Fetish

by Sherri L. King

  “But, if you should will it, I will take you upon a different road. I can show you latex fetishes, medical fetishes, stomping fetishes, blood fetishes…everything you could possibly imagine. If you asked me now, I could take you to a room that caters only to those interested in elaborate rope bondage scenarios. I could take you to a room where pain is the greatest catalyst for pleasure. Or I could take you to a room where anal congress is most dearly sought after, rough and gentle, and all that is in between. Here, there are endless possibilities.”

  She shied away from the scope and imagination of the club…she’d never given thought to how far the establishment might go towards pleasing it’s customers sexually. She’d assumed much…but not so much.

  She’d been assured, more than once, that the escorts here did only what they wanted to do with the clients. If there were extreme fetishes being catered to within the club’s walls, she felt sure it was with mutual consent of those involved and reminded herself of that now. “What,” she swallowed, “what fetish have you chosen for me tonight?”

  He grinned wide, showing his too-bright teeth again. “Not so much a fetish in the sense of the word you might assume. For you I would say your fetish is an object of reverence, an intangible thing that requires attention and devotion and utmost care. Your inner sensuality. It sleeps now, but only lightly after your last visit, I think. I would like to awaken this deep place inside of you. I would like to see you blossom as you were meant to. I want to see you ripe, open, and drunk upon your own power as a woman.”

  All traces of self-confidence vanished as if they had never been. She winced at the sudden loss and breathed harshly, nervously. “You talk as if I’m some dull spinster.”

  “Don’t you see yourself thus,” his words were merciless, demanding, “I would not believe you if you said otherwise, nor do I think you would lie about so serious a thing.”

  “And I don’t think you can make me see myself any differently.” She avoided the admission that she did, indeed, see herself as he’d suggested.

  “Do you not?” His eyes changed color most rapidly now, silver and green and blue and back again. The colors seemed so deep as to be pools of liquid beneath the long dark fan of his lashes. “Have you not already felt a change within yourself, after only one evening here with me?”

  She had. But how could he know that? Had it been that obvious? “Yes,” she admitted, never thinking to lie, not to this man who would doubtless have sensed the lie before she’d finished mouthing it. He was far too astute, far too knowing, to attempt any sort of subterfuge. “I have felt different. I don’t know how, but I have.” Her hands trembled, one still held captive by his.

  “Then trust me to know that together, we can awaken your deepest self. If you should choose to explore the world of Fetish then I will be glad to accompany you. But I believe that I can lead us both on this journey. Trust me to know what steps to take and I promise you that you will never regret that trust.”

  Though she was curious to see the strange rooms he’d mentioned, she knew she was less apt to gain any sort of lasting benefit from what she might find there. What Violanti spoke of now was liberation, of her self, of her sensuality, of her very womanhood. If he could bring about such a wonder, if he could set her free—free to be herself in every way—she would be forever grateful.

  He’d already wrought such a welcome change in her that she could hardly believe it. She would trust him a little more, now, if only because he asked it of her. “Lead the way, Violanti. I trust you,” she smiled, an honest smile, and was relieved that she didn’t feel at all self-conscious about it.

  His eyes darkened, a dangerous storm brewed in their depths, electrifying her with the intensity of his gaze. “Good. I need that trust, Aerin. More than you know.” He led her to the blue door, his hand cool and strong around hers. “Now let me guide you. Let me bring you. Let me show you how much of a woman you really are.”

  Chapter Six

  The blue door opened and, not surprisingly, the room beyond was decorated in various hues of azure, turquoise, and royal blue. It was a calming, soothing décor, cool and inviting. Every aspect was meant to draw an occupant inward, deeper into the sea of color and—of course—texture. Brocades, silks—both raw and refined, satins, cottons, and velour adorned every available surface. It was truly lovely. Aerin sighed, relaxing deeply and immediately into the plush atmosphere of the room.

