Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
T he music club was a typical one for New Orleans. Too small for how many patrons it attracted, with a bar that took up a third of the space. The walls, mostly made up of old brick and wood trim, were covered with signed photos of those who’d performed there. The vibrations caused by the patrons and bands meant a lot of pictures were crooked.
Because Rev had asked Sy to make sure it was held for her, Vera had a front row two-person table, set off to the right, the wall at her back. Rev would be able to see her there while performing. When he left her for the stage, she would hold the seat for Mavis, who was on her way to join them. Since she’d said she’d never heard Rev sing except in her hallways, Vera wanted her to have the chance to do so. It also meant Rev would have two fans in the audience.
Like Sy, she wasn’t worried that he wouldn’t please the audience, but she thought her usually unflappable male needed the reminder.
“This way different from a church.” He’d said that five times now. Sy had shook his hand when they arrived, clapped him on the back in welcome, and said to come up and join them when he was ready.
She covered his hand. “Are you okay? It’s not like you to be nervous about singing. It’s no different here than anywhere else, right? Who you’re singing for, and why?”
A rueful look crossed his face. “No. It not that. I had some words with Witford. Told him he and his wife could come. He said no. They angry with me. Him and Tisha.”
Knowing it wouldn’t help, Vera pushed down her own anger. “Because you’re doing something they don’t agree with or understand.”
“Yeah.” He pressed his lips together.
“And they see me as the reason for it.”
“Because you are.” Before the defensive reaction he’d sparked could think of jumping to a flame, he put his hand on hers and doused it. “They just don’t realize that’s a good thing. They’ll figure it out, Mistress. I know their hearts. Just the time getting through to that part of them is hard. The wait, you know. I like it much better when I waiting on a decision from you than when it’s one from them.”
“Hey, Rev.” Sy waved to him. “Let’s get this ball rolling.”
She squeezed Rev’s hand, letting him know she was fine with him answering Sy’s call. “Try to let it go if you can. Just enjoy singing.”
“Yeah.” He curled both hands underneath hers, as if his palms were the nest for a baby bird. He gazed down at her fingers as if they were as precious as that tiny life. The man had such a way about him, and when his eyes lifted, serious and troubled, she had to touch, cup his jaw, stroke his cheek with her fingertips.
“It like getting stabbed by a knife and told it not life threatening,” he said. “You got it all bandaged up, but it still hurts, and it’s gonna, until you get some time and healing on it. I prayed about it, so I gonna let it go for now. See if I can sing for these people the way I should, with God inside me.”
He lifted his gaze. “You look like someone I want to sing for all my life, Mistress. Thank you for being here. And when she get here, tell Miss Mavis I hope she’ll enjoy the show and not hold it against me if it not her type of music.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem. I think she’s coming so she can ogle you in a very un-principal-like fashion.”
That startled a chuckle out of him, and he tugged her hair before he went up to the stage.
She did some ogling herself, enjoying the shift of his backside in his black jeans. He’d worn that and a snug black T-shirt that said 5 & 2 on it in teal. He’d told her it referred to the five loaves and two fish brought to Jesus’s sermon, when he turned them into a feast for hundreds. “You bring the five and two to whatever’s needed in your life,” he told her, “and God handles the rest. That what 5&2 mean.”
“Made it.” Mavis plopped down into the chair Rev had vacated, making Vera start. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your meditations on the cosmos. Or a fine-looking man’s butt. Did I mention I’m changing the custodial staff’s dress code to jeans instead of coveralls?”
“Did I mention I might break your fingers?”
Mavis chuckled. “I see we’ve become possessive of that fine-looking butt.”
“Just protecting you from a workplace harassment suit.”
“I’m nowhere near work here, thank God. I need a night around legal adults. But my fingers are safe. If I did it, Beau would break out his tight disco era bell bottoms and give me trauma. Are any of your other ladies coming?”
“Yes, but Ros said they’ll squeeze in wherever they can find a place when they get here. I was able to hang onto your chair mainly because Rev was parked in it until a few minutes ago. Want a drink?”
“Please. Start with two, because the first one’s going down fast. But don’t let me have more than that. I have a full weekend. The adult literacy program for our kids’ parents is kicking off its new rotation bright and early tomorrow, and I always show up to meet the attendees the first day, to help them feel less self-conscious about it.”
Vera signaled the waitress, and they placed an order, which gave her time to consider what she was about to ask. From Rev’s reaction on the bus, it was tricky terrain, but she was wired toward giving a person all available tools to succeed. Especially a person she couldn’t stop thinking about. Or looking at. He was working around the other men on the small stage, getting set up, smiling at their banter.
“When you talked to Rev about improving his reading and writing skills,” she asked, “did he say anything else, other than what you already told me?”
“I was worried he’d be offended, but he wasn’t. He just thanked me and said he was good for now.” Mavis grimaced. “‘Don’t worry about me none, Miss Mavis. My English ain’t pretty as your’n these kids, but no one has trouble understanding what I say.’”
