by Dakota Trace
The general mixer will start at 10 p.m., with the doors opening at 9:30 p.m.
Hors d’oeuvres and sparkling wine will be served until 11:30 p.m., and the playroom will open for play at midnight.
The loose piece of white vellum inserted into the invitation crinkled between his fingers. Seba scanned it.
While you’re our guest, we have some simple rules we’d like you to abide by. They are as follows:
During the masquerade:
All masks must remain in place.
No real names may be used. We will refer to our guests by their characters’ names.
Non-alcoholic beverages are available and recommended for those who plan to play later.
After the Masquerade:
The dungeon monitors, who may be identified by their gold vests—male—or gold corsets—female—will be available throughout the evening. They are charged to refuse admittance to the playroom to any guests who appear intoxicated. They are charged with ensuring a pleasurable and safe evening for all.
Normal club rules will be enforced. Respect our house safewords: Red for stop and yellow for slow down.
No one shall play without signed waivers and checklists.
Condoms are a must. There will be no exceptions.
The playroom will close at 3:00 a.m. in consideration.
The resort shuttle service will be available for those not staying on the premises.
After scanning the rules, he growled. While he’d expected the playroom rules, he hadn’t anticipated the masquerade restrictions. No names? Staying in character? He eyed the garment bag.
“Well, chicken shit, open it and find out what costume Madame Eve picked out for you. Let’s pray she doesn’t have a macabre sense of humor and decided you’d look good in a slave costume or some pimp getup.”
Sliding the zipper down, he opened the bag. At first glance, it didn’t look much different than a dark suit with lots of shiny buttons. Then he spotted a note pinned to the lapel.
“Christ, another one?” he grumbled, working it free.
Seba, while it took some time for me to find the perfect costume for tonight’s festivities, I do believe you’ll be pleased with the one I’ve chosen, even if you have to forgive me for taking the liberty of making the Black Butler...well, black. Enjoy the masquerade and remember, not everything is as it seems.
Madame Eve.
An almost child-like glee washed over him. He loved manga, but how had she found out? “I can’t believe she made me Sebastian Michaelis, the demon butler from the Phantomhive. How cool is that!”
Everything, from the dark, sharply creased trousers, to the brocade satin vest and the double-breasted jacket with its fancy epaulettes, spoke of the highest quality and craftsmanship. How the hell had he gotten so lucky?
Behind him, the clock struck eight. “Shit. I’m gonna be late if I don’t get my ass in the shower.”
***
Akira stared in the mirror. With the white lacy maid’s cap over the magenta-red hair she now sported, and a formfitting black dress with a full-length ivory apron, nothing remained of the Akira Ito she knew. Paired with the thick, opaque glasses perched on her button nose, she looked like she’d walked out of the Phantomhive household. Fiddling with the long apron strings around her waist, she tried to calm her anxious nerves. Lord knew what would happen when she met up with Seba. Like her character, Mey-rin, she would flush beet red at the mere sight of him.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She reached under her skirt to tuck the fake pistols in the holsters she’d strapped to each thigh. “Never in a million years would I have dressed up like the bumbling love interest of the most kick-ass butler in the manga world.” Stepping back, she gave herself a critical eye. Not the sexiest costume imaginable, but with its well-fitted bodice and waist-cinching snowy apron, she might be able to tempt her former Dom while still hiding her identity from Seba.
Straightening her ivory cuffs and fluffing the apron’s bow, she almost jumped when her cell phone buzzed. Half expecting it to be Venus, she flipped open her phone. Instead, the text came from Madame Eve.
Remember child, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Show him you can be what he needs – Madame Eve
She drew a deep breath. Funny, how much the mystical Madame Eve reminded her of Venus.
“Speaking of Venus, I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t send her the picture I promised.” It took less than thirty seconds to snap a selfie and send it her friend. Then she grabbed her invitation and let herself out of her room. As she rode the elevator downstairs, she glanced at her watch. She didn’t want to be late and give Seba a reason to punish her.
