Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
W hen Rev thought about what he’d wear to Club Progeny, he’d thought about the clothes Veracity wore. So when she pulled up to their agreed rendezvous, the coffee shop on the corner near his place, he watched her face to see how he’d done.
He wore an ivory-colored suit with a slim black tie. The jacket nipped in at the waist, and his pants were hemmed to brush the tops of his polished shoes. The cuffs of his blue dress shirt were visible under the sleeves of the jacket, and had silver button cuff links. He’d shaved twice to make his jaw smooth, and his hair gleamed from the light touch of a scented oil he thought she’d like.
Every stitch of clothing was smooth, pressed, and fit him the way it should. He could have worn one of his church suits, but instead had decided to spend some of his money on a suit from a consignment shop.
Mrs. Levitt, who taught the home economics class, had altered it for him. She wouldn’t take payment, saying she was thanking him for her tires. She’d been driving on bald ones, and he’d gotten her a good discount on a new set at a local tire company. The owner was a man Rev had helped, through late night companionship and prayer, to stick with his twelve-step program at AA. When he got his one-year chip, his wife had let him come back home and given him a second chance with her and their two kids.
After finishing the last adjustment, Mrs. Levitt had given Rev an approving nod. “You’ll please your lady, Rev, never fear.”
She must know what she was talking about, because Veracity’s thorough look woke up every part of him.
Though he didn’t respond just to that. As he approached the car, he saw her skirt was snug and black and came up high on her thighs, the way she was sitting behind the wheel. A flirty transparent hem added a few inches to it. He expected she was wearing her preferred seamed stockings, those straight lines up the back of her legs teasing a man’s imagination as they disappeared beneath the skirt.
Her apple green fitted coat over a black lace top had a belted waist. It made her breasts look even more blessedly generous. She also wore black gloves, an emerald ring on one finger and a matching bracelet around the wrist. An emerald necklace rested on her high and full bosom.
The black pillbox hat with a gleaming green net on the brim veiled her eyes, but drew attention to her mouth and the slim line of her nose. Emerald teardrop earrings completed the look.
Her thickly lashed eyes blinked at him through the veil. When she smiled, his heart restarted with a jolt.
“Need a ride?” she asked in a sensual purr.
She had her hand resting on his seat, and when he got in, she moved that hand to his thigh, arresting him there as she looked him up and down, then leaned in.
“Stay still,” she murmured, when he would have turned his head to kiss her.
Sometimes what he couldn’t anticipate was worth even more than what he thought she wanted. She’d told him she’d take care of him in the ways she knew that he didn’t, and he was starting to understand what that meant.
She inhaled him, so close to his throat he could feel the feather of her breath. When her hand tightened on his thigh, his cock responded, despite his best attempt to make it behave. She looked at it and then back at him, through that provocative veil.
“Progeny is so saturated with erotic possibilities, people get aroused just pulling into the parking lot. I want you to stay endlessly, achingly aroused, Rev, so everyone will see it. So I can see it, and think of you inside me again, that thick and hard cock of yours. I’m wet enough now to take it right here.”
She had that simmering Mistress power ramped up like an engine with the gas pedal mashed to the floor. The silent roar of it took his breath. Her hand moved to his, and he gripped, trying not to crush her slim fingers.
“I want to hold you so tight, and yet so gentle at once,” he said. “Don’t know how to bring the two things together.”
“We’ll figure it out,” she told him. “I want to make you lose control and yet protect all the things I find amazing and precious about you, Rev. So you’re not alone in that.”
She started the car and pulled away, but whenever they stopped at a traffic light, her hand returned to his thigh. Proprietary, in a way he had no argument with.
When they reached the club, Rev saw the parking lot was almost full. Some people were making their way toward the entrance from the lot, while others pulled up front to give their vehicle to a valet service.
That was what she chose, smiling at the man in black slacks and matching polo shirt who bent to her window. He had a braided tail of black hair and brown eyes set deep in a hard-boned face. Tattoos were on both arms. Rev saw fierce angels and a grim reaper. Plus a tree with an infant curled up in a nest. An open space next to it appeared to be waiting for a birth date.
