by Joey W. Hill
Because of that, he didn't regret the personal funds he'd chosen to invest in The Zone guest membership, rather than requisitioning a reimbursement. He'd even consider going for a full membership, if it weren't for Violet being there. What was it about her that made his gut clench in anxiety, even as his cock jumped up like a dog waiting for a treat?
He ran his hand over his face to the side of his neck and froze at the thump of his pulse in his jugular. So caught up in what she was doing to him, he hadn't even registered until now the blood staining her neck when she left him. Jesus. He had bitten her. He'd never used his strength against a Mistress, though the throbbing bruise on his cheekbone told him she'd handled him all right. No fear in that one. A porcelain doll with a core of iron.
The thought made him smile, but it worried him for her, that she was too green to know when she should back off. But had she needed to back off from him? Or had she done exactly what she should?
Would he go tomorrow night? Of course he'd go, he was on assignment. But the question was, would he go to that room, wait for her, accept her as his Mistress for another night?
Mac picked up the photo of Jesse Rodriguez, a twenty-three year old accountant, stared into his dead eyes. Yeah. Yeah, he would go to The Zone tomorrow night, because Jesse was never going to get to enjoy the anxiety and anticipation again. He had died because he'd taken the risk with someone who killed him, and that offended Mac deeply, on a personal level he felt too raw to explore.
On the computer reports Consuela had run for him, he saw that there were no related crimes in the fifty-state area for the past two years. It looked like his murderess had just started her killing spree. They needed to find her soon. Six weeks between her two victims meant she was a fast learner. She'd found a release for the pain she nursed inside. The hunger would keep growing, and she would go after whatever would ease the craving.
Just like him. He muttered an oath and slapped the file shut. Violet was not the murderess, but she obviously had the power to destroy him. He'd go to The Zone, but not to her. There would be other, less distracting Mistresses with whom he could hook up and mingle, watch the play beneath the floor. He'd follow that strategy. See if he could start zeroing in on a killer that he was certain was already stalking her next kill.
*
Violet had a hard time sleeping, and found it even more difficult to focus on doing her job throughout the next day. Her body ached with unsatisfied desire, but the idea of relieving it with a toy after she'd left Mac had left her cold. She wanted to build her own anticipation as well as his, though she knew it was entirely possible she'd pushed too hard and he wouldn't be there. Or worse, he'd be there and not in that room. A flat rejection.
No. She stood in front of her bathroom mirror, pulled her hair from her face, pinned it up so the curls just brushed the nape of her neck, and tucked the black wig over it. Not a rejection. If he shunned her, she would think of it as a retreat. She'd unsettled him, knocked a sizable dent in that arrogant attitude of his. Was he man enough to admit it and come back to her?
She certainly wanted him to do so.
The phone rang and she picked it up as she leaned forward to apply her eyeliner.
"So, did you take my advice?"
She grimaced. "You have spies everywhere, Tyler, so don't pretend you don't already know how last night went."
He chuckled. "Oh, I know you picked up a prime target, but word is you engaged the privacy screen, so no one but those who won't be bribed know how it went. I do have reports that you came out alone. Mistress Marguerite reported that he came out a quarter hour later, looking like he'd had the carpet of his world yanked out from under him. Was that a good or bad thing?"
"I won't know until tonight, if he shows up again."
"Your boy socialized a bit after you left."
"Did he?"
There was a significant pause, and Violet cursed mentally.
"There was definitely a jealous note to that, maybe even a tad possessive. He got under your skin."
"I got under his more."
Tyler laughed, dropping all the slyness from his tone. Violet couldn't help but smile at her own reflection in the mirror.
"Fuck you, Tyler."
"Anytime, darling, but it would be like two tigers. We'd rip each other to shreds. So you liked this one, then. All those months playing with me, you don't find anything more than casual playmates. Your first night out on your own, you find one you want to keep. "
"Just a virgin reaction to her first solo scene."
"Spoken like a crude cynic, and not like the sweet Violet I know. Don't get worried, kitten. Let it happen."