  There was a bed in the center of the space, raised on three marble steps so that it was the main attraction of the room. Rich draperies hung from the immense posters of the bed’s frame, in various shades of blue, silver, white, and cream. The floor was tiled with tiny pieces of polished marble and granite. The cold hard aspect of such an unforgiving material was softened by numerous thickly piled fur rugs, each a decadent and sinful expense of luxury and refined taste.

  There were no windows, but the walls were covered with carvings and paintings the likes of which Aerin—a voracious art lover herself—had never seen. This artwork belonged in a palace, or museum, not a Seattle mansion. Her fingers fairly itched to reach for one of the paintings. She’d have given her soul to own but one, they were so fine.

  She tore her attention away from the art—it was almost painful—and looked around, noting the similarities and differences of this room and the jade one she’d occupied on her first visit. “No two-way mirrors this time?” she asked with a small, teasing smile.

  He returned it with one of his own. “I wanted your undivided attention tonight, so no, I’m afraid there are no two-way mirrors this time.”

  He led her, at once, directly to the bed. She balked, hesitant and nervous about his intentions. He glanced at her; a hot, warning look in his mercurial eyes. “Are you already withdrawing your trust, Aerin? So soon?”

  “N-no,” she said, then more firmly, “no. Of course not. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” And it was the truth, but not entirely. Yes she was nervous, but she was also excited. Very excited about what would come next.

  “Good. I’d hate for you to be so hasty as that, when I have such a lovely evening planned for the both of us.”

  “And what exactly do you have planned?” she was moved to ask.

  He sat her down upon the edge of the bed and joined her, drawing so close that the scent of him enveloped her in a warm cloud. “So much, I don’t even know where to begin. For tonight, there will be much pleasure—for both of us, but I don’t want to rush it. I want to savor every nuance of your self-discovery.”

  “I’m not ready to sleep with you,” she admitted in a rush.

  His eyes widened, then fell shuttered beneath thick lashes. “I never said anything about sleep.”

  “Don’t tease. I-I like you a lot Violanti, but I’m not going to let you be a prostitute for me…”

  His cool hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her. His face was hardened, dangerous, a warning. “Don’t ever speak of that again. You keep coming back to this and I am tiring of it. I am no whore. Nor are you. Leave it, you silly woman. Leave it be.”

  She scowled at him over his hand and moved to bite him—shocking even herself at so bold and action.

  Violanti only grinned as her teeth nicked him, his smile wolfish this time, before lowering his hand. “There’ll be time for that later, sweet,” he promised devilishly.

  Aerin was more than a little titillated by his words, her knees felt weak as water.

  “For now, I will tell you that tonight we will continue your journey by exploring touch. The need and desire for touch, both giving and receiving. I think I will give you dominion and allow you to explore the giving end of this venture first. Though I ache most fiercely to touch you, I think you need this small taste of supremacy so soon in our relationship.”

  She felt her hands tingle—actually tingle—with the urge to touch him. But she fought the urge and won, barely. She didn’t want to seem too eager. Though in truth she was very, very eager.

  “Are you ready Aeri
n? The night will linger but so long, even for lovers such as you and I are about to become.”

  Now she wasn’t too sure about that, though she supposed they were already lovers of a sort. How incredible that so lovely, so perfect, so dangerously sexy a man like Violanti could even speak of being her lover. And she had the wondrous idea that he sincerely meant every word. She’d never been happier, not even close.

  “I’m ready,” she murmured, wondering that such a sultry voice could belong to her; overjoyed when she realized fully that it did.

  “Undress me, sweet Aerin,” he commanded in a whisper that stroked over her skin like the brush of invisible lips.

  Her hands shook as she brought them to the hem of his skin-tight, black t-shirt. He accommodatingly raised his arms above his head as she lifted it, allowing her to expose the long length of his tightly muscled stomach and chest. The neck of the shirt came free of his head, but she was too short to lift it free of his arms so he finished the job for her, tossing the dark cloth carelessly to the floor.