“Miss Vera, you giving us the care of your baby tonight?”
“I’d trust no one else with him, Zodiac. But he’s no baby. He’s a fire-breathing dragon with a double row of teeth who requires respectful behavior.”
Zodiac chuckled. “Yes ma’am. Just like his driver. A lady, in the most savage and genteel ways a man dreams about.”
“Nice,” she said. “When will you have your next poem ready for all of us to hear?”
“By next month, or my Mistress will be disappointed. And I try never to disappoint her.”
Zodiac offered her a hand out of the vehicle. That was fine, but Rev exited the passenger side, so that when Zodiac took her place in the seat, Rev was there to give Veracity his arm. Zodiac gave him an approving nod and the wink of a man who understood Rev’s desire to take care of his Mistress. Rev found the camaraderie surprising—and reassuring.
The black heels Vera wore had a slash of green sparkles across the toe. The seams of her stockings were different tonight, a chain of dark green roses against the black mesh.
Beside the double doors at the entrance, a neon sign with brilliant orange script and clean white light proclaimed they had arrived at Club Progeny.
“There’s an original club, founded by the owners, called Surreal, in Baton Rouge,” Vera told him. “So when they started this one, they decided on Progeny.”
He noticed the brick path up to the door included a few bricks with words on them. He paused to take a second look at one of them.
“The person first, not the role first.” --Tim Emerson
“That one is my favorite,” Veracity said. Which also reassured him.
She’d already registered him as a guest online, so they bypassed check-in and stopped at a coat room. Beside it stood an open wooden chest like on a pirate ship, black wood bound by silver straps. It was full of glowing bracelets.
“We introduced this system to reduce awkward situations and misunderstandings,” she told him. “One of our unbreakable rules is ‘respect the bracelet.’ The person who doesn’t gets suspended for a month for the first offense. If there’s a second, their membership is revoked.”
“They take that pretty seriously.”
“In a power exchange relationship, there’s nothing more serious than respecting someone’s choice. Letting a small infraction go leads to bigger infractions.”
She pointed to the different colors. “Dom, sub, switch. If you’re not sure, you don’t wear one of those. But everyone has the second bracelet, because it communicates your status. The green one tells others you want to play, and you’re not attached. You’re seeking a partner or partners for the evening. Yellow means you’re not attached, but you don’t want to play tonight. You just want to watch. Someone can approach you to have a chat, in case you’re interested in playing in the future. It’s a good, no-pressure way to ask questions and set groundwork for later, if the relationship goes that way.
“Red is for a member or guest who doesn’t want to be approached for any reason. They just want to watch and be in their own head. Purple means unavailable, because you already belong to someone.”
She spoke about each bracelet matter-of-factly, not telegraphing her preferences. “So what makes you feel most comfortable?”
He glanced around him, and she laid a hand on his arm. “Rev, remember what I said. If you decide you don’t like it here, we can leave at any time.”
“It’s not that. It so different, and yet it feels…”
“Like you’re not entirely a fish out of water? Just a fish who’s not been in this kind of water before?”
He knew this was her world, so it shouldn’t surprise him, how well she was reading him. Having lived in New Orleans most of his life, walking along Canal Street or watching the Mardi Gras parade, meant that blatant sexuality wasn’t a shock to him. Bare flesh, leather, silver, body paint, he took that in stride. But the intent here spoke directly to him, making him ache.
Not ten feet away, a man in a suit walked with a naked woman wearing a delicate pink collar and leash. He had his hand protectively on her lower back, keeping her close to his side as he escorted her.
There were versions of that where the woman was in control. He stole glances at them, feeling guilty for wanting to do so, but Veracity noticed.
“Rev, right now, you have my permission to look at anything you wish. You can see in action those things we discussed in my living room. Anyone on the public floor is okay with attention. Part of the fun is looking.” She flashed him a smile.
“Yes, Mistress. Thank you.”
He was expressing true gratitude. Like that box of bracelets, here was the treasure chest of things he’d recognized in himself but hadn’t had the chance to experience. He’d dreamed about them, endlessly. Now, everywhere he looked, those dreams had come to life.
