VelvetWhip

by VJ Summers

  Velvet Whip

  VJ & Sierra Summers

  Book 3 in the Velvet Scenes series.

  Having worked at Velvet Ice for only three months, Ginger may be the BDSM club’s resident newbie, but Stephen has definitely noticed the tattooed beauty. Noticed her heady mix of innocence and defiance…her lush curves…her pale, creamy flesh. Flesh he’s aching to paint with his whip.

  Ginny has noticed Stephen, too. Noticed his piercing gaze…his hard body…his stunning mastery. Mastery she wants to feel both on and off the Velvet Ice stage.

  Now at long last they’re performing together. The time has come for each to taste the other’s pleasure.

  An Exotika® BDSM erotica story from Ellora’s Cave

  Velvet Whip

  VJ & Sierra Summers

  Chapter One

  Stephen Dwyer grabbed his favorite whip. He gripped the well-worn handle—it fit perfectly. His fingers had carved out imprints in the leather long ago. He tested the weight and snapped his wrist a couple of times, sending the tail flying with a loud crack.

  He’d already assembled the aftercare stuff in his room at Club Velvet Ice. A massage table fitted with a thick pad and silky, high-thread-count sheet waited near the side of the room. Along one wall stood a low cabinet that also acted as a counter. That was where he’d laid out the supplies he’d use to care for Ginger, to bring her gently back to earth once he’d sent her flying. Several velvety-soft washcloths shared space with antiseptic wipes—just in case and as a precaution, not because he planned to actually break the skin—and a large jar of high-quality aloe gel.

  And—also just in case, though this was him being hopeful rather than cautious—a box of condoms.

  All that was left was to make sure DJ Wicked had the right music, and to get his submissive as ready as his equipment.

  He took his favorite flogger from its place on the wall. The long leather strips made him shiver in anticipation. He was going to flog and whip Ginger Wilcox until she was dizzy with need. The newest submissive at Velvet Ice intrigued him. She was a mix of innocence and defiance. A heady combination for Stephen. When he’d discovered that Master Sin had paired him up with Ginger for the scene, his dick had jerked to attention.

  She was so different than him. There was nothing conservative about her. Her long dark hair was streaked with a brilliant scarlet. Her back sported apple blossom tattoos that started in the middle of her back and ended at her left shoulder. She was small compared to his six-foot-two frame and her curvy figure could set any man on fire. But it was her skin, her smooth, creamy skin, that called to the Dom in him.

  She was going to look so damn lovely with his marks crisscrossing her back and thighs. If she was especially adventurous, he would kiss her breasts with his whip.

  He looked at himself in the mirror. He wore the usual for a performance. Black leathers and a tight-fitting black T-shirt. Around his wrists were two thick leather cuffs. He decided to lose the shirt, exposing his pierced nipples. The audience of club-goers expected him to look the part of a Dom and for the sub to also dress in fetish wear.

  He imagined most of the audience would be taken aback if they knew he was a button-down IT guy for a major hospital. His nine-to-five life was completely different than how he chose to spend his free time.

  He couldn’t wait to get a look at Ginger. He turned from the mirror and left the room with his tools in hand.

  He traveled down one of the hallways that housed the private rooms and through a set of double doors that ended in an open play area.

  Spotting Wicked in his DJ booth, he moved over to the half-Asian, half-white man who supplied the music for the club.

  “Whatcha got for me?” Wicked asked with a smile that matched his name.

  Stephen handed over the sheet of paper that had been in his back pocket to the man who spun the records.

  “Nice,” the DJ commented. “It starts off slow and builds in tempo. I like the heavy bass lines. They’ll go hand in hand with your strokes.” Wicked tapped out a rhythm on the edge of the soundboard. “This is the first time you’ve worked with the newbie, isn’t it?”

  Ginger had only been employed at the club for about three months. Stephen had avoided her as much as he could. Not because she’d done anything wrong. In fact just the opposite was true. He was incredibly attracted to her. From her silky crown to her pink-tipped toes housed in high heels.