Although he’ll probably be the one running behind. Venus swears he’ll be late to his own funeral.
In the lobby, she pushed through a crowd of people dressed up in a variety of outlandish costumes. She saw everything from Nathan Fillion look-alikes to Elfin lords and warrior princesses. Evidently, she’d been wrong to assume a manga conference or even Comic-Con had overtaken the hotel. It looked more like a sci-fi convention. When two storm troopers and Spock walked by, she shook her head.
I’m supposed to find Seba in this mess?
“Miss Ito, I almost didn’t recognize you.” Randi, the uniformed staff member from earlier appeared next to her.
Once outside, she shivered in the cool night air. As they approached the waiting limo, the driver opened the door.
“Any sign of my date?” she asked, after the driver helped her into the warm car.
“According to the front desk, he called down a bit ago. He’s running a few minutes late, but not to worry. He’ll be here shortly.”
Yup, Seba would be late for his own funeral.
***
Seba cursed under his breath, while waiting for the damned elevator to arrive. Tugging at his vest with one hand, he resisted the urge to snatch the heavy hairpiece off his head. The wig he’d found at the bottom of the garment bag looked great on him, but was hot. In his other hand, he held his toy bag.
“Come on, dammit. I’m already fuckin’ late.” He stabbed at the down arrow once more. With his suite located on the twenty-third floor, the stairs weren’t an option if he didn’t want to be a sweaty mess when he arrived.
Finally, the bell dinged and the doors slid open. Stepping inside, he froze. Several members of the cast from Sailor Moon quieted and stared at him. His palms began to sweat. After the metal doors slid shut behind him, the girls began to giggle. One brave girl, dressed in a red ruffled skirt and holding a bow and arrow—Sailor Mars, if he remembered right—stepped forward.
“Sebby, the Black Butler, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So are you here for the sci-fi conference?” She batted her fake eyelashes at him.
He shook his head. “Nope, sorry. Going to a private costume party.”
She giggled. “Shame. You’d take first place in that getup.” She moved closer, running her fingertips up his chest. “Are you sure we can’t convince you to stay?”
He gave her a shrug. “Sorry, I already have a date.”
Sticking out her lower lip, she nudged him with her hip. “Aw, come on, we’re going to have an adult after-hours party back in my suite, once the conference entertainment is over. We were going to have the guys from Firefly come over, but after seeing you?” She tugged one of the buttons on his coat open. “You could be our guest of honor.”
Gritting his teeth, he brushed her fingers away. “Look, I’m sure you’re a bunch of sweet ladies, but—”
“Oh look, girls. Someone is playing hard to get.” Sailor Mars leered at him, but with her dramatized makeup, all it did was make her look creepy.
Hefting his bag a little higher, he decided subtlety would be lost on these girls. “Frankly, ladies, I play harder than you could ever imagine. So, unless you’re planning on spending half the night in bondage, with nipple clamps on your pretty little titties along with butt plugs up your asses, while I flog ea
ch of you, I suggest you look elsewhere for your guest of honor.”
“But isn’t that illegal in Vegas? I thought they had a law against it.” The Sailor Moon look-alike whispered.
He gave them what he hoped was a devilish smirk. “Not anymore.”
Several pairs of eyes widened, staring at him like he’d grown a second head or threatened to eat their firstborn. When the doors opened, he gave the girls a single brief nod before entering the lobby.
Pushing through the revolving door, he almost bumped into a well-dressed man. “Oh, excuse me.”
The man gave him a quick look over. “You must be Mr. Havas. I’m Randy, and Mr. Castillo asked that I make sure both you and your date made it to the limo. Sorry about the chaos inside the hotel. Sci-fi conventions can be crazy.”
“As I noticed, after riding down the elevator with a bunch of frisky Sailors.”
Randy blinked twice. “We have sailors in the hotel? Doesn’t seem very sci-fi, but okay.”