Well, mostly. He blanched at a man wearing a cage around his cock, and clamps on his nipples. His back was curved forward, his chin down, his body betraying his discomfort.
His Mistress had noticed. The slim woman with dyed blue hair, woven with silver strands like thin tinsel, placed the crop she was holding under his jaw. She had him straighten, lifting his chin and posture, tall and proud for her. She assessed his effort to do her bidding, murmuring something to him. Though she returned to her conversation with another couple, Rev sensed the greater part of her attention remained on the male suffering for her.
“She knows what his limits are, and he has a safe word.” Veracity confirmed it. She was close to his side, her hand on the side of his neck as he bent his ear to her, her breath on his cheek. “She’ll monitor his skin tone around the nipple clamps, notice if he’s perspiring or shaking. Based on her experience with him, she’ll know when he’s had enough. If he doesn’t safe word as he should, she’ll act on his behalf.”
She drew his gaze toward a man who wore dark slacks and T-shirt with the club name embroidered on the pocket. The lanyard around his neck glowed red, highlighting DM in white letters. “That’s one of the dungeon monitors I told you about. Each one patrols a section of the club.”
“Do she get in trouble if she does something wrong?”
“Not if she’s being diligent. Ideally, DMs are there to ensure a Master or Mistress doesn’t miss something important, because safe play is the goal for all. People are complex in their needs, and this is a very sensory rich environment. Even the most experienced Dominant can miss things. It doesn’t hurt to have extra eyes on your sub.”
She put her hand back on the wooden chest. “What bracelet best fits you tonight?”
“I feel like I need your permission to wear it.”
“Choose it, and I’ll let you know.”
He reached for the purple bracelet that said he was unavailable, already taken, and offered it to her.
Her eyes gained several degrees in heat. She clipped it around his wrist, along with a submissive bracelet. When her hand remained resting over them, he lifted his other one, putting it on her wrist. He didn’t say anything, stroking it with his thumb, but it was a request all the same.
“Did you want me to wear a purple bracelet, too?”
“That’s not my call.”
“Isn’t it? Even for tonight?”
“For tonight…I’d appreciate that, Mistress.”
Actually for way more than tonight, but such possessive feelings were new to him, and he wasn’t sure if they were a good thing, or appropriate. But when she picked up one of the purple bracelets and offered it to him so he could put it on her wrist, he felt better about it.
“Leave this and your jacket with the coat check.” She unpinned her hat with the veil and handed it to him. “It’s warm inside the play areas, and I enjoy looking at you without it.”
He’d seen plenty of shirtless men already. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel about being one of them, here in front of everyone. Had she not asked him to take off the shirt because she could tell that about him?
He chided himself for the thought. Veracity Morgan wasn’t a woman who hesitated to ask for what she wanted. She’d told him when she did order him to do something, she expected him to tell her if it made him uncomfortable in the wrong ways. If she could trust him for that, she’d be open about her own desires.
When he shed the coat, the way her gaze lingered on the pull of the shirt over his shoulders and chest told him she did appreciate that view. She unbuttoned her green jacket and pivoted, presenting her back to him. As he helped her remove it, the flared sleeves cleared her gloves and the bracelet she wore.
The lace thing she had on under it was a close fitting, sleeveless garment that showed her satin bra beneath. As she pivoted back to him, her breasts were held up in the bra, her cleavage a temptingly deep valley.
She’d given him permission to look at anything, but he was smart enough to know that didn’t include ogling his Mistress to excess. He raised his gaze to her face with effort.
“I like a hungry man, Rev,” she murmured. “Give them our coats and let’s explore.”
The coat check submissive was dressed like a fairy. Glitter on her face, hair pulled up in five or six purple streaked tails. She had on a harness to hold her wings, but that was all she wore, except various splotches of body paint. As he thanked her courteously for the stubs she handed him, her eyes twinkled.
“Have fun, newbie,” she whispered, with an amiable playfulness that surprised a smile out of him.
