Chapter One #6
With keen interest, Reaux leaned on the railing of the observation deck surrounding the upper level of the Dungeon and watched the Mistress go to work.
She was confident and efficient, but then he expected nothing less.
There was an aura around her, a shimmer of unsettled anger, yet the way she maintained her composure…
He wanted to push her until it shattered, feel her come apart under his hands and that glorious beast she kept hidden inside erupt from hibernation. It was ready—so was he.
A kernel of jealousy sprouted roots when she summoned a man in black, laying her hand on a thick arm as she spoke to him. The conversation was brief, no more than a few seconds really, but Reaux envied the asshole for having the freedom to speak freely with her.
Twenty-four hours, he reminded himself. In twenty-four hours, he would have her all to himself in a private room.
The arrival of her client didn’t raise any alarms; Reaux assessed the man and instantly labelled him as weak.
Wealthy, no doubt, as most seemed to be here, but he lacked…
substance, physically at least. Perhaps his strength was in his mind, because the guy looked as though he’d struggle hauling his own body out of the bathtub.
Hard, pumping rock music eradicated any chance of hearing what was said between them, but his beignet needed no words—one scathing glance at her sub, and the guy was on his knees, head bowed, fully dressed.
Yes, she had evolved into every inch the woman he’d anticipated.
The dungeon monitor returned, wheeling a box into position behind the focal piece of the play area—a rather fascinating saltire cross placed horizontal to the floor, suspended around three feet high using eight sturdy wooden struts.
Four supporting the center, and four bracing each end of the extended arms of the cross.
From up high, Reaux could tell the top was padded, leather most likely, but the little bits of wood he could see were beautifully carved. Several restraints were visible; wrists, forearms, biceps. Ankles, calves, thighs. Hips, chest, neck, and head.
A creative Dom could spend hours of fun tying a submissive down any which way the urge struck; Reaux was intrigued to see how the Mistress intended to use it now.
Apparently, she knew her subject well. A quick tap of her shoe on the guy’s thigh had him sitting straighter, tilting his head back to stare at her adoringly. A jerk of her chin and he rose to his feet, quickly undressing without taking his eyes off her.
Arms folded over her chest, Violet drummed her fingers on her biceps impatiently, in time with the beat of her pretty shoe tapping on the floor. When he was naked and dutifully folding his clothes neatly, she glanced at the table to her right and selected a short cane about two feet in length.
By the time he was done, Violet was checking her watch, the cane ticking against her exposed thigh in that artfully ruined dress.
Her expression was still locked down, cold, unlike anything Reaux had ever seen on her beautiful face—she was warm, loving, kind, considerate…
her heart was the thing that drew him to her in the first place all those years ago.
He winced when she lifted the man’s half-erect cock with the tip of the cane, appearing to inspect it and find it lacking.
There was nothing quite as demoralizing as a stunning woman deeming one’s pride and joy inadequate, yet her client shuddered in delight as her lips moved, twisting into a sneer as she spoke.
Giving the organ a quick, stinging smack with the cane, she used the tool to point at the cross. Eagerly scurrying to obey, the naked man all but threw himself down on the padding, limbs shooting out like a starfish.
Reaux lifted a skeptical eyebrow; he’d never seen such an enthusiastic submissive.
It quickly became evident Violet was not in the mood for a complex scene. The restraints she used simply covered the basics—wrists, ankles, and as an afterthought, she added the waist strap, pinning her subject at key points.
However, when she picked up a strand of metal from the table, Reaux felt his own cock shrivel up and retreat back inside his body where it was safe, even as the rest of him leaned further forward over the railing to watch.
Surely, surely, his little beignet hadn’t crossed so far over to the dark side that she—
Oh yes. Yes, she had.
She pulled the length of barbed wire taut between her hands. The dim dungeon lights caught the metal, the nasty barbs, before she stepped up to the guy’s hip. Just as she was about to crouch, Violet paused, her head cocking curiously before she spun around, searching the area.
Putain.
Reaux shoved back from the rail, sliding into the shadows until his back hit the wall, even as he grinned. Some part of her was still attuned to his presence, a fact which pleased him immensely.
The music continued to rumble through the speakers, joined by the rhythmic thwap of a flogger from below. There was a good atmosphere here, even all the way up in the damn rafters, conducive to a harmonious balance between whip-wielding tops and red-assed subs.
When Violet didn’t storm up the stairs to the balcony with blood in her eye, Reaux eased forward again, relieved to find her engrossed in the scene below. It simply wouldn’t do to have their surprise reunion ruined by a miscalculation on his part; he was too excited for the fireworks.
Although, considering the fact Violet was currently wrapping that barbed wire around her client’s semi-erect penis… the element of surprise might not be to his advantage.