Seba laughed. “Not that kind of sailor. I’m talking about the cute young Japanese girls from the show Sailor Moon?”
A light bulb seemed to go on in Randy’s head because he nodded. “Japanese girls aren’t your thing?”
A pang in his chest at the question didn’t surprise him. One Japanese girl had definitely been his thing.
Quit thinking of Akira. You have a date waiting in the car.
To cover his lapse of attention, he forced a lighthearted tone into his voice. “Not unless it’s Mey-rin. Something about her red hair and how innocently she blushes but still manages to be lethal does it for me.”
“Perhaps a thank-you letter to the mysterious Madame Eve wouldn’t be out of place. Enjoy yourselves. Your driver will wait to bring you back to the hotel after the ball.”
“Of course. Thank you.” He barely got the words out before the door slammed and the car pulled away from the curb. In the darkened interior, he squinted to make out a figure sitting across from him.
His date reached over her head and a soft glow flooded the interior of the car. After his eyes adjusted to the sudden flare, his jaw about dropped to the floor while the limo picked up speed.
Wearing a formfitting black maid’s uniform and a startling-snowy apron that accented her lovely tits, his bespectacled companion gave him a tentative look then stuck out her hand.
“Hello, I’m Mey-rin. I’m your date for the evening.”
Chapter Three
When it became obvious he wasn’t going to take her hand, Akira let hers drop. Worry chipped away at her self-confidence. Did he recognize her somehow? Maybe the costume didn’t hide her identity well enough to fool him? Or could he be playing along until he got her to Carnivore Club, so he could teach her a lesson by exposing her?
“My fucking god, you’re cute.” He narrowed his eyes. “You look just like her.”
Wetting her lips, she allowed the natural accent she’d worked so hard to lose back into her voice. “I’m very fortunate. Madame Eve found me a perfect costume. Not that yours isn’t great.”
The dark jacket with its shiny buttons and the ivory shirt hid a marvelous chest and abs so tight she could bounce a quarter off them. Although it would take some time to get used to the inky locks of a wig framing his dark face. She much preferred his short hair, but overall he still made her mouth water. It was a shame he wore a costume that covered all his sexy-ass tattoos. When he leaned back against the seat, she wondered if he’d let her trace them with her tongue, especially the sleek dragon that wrapped around his side. “The Black Butler, right?”
His lips quirked. “Yeah. I’m supposed to be Sebby, your love interest.”
“So they say. But your costume suits you. So, what am I to call you tonight? I know the rules say we must use our characters’ first names, but, as a submissive, I find myself uncomfortable not paying you the proper respect.”
Toying with one of the decorative fobs on his coat, he studied her. “While I can understand your reasoning, I ended my last relationship because my submissive hid behind similar honorifics. For now, I would prefer we go with Sir then renegotiate if we decide to scene tonight.”
Placing her hands on her lap, she bowed her head. “I can live with that, Sir.”
“Good.” A grin tugged at his lips. “So, is this your first time in Vegas?”
“Yes. But I’ve heard a great deal about it. My…father visited often and loved to tell my mother and me of its great lights and wonderful shows. So when the opportunity presented itself, I thought I’d see it myself. And you?”
A thoughtful look crossed his face. “I needed a change of pace. Things back home have been tense. My last relationship…was difficult.” He caught her gaze. “While I’m not the kiss-and-tell type of Dom, I do need to warn you….”
She folded her hands and fought the need to lower her eyes. “About?”
He sighed. “Did you receive the checklist and the list of my expectations from Madame Eve?”
“Of course. Along with an application about as long as my arm. 1Night Stand is very thorough—even more thorough than the hoops I had to jump through to get my CPA license.”
He chuckled. “A numbers gal, huh?”
“In the real world.”
“Before we arrive at the resort, I’d like to discuss some of things on your list.” Opening his toy bag, he pulled out a familiar set of folded papers. “So if we do decide to…play afterward.” He smoothed them open. “I see here, you have some experience with BDSM?”