She lifted a shoulder. “He’s right. Honestly, as an educator, I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t worry too much about him.”
“Yeah.” It was a message Vera kept hearing. “Does that connect to whatever it was you were reluctant to share with me, when I called you about him?”
The waitress brought the drinks. Vera offered her card for the tablet the waitress carried. “Just keep the tab open,” she told her.
After the woman headed off, Mavis shot her a narrow glance. “My husband used to say you and I were friends because I needed someone in my life with my own annoying ability not to forget anything, or let it go until I had the heart of a matter.”
“Strong women need other strong women.” Vera clinked her glass against Mavis’s. “Your hesitancy seems…personal. If you don’t feel comfortable, don’t share. But if you do, I’d really like to know.”
A shadow crossed Mavis’s gaze. “It might change how you see me. You’ll decide I need psychiatric help."
Vera was startled to see the woman meant it. “I already know you need that. You work with teenagers.” She kept her tone light, but added, “I respect and admire you deeply, Mavis. Whatever you tell me, I’ll give weight because of that. Even if you tell me monkeys flew out of Rev’s very fine butt.”
"There’s an image.” Mavis took a swallow of her whiskey sour. “Okay. I’ll tell you this up front. I don't know how to explain what I saw, or if it was right or wrong, or whatever it was. It just…”
She shook her head. “Hell. I’ll just get it out. About a year ago, a man tried to grab one of our girls.”
“Off the school grounds?” Alarm spiked inside Vera.
“From behind that tree where you saw Janis. She’d snuck her phone out of her locker and was texting her boyfriend, who’s at another school. When she was at the chain link fence, some guy strides out of the woods, grabs her shirt and hauls her over it. He had it well planned.”
If Mavis had been a wolf, her ears would have been pinned back and her fangs bared. “He stuffed a sponge into her mouth—it was soaked with a drug that disoriented her. His van, with a fake utility company magnet sign on it, was on the other side of the woods, parked at the dead end in a neighborhood.”
Though Vera knew the story had to have a good ending, she was leaning forward tensely.
“Two people saw it,” Mavis continued. “One was a teacher, who immediately yelled out to catch everyone’s attention. I was at the basketball court, discussing school dance plans with the class president.”
She took a breath. “The other was Rev. He was fixing an anchor on one of the soccer nets. When she shouted, he was already halfway across the field. He ran faster than I’d ever seen anyone run, and vaulted the fence one-handed. When he plunged into the woods, I ran after him while the teacher called the police. Thank God I was wearing athletic shoes that day.”
“But I expect you didn’t vault the fence.” Though her tone was teasing, Vera’s grip on her friend’s hand wasn’t.
“No. When I caught up, Rev had already laid hold of the dirtbag. Lynn rolled free and I grabbed her. She was hysterical, so I stayed with her, ready to protect her if the guy got away from Rev. I found out pretty fast I didn’t have to worry about it.”
Mavis took another healthy swallow of the drink, her gaze moving to Rev. His head was tilted as he listened to Trey’s keyboard adjustments.
“I knew Rev was strong, but when he yanked the man away from her, his feet left the ground, and he slammed against a tree. He tried to scramble away, but Rev had him by the collar and jerked him up to his knees.”
Mavis finished the first drink and gripped the second. She didn’t lift it, though. She was staring at the floor. For this part, she seemed like she was deliberately not looking at Rev.
“Mavis.” Her hand was stiff under Vera’s touch.
“I’m all right.” But it was still several moments before Mavis spoke again. “Rev got right down in his face, put two fingers against his forehead, and started whispering.”
Her gaze lifted, haunted. Even in the humid close quarters of the club, Vera felt a chill. “The wind started whipping through the trees, and hand-to-God, it got dark in that little grove of trees. It was lunchtime, Vera, and no light was around us. It was just gone. I could see Rev and the man. But that was all I could see. And I shouldn’t have been able to hear him, but I did. I heard every word.
“‘Get out of him. Get out. In the name of God, you are not welcome here. Get out.’ Things like that. The man started convulsing.”
The club and musicians blurred for Vera like an unfocused lens. Only Rev was sharply outlined. He’d taken Trey’s place at the keyboard, fingers moving over it capably, as if he were showing them something about what they were planning to play.
“Rev squatted next to him.” Mavis’s voice was unsteady. “He was praying. Not the way you think of it, this subtle, soothing thing people do in church. It was quiet, his lips were moving, no sound coming out, but what he was doing, what he was wielding, it was as strong as if he were holding a sword on some kind of ancient battlefield.
“He put his hand out toward me, one finger lifted in the most commanding way I’d ever seen in my life. We held stock still, Lynn and me. The man started…growling. Then he shot up from the ground and Rev knocked him back down, did the two-finger thing against his head again.”
