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Prologue
She was watching him. She did that a lot of nights. But she hadn't yet approached him for a session, and something kept him from asking. Maybe because he liked the watching.
No way to ruin that.
She came down the stairs from the mezzanine, her tall, lithe body all feminine elegance and strength in crimson corset, black poured-on leggings, and red and black boots. His eyes never knew where to rest because they were greedy. He drank in the quiver of her breasts, the sway of her hips. How her long, supple thighs transformed her stride into a primal dance that called to cock and deeper things.
Sometimes he studied her profile, the full lips and precise nose, the lines of cheekbone and jaw. Her throat was a fragile column to
him. She wasn't a petite or fragile-looking woman, but he looked at her throat and saw that appealing vulnerability. She had a curtain of slim, soft-looking dreadlocks--"locs." That was what he'd heard her and other women in the club call the style. They were black with auburn highlights. Sometimes she strung the ropes with beads that shimmered in the club lights. Tonight she wore silver glitter in them. All of her glittered and shimmered. Her skin was like coal and heated chocolate mixed.
So he guessed he liked watching her, too. He managed to tear his gaze away before she noticed.
He was lying on his back on a bench in an intimate alcove, a good trysting place for club members. He had his feet propped on the wall as he tossed a ball toward the ceiling. He hadn't been picked up by any of the unattached Mistresses, because most here tonight were hard psychological players or had brought their own subs, but he still preferred hanging out here to anywhere else. Especially tonight. He'd left his phone in the locker, not wanting to feel electricity shock his spine and his balls shrink up when it buzzed with a message. Which it would, sometime tonight. He didn't know why he was letting it bother him. Fuck it; the outcome changed nothing.
As he threw the ball toward the ceiling again, with an eye to hitting the same spot as he had the first twenty times he'd done it, Regina snagged the ball on the toss. She was standing over him, and he gave her points for stealth and hand-to-eye coordination. "Tyler wants a demo flogging," she said without preamble. "Says you're nominated because he's tired of you putting your damn feet on the walls like you live in a barn." Her gaze slid over him and rested on his upper arms. "Those are new."
"Just temps." He rubbed a thumb over the tribal tats on his biceps. "One of the sub girls wanted an excuse to play with my muscles and a magic marker." He gave her an easy grin. "You know I'm not into doing anything permanent."
Her lips twitched, but her brown eyes--liquid, soft but also sharp as sword points--were still doing that measuring thing. "Get your ass up, you idiot boy," she said without rancor.
Marius put his feet down. "Where do you want to do it?" This wouldn't be anything serious. A demo wasn't intended to be a session. Even so, it would be the first time he'd interacted one-on-one with Lady Regina. The first time she'd done more with him than look.
"The St. Andrew's Cross will do." She nodded toward it.
"Okay." He rose and gestured to her to precede him, but she shook her head.
"You first. I ogle your ass, not the other way around."
"Got it. Whatever makes you happy, Mistress." He headed for the cross. He was used to women looking at him, but her eyes held things he didn't entirely understand. He was good at reading people, but not good at reading her. His body didn't care about any of it. It responded merely to the idea that she was looking at him. Shoulders, back, ass. Taking him all in, deciding what she'd do with him.
When they reached the cross, he stepped on the foot rests and put his hands out to the sides and up so she could strap him to it if she wanted. Or he could just hold on for the ride. A flogging wasn't going to stretch him too much, but he could play it up, give a good show. He saw some people already drawing closer, ready to watch.
She moved behind him as he grinned and winked at a trio of young female submissives. The one in the center blushed prettily. Then she disappeared, because a blindfold was placed over his eyes.
"What--"
He bit it off, because it was Regina's call. But he hadn't expected it, not for a demo. She tied it securely and locked his wrists and ankles in the cuffs. As always, a shift happened inside him when restraints came into play, a pooling low in his gut, his cock stiffening. There were other reactions, too, ones that were felt more sharply tonight than he was used to feeling them. She leaned in, her breasts pressing against his bare back. All he was wearing was a pair of tight, stretchy black shorts that left nothing to the imagination, even when he wasn't sporting a hard-on. When he was, like now, it was pretty blatant. He expected the subs were getting an eyeful.
"Should I tell you my safe word?" he ventured, since demos were usually intended to reinforce safety measures at the club, as well as entertain and get more people playing on the public floor.
"I'll keep you safe," she said, her voice a queen bee's command, warm honey on a summer day. She laid her palm on the center of his back.
It was a quelling gesture, telling him to remain silent. But there was more to it. He shifted, uneasy. When first getting into a session with someone new, there was often some self-consciousness on both sides, as they adjusted into their respective roles. With the palm on his back, she centered him. The quiet words pierced him, restraining parts other than his arms and legs. She locked the two of them into the right place with merely a touch and four words. That rarely happened unless there was some serious chemistry happening. That happened to other people. Not to him. He made sure of it.
On top of that, her touch pulled other things to the surface. His need to go further, deeper. He wasn't known as a particularly obedient or easy-to-handle sub, but he was fun, charming. He'd give a Mistress a good time, give her pleasure. He enjoyed that. Even if he left most sessions feeling like he'd denied himself something, he knew it was best for him to stay in that safe zone. Too much dark shit in the wilderness around Disneyland. He might not be able to serve a Mistress to the depths of his soul, but he wouldn't let her take him somewhere he couldn't control. Where he could hurt her.
He didn't want to hurt anyone, and he knew the key to that was staying in the shallow end of his submissive cravings.
Regina had stepped back, and he heard the swish as she chose a flogger and tested it out, probably wrapping it around her lush body a couple times. His hands closed, opened, in the restraints. He'd like to see her doing what she was doing. He'd like to see, period, because in darkness, things could rise that might interfere with that good time he wanted to give her.
The first strike was easy, a sensual feathering with a light sting that slid down his back like a caress. He twitched under it.
