Vampire Master: Vampire Queen Series: Club Atlantis

by Joey W. Hill

  She thought about that. “A good sub wants to focus on what her Dom wants, not what she wants. She knows she pleases him with her obedience. But I don’t think a Dom would want her not to feel disappointed when denied. He just wants her to mask it appropriately, so that he can feed off the energy of the denial, not deal with the attitude.”

  “Well spoken.” His eyes glittered, his mouth set. His expression was that unreadable mask again. “You may go. Tell Lars I want him and his smart mouth in here now. I’ll see you at the workshop tonight.”

  He’d set the trap so neatly, she felt like a mouse choking on the cheese set on the metal plate. But she’d swallowed more challenging reactions.

  “Yes, sir.”

  If Fred’s work shoes had been dragging, then Ella’s feet were encased in lead blocks, as she left behind the male spread on the cross and ready to test it with a display of rippling, straining muscle. But she found the strength to nod demurely and take her leave without a single shuffle.

  Fortunately, the scream of frustration that could have shattered eardrums stayed locked in her head.

  Chapter Four

  A half-hour before the Daddy Dom workshop began, she opened the door to the meeting space, intending to confirm everything was set up as Wolf had specified.

  Club Atlantis offered these classes about the many facets of D/s play for new and existing members. They occurred early in the evening, so that those attending wouldn’t miss the sessions on the club floor that increased in number and variation after nine o’clock.

  She snapped on the switch and jumped as light flooded the windowless space.

  Wolf stood at the front, hips propped against the six-foot table placed there. He didn’t blink the way a person did when a light flooded darkness. His gaze was on her, as if he’d been looking at her when she opened the door. She noted his irises glinted translucent, like an animal’s eyes when passing headlights reflected off them. Then they went back to their normal unusual pale gray.

  He had his arms crossed over his chest. He’d changed into a Club Atlantis black staff T-shirt and blue jeans. Like the earlier Army green shirt, this one stretched with impressive elasticity over his broad shoulders and massive biceps. His blue jeans were broken in distractingly well.

  “I’m sorry,” she ventured. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

  “You didn’t. I was just going over the discussion points in my mind, and I prefer the darkness. Turn off the light and come here.”

  Unexpected. She glanced at the route between her and him, logging what obstacles she might face. The room had been set up auditorium style with thirty-six chairs, an aisle down the middle.

  She switched the light off again. The curtain of darkness fell, but now the darkness ahead felt less like a void, because he was waiting in it. She’d intended to take a left, use the back row of chairs to guide her, then turn right and follow the middle aisle to him.

  “Come straight toward my voice,” he said instead. “I won’t let you run into anything.”

  She moved forward, a little unsure, but he fixed that in a heartbeat. “One step left. Now forward. Ten steps in a straight line and you’ll be standing right in front of me.”

  When she complied, on step ten her thigh brushed his knee. She came to an abrupt halt, but his hands closed over her waist.

  “Good.” He eased her to his side, guiding her to a seated position on the table. As he settled back next to her again, her waist tingled from the contact of his hand, her abdomen from the caressing pressure of his thumbs.

  “Sir, may I ask you a question?”

  “It will be quid pro quo. I answer, you answer me.”

  She was pleased he’d want to ask her a question, so fair enough. “Why don't you have any tattoos?” she asked.

  “How do you know I don't? You haven't seen me completely without clothes.”

  “No, sir.” Though, gods and goddesses, she might donate a limb for the pleasure of it. “I just…I don't think you do.”

  He paused. “It's a good guess. There are a couple reasons. The main one is that a tattoo is a story about the person wearing it. If I want someone to know my stories, I’ll tell them, in my own time and way."

  She opened her mouth, but he cut across her. "One question, asked and answered. The night I found you on the loading docks. What happened to send you there?”

  Her question hadn’t been very personal, she thought, though she suspected his answer had a soul-deep reasoning behind it. Whereas his question went straight to her core like a jagged-edged knife and twisted. She'd rather he asked anything else.

  “Ella.” His voice sharpened. For a submissive like her, it was as effective as truth serum. She couldn’t not respond to an injection of that authoritative tone.

  "Do I have any choices other than telling you?"

  "Yes,” he said after a moment. “You can tell me no, and accept a punishment for not telling me."

  "You won't let me help you tonight.” She tried to bite back the despair in her voice. To be denied this first official chance to be helpful to him made everything feel worse. But the reason she’d been on the loading dock was too personal and pathetic. It made her feel stupid, which frustrated her with herself.

  "Ella." He placed a hand on her shoulder, against her neck. The firm hold snapped her out of her head. “You’ll still help me. But you’ll accept another punishment from me if you can’t answer my question.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Don’t sound so relieved. You’re not likely to enjoy my punishment any better.”

  His hand was still on her throat, but now it moved upward. She was wearing a light wrap over her outfit, because the meeting room could be chilly when mostly empty. Once restless, aroused human bodies filled it, it would get warmer.