  She was a lethal, walking combination of sex appeal and sweetness all wrapped into one hot package. He’d chosen to keep his distance because he’d been afraid that she would bewitch him with her sexy little body and molten gaze. He wasn’t sure he was ready for an exclusive Dom/sub relationship. And Ginger wasn’t the kind of female he wanted to have a casual relationship with.

  Performing a scene would be formal and with an audience. It wouldn’t be just the two of them playing. He wasn’t about to tell Sin that he couldn’t perform with her. Instead he was going to remain unemotional and professional while they were together. That way any temptation he had where she was concerned would be within a controlled environment.

  “She’s pretty spectacular to watch,” the other man commented.

  “I know. I’ve seen her play before.” What a sight it was every time he caught her subbing for anyone. She was so damn responsive to the pleasure and pain.

  He grew hard remembering Velvet Ice’s last public play night, when she’d been bent over a spanking bench and tied down with her rounded ass in the air. She’d merely been paddled but her reaction had him going. Her large mahogany eyes showed every emotion. Pleasure as well as a bit of defiance danced in those eyes.

  He was getting the chance to know what she felt like under his ministrations. There was no one better with a whip. It was his specialty. One that he’d spent years perfecting.

  His excitement grew as the Dungeon Master for the night, Mistress Ty, stepped up to introduce the scene. It was time to begin, and he felt like a kid in a candy store.

  * * * * *

  Ginger came out of the employee changing room and up the two flights of stairs to the third-floor play area. Her nerves were fired up and she felt the electricity that had been building inside ever since she found out she’d be working with Master Stephen.

  His name alone elicited a shiver along her sensitive flesh. She ambled over to the bar and sat watching him as he discussed something with DJ Wicked.

  Her eyes narrowed on the whip he’d clipped to his belt and the flogger tucked through his belt loop. Damn but he was a gorgeous specimen of a man. Not like her usual type at all. The men she usually attracted were more of the timid types who were shocked whenever she revealed her true sexual appetites. She didn’t even bother anymore telling the men she dated about the acts that truly made her weak in the knees and gave her the best orgasms on the planet. It was why she’d come to work at Club Velvet Ice. Here she could indulge her true sexual nature without being judged for it.

  Stephen was tall, a couple inches above six feet, and was built like a football player with wide shoulders and a tapered waist. He kept his wavy brown hair conservatively short, and he was clean-shaven. His face was perfectly sculpted, with cheekbones any model would kill for and a dimple in his chin that just begged to be kissed and licked.

  He had pale-blue eyes that penetrated the deepest parts of her. It was as if he knew what she was all about. As if he knew all her secrets, no matter how hard she might try to hide them. No, she wouldn’t ever be able hide anything if she belonged to him, and that scared the hell out of her.

  You were always vulnerable as a submissive, but Ginger was able to go to that subspace where you didn’t think, you only felt. With Master Stephen, it was going to be different. Her emotions were already involved.
It was dangerous territory to tread. What if he felt only a minimal connection with her? She wanted there to be more, so much so, her chest ached with it. Hell, she didn’t understand the pull herself. It went beyond physical attraction. It was deeper than that for her. She just flat-out craved the chance to writhe under his whip.

  Not that the physical attraction was missing. He turned and she zeroed in on his great ass. The leather hugged his cheeks and her fists clenched. She wanted to squeeze the firm globes.

  She licked her lips as she caught the glint of his nipple rings from across the room. They were the only real outward hints of his inner kinkster. What she wouldn’t give to taste them—his hot flesh against the cold steel of the rings.

  Her pussy already ached and she’d done nothing more than look at him from the other side of the club.

  Janie the bartender shoved an icy bottle of water in front of her. “You look like you could use this,” she said.

  “Is it that obvious? I thought I was hiding the fact that I’m ready to pee my pants.”

  The other woman laughed. “No, you don’t appear nervous, but you forget I’ve seen how you look at him when you think no one is watching.”