“Several years. I made my first foray into the lifestyle during college.”
“Of course, the time when many people explore their sexuality. My notes say you like bondage, some moderate pain, but no humiliation or bodily fluids? So you’d enjoy being strapped to the cross and letting me flog you?”
“Yes, Sir.” Her nipples beaded against the tight bodice of her dress, and her panties grew damp.
His brows furrowed, jaw tight. “What about subspace?”
His words sent her desire crashing to the ground. Didn’t he know the failure to find the hallowed place lay with her? He’d done everything he could to push her over the edge.
She licked her lower lip, unable to reveal she’d never found subspace, but unwilling to lie to him. “What of it?”
“Do you expect me to send you there?” He focused his piercing gaze on her. “Because I intend to. Nothing is more erotic for me than watching a woman completely submit to her needs. Knowing I’ve pushed her outside herself, until all she can do is float.”
To hide her nerves, she twirled a long magenta lock of hair around her finger and winked at him. “Then I shall strive to give you what you want, Sir.”
“I’m sure you will.” He refolded the papers, shoving them back in the bag. “I am sure you will, but to ensure it I have two rules you must agree to before I will consent to play with you.”
Akira’s heart sank. She’d heard this speech before. The same one he gave me in Chicago before we scened. Somehow, she had to find a way past her authoritarian upbringing and be what Seba needed. She wanted those same things, even though it frightened her. She either rose to the challenge, or lost Seba forever. “Two rules, Sir?”
“You will not lie to me.” His expression hardened. “Honesty between a Dom and his sub is essential.” When she stiffened, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, I’m not trying to be some preachy asshole here. If something feels good, I want to hear it. Or if you need more—or less—of what I’m doing, you will open those pretty lips and tell me. I might not give it to you, but you will communicate with me. This leads to my second rule. There will be no hiding from me or the painful pleasure I need to give you. You’ve got to trust me to know how far to push, and when to back off. Do you understand?”
She swallowed hard. “Of course, Sir.”
He gave a relieved sigh. “Good. Enough of the serious stuff. Tonight is supposed to be about relaxing and having fun. So, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yoursel
f—what are you like when you’re not dressed up as the hottest manga character ever created?”
“Ordinary, quiet, reserved.” She giggled. “It’s all smoke and mirrors. Nothing more than fancy costuming and makeup. To label me sexy is a gift, Sir.”
A grin tugged at his lips. “It looks like I’m going to have my work cut out for me tonight, because you, Mey-rin, are in no way, shape, or form ordinary.”
“So, you dumped laundry soap in your father’s koi pond?” Seba chuckled.
Mey-rin shrugged, her cheeks pinking. “A harmless prank. I removed all the fish first. Still, my father didn’t find it amusing. I ended up getting grounded for a month, but he never missed one of my dance recitals again.”
“Sounds like you were a handful. Lord, if my brothers or I had done something like that, our dad would have tanned our hides.”
“My father never hit me.” She grew quiet, and her gaze seemed distant for a moment before she focused on him once more. “Let’s say he had a different form of punishment.” Her lips quirked. “He denied me things. If I couldn’t act like a respectful musume, then I didn’t eat with the family. If I flunked a test, I didn’t get to walk in the garden after supper. He was very strict but quite fair.”
Seba narrowed his eyes. Akira once said something similar about her father. Dread pooled in his stomach. But she’s in Chicago. Still he stared at her in the dim light, trying in vain to find a clue that would convince him of her identity. But the opaque glasses she wore concealed most of her features. Get over it. It’s not her. Akira hates manga.
“Sir?”
Mey-rin’s soft, accented voice banished the thoughts of deception. Akira spoke flawless English. Mey-rin had a good command of the language, but the cadence of her birthplace rang in every word she spoke.
“Where in Japan did you grow up? My last submissive was from there as well.”
She cocked her head and pursed her lips. “Are you accusing me of something, Sir? Believe it or not, Japan has a population of over 127 million people.”