  His thumb hooked the slim collar she was wearing and twisted in it, tightening the strap and increasing her heart rate. The collar had a silver tag fastened to it.

  Daddy’s girl.

  She’d sent him a note on the club forum earlier in the week, asking him what he wanted her to wear for the class.

  “Wear what you think would please your Daddy, Ella.”

  She understood the context. The session was going to be about Daddy Dom play. But she’d wondered if he meant something appropriate for a typical Daddy scene—if the word typical could be applied to any D/s scene of any stripe, once the people involved were deep into it—or him specifically.

  She’d followed her heart on it, and here she was.

  “Take off the robe,” Wolf said. “I want to know what you’re wearing.”

  There was only one way he could determine that with the lights off. Her heart pounded a little harder. She slipped off the table, untied the sash of the robe and took off the garment, folding it over and laying it on the table.

  She wore a backless halter in a gauzy fabric. The garment was held in place with slim ribbon ties at her neck, under her arms and waist, three simple tied bows down her back. All of it was a dreamy lavender color, the ribbons a slightly deeper purple. Other than that and the collar, she wore only a pair of white silky underwear. Her breasts pressed against the thin fabric of the halter top, nipples visible through the sheer weave. He’d seemed to like that about the pirate shirt she’d worn, so that was one big reason she’d chosen it.

  She had her hair up in a banana comb to keep it off her neck. It was still long enough to fall down her back to brush her shoulder blades.

  His other hand joined the first at her throat, measuring the slim column in the collar of his fingers. She drew in a shaky breath, swallowing against his grip, and he stroked that area, registering the movement. He found the ribbon tie at the neck, followed it down to the one under her shoulder blades, traced it back to the front of the halter. He outlined the curves of her breasts, teased her nipples, drawing them tighter against the fabric. Back around to touch the bow in the middle of her back. He caressed her bared spine, drawing her between his knees so he could more
easily follow that valley down to the waist tie and below, to her backside and the silky panties.

  “Is this what you normally wear when you agree to a Daddy scene with our guests and members?”

  “It depends on what they want. But I haven’t worn anything I’m wearing tonight for anyone else.”

  She probably shouldn’t have said that. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to do anything that suggested she was making a play for his affections or attention. But she also knew that was a way to protect herself. Under his touch, she could only tell him the truth.

  She lifted her chin. “I wore what I thought would please Daddy.”

  “Daddy is pleased,” he murmured.

  She flushed. She suspected he was gauging how the scene would work, how they would fit together for it, so it was okay for her to have a genuine reaction. It worked better that way. The most effective workshops included real-life demos to drive in the points. He was weighing how that was going to play out, getting her in the right headspace. She’d go there, happily skipping, no little girl puns intended.

  He took his hand away. “Stay here. I’m going to go turn on the lights.”

  When he switched them on, he stood at the door, looking right at her. His gaze coursed over her the way his hands had. Thoroughly. He had such an intense gaze. Whenever she was under it, desire and yearning swamped her, as well as a little bit of fear. As if she couldn’t depend on him being entirely civilized, following all the rules.

  She admonished herself to stay on track. Be what was needed for the moment, and stop mooning over him. Since it was going to be a Daddy Dom workshop, and she liked getting into the mood of things, she laced her fingers behind her and rocked forward and back, heel-to-toe, in proper little girl fashion, her hair swinging along her back.

  His lips twitched, and he nodded to the wall to their left. “The carnival’s still in town.”

  The knot of tension dissipated, replaced by delight. Nearly two dozen stuffed animals were arranged on the table. They were multiple sizes, from a giant teddy bear to life-sized kittens. Displayed in an attractive semi-circle around the animals were Daddy Dom books from the club library, and handouts on the same subject. Several staff members, including Anwyn, handled educational resources for these short seminars, so Ella knew those and the swag would have come from one of them. That included a box of inexpensive, fun little collars with metal plaques on them, echoing the sentiments on her own decorative one.

  She noted the stuffed animals were good quality nursery toys, soft and plush, not thin stretched fabric over foam. “Those aren’t carnival stuffed animals.”

  “No. But the carnival is, in fact, still in town.”

  Staying in character, she gave him a hopeful look. “Can we go? Please?”

  His serious eyes gleamed. She thought he was enjoying her impromptu play to get in the right frame of mind. She wouldn’t mind him putting on some Daddy airs to do the same. He obliged.

  “We’ll see. Depends on how good you are.”

  She shot him a smile, and then the door opened, the first arrivals entering.

  “Daddy Dom play is a ‘safe’ way to act out your persistent pedophile fantasies. On the sub side, it’s a chance to enact your secret desire to fuck your father. Or avoid being a capable adult, letting someone run your life rather than handling it yourself.”

  As Wolf opened the workshop with the brusque statement, rustlings in the room stilled. They’d run out of chairs, so people were sitting on the floor in front and standing along the wall in back. Nearly fifty people. As word spread that one of Atlantis’s most mysterious and charismatic Doms was leading the class, more had flocked to it.