Vera set an arm-in-arm strolling pace for them as they moved deeper into the club. A DJ was throwing out good tunes for the dance floor, edgy, bass thumping choices that fit the environment. He was set up on a stage behind the dance floor, and Rev wondered if they ever had bands. His imagination could conjure plenty of other things for that stage, spurred by what he saw around him.
Public play areas were sectioned off with panels on three sides, creating a defined area while still allowing passers-by to look. An upper-level VIP lounge provided a premium view of those play spaces, as well as the dance floor.
Ros Thomas, Veracity’s boss, sat up there. A man stood to her left, leaning against the booth. While his body seemed relaxed, there was a military or law enforcement watchfulness to him. His hand rested on the section of the booth next to her. As Rev watched, Ros reached for it to caress his fingers. She was talking to Cyn.
“That’s Lawrence,” Veracity told him.
She’d touched on Ros being in a relationship with Lawrence, but she’d also mentioned how some Mistresses had more than one sub. “Is he one of her…regulars?”
“He’s her only.” Vera’s gaze lifted to meet his. “Claimed for life. Not married yet, but when Ros decides she’s ready for that, it will only confirm what they already are.”
A commotion, loud enough to rise above the music, had Rev turning. He couldn’t process what he saw charge through a bead screen archway fast enough to figure out if it was a threat or not, but he did put himself between them and Veracity. Then stared as humans, mostly male and dressed like dogs, raced past them.
Many had on full head masks with long snouts and pointed ears. Others just had floppy cloth ears and painted black noses. Some wore clothing in doglike colors; brown, black, spotted. Faux fur paws covered some hands. Others simply wore jeans and no shirts with their dog parts.
The lead “dog,” a shirtless male in a full head mask, bumped into a Dom wielding a cane, a burly man with salt and pepper colored hair and beard. He wore black jeans, jack boots and a black T-shirt. When he gave the “dog” a healthy smack with the cane and scolded him, the leader and the rest of the pack cowered apologetically. Then he rubbed his head against the older male’s shoulder and upper arm.
The Master hooked his fingers into the dog’s collar, around the neck of the mask, and gave him a light shake. Then he shoved him away with a stern but indulgent look. The pack dashed off joyously, disappearing into another part of the club.
“Puppy play,” Veracity said. “There are different versions of it. Pony play, kitten play.”
As she explained more about it, Rev thought of the playground near his place. When he drank his Saturday morning coffee there, he’d seen the children act like barnyard animals, or dogs or cats. He guessed people never outgrew the desire for make-believe, but this was also very adult play. The lead dog had tight leather on his lower body, and he’d rubbed it against the Dom’s leg with a devotion that suggested the bearded male was his own Master. Or someone he’d played with before.
The Domme with the sub in nipple clamps returned to Rev’s mind. The man had been in obvious pain, but even inside that cage, he’d been as erect as the space would allow. And he’d looked at his Mistress like he feverishly wanted to please her.
Sacrifice, service, proof of what he’d endure for her. The element of faith in it was hard to deny. Faith in the strength of what was between them. Perhaps not love, but a form of devotion that gave them both something. Even if only while they were here. Like church on Sunday, giving people something to carry through the rest of their week to help them live their lives.
He thought of the apostle Peter, who, when he was crucified by the Romans, had asked to be crucified upside down. He hadn’t felt worthy of being crucified in the manner his Lord and Master had been. A sign of devotion and love. Of sacrifice.
Plenty of Bible stories like that. He thought of Mary of Bethany, anointing Jesus’s feet in oil, drying them with her hair. Carrying that scent with her…
“There’s nothing I won’t do for you, Rev,” Teena Joy had told him. “My love for you is a reflection of my love for the Lord, because you are a gift from Him.”
“Still with me?” Veracity touched his arm.
“Yeah. Just…my mind going in lots of directions.”
She studied him. “You feel up to looking some more, or do you need a break?”
“I’d like to keep looking, if that okay with you.”
“Yes. We’ll go to a quieter spot for a moment, though.” He could feel her attention as she gripped his hand, her shoulder brushing his arm. She led him past the dance floor, through another beaded curtain, into a new direction for his mind.