"I have to worry, Tyler." She put down her mascara and leaned against the counter, rubbing a finger over her forehead. "I can't take risks. I'm already daydreaming about taking him places, for heaven's sake."
"Well how about something safe to ease the craving? My plantation house, this weekend. I'm inviting four lady Doms, including yourself, for an overnight of play with the sub of their choice. I'll have Mark and Stacey from The Zone staff there to be chefs and domestic help, and to join in if we need some free agents. You can take a side trip to Lilesville, use that gift certificate your friend Sarah gave you. To decorate him, or yourself. Or expand your toy chest."
"I wasn't ever going to use that, Tyler. It's for five hundred dollars. It feels like a bribe."
"Her new husband gave it to you because, thanks to you, he gets to sleep with Sarah every night for the rest of his life. I've seen Sarah. He should have given you ten times that much."
"Pig. I'll think about it. And he's got to want to go, anyhow. Will you bring Leila?"
"Absolutely. In fact, I think this is the perfect weekend to break her into the joys of interactive play. Maybe we'll see how far we can push your boy."
"You'll need to take it easy on him, Tyler. He comes off tough as nails, but if you find the way in, he can be hurt."
"We all can, love. We all can."
*
She didn't look to see if the ceiling darkening feature had been engaged or not for her room. She went to the changing room. It was nearly ten-thirty. If he had obeyed and prepared himself for her as she had told him to, he'd been on his knees for almost an hour and a half.
Shedding her overcoat, she put it in a locker. Tonight she had worn a dress she'd picked up in the Asian district. The blue satin with a touch of Lycra to cling to her curves had side slits in the form fitting skirt and a pattern of black dragons with delicate long whiskers and sharp curving talons done in black and silver embroidery thread. A stiff line of ribbon sewn at the base of the bodice lifted and underlined her breasts. Her heels were black satin with braid trim, and she wore sapphires at her ears. No underwear beneath the dress, just a pale blue satin garter belt to hook the sheer hose. The deep vee of the neckline revealed the path of the silver nipple chain across her sternum, strung with sapphire and black beads to weight the pink tips, keeping them stiff and pushing against the snug fit of the bodice.
It was her most sensual dress, and she was uncomfortably aware of how deliberately she'd chosen it from the closet. If he was here, but spurned her attentions, she was going to make damn sure he regretted the choice.
Closing the locker, she took a deep breath. Let it happen.
She took the stairs down to the lower level, comfortable in the high heels, and moved into the carpeted entry hallway, lit with candelabras.
The hallways of the playrooms felt like her own private world. A calm settled over her shoulders, and she soaked it in. Painted with an ornate tapestry of images, the vaulted ceilings offered equal visions of pleasure and pain, silhouettes of bodies, the gleaming curves of exposed skin, a ready hand or brushing of lips. Nearly two hundred scenes painted along the arched hallway interlocked into a mural, a masterpiece created exclusively for The Zone by a famous artist patron who chose to remain anonymous.
She went to the door of the room she had reserved, keyed in the access code, then h
esitated, hand on the latch. It was cowardly, but she needed another moment before she faced the potential of an empty room, the slap in the face it represented. In that moment, she knew that more than pride was involved. With that thought came the realization that, if he was in the room, she was risking her heart, a far more dangerous sacrifice than her pride.
"Two nights in a row. He must be worth it."
Masters at taking arousal to the cutting edge of pain and then pushing their sub a little bit past that, Tamara and Kiera were twins, Mistresses who chose to work exclusively as a team. A unique commodity, even in the fetish world.
When Tyler had first introduced Violet to T&K, he had told her, albeit under his breath: "Most subs don't know whether to beg for more or run screaming after spending ten minutes with them."
Tonight they were dressed in white latex mini dresses. Tamara's had a high neck and long sleeves, whereas Kiera's had a neckline plunging almost to her waist in an imitation of the Marilyn Monroe classic. Tall, elegant black women with dark hair streaked with deep red highlights, their lips and fingertips were painted in the liquid red they favored, perhaps to remind subs of the blood they were willing to draw in the name of pleasure.
