promise I won’t embarrass you.”
James looked down the length of the bar to find her rubbing her forehead. “I’ll remember this time. I won’t use his name. Just Sir. Got it.”
James’ ears perked at the phrasing, and he froze for a moment. Maybe he had misunderstood. She could be going to a work party and the big boss got off on the label. But who brings a growler to a work party? He shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Just because sir held a certain connotation with him, didn’t mean it did for her. Though, he wouldn’t lie to himself and say a small part of him didn’t hope it did.
“I’m not as experienced as you, Mary, but I promise I’ll do my best.”
Do her best? He finished lacing the tubing for the Westcoast IPA into the growler and slowly began the fill. What sort of party were they headed to? Was bringing beer such a good idea? He shook off the question. She was a grown woman and didn’t need him butting into her business.
After he finished filling the second growler, he wiped them both with a wet cloth, then brought them to her. She had finished her call and was scrolling through her phone when he approached.
“Okay. All set.” He placed the growlers on the counter beside her phone.
“Great.” She clicked her phone off and scooped it from the bar with her hand covering the screen before shoving it into her purse. The pink tint to her cheeks renewed. What had she been looking at?
He tapped the charges into the iPad. “That’s thirty-five seventy-five.”
She pulled out her wallet and dug out a few bills. “Here you go.”
While making change, her phone went off again, and she dug it out again, groaning at whatever message came through.
He handed her the change. “Need a receipt?”
“No. That’s fine. Thanks.” After she tucked her phone into her purse once again, she slung it over her shoulder, then grabbed the growlers from the counter.
He followed her to the door and opened it for her. “Have fun at your party.” He tried to smile, but something about that phone call of hers bothered him.
She gave a weak smile. “I’ll try. Thanks.”
“It’s a party. Having fun shouldn’t take work.”
“Yeah, you’d think. But I don’t know many people yet and the rules and stuff—” She cut herself off, her eyes going wide. It was clear she’d said more than she’d meant to.
“Rules?” The cool night air from the parking lot brushed past him as he continued to hold the door open.
“I mean… it’s just… you know… it’s L.A.” She laughed awkwardly, the comment clearly meant as a distraction.
“New to the city, then?”
Her lips twisted again. “No, not really. Just new to… well, these people.”
He was getting a clearer picture about this party. It wasn’t a pleasant picture.
“Thanks for the beer.” She gave him another smile, then walked through the door into the parking lot.
He let the door close but watched her through the window until she got to her car. The parking lot lamp spotlighted her in a halo while she loaded the growlers into the back seat of the sedan she’d parked next to his Harley. He didn’t take his eyes off her car until she pulled out of the lot and he couldn’t see her anymore.
Stop. None of what was going on with her was his business. If she was going to a play party or munch or whatever the hell it might be, it was none of his concern. If he hadn’t already decided to give up looking in all the wrong places for all the wrong things, he’d make it his business.
But he had decided.
And if a woman wanted to go to a party where she needed to address men she didn’t know as Sir and worry about embarrassing her roommate because she broke rules she didn’t know—that was her right. Besides, she was probably like all the women he knew in that scene, and he’d had enough of them.
A few months ago, he might have asked more questions. But this wasn’t then. This was now.
And he had a tasting room to shut down for the night.
He locked the door and flipped on the neon ‘CLOSED’ sign. The bright red spilled out across the glass, the reflection of the neon glow tinting his hands. Red, a color demanding his actions come to an immediate stop. A universal directive from a previous lifestyle he was in the process of navigating away from. Play dates, party scene
s, one-night stands—all part of a past life he was no longer interested in.
Cute L.A. party girl or not, James was done with all of that. Right now, it was time to push those thoughts out of his head and get his ass back to work.
Chapter 2
James
3 Months Later…
James walked through the social lounge of Black Light toward the bar. Upbeat, sensual music pumped through the speakers, setting the tone for the club. The Roulette game was one of the most anticipated events of the year. After being a voyeur at last year’s event, he understood why.
The scenes had been intensely erotic. On top of that, spinning the roulette wheel took away the typical awkwardness of trying to find someone to play with for the night and then approaching them to ask. After the revolving door of submissives the last year had turned out to be, James was looking forward to letting the drop of a ball pick his last player.
“There you are. Was thinking you might chicken out.” Ted stepped up to the bar at the same time as James.
James rolled his eyes. “Right. Because I’m the one who bails on these types of things.”
Ted had been chosen to roll his chances with the wheel at last year’s event, but when it was game night, he’d choked, leaving them one Dom short. They replaced him in the lineup, but he’d already earned himself a reputation that shadowed him even a year later.
Ted scratched behind his ear. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“With me? No.” James laughed. “But I’m sure no one around here even cares.”
“Well, I didn’t get chosen this year, you lucky bastard, so maybe they do.” He waved down the bartender.