  Her eyes drank him up, from his corded neck, to his alarmingly broad shoulders, to his rounded pectorals and washboard abs. His left nipple—dark brown against the hairless chest—was pierced by a tiny silver loop. His warm-hued olive skin was cooled somewhat by the blue of the room, but she felt overcome with heat all the same. He was sheer perfection, beyond any she could have imagined or dreamed. And for the moment he was all hers. Hers! It was unbelievable.

  She reached out to touch his glinting nipple ring, to run her hands down that gorgeous expanse of muscled chest, and gasped when he captured her questing hands in a firm grip with but one of his own.

  “Not yet,” his gaze seared her. “I couldn’t take that, not so soon. For now, give me your glasses before they slip off your face.” She did, though her vision was so blurry without them she could barely see him. He took them and laid them on a convenient table by the bed, before turning back to her. “Now. Undress me before we go any further. Now. Undress me,” he finished in another whisper before gently releasing her.

  Her hands fluttered down to his belt buckle, careful not to even brush against the lure of his sensual skin. But oh, how badly she wanted to touch. How desperately she longed for it. She gritted her teeth and was startled when Violanti chuckled, having heard the telltale sound from within her mouth.

  Their eyes met, his scorching her to her soul. There was a promise there, a secret knowledge in those depths, a dark and heady knowledge that only a lover could have. And hadn’t she admitted that they were already lovers—if not of the flesh, then of the mind? She’d longed for this advance in their relationship. It would do her no good to lie to herself about the truth of it. She wanted him for a lover, for her first lover. If he wanted them joined tonight, she would not deny him. Or herself.

  His belt buckle was of heavy silver—he seemed to have his own fetish for silver—and she was amazed that her quaking hands managed to undo the fastening. The button fly of his black vinyl pants came next, and he leaned back on his elbows to aid her efforts. The ridge of his arousal was large, hard, and warm as her fingers unavoidably brushed over it in her bid to loosen his pants. Her heart thundered. Her sex ached, swelled, and flooded with arousal. Her breath came in soft pants of air that fluttered over her lips and out towards his skin.

  It seemed as if her very breath longed to stroke over him, to touch him.

  He wasn’t wearing any underclothing. The swell of his cock fell free of its confines, heavy and thick onto her hands as she unfastened the last of his buttons. Her hands faltered and her breath caught. She’d never touched a man thus. Her gaze darted up to clash with his. The fire of desire blazed between them, burning brighter than ever.

  “Finish it, sweet,” he instructed softly. “The touching will come after, I promise. All you want and more.”

  Desperate now, she tugged at the loosened waistband of his pants. He lifted his hips, thrusting that smooth column of sex up towards her face as she bent forward with her efforts. The scent of him, more concentrated here at the core of his masculinity, swamped her. Her mouth watered. His natural perfume filled her nose and lungs, and she was so drunk with lust she might have died from it.

  But not before she had him fully naked. How could she die without first seeing such a vision to comfort her in her last waking moments before sinking deep into death’s ebony blanket?

  Awkward but determined, she slid from the bed, worked to remove his calf-high boots, and then pushed his pants down to his ankles, kneeling on the floor between his legs as she moved to accomplish the task. Once the clothing was removed—at last!—she looked up at him and stilled. Her face was level with his cock. That long, hard staff of rigid tissue, engorged with blood, aroused for her.

  Aerin felt rather than heard the tiny, mewling noise that escaped from the depths of her throat. His legs spread wider before her, the delicious cinnamon and almond scent of him growing stronger, as he shifted to allow her a better view.

  “Can you doubt how much I want you now, Aerin?”

  She swallowed and shook her head, her eyes moving of their own volition to drink him in as she knelt between his thighs.

  “Do you desire me?”

  She hesitated and then nodded, for it was the most honest truth she knew in that moment.

  “Then feel no regrets. None. Now. Touch me. Please touch me.”