"Are you going to Tyler's this weekend?" Tamara asked, turning a cane through her long, elegant fingers like a baton. In her other hand she held a group of electrode pads.
"Tell us yes, flower girl," Kiera chimed in, "and tell us you're bringing that sweet baby waiting in the stable for you."
"To share," Tamara added, a gleam in her eye.
With Herculean effort, Violet suppressed the urge to pump a victory fist. Her emotions surged through her, making her want to spin like a top.
"Maybe."
Kiera ran a caressing nail with a lethal metal tip down Violet's forearm. "Well if you do, we hope you'll consider letting us play with him a bit. It would be fun, and you could test how he obeys you when you're in a generous mood."
"Ease up, girls." Marguerite joined them. She had her sub on a leash and he was following her on all fours, naked of course, the leash attached to a collar with metal spikes that turned inward, pricking his skin. When he sat back on his heels at her command, to display himself for the pleasure of the other Mistresses, Violet saw a strap ran from the collar ran down to a restraint of a similar make at the base of his cock, the spikes pressing into his scrotum, a state that could get much worse if Marguerite chose to yank.
However, Violet knew Marguerite was rarely cruel, though she made her slaves submit to many things, like this, that made them vulnerable to the possibility of much greater pain. She could establish a level of trust with her one-night subs that many Mistresses could not achieve in months with a regular partner. Violet suspected it had to do with the absolute command that poured off of her, like the aura of an all-powerful Goddess. The long blond hair was almost pure white and tied back on her shoulders, the clear blue eyes as direct and penetrating as that of a Saxon deity.
Marguerite, while friendly with all of them, did not welcome camaraderie. She was soft-spoken and helpful, would welcome observers to her sessions with a sub, but there was much about her clearly posted with "do not trespass" signs. She came every Tuesday night. No more, no less, staying exactly two hours. Picked out a sub, a different one every time, and for those two hours used him in a way that apparently helped her deal with whatever darkness lay within her. Whoever or whatever she was outside The Zone walls, Violet expected it was a very different person than who she was within them.
"It would be fun for you to watch as well." Kiera was still making sly suggestions.
Violet pulled her attention away from the attractive slave on the floor, with his stiff cock in its cruel restraint and his eyes directed toward the floor. Marguerite caressed his hair with tenderness, her expression quiet, tranquil.
In contrast, Violet wasn't sure if 'fun' or 'tranquil' would describe the way the twins operated. While watching the two of them work was undeniably a visual orgasm, Violet preferred her mastery in the area of emotions, not the realm of pain. She had seen T & K take a sub to the limit of both and beyond. It was disturbing, and yet so potent it felt like witnessing a sacred ceremony. Or a session in a Baghdad torture chamber.
She realized suddenly that, if they knew he was in the room, then he had left the ceiling screen open. He had not done anything to protect himself, a message that he was leaving himself open to her desires. She nodded to the others, closed her hand on the doorknob, took another steadying breath. She'd kept him, and herself, waiting long enough.
"Enjoy, flower girl," Tamara's chuckle caressed her spine as Violet turned the latch, stepped into the room.
*
Mac kept his head lowered as the door opened, but it was difficult, particularly when that lavender and vanilla scent wafted into the room, tightening his cock in the harness instantly, painfully, increasing it with every step she made across the wood floor. She was wearing a dress again, he could hear the rustle of the soft fabric, and he saw the shadow cast by the light, but she wasn't close enough to show him what shoes were making that crisp tap against the slick finished wood.
His back and legs ached from maintaining the straight-up kneeling position; her punishment, he was sure, for his behavior last night. He hadn't moved an inch, had left the ceiling clear so anyone she asked could tell her, so she'd see he could take anything she'd dish out. His shoulders throbbed from keeping his hands laced behind his head for the entire time.