Mavis never looked uncertain, but her expression was one of confusion and wonder. “The look on his face…I’d never seen anything like it. If you told me the archangel Michael looked like my assistant janitor, I’d tell you I totally believe it and he keeps his sword in the closet with his brooms and mops.”
Vera pushed past the stunned reaction that had taken away her words. “What happened after that?”
“The cycle happened twice more. The third time was different. Something came out of the man. The wind howled like a hundred wolves, and it got so cold I saw the frost on my breath. It was May , Vera. May in New Orleans. Then it was gone. The cold, the wind. The darkness was still there, but it was…empty. And okay. Whatever was in that man was gone, like a suit of clothes collapsing without the person in them, only in this case it was the man, folded to the ground as if he were a suit of clothes.”
Mavis gazed at the liquid shimmering in her glass. When Sy did a short drum sequence, coordinating with what Rev was doing on the keyboard, she didn’t notice.
“It was so quiet. Then a bird chirped one note. Then another. The world started up again, the light, the birds, the kids in the playing fields, all of it.
“Rev helped the man sit up against the tree. He’d started to cry. Rev, this muscle in his jaw jumped as if the part of him who’d knocked the girl out of his grasp still wanted to pummel him. I sure as hell wouldn’t have stopped him. But instead…” Unexpectedly Mavis’s eyes glistened. Her throat was thick. “He put his arms around this wretched excuse for a human being. He laid his head on Rev’s chest and wept.”
Mavis lifted her brown eyes to Vera’s face. “The high school did a production of Camelot a few years ago. Are you familiar with it?”
“I’ve seen it at some point. At least the movie.”
“Live production is way better, especially with a high school cast. They put a lot into it.” Mavis cleared her throat and straightened. She was pulling herself back together.
“You know the part where Lancelot brings Sir Lionel back to life, and it’s implied he could do it because of the purity of his heart, his devotion to God? And he didn’t doubt he could do it, because it wasn’t his power. He was a conduit.”
A bittersweet emotion gripped her face. “‘I can cross the busiest of streets, if I’m holding my Father’s hand.’ Rev sang that in the halls one day. He likes putting words to that music in his head.”
“Yes.”
Mavis sipped the second drink. “It’s more than the crazy factor that kept me from telling you. It scared the ever-living shit out of me, Vera. What he pulled out of that man was cold and dark. I know men can be evil all on their own, and they say pedophiles and molesters have something wrong in the makeup of their brains, but this… Lynn doesn’t remember much about what happened after I grabbed her and held her against me, and I’m so very glad for that.”
“So what happened to the man?”
Mavis’s expression became thoughtful. “When the police arrived, he seemed tired. Numb. He told us he was sorry, and that was it. No bullshit protests about him being innocent or having someone call a lawyer for him.
“When I asked Rev about it, he said, ‘He let the bad in. He’s gotta answer for that. He’s got to close up that hole, make sure nothing can get back in. To do that, he gotta do penance for the wrong that evil used his body for.’”
“Did he ever talk to you about what he did? Rev, that is?”
“I had a lot of questions. Still do. But he shut me down. Firm and gentle, like a brick wall with a mattress in front of it. Have you experienced that side of him?”
“I have.”
“Catches the attention, doesn’t it?” Mavis eyes glinted in a way more like her normal self. Then she sobered. “Though we try to recognize it in ourselves, the formally educated tend to hold a superiority bias toward those with less of that. Book smarts may give me access to the wisdom people have put down on a page, but that doesn’t make me wise. Not heart and soul deep. Only applying those words to experience and empathy does that. He’s my daily reminder of it. Not just from that extreme example, but from a lot of other things.
“He told me, ‘Whatever you saw that day, Miss Mavis, was the Lord. Not me. Might as well thank my mop for cleaning the floor.’”
She downed the second drink. “Hell with it. I’m getting a third before you call me nuts.”
“You told me not to let you. And you don’t need it.” What Vera was feeling charged her next words with sincerity. “You’re the most practical person I know. That’s what makes me believe every word. I just don’t know how to process it.”
The musicians started their opening riff with a flourish that made Vera jump. The club, already almost full when the story had started, had reached standing room only in the back. The scents and sounds hit her like a slap in the face.
With a grim and understanding smile, Mavis nodded. “That makes two of us, honey.”
Vera remembered the bull, how Rev had hesitated to tell her the details. Now her imagination filled in the blanks, Rev coming up against a thousand pounds of aggravated animal, pushing his shoulder against the bull’s, his grip sure on the horn, turning him in a different direction, executing a spiral to the ground as he held him. His straining muscles would have been taut, but he would have also believed they were fueled by a power beyond his own strength.
Did she believe that? She believed the Divine could do anything that was for the highest good. But like any practitioner of any religion, saying you believed it and actually believing it when it happened in your daily life… The Pharisees hadn’t believed Jesus was capable of miracles, either.