A familiar one. When he was little, he’d gone to the circus with Teena Joy and watched the aerial silk performances. As he got older, he wondered how many people had been entranced for the reasons he’d been, watching the silk tighten around the performer’s body, restricting her, holding her, even as she danced with it. As he stared up at her, he could feel the bindings as if they were around his own legs and arms.
A spotter below manipulated the cloth to help her, but in his mind, that man’s role was something different. When she’d spun down to land in his arms, Rev had taken all those interpretations home with him, added into a container of desires he'd been too young to explain. Or pursue.
Tonight he was doing just that, and now he was seeing a very different kind of aerial performance.
The silk had been replaced by chains.
A male turned and twisted in them, the metal clinking as he moved. He stopped in a pose that looked like a flying bird, a double length of the chain threaded between his legs, pressed against his testicles, more noticeable because of the flesh-colored hose he wore. Then he turned and the chain was at his waist and ankles. He arched backward in their hold, his arms stretched out and eyes closed as if he were in a trance.
A dark-haired male who stood inside the ring approached and cupped the performer’s head. He kissed him thoroughly, tongue teasing his lips. In his crescent position, the erection became far more noticeable.
The Master stepped back and spoke in what sounded like Italian. It apparently meant “keep going,” because the man was turning and twisting again. He threaded his legs through the loops so his limbs were spread wide. The Dom slapped his testicles and cock with an open hand. The male jerked, his face suffused with ecstasy and pain both. The Dom put his mouth on the man’s inner thigh and bit him, twisting the flesh in the grip of his teeth. The male’s thrown wide hands clenched.
Before stepping back, the Dom pushed him like a swing, getting him started again. The man danced in the chains, legs bending, threading in and out, arms outstretched, torso twisting and untwisting like a washcloth in Rev’s hands, but all of it so graceful, the rippling tension of his muscles holding the eyes of everyone watching.
The Dom had moved back to the low wall circling the performer, which put him next to Vera.
“Lovely,” she murmured. “You’re a lucky man, Giorgio.”
“I am that, Mistress.” He didn’t take his eyes off his sub, “He loves to play in the chains for me. Too much. They leave far more bruises than silks, but he likes the sensations. And proving to me the pain doesn’t interfere with serving his Master. But there are limits to what I wish him to endure.” He offered her a small smile. “Though that will be our little secret, no?”
“Won’t hear it from me.” She gripped Rev’s arm, indicating she wished them to move onward. Giorgio’s gaze passed over Rev, an appraisal, but he gave him a courteous nod. Appreciation of Rev’s looks, with an acknowledgement that he belonged to Veracity.
She’d told him in this world, the boundaries were clearly marked for a reason. While it brought relief, it brought something else. As he recognized her pride of ownership, he felt the thrill, the deep satisfaction, of knowing he was seen as owned. By her.
At their next stop, three women stood around a male sub lying on his back. One was straddling his head, her high heels on either side of his neck. The Dominant’s transparent plastic skirt had gold fringe and was painted with swirls of gold that somewhat concealed her sex and the seam of her buttocks. But since she straddled the male submissive’s head, he was gazing at what was under the skirt.
She appeared to be enjoying her drink and discussion with her friends, but the male sub was showing his appreciation and devotion to her by kissing her shoes and ankles, tongue teasing, teeth nipping. As he did, he gazed longingly at what he could look at but not reach. His body was lashed to a flat board with rough one-inch twine.
He wore jeans, but with a start, Rev realized the leash the Domme had wrapped over her fingers disappeared under his waistband, and she kept idly tugging on it. His engorged cock strained against the jeans. When the Domme pulled on the tether, his facial muscles would tighten from the discomfort. Since the leash had metal spikes along the strap, Rev made the disturbing guess those same spikes might be around the man’s cock, only pointed in, instead of out.
“The pain is confusing to you, isn’t it?” Veracity noted.
“My mind say it’s wrong. But other parts don’t say that at all.”