The whir of gears and a flicker of shadows told him she was closing the screen, making it just the two of them again, and he stifled the sense of relief.
"You've done well. I'm pleased. You may lower your hands to the floor, knuckles flat on the wood, please."
Her voice, soft velvet, told him she was indeed pleased with him, and his heart tipped in his chest, ridiculously. She was coming back toward him. Tap. Tap. Pause.
"Keep your head down."
He obeyed, but his muscles trembled with the effort as her small hand reached down, came into the field of his view and grasped his cock in firm, gentle fingers. Through the openings of the harness, her skin touched his, and his cock jerked, responded, leaked a drop of semen onto the delicate pulse point of her wrist.
"My apologies, Mistress," he said.
"For what?" Her hand released him, rose, lifted his chin.
He had seen many beautiful women. After thinking about her for nearly twenty-four hours, waiting for her on his knees over two hours, and then, the longest time of all, these few moments she had been in the room, letting him hear her body move but not permitting him sight of it, he expected he had exaggerated the appealing quality of her features and form.
If anything, he decided he had not done her justice.
He supposed there was some standard for beauty that model agencies used, somewhat the same way dog breeders did it. Legs must be this length, proportion of torso to arms must be this, nose this shape, eyes this color. He was sure she might not meet all those standards. But her lips were a deep, wet burgundy, and those violet eyes beneath slim brows and the mass of upswept raven curls held him, affected him so that he knew he would have waited on his knees for her until he lost all feeling in his limbs.
"For dripping on you, Mistress."
She was bending forward, for if she had squatted, he would have been taller than she was. The bodice was snug enough that it did not gap, but the low neckline showed him she was wearing jewelry to stimulate her breasts. He saw the shape of her nipples pressed against the tight fabric and wished he could see how lovely they looked, enclosed in the silver rings which he was sure would match the beaded chain strung between them.
Her face came closer. Just as his lips anticipated the brush of hers, she turned her head away and licked delicately at her wrist, tasting the drop he had left there. He could see the pulse in her neck beating in time with the rapid pulse in her wrist, felt his blood heat further, knowing she was aroused.
"You exercise control when I te
ll you to do so. If you hold back when I haven't commanded you to hold back, it's as much an insult to me as ignoring a direct order. Now, where was I?"
Her touch slid away from his face, caressing it before she curled those clever fingers around the full length of his erect cock again.
"You are nicely equipped. I like that," she purred. "But that big cock of yours may cause you problems in serving me as I wish tonight."
"I won't let it," he said, meeting her gaze, so close to his. Her lips seemed even closer, and he thought he might lose all control and kiss her in a moment, just to suck on those lips and see if they tasted like a perfectly ripe plum, as they appeared to.
"We'll see. But first, I need you to tell me the rule I imposed last night."
Mac tightened his jaw, averted his glance. "Mistress will not need--"
"It is not Mistress's needs the rule serves, but her desire to protect her possession. Don't fuck with me, Mac, or we're back to where we were last night, and I walk out of here."
His attention shot back to her and he cursed himself for the involuntary protest his expression conveyed. Even though he knew she'd seen his moment of alarm, of need, he made himself go deadpan. He didn't want her more than ten feet from him. Hell, he might tackle her bodily to keep her here with him, where he could just have the bliss of smelling her, aroused woman with lavender and vanilla highlights.
"If I'm thirsty, I should let you know."
She considered him, and the silence stretched out between them. It wasn't enough, he knew it wasn't, but damn it, he didn't need it. He wouldn't break. He couldn't.
"For tonight, that will do. But I know you can do better. What surprises me is I don't think you know that. No one's ever broken you, Mac."
Damn right. He couldn't keep it out of his eyes, so he lowered them, but knew she'd seen it flare there.
Instead of getting aggressive with him, as he expected, her gentle touch stroked his hair, caressed the nape of his tense and screaming neck, disarming him.
"You deny yourself the pleasure of surrender. I suppose I'm just going to have to force you to see what you're missing."