She ordered Mavis a virgin drink with a skewer of fruit. When it was brought, Mavis sucked the flavor off the cherry and gave Vera a nod of thanks for watching after her. When Vera brushed a smudge of chalk off her blazer, Mavis rolled her eyes and shed the coat, putting it on the back of the chair. “I got out of there late. Otherwise I would have changed so I looked like a hot woman hanging out in a club, rather than a stodgy principal.”
“You couldn’t look stodgy if you tried. But here…”
Vera leaned forward and removed the combs holding Mavis’s hair in a tidy twist. She fluffed it out, then unclipped a couple bracelets off her own wrist and put them on Mavis’s. She flicked open an additional button on Mavis’s blouse, showing a hint of white lace. “There you go, Principal Mavis. Now you letting the sexy out to play.”
Mavis laughed, driving back the darker aspects of her story. The drinks had helped, Vera knew. “If only my husband was still here to witness it.”
“You know Landon wasn’t much for crowds, but he would have been happy for you to bring that energy home to him.” Vera pointed to the stage. “There’s some inspiring eye candy up there—not Rev.” Her severe look at Mavis had the principal chuckling again. “And they’re about to do a lot of muscle rippling and hip and booty shaking.”
“Sounds like a fine time to share some details with me about your sessions with Sy and Trey.” Mavis winked. “A story for a story. It’s only fair. I won’t ask you for the ones about Rev. At least not tonight. Ho.”
“Don’t make me stab you with that fruit skewer.”
Trey had sat back down at the keyboard. Whatever he said to Rev had him clapping the blond man on the tattooed shoulder before he nodded to Sy on the drums and stepped up to the microphone.
The lights flickered, signaling the time for the live performance, and the club quieted down a few decibels. Then it went even more quiet as Rev opened his mouth and did what Vera had heard him do at the church.
Instead of a song with recognizable words, he uttered a single note, that connected to another, then another. Notes with a strong hint of R&B.
Sy joined in with a quiet beat on the drums. Trey and the other two members of the band did the same with their instruments, adding to the harmony, letting it build in strength at the same pace as Rev’s voice. The audience responded, calling out encouragement.
Rev’s eyes were closed, his hand around the base of the mic that once again wasn’t switched on. His voice reached every corner and likely spilled out into the street.
A short burst of laughter came from the crowd as Trey leaned over and used a spoon to tap out a tune on three full beer mugs he’d lined up on a table beside the keyboard. The chiming notes worked with the beat. Rev swayed with it, shifting from foot to foot. As he followed the rhythm with the power and versatility of his voice, applause smattered through the audience. More calls of encouragement.
The band was staying with him, doing pure blues improv, picking up his direction, following and expanding it, bouncing off one another with skill and what she thought was a big extra dose of inspiration.
When he hit a final weeping note, she felt like the rest of the room did, as if they were connected to that stage by vibrating threads, threads they wanted to reach for and touch, ask for more of the same current to come into them. Rev had his hand outstretched as if reaching for it himself.
Then he opened his eyes and smiled at the crowd. With a spinning flourish, he produced a harmonica from his back pocket and launched into the opening of “And When I Die” by Blood, Sweat and Tears.
The crowd’s response swelled, cheers and shouts of “Go on, now” and “Yeah man.” When he hit the first chorus, which picked up like a train gaining steam, the crowd jumped on, ready to ride.
He put the harmonica away but kept one hand out, then up. His body never stopped moving. The crowd picked up on the clapping parts, following along with him.
All I ask of living is to have no chains on me…
He winked at Vera as he said it. A secret message, that maybe those chains wouldn’t be so bad, not if she was the one putting them on him. Which gave her some very interesting pictures in her head.
Here come the devil…
Witford should have come. He’d have to be possessed by demons himself to miss how effortlessly Rev erased the gap between faith and sensuality, pulling from the joy music gave generously to both. When she found herself up on her feet with everyone else, she danced and celebrated that feeling, letting it into her.
They kept that momentum going with two more upbeat choices. Then they turned to Teddy Swims’ “Losing Control.” Rev drove the song’s passionate need into every swaying body, filling every corner of the club, all of them gripped by it.
His gaze came back to her, again and again. Her skin held the heat of the club and the heat from within her, a double blaze. Her blouse clung to her, her nape damp. When she shivered, it was as if she could feel his breath there, bringing her coolness. A lower temperature could be as erotic as a high one, when applied the right way, at the right moment.
His voice reached far inside her, setting her off like a tuning fork. Vibration everywhere, low in her stomach, rippling across her thighs, and between them. She wanted his mouth there, wanted to guide his fingers into that wet heat under her silken panties so he could feel her response.
She was turning into a damn groupie, but she was okay with that. Because that wasn’t why he looked at her, why it felt like he was singing to her alone.
You make a mess of me…
He made those words a compliment, a desire. Make a mess of me. Please, Mistress.