He hadn’t meant anything smart or crude by it, but she understood. “You remember what you told me? How we’re all just villages? This is a village. And yes, it breaks down too, if you’re not communicating clearly, and connecting, looking one another in the eye to say what’s in your heart. You’ll see that going on in different ways here. Looking for it, recognizing it, removing all the barriers obscuring it from your vision, is part of the journey. And the pleasure.”
She placed her hand on his chest, her palm transmitting heat through his shirt. “Do you feel up to an experiment? I’m feeling a strong desire to get my hands on more of you.” Her gaze dipped. “You seem interested in that, too.”
He was so hard it hurt. No sense denying it. And the words that came out of his mouth seemed to come from the same place, no thought or conscious understanding to them. “Could you do it…the way you want to do it?”
She arched a brow. “Explain.”
“I want you to do it how you like, when the one you doing it with isn’t so new. Not so…careful.”
He might be crazy saying that in a place like this. But being sensible didn’t seem to fit here. And she’d already proven she would protect him from himself. He hadn’t understood just how important that would be.
“Yes, I can do that.” The radiant flash through her silver eyes spiked his adrenaline. “Give me a word you’ll use if it gets to be too much. Not ‘stop,’ because when we’re aroused, we often say that when we mean just the opposite.”
He gave her a half-smile. “Code 15.”
“Appropriate, since it means possible intervention needed.” She crooked her finger at him. “Follow me.”
When he did, he saw a shift in her manner. Almost indifferent to whether he was following her or not. No, not indifferent. Expecting he was, so there was no need to look behind her to see if he was keeping up. He watched the flashing, colored lights of the club form lightning bolts across the waves of her hair when her body moved.
His gaze moved to her God-blessed ass under the tight skirt. She couldn’t be wearing anything under it except the rose-lined hosiery that made her lovely legs gleam as she clicked along in her heels. When she glanced left, she gave him the curve of her cheek, the pursed shape of her moist, full lips. The sweep of dark lashes.
He would have followed her endlessly for that simple, precious view, and because she wanted him to be the one following her.
They returned to the public play spaces near the VIP lounge. She chose an unoccupied one, where the main feature was a section of iron rail fencing with spike tops, like he’d see around one of the fancy houses in the Garden District. Mounted on the wall behind it was a framed photograph, blown up to mural size. A man and a woman were bent over, each clasping one of their own ankles, free arms crossed to clasp the ankle of the other. Standing between them, his back to the photographer, was a Dom, one large hand resting on the lower back of each. On the point of the man’s raised buttock was a full wine glass. On the woman’s, an ash tray for the Dom’s cigarette, which he was currently drawing upon.
Though his shadowed features were in profile, they were familiar. “It’s Bastion,” Rev murmured.
“Yes. We have an accomplished erotic photographer who visits New Orleans adult clubs a couple times a year. Those interested can sign up to be subjects for his work. They can arrange for a private purchase, or get a free copy and give their permission for him to use the photos for his own showings and sales.
“He and Bastion came up with the pose together, but it was also part of the session Bastion did with these two subs. It’s become one of the photographer’s best sellers.” A smile touched her voice. “It was also the only time Bastion was allowed to smoke within Progeny’s walls.”
Vera removed the emerald ring and bracelet, and slipped them into Rev’s pocket, caressing his thigh, before she took off her black gloves. She wore fingerless silver mesh ones beneath. Her nails were painted silver with a metallic black on the tips. “Take off your shirt and hand it to me,” she said.
He was aware of people wandering the area, their eyes passing over him, so when she issued the command, he put his head down to follow her command. Her fingers whispered over his neck and shoulder as he shrugged out of the shirt and air touched his skin. His body was tense as a tied rope.
“Any need for Code 15?”
“No ma’am. Just…getting used to things.”
“All right.” A pause as she waited him out, to be sure, then she nodded at the fence. “Face this and grip these bars.” When she indicated the ones she wanted, his arms were stretched out to either side. Not to their full length, but close, his elbows slightly bent.
“Keep your head up. Spread your legs, shoulder width apart.” When the pants tightened over his buttocks, she slid her hand over one to squeeze with firm appreciation.