  Her hands, visibly trembling with her nervousness and excitement, swept up to rest against his knees. It was her eyes that touched him more freely, from head to chest, belly to sex, to his legs and—oh, how unexpectedly beautiful— his feet.

  “Touch me everywhere,” he encouraged.

  Her hands petted the soft down of his leg hair, from his knees to his calves then back up to his thighs. Never once did her hands separate from his dusky flesh, never once did she look away. He was too beautiful for words, too sexy for thought.

  Her body trembled; her breath came in unsteady pants that she knew he could hear.

  “What are you thinking,” he asked in a gentle whisper that breathed across her face like a softly scented breeze.

  Could she find the words to convey her wonder? Did those words exist in the human vocabulary? She would try and hope not to taint the moment with her inadequate speech. “Y-you smell so good,” her voice shook, cushioned—or choked—by the husky breaths that entered her words. “And I’ve never…” she faltered. “I’ve never touched anything so fine,” her hands brushed over his thighs once more as she finished.

  “Touch all of me. Feel more of me.” He lay back with a deep, unsteady draw of breath.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Avoiding his cock, though she desperately longed to touch him there, she rose slowly until she was half leaning, half lying over him, trailing her hands up his body. She raised her hands to his shoulders. His skin was cool, as cool as the room, which was unexpected—though she realized in the back of her mind that he was always this cool—and smooth as the finest silk. Silk over steel, for his muscles were even harder than they looked beneath his skin.

  She tested those muscles, squeezing him firmly, as firmly as she wanted to squeeze other things. Next her hands roved over the broad planes of his chest. The glint of the silver nipple ring fascinated her. When she dared to touch it, to gently tug upon it, Violanti hissed and his chest swelled beneath her hands.

  Jerking her hands back, unnerved by the sound, she moved to sit beside him again, feeling her breath escape her in a rush. Violanti immediately countered her move, capturing her hands, bringing them back flush with his chest. “Do that again,” he begged—commanded—pleaded.

  She tugged gently upon the ring, eyes roving over him, unable to miss the pulse that shook his rigid member when she did so, even with her poor eyesight. Repeating the gesture, her eyes widened to see the response echoed once more in the swelling tissues of his cock. His perfume teased her again, drugging her, arousing her ever more.

  Daring more than ever now, she leaned for
ward and licked the pierced nipple. Violanti groaned, a hand flying forward to tangle in her hair. She repeated the caress, this time suckling him as well as licking him, though his nipple was flat and somewhat hard to draw upon even pierced as it was. Violanti’s hips bucked and his fist tightened against her scalp.

  Aerin had never felt as strong as she did then, with her lover’s powerful body held captive to even so slight a caress as this.

  Her hair fell in a heavy curtain about her face as she moved back over him and bent to press her lips more tightly to his warming flesh. In the very deepest recesses of her mind she wondered that her hair could feel heavy, it had always been lank and thin, but that thought was buried too deep for her to really give it proper notice.

  And there were so many more important things demanding her notice at the moment.

  Like the thick corded muscles of his throat. Feeling no resistance in him, Aerin lifted her lips to it, pressing against that flesh with a greedy force. Violanti’s breath exploded in her ear.

  “Bite me there,” he said in a shaky voice that she’d never heard him use before, “please.”

  Without thinking twice she did, gently at first, but when Violanti pushed her mouth tighter against his throat with that fist still tangled in her hair, she bit harder. He groaned, a loud noise that nearly startled her it was so masculine, so full of arousal and hunger and heat.

  “Harder,” he demanded pulling her body against his so that they fell back together onto the bed.

  She bit harder, drawing his skin into her mouth, knowing she would leave a love mark and reveling in that potent knowledge.

  The strong frame of his body shuddered beneath her, the swell of his cock prodding her stomach demandingly. “Harder, please, harder, do it Aerin!”

  Any harder and she would have drawn blood. So she drew back, rising over him so that her chestnut hair fell forward and tangled with his indigo black strands. Their eyes met. She could have sworn that his were tinged with red, so powerful was his need in that moment.