It was another song that included a line about being on his knees to the one he wanted. She wondered if it had been his idea to include it, or if it had already been in the lineup. Either way, how he sang it said it spoke to him, the way it was doing to her now.
Their full set was a mix of rock and blues. The instruments had their own voices, taken in unexpected directions, but pulling the willing audience right along with them. The mass of humanity had become one body, caught in the music, the moment, the haze of sharing that pleasure, so intense it was almost intimate.
Some people thought blues was repetitious, but good blues was an emotion put to song. Letting go of the need for a pattern, letting go of everything, meant it took the listener where it wanted to go.
Same as a session between Domme and sub. Done right, there was a moment where they both let go, and the control belonged to something else. She wasn’t oblivious to how that overlapped with Rev’s other Master, and His hold on him. Or her belief in the bond between the Lord and Lady.
Watching him get just as lost, as he took them all on that journey, made her want him more.
They wound up with a guitar solo from one of Sy and Trey’s band members. As he finished them off, there was thunderous applause and yells for more. Rev had stepped back, taking a breath. His T-shirt clung to his upper body, the club heat having its effect on him as well, but his eyes, alive with that golden fire, told her it had another source. If the club hadn’t been shadowed and he wasn’t wearing his shirt out over his jeans, it would have been evident. But she knew. She didn’t need to see the proof.
She did, however, desire to feel it.
Sy spoke into his mic at the drums. “Fifteen-minute break, y’all. Enjoy the house music, and if you feel we deserve a tip, jar’s on the stage. Help us pay our rent this month. Oh, and buy a bunch of drinks so management will invite us back.”
He grinned at the cheering crowd. As the band exited the stage, BB King and Bobby Blue Band’s jamming version of “Let The Good Times Roll” poured out of the speakers.
Sy sauntered to their table, moving his hips to the music, his fingers snapping as he did an ebullient turn and gave Vera a playful wink. He also offered Mavis an appreciative appraisal, startling her and amusing Vera.
Sy leaned down to speak into Vera’s ear. When he did, he closed his hand on hers and squeezed it. “Storeroom down the hall on the left. No one’ll bother you. I’ll keep her company while you’re gone.”
He looked at Mavis as he straightened. “Can I get you a drink? It’s on me.”
“Something non-alcoholic,” Vera told him as she gripped the key he’d given her.
Submissives often knew their Dommes as well as Dommes knew their submissives. It was a gift when it was true, and Sy had always been a gift.
“I don’t know. I may need the hard stuff to handle that,” Mavis teased her, watching Sy head to the bar.
“Trust me. He’s better experienced with your head fully clear, so you remember every delicious moment. He’s plenty hard enough, I promise.”
“Holy God.”
The need to claim the man she wanted meant Vera’s body was a wire, strung between two equally demanding needs. Still, Vera managed to casually rise, as if she were headed for the restroom. “I’ll be back. Have fun.”
When she moved toward that hallway, she didn’t look Rev’s way. She didn’t need to. As she arrived at the storeroom door and put the key in the lock, his hand closed over hers. They turned it together. She stepped inside the space, and he closed the door behind them.
The room was dry and clean. Storage cabinets lined one wall, open shelves on the other two for stocked items.
She wasn’t the type of woman who attacked a man in a closet at a club. Except tonight she was.
“Lock the door,” she said. Then crooked a finger at him.
Rev came to her, his eyes lit with the adrenaline of the performance. She inhaled the sweat that made his skin gleam, and gave his shirt that loving hold on his upper body.
He stared at her, hands curling. “Tell me how to take care of you, Mistress.”
She backed up to a shelf and inched up the hem of her skirt, showing him the garters, then her panties, a silky green mesh with flowers embroidered over it.
Now they were onto John Lee Hooker’s “The Blues Boogie,” the music tumbling over and over itself. The harmonica, guitar and piano were on a ride that was increasing its pace.
Lord, Lord…I’m the boogie man… Come on baby…
She inhaled the scents buried in the walls. Wood, smoke, alcohol, sweat. Life and all its basic needs.
“Slide that crate over here.” She pointed to it. When he complied, she put her heel on it, spread her thighs and leaned back against the shelf, gripping the frame on either side of her. “Your mouth on my cunt, Rev. Then your cock, when I say.”
“Thank you, Jesus.” He went to his knees and put his lips against silk. Despite his fervency, he took his time, nice and slow, breathing on her, tasting her with reverent lips.
He did so well, she had him keep going as the one song finished and another started, the totally fuck-me-slow pace of “Tennessee Whiskey.” If Sy had requested it, she was going to make sure he had an unforgettable session with one of the best available Mistresses at Progeny.
She tipped her head back as Rev’s mouth sent indescribable spirals of pleasure up through her, strong enough she climbed him, her legs wrapping around his shoulders, hand on his head, nails curved in. He held her hips so firmly they were one being, moving together, pushing, pulling, dancing, lifting and falling. Those strong hands flexed, conveying how deep his own need was to be here with her, giving her this, taking what she was offering.