  Ginger picked at the label on her bottle of water. “Damn, and I thought I was being so smooth.”

  “Sorry, sweetie, but you look like a lost puppy whenever he’s in the vicinity.”

  Her face burned. Did everyone at the club know she was crazy for Master Stephen? Could they tell she spent many nights thinking about what it would feel like to belong to him?

  “I wish I had something stronger to drink,” she mumbled more to herself than to Janie.

  “You know the rules, Gin. No alcohol during the demonstrations,” the bartender admonished. “Brady would have a fit if any of his employees drank during these sessions.”

  “I know. I prefer to be stone-cold sober anyway. I just can’t believe how nervous I am.”

  “You’ll do wonderfully. You’re always amazing in your scenes.”

  “Well, I’ve never been so damn attracted to a man before. It’s putting me off my game a bit.” She took a steadying breath, willing herself to chill out. This was a performance, mostly for the benefit of the club-goers who flocked to Velvet Ice on Wednesday nights for a sexy, kinky show. Paddling, flogging and whipping—spiced with a healthy dose of exhibitionism—just happened to be her kinks, and she couldn’t think of anyone better to indulge them with than Master Stephen.

  Ginger adjusted the tie of her silk robe. The deep-ruby hue matched the streaks she’d dyed into her long hair and the open-toed red stilettos she’d opted for because she’d heard that Master Stephen loved for his women to wear high heels. She’d left her hair loose and it fell softly down her back in large loose curls. She wore the minimal amount of makeup. She tended to break out whenever she wore full-on face paint. A little mascara, liner and lip gloss was about as heavy as she got.

  She stood. “Wish me luck,” she said, and slowly walked over to join the man who would be her Master for the next hour.

  * * * * *

  Stephen and Ginger had never done a scene together, let alone a performance, but the club had a standard intro that all the performers followed. So, when Wicked cued up his music, Stephen met Ginger in the center of the stage and offered his hand.

  When her scarlet-tipped fingers brushed over his palm, he felt it like an electric shock. From the way her breath caught, he thought she might have felt it too.

  She moved gracefully, like a dancer, as he led her to the whipping post set up at center stage. Giving in to an impulse, he twirled her around a couple of times, letting the audience enjoy the flare of her robe as it played peekaboo with creamy skin. He was rewarded by an appreciative murmur from the direction of the dance floor, and Ginger’s low, delighted laughter.

  They reached the post and he turned her to face him, keeping them in profile to the audience.

  “You’re here willingly, yes?”

  “Absolutely, Master Stephen.”

  He reminded himself that these were just the formalities, but that didn’t stop the little thrill he got hearing her call him Master.

  “What are your safe words?”

  “Blossom to slow down, Master, and tree to stop.”

  Stephen nodded briskly, approving her choices. It was important—no, crucial—that they had safe words firmly in place, particularly in a whipping scene. They all knew—the audience, club management and, most importantly, Ginger—that he’d back off the instant the word blossom left her lips. And if she said tree, she’d be untied before the syllable had faded to silence.

  “What hard limits do you have for tonight’s scene?” After all, she was agreeing to be flogged and whipped, not abused. Stephen would be damned if he did something any sub didn’t enjoy, but especially this sub. He wanted this sub to come back and ask for more. Beg for more.

  “Mmmm…” The little humming sound was almost as sexy as her slightly pursed lips. “I’d rather you didn’t draw actual blood.” She glanced up through dark lashes. “I mean, like the dripping-down-my-back kind, not the whip-crack-abrasion kind.”

  He nodded again, oddly charmed by her description.

  “Right,” he agreed. “No drippy blood.”

  There were chuckles from their audience at the description, and she blushed a little and laughed again, peeking up at him coyly. She had a remarkable laugh, rich and heady and a little surprising coming from such a petite body.

  “Yeah,” she said with an enchanting little nose crinkle. “No drippy blood. Oh, and my tattoo.” He quirked his brow questioningly. “Nothing that damages my tattoo.”