He could hear the noise of other people and feel the air of their passing. Their comments floated in the air around him. By facing the fence, though, it narrowed his focus to her, and made him less self-conscious.
Against one of the panels in the sectioned off area was a cabinet. When she opened the door, she revealed some of the things she’d discussed with him. A crop, flogger, and cane. After she put his shirt on a hook next to the cabinet, her discarded gloves on top of it, she tucked the handle of the flogger into the waistband of her snug skirt, the tassels dangling along her hip. She picked up the crop and cane in the same hand.
Then she stepped behind him where he couldn’t see her. Her hand applied firm pressure to his lower back, until he was right up against the fence, his toes between the rails, chest to them, hips, thighs. Two of the bars pressed against his pelvis on either side of his straining cock.
The position wasn’t comfortable, but his body adjusted and didn’t object. She had his full attention, particularly when she put her toe on one of the fence’s horizontal pieces, a foot off the ground, and tugged her skirt higher on her thigh. She unclipped her garter strap from her hose and the lace belt over her panties, a garment sheer enough to show him tempting shadows of what lay beneath.
She wrapped the strap around his wrist, tying the ends together around the fence rail. Then she went to his other side and did the same provocative process. He could pull free, but his inner and outer reaction said he was going to stay where she wanted him to be.
“You’re bound, Rev,” she said. “You can’t move until I release you. You understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.” It was easy to be formal now. Her voice told him what to do. So did what was inside him.
She stroked his back and shoulders, and he realized she was doing more than enjoying the feel of him. She was testing his muscles, registering where there was more or less tension. Then she stepped back and the tails of the flogger landed against him.
He jumped, but it didn’t hurt. He just reacted to the new sensation, the way the straps hit and then slid down over his skin. She did it a few times, increasing her pace, letting him get the sense of it. Then she did it harder, changing her pattern and the way she hit, so there was more sensation to it, more impact and sting, though it still wasn’t painful, not exactly.
It awakened his skin. As it became more uncomfortable, he discovered what she’d meant, about how pain could be welcome. Each impact seemed to send a direct strike to his cock and balls, in just the right way.
He got a little lost in it, such that when she touched his back, caressing his reddened skin, his nerves jumped, but only to reach for her. His back arched so his shoulders pushed against her touch.
“Lay your head back, Rev.”
When he obeyed, she leaned against him, her breasts and hip bone against his side. She traced his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth, the parted lips, with her glossy nails and elegant fingers. He captured them in his mouth, and she let him tease them with his tongue as she took her other hand down his back to his ass and kneaded. He quivered.
“Put your forehead back against the bars and show me how you'd move inside of me, if I give you that privilege.”
That was a bigger step than just being half naked in front of people, but he looked at that photograph in front of him. The messages in it, and her touch, her presence, were the extent of his world. His hips thrust forward and retreated, pushing his ass against her palm. He thought of how she’d gripped him when they’d lain together in front of her fireplace.
Her thumb stroked the crease between his buttocks, making him shove himself harder between the bars. If his slacks hadn’t been in the way, his cock would have jutted out between them, straight and hard. One of the things he’d seen in the play area was a man bound against fencing like this, and his Domme was slapping his cock on the other side of it. He’d looked as if he wanted to die—from bliss.
Veracity stepped back, leaving him with an anticipation like thunder brought.
Hsst. The lightning came. The cane whistled as it cut through the air. The far sharper pain made him flinch and bite down on an oath. And yet, his already aroused nerve endings didn’t reject it. She waited a moment to be sure, then did it again. And again. Each time, he registered the pain, flinched, thought it was too much, then something else kicked in and said it wasn’t.
His fingers flexed, curled, clenched. When she switched back to the flogger, he jerked at the change in sensation. It hurt less and yet his skin was even more sensitive to it. Then he bucked as a swat from the crop got into the mix, hitting his shoulders, his back, his ass.
His breath was coming deep and hard. As he tried to do it like she’d taught him, and imagine her face, all the expressions that might be on it, he imagined her approval, her arousal, her look as her orgasm had taken her. By giving her this, his reaction to all of it, he was the boat she was riding toward that. Or maybe he was the whole damn ocean, willing to take her as far as she wanted to go.