He pushed his tongue against the mesh, then played around the edges, finding his way beneath it to thrust in, suck on her, take in her taste like he never wanted any other kind of sustenance. His shoulders shifted under the clamp of her legs.
“Oh, Goddess…Rev…”
She worked herself on his mouth, arching back, gripping the shelf, his hands flexing to help her just as she needed him to do. The climax was shooting up, putting sparks in her mind, before her eyes.
They didn’t have much time left, but she wanted to draw it out as much as she could. She gripped his neck, the bite of her nails making him lift his head, his mouth wet from her, his eyes holding that flame still.
She pulled open her blouse one-handed, showing him the arch of her rib cage, the rise of her breasts above satin scented with her perfumed heat. “Work your way up.”
He did, also taking his time despite the limits of it. Once she allowed him inside her, it would take seconds to get where she intended to have them go. He licked and sucked on the tops of her quivering breasts, cupping them, lifting and bringing them together to thrust his tongue between them. She pressed her thigh against his firm ass, and let her breath wash over his forehead as he suckled a nipple, greedy and easy at once.
Because he had such a secure hold on her, she molded both hands over his head, holding him to her breasts. Both legs were locked around his waist and hips, pressing his cock against her. She rubbed herself there.
“Now, Rev. Inside me, now.”
She moved her grip to his biceps, raking the flesh. She wanted him to come back to the stage with her marks on him. She captured his mouth with her own, demanding everything with tongue and teeth. His one arm held her as he lifted her up and braced her hips against a shelf.
“Be inside me, Rev,” she demanded again. “Right now.”
She didn’t help him. She was too busy with his mouth, and she didn’t want to give anything else her focus. She didn’t have to. That was why she had a man to serve her.
He opened his jeans. He came up against her, so close and urgent, her breasts resting against his chest as he thrust in, pushing her against the shelf. Bottles fortunately secure inside boxes clinked at the force. She gripped his neck, bringing her forehead to his. Felt that energy between them, wrapping them up. “Oh…”
The orgasm was intense, and he covered her mouth with his so she cried out inside it, though there was little chance a sexual release could be heard where the music was so loud people had to shout to have a conversation. Or put her mouth against his ear, as she did now.
“Come inside me. Let me feel you.”
His hand hit the edge of the shelf, gripping as he pumped his buttocks under her calves. Driving into her, stroking her. She glimpsed his face, the rigid muscle, the ferocious intent in his eyes as he obeyed her.
But she also saw more than that. In this moment when most men and women lost themselves to their primal nature, she saw he would never forget to give her pleasure, to tend to her needs in the pursuit of his own. He was fully with her, her response to him something he held in both hands and cherished. Caring for her and grateful for the privilege. When she recognized it, felt it, knew it, he moved past three decades of defenses and walls and right into her soul. Asked for her heart and she gave it to him.
Oh, Goddess.
His cock was iron heat and slippery friction, a stretching fullness that would stay with her, make her sex tender and sore in the right ways. When she showered tonight, she’d smell him on her body, and he’d smell her on his.
Take that, Witford and Tisha. He’s mine now.
It wasn’t a magnanimous thought, but right now she wanted to embrace a more savage side. Like the Goddess Kali. Vera locked her arms around him as they rode one another to the finish. When they came to a reluctant halt, both of them were breathing hard, hearts beating against one another.
The more playful piano tones of “Cold Hearted Woman” had started up. Smiling, she dropped her head back against a shelf edge, eying him to see when he registered the words. When he did, he smiled, too. He framed her face with one big hand, the other helping her slide back down to her feet. He knelt, and her breath caught as he cleaned her with his mouth, tongue and lips stroking her in ways she would remember as vividly as the rest. Then he adjusted her panties and skirt before he rose. He’d fastened his jeans.
“I like knowing you’re on me, Mistress.”
“I like it, too.” She wondered if her eyes were glowing at him like his were at her. She shot a sidelong glance at her phone, which peeked out of her small purse, on the shelf where she’d tossed it. “You have four minutes before your break is over.”
He braced a hand by her head. “I’d like to spend three of them kissing you. May I?”
She called up the clock feature and set it for three minutes. Rev lifted a suggestive brow. “Afraid you going to lose track of time, Mistress?”
“If you do it right, yes. And ‘afraid’ isn’t the right word. I’m damn well anticipating it.”
That slow smile again, and he leaned in. He explored her with his mouth, his hands on her light and kneading, sliding over flesh and curves and clothing, learning her. She’d slipped her hands behind her, pressing her buttocks against the overlapped knuckles. She wanted to see what he would do, with no further guidance. He kissed her the way she’d always wanted to be kissed, but had rarely ever experienced. He cherished her, hungered for her, took from her and gave back.