  “Absolutely not,” he agreed willingly. “It would be a tragedy to mess that up. It’s gorgeous.”

  “Thank you, Master.” The blush on her cheeks intensified, and she gave a little smile, still gazing up at him from under her lashes. The woman was a little vixen, all sweet submission on the surface and teasing minx underneath.

  The music changed, segueing into Adele singing, fittingly enough, Lovesong, and Stephen tipped his head toward the post.

  “Ready to begin, pet?”

  This time her smile was less flirtatious and more luminous.

  “Oh yes. So ready.”

  She untied her robe slowly, following the beat of the music, and pulled the tie loose with a soft sigh of silk over silk. When he held his hand out, she laid the length of silk over his palm. Stephen draped the sash around his neck for the moment, keeping it conveniently accessible.

  Ginger turned her back to the audience and allowed the robe to slide down, catching at her elbows. The movement bared a tempting expanse of creamy flesh, broken only by the delicate lines of her tattoo. Her skin seemed to glow against the deep red of the robe, and Stephen could picture the way it would flush and grow pink for his flogger. When he let his imagination move on to the crimson kisses his whip would leave on the flawless surface, he had to adjust the suddenly far-too-tight fly of his leathers.

  When the robe dropped to the floor, there were audible sounds of approval from the audience. Stephen didn’t blame them. Ginger was entirely bare, save for a pale-peach thong that blended with her skin well enough that she could have been nude. God, so much gorgeous flesh just waiting for his marks.

  He must not have schooled his expression as well as he’d thought, because she glanced over her shoulder at him, smirked a little and tossed her head before offering her wrists. That was perfectly fine, though. He enjoyed her little flashes of attitude. And he’d enjoy reminding her who was the boss, at least outwardly, too.

  Taking both of her slender wrists in one hand, he pulled the sash from his neck, savoring the slide of silk over his skin. He wrapped it around her wrists loosely, more for show than anything else, as silk ties and scarves had a dangerous tendency to twist and cut off circulation when used in serious play.

  No, this was for the visual, for the contrast of deep-red silk over luminous white skin.

  Ginger migh
t have been new to the club, but she knew her role well. After holding her wrists up so the audience could get a good look at their binding, she turned and stepped close to the whipping post, reaching up for the hook set near the top.

  Stephen moved close behind her, pressing against her back and nestling his straining erection in the crease of her ass. She was soft and warm against him, and he couldn’t resist grinding a little bit. He did resist moaning in appreciation when she rubbed back against him encouragingly, but only just.

  He coasted his hands up her body, letting his fingers trail teasingly along the sides of her breasts before running his palms up the lengths of her arms to wrap around her silk-bound wrists.

  “Do you need to be bound?” he murmured for her ears alone.

  “No, Sir,” she answered, equally softly.

  “Do you want to be?”

  She hesitated, and he made an encouraging sound.

  “No, Sir.” He waited, sensing she wasn’t done, and she didn’t disappoint him. “I like the challenge of having to hold my position all on my own. No help from cuffs or whatever.”

  Stephen smiled and nuzzled the tender hollow behind her ear. He liked that, the sheer mindfuck of it. He breathed against her skin, smiling even wider when she shivered in response.

  “Excellent,” he responded, both to her words and her body’s reaction to his. Making a show of it, he draped the silk sash over a hook high on the post, but he didn’t tie it. She gripped the hook firmly. All it would take was a quick tug of her hands and the tie would fall away entirely. The only thing really binding her was her agreement to be bound. Sheer. Mind. Fuck.

  He loved it.

  Running his hands back down her arms, he brought them to rest on her hips. She felt good in his grasp, as warm and as silky as the robe she’d shed so readily. He toyed with the strings of her thong, tugging so the lacy scrap would press hard into her pussy and chafe against her clit. She made a breathy little sound and arched her back, rubbing her ass back against his cock.