She put herself against him, her hips curved behind his ass and thighs. Her clothes slipped against his skin, her scent in his nose. She slid her touch down his chest to his stomach. Slipping the fastener of the slacks, she pushed the zipper down before the heel of her hand rubbed over him through the underwear. He stifled a groan. Her knee pressed into the back of his leg.
“I’m taking your pants and boxers down, Rev.”
She waited. She was giving him a chance to use that safeword. Code 15. He didn’t say it, but when the tip of the cane touched his bare back, a short sting of reproof, he realized she required an answer, for or against.
“Yes, Mistress.”
He stared straight ahead and imagined Bastion drawing deep on the cigarette, bracing his hand on the two people submitting to his desires while he thought of what he’d do with the control they’d given him.
The air was cool against Rev’s ass, testicles and cock as Veracity pushed his clothes out of her way. When she stepped back and the cane hit his bare ass, he swore he heard her purr at his sucked in breath, his groan. She liked that reaction. He was being hurt…and it was arousing him. Because he liked the pain, or he liked showing her how much he enjoyed giving her what she liked?
Did he have to decipher it? It simply was. Like when he sang, and he knew the Power that had given him that voice liked hearing him lift it to the Heavens, stretch himself to the limits.
Blasphemy? Or just evidence of how much the joys of earth hinted at what awaited them all in Heaven, if they could ever get there.
He lost count of the cane strikes, his body moving with it, the pain lashing fire across his flesh. Then she was pressed to him again, her pelvis pushed to his buttocks, her hand taking control of his cock to rub and stroke.
“Mistress.” He choked out the word, a warning.
She gripped his base and dug her nails into it, a bite that could have competed with a crab’s pincers. An entirely not-good pain, but it served its purpose. He was able to choke back the climax that had tried to boil forth.
“Take a breath, Rev. Easy and slow. The night is young.”
“Apologies, Mistress.”
“Rev, if you do something wrong, I’ll tell you. I will require an apology, and a punishment to ensure the sincerity of that apology. Otherwise, you don’t apologize to me, because you don’t know you’ve done something wrong until I tell you that you have. You understand?”
She eased her hold, stroking him up and down. It was torment, because that climax had been contained, but was an animal still more than ready to break free. The strain of keeping it locked in showed in his voice.
“I don’t want to give you more to do. I’m…supposed to serve you.”
“You’re not abdicating responsibility for your behavior. While this ground may feel familiar, the terrain, the exact address, my desires, aren’t. So you follow my lead.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good. I’ll reinforce the point. Sometimes a pre-punishment is a good idea.”
And reinforce it she did. With ten more strikes of that cane, followed by the swish of the flogger. His ass and back, his upper thighs, went from surface fire to deep, stinging burn. When he was twitching under the blows, she stopped. As she adjusted his underwear and slacks back over his ass, zipped and fastened the pants, the cloth rubbed the abraded skin. Sitting down was going to reinforce that punishment.
“The club has vampire claw cushions,” she said. “We put one on a chair when we want our sub to sit beside us, but not get too comfortable. They have to sit still, too. Sit up straight, not distract their Dom with evidence of discomfort. Having a sub do that while I enjoy a cocktail with friends, knowing he’s aroused and suffering at the same time…that has an appeal. Release the bars and turn toward me.”
When he did, she was holding his shirt. She stepped close enough to rub his erection with a thigh. As she put a hand on his face, he wanted to kiss her wrist. He asked if he could.
She said yes, and he did, but his knees trembled, which he hadn’t expected. He wouldn’t grab onto her, but she held him, easing him to his knees, a much better place. He’d retained her wrist, and had his mouth against it. Her other hand went to his head. “You’re okay,” she murmured. “You’re doing fine, Rev.”
“What’s the matter with me?”
“Not a thing.” The emotion in her voice, the curl of her hand, told him it was truth. “You took far more than I expected. You may be more of a masochist than I realized.”
“Is that bad?”
“No,” she said softly. “I’ve suddenly found a reason to become more of a sadist.”