It was everything she wanted, but in ways too deep to describe—or even know how to demand. Otherwise she would have given that order to her subs a long time ago. But it wouldn’t have worked, because it needed to be the right sub hearing it. The right man. The one who knew how to give that to his Mistress. To her in particular.
“Married to the Blues” had started playing. It was impossible to ignore the pain it unfurled, the female singer’s heartfelt cry of loneliness, about lovers lost. Reality and the past always had to have their say, didn’t they?
She took her arms from behind her and slid them around him, holding him tightly. She wasn’t a needy or clingy person. This wasn’t that. It was just holding on in the dark to something she wasn’t guaranteed to have forever. So it was best to hold it close while she could.
His hand moved to her neck, his other arm tight around her body. He spoke against her hair.
“I’m here, Mistress. I not going anywhere.”
People said all sorts of dramatic things during sex, and especially during power exchange sessions. The better the session, the more likely it was to happen. It was taken and let go, the way it should be, a happening in the moment.
The ache in her throat was because she really wanted the Universe to back him up, the only one who could guarantee such a promise.
“I’d like to come home with you tonight, Mistress. Fix you breakfast in the morning.”
“That doesn’t sound like a request,” she managed.
“It is. It’s a request for your trust. In a bit of a forceful way.” His voice softened. “Please say yes.”
She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, and his hands moved over her back, his mouth against her hair. “Trust me, Veracity. I ain’t him. I not anyone that ever hurt you, and I never want to be.”
The phone alarm went off. Just as she’d thought, they’d needed the reminder. She lifted her head and looked up at him as he stroked a lock of hair away from her cheek. She let her desire to believe him push back that ache. “All right. You can come home with me tonight. But only if you go out there and make them stop playing that damn song.”
“You got it. I break that record in half, just for you.”
When he returned to the stage, she went to the bar to get herself a drink. Sy and Mavis seemed to be hitting it off and she didn’t want to interrupt them before Sy needed to get back to his drums.
Mavis wasn’t a Domme, but she was looking for a flirtation and a fun night out. Sy enjoyed dalliances outside the club, and he’d have a care for her.
Vera located Ros at a high top with Skye and Cyn. Tiger was with them tonight. Lawrence had a night game with one of the rec center sports teams, and Mick needed to work. This was too much noise and stimulation for Abby, but Neil wasn’t down range right now, so they’d be at his place in the bayou.
“He’s incredibly talented,” Ros noted, as Vera put her ear close enough to hear her. “We could help him do something with that, just like we did for Sy and Trey.”
TRA’s services were in demand and expensive, but they had represented and launched more than one local artist for a scaled down fee.
“No argument. I don’t know if he wants that, though.”
Ros understood. She brushed a light finger over Vera’s cheek. “A little irritation there. Maybe beard stubble.”
“I can promise it wasn’t the slightest bit irritating.”
Ros chuckled and they settled in to enjoy the next set.
She and Rev strolled down Frenchmen Street. They’d taken a trolley to the club from her place, and would do the same to get back to it. Eventually. For now, though, they got on the sidewalk that followed the river, and found a bench alongside it. Rev put an arm around her, buffering the chill off of the water.
“Is that the first time you’ve performed in front of an audience, outside of a church setting?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “But sometimes someone in the church will say I should try my luck at one of those big national talent shows.”
“What did you think?”
“It easy to think someone’s good when you listening to them at church, and those people want you to be good. More is expected from people wanting to do it for money.”
Rev frowned. “But it more than that. I watched an episode from one of those shows. There was these three boys who loved to sing, really feeling it. They did real good, and this big music producer signed them. I watched a video they did after that, and they was all plastic, and sounded just like everyone else. That was a few years back, and they no longer singing. But that first video been downloaded a million times, so I guess they’ll always have that.”
“That happens way too often. Good marketing shows why something is worth paying attention to and spending money on. It’s not about turning it into something like everything else. Ros is adamant about that.”
“That follows truth. That’s good.” He studied her. “Do you think I should go down that road?”
“That’s up to you. I may command you to do many things, things that bring us both pleasure, but I wouldn't want you to be different from what you are.”
And Rev had no ambitions for fame. From working for TRA, she knew a product’s quality alone wouldn’t sell it. Marketing was key, but so were the drive and desires of the performer.
Their hands were linked on his knee. “I’ve been told all my life this gift I have was meant to serve God,” he said. “That can look a lot of different ways, and plenty of people have given me their opinions on it. Because of what Witford and Tisha did, I know you have your doubts about whether I’ve been free to choose.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “On the path I walk in my faith, I believe how each of us serve is a personal discussion, between you and whatever name you give the Divine in your life. No one else should claim superior knowledge of that discussion. But the more I know you, Rev…the more I think it would be difficult for anyone to get you to do something you think is the wrong path.”
He looked out at the river, and she followed his attention there. The occasional white cap gleamed, and the water was dotted with running lights from small fishing craft. The city on the opposite shore provided a backdrop of more lights. “I walking the path I was meant to walk,” he said. “When Teena Joy was worried or in pain, or if it helped someone, for me to be what they want me to be, I did it. It was all right, because I got to sing, and be what I am. But if it went against what the Lord wants of me, then I let them know that.”
“So all of it has been a conscious, willing choice.”
“Yes. That the truth, so rest easy on it, once and for all.” He met her gaze. “You decide in life what matters, where you have to take a stand, and when you don’t. I don’t have to prove to people they ain’t going to boss me around when I know they can’t. I don’t have to prove myself to anyone but God.” He tilted his head. “And now maybe you.”
“Really? How do I fit into that?”
“The yearning to be with you, serve you like I’m doing… Even if you helping me know what that looks like, what to call it, that need’s always been there, waiting and wanting to be filled. Having a Mistress…that was the missing piece for me.”
His eyes showed the light of pleasure, highlighted by a few shadows. “One of our parishioners, Mr. Ellis, he a widower and so lonely, even though he loves God. He told me, ‘My wife, she was the one who could speak to my truth, speak my truth, give it a name in a way I couldn't, but knew when I heard it from her. Rev, boy, it'll be such a relief to be with her again.’”
His eyes were thoughtful. "I thought I didn’t need no earthly person to speak my truth. God knows it. I just wanted to help people find comfort and strength, help them. But now I understand.”
His gaze turned back to her, held her like her hand on his knee. “Long as you know my truth, too, you and God, one on earth, one in Heaven, that’s enough knowing for me.”
The man was so good at making her tongue-tied, she thought she should punish him for it. But he’d also made her curious, gesturing around him when he spoke of Heaven. “You don’t think Heaven is straight above?”
“I think it's inside and outside, above and below, in every direction.” He paused. “I want to say something else, but it might push into a room where I not been invited.”
“Stand at the threshold and say what you want to say. I’ll close the door if it’s warranted.”
“You like to take care of your…submissives. You’re a service-oriented Domme. Sy say that, and that you like to take care of us, but you also like to hold onto the control, which is what puts you on the Domme side.”
“That’s his opinion, is it?”
Because he was a smart man, Rev noted the sugary edge to her tone. “I not trying to get him in trouble. I’m trying to understand all this better.”
“I want you to do that. I’m very okay with you talking to a sub like Sy or Trey,” she assured him. “But if you talk to a different sub, always let me know who they are. There are no wrong feelings, but there can be wrong information. And sometimes wrong motives.”
“Like sex ed in the classroom, versus what kids tell one another. Like they can get pregnant from a toilet seat.”
“Just so.” He’d raised another question for her. “Who taught you about sex?”
“I learned the way most boys do. Curiosity and noticing things. Teena Joye answered most my questions. She practical, and didn’t want me getting no girl in trouble, or getting a disease. She taught me to respect a woman. I already had that built into me, but she helped me sharpen the tool.”
The gleam in his eye amused her. “What did you want to say to me, Rev?”
He lifted their joined hands, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, warming them. “When I talking to Sy about you, the things he told me… I think you like taking care of a sub, and you’ll let him take care of you. Mostly physical things, some not-so-physical things. But deep inside, those needs, you hold those out of reach. Or hide them.”
Sy knew her better than she’d expected. “How do you know there’s anything there at all?” she hedged.
“I feel it,” he said. “So I want to know what I have to do to take care of your deepest needs.”
“Be willing to invest the time and care,” she said after a long moment. “And make me believe that’s what you truly want. To let you take care of me like that, I have to believe in you. Find the will to trust you, more than I’ve trusted any submissive before. Well, sorry…I trusted my ex-husband that much. My trust was misplaced.”
“I’m sorry,” he said simply. Sincerely. It touched her heart, and something even deeper.
She cleared her throat. “There’s no instruction list for that. All you have to do is be yourself, Rev. Be honest with me. Generous and loving, which you’ve done so far. Time takes care of the rest, if it’s meant to be.”
His lips twisted in amused frustration. “I guess I never had something that made it this hard to wait. Now I know why that need for patience all the time be talked about in faith. The more you want it to happen, the worse the wait.”
“What would you like to do for me, Rev, that you’re having to wait upon?”
It was a question she shouldn’t have asked if she wanted to protect herself, but if she was demanding he step outside of his comfort zone, then at a certain point, if she wanted to give him a fair shot at what he wanted, she had to do it, too.
“Be the man you can turn to, Mistress.” His brown eyes held hers. “For anything. When you happy or celebrating, I want to share that with you. When you weak, when you need to cry, I want to be the man you know can make it even better, or fix it. Or listen to you while you figure out how to fix it, if that what you prefer. I just want you to know there’s one person who thinks you the gift he’s been waiting for in his life. And who’ll do everything he can to be the same kind of gift for you.”
He rose and offered a hand. “Let me get you home. It getting cold out here, and you getting chilly.”