  “If you agreed with any of those statements,” Wolf continued dryly, “get the fuck out of here and find a really good therapist. Because none of those things is what Daddy Dom/little girl play is supposed to be about.”

  The sudden tension dissipated into nervous laughter from newer members, more relaxed chuckles from existing ones.

  Ella liked how he opened right into the heart of it, not droning on with vague introductions, or drawn out summaries of what was about to be taught. Another reason people liked it when Wolf taught a class. Every minute was instructional, no time lost.

  “As you probably know,” he said, “Mistress Madelyn is going to do Part Two of this workshop next week, addressing the Mommy Dom/little boy side of things, but you’ll hear us both cover some of the same principles, starting with this next one, equally important.”

  He preferred to orate in the pose he’d had when she’d entered the room, his hips braced casually against the table, ankles crossed. He braced his hands on either side of him, fingers curved over the table edge as he swept the group with his piercing look.

  “A cake and a cup of coffee both use sugar. At least the way I drink mine.” His eyes glinted with brief humor. “Same ingredient, two very different things. In Daddy Dom play you might be offering—and your sub might be wanting—safety, authority, expectations, strictness, connection. Those are things that happen in a parent-child relationship, too, but between two adults in a Dom/sub relationship, the focus is very different.

  “But keep in mind Daddy Dom/little girl play is hard to define in absolutes. Which basically makes it the same as most of D/s play,” he added with a tight smile. “Sex may be part of Daddy Dom play all the time, or only at specific times, or not at all. For example, if it includes the Little wearing ruffled dresses, playing with toys, and taking time out to have a tea party, that’s often about providing a safe ‘down time’ space for her, not sex. For another couple, the sub might be wearing a kitten collar and nothing else, and sex is very much part of the play.”

  He adjusted his stance to look toward Ella. She was stretched out on her hip on another six-foot long table, pushed flush to his. He’d unrolled an exercise mat on hers to cushion her, and she was making use of a couple of key props, a coloring book and crayons. She was diligently filling in a spray of irises in vibrant yellow. At his attention, she lifted it so he could see, and offered him a crayon to join her. “You can color the leaves,” she said.

  The group chuckled, whereas her nerves rippled at his stern, tender expression. They were good at this, the two of them. She loved role play, but this felt natural to her, especially with him. He was completely in control, much as a strict father would be. Or a totalitarian dictator.

  “Maybe in a moment,” he said with a mild touch of reproof. “Daddy’s talking to other adults right now. Don’t interrupt.”

  She nodded, hiding a smile at her thoughts, and returned to her coloring.

  “Ella asked me what she should wear for tonight’s session,” Wolf said. “I told her to wear what she thought her Daddy would like. There was a lot going on there. She asked because she wants to be sure she wears what pleases Daddy, but I wanted to see what she thought would please me. It provides me information and tests her.”

  She tipped her head up to give him a genuine, little girl smile, no artifice, just pure adoration. Something not difficult for her to do naturally, when it was directed toward him. His gaze flickered, and he gestured to the stuffed animals at the table. “Go choose the one you want,” he said. “But only one. You have to share.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.” She took his hand to sit up, slip off the table. Since he gave her a caressing pat on her silk clad backside as she moved away, she had to fight not to stumble at the sensation that spread out through her upper thighs. Definitely not the reaction of a child to a father’s touch, but she expected that was part of why he’d done it. She was embracing the inner child to be innocently flirtatious, but he was reminding her who he was, and not to get too cutesy.

  She already knew which one she wanted, but that didn’t keep her from touching them all. The animals were soft as downy pillows, meant to be hugged. She tried that on several of them, thought about taking one, started to turn, then changed her mind, put it down and picked up another, petting and playing. The audience mem
bers were tittering as Wolf crossed his arms over his massive chest and eyed her with increasing paternal impatience.

  “All right then, that’s enough. You can’t have them all. Pick one and get back here.”

  She began to reach for the one she intended to pick, and something odd happened. She realized she couldn’t. Thoughts crowded in. He’d likely put it there specifically for her to choose it, though he hadn’t told her that. With his attention fixed upon her, picking the one she really wanted felt too stupid and obvious. So she picked the one next to it, a gray bunny with floppy ears that framed his serious face. She turned to face Wolf, the rabbit folded against her.

  He pushed himself up to a standing position. “Come here,” he said.

  All that looming height and strength was waiting for her five steps away, and his flat expression told her what to expect, even before his words did.

  “You already know you’re in trouble. If I have to come over there to get you, it will be three times worse.”

  She came to him, though the threat wasn’t what compelled her. Unless the tight yearning of her body that grew more excruciating with every syllable he uttered counted.

  “Daddy isn’t pleased. You didn’t choose the one you wanted.” He lifted a finger, tapped her face. “We discussed you lying to me.”

  She flushed. He was just acting out the scene with her. There was no way he could know that she truly hadn’t chosen the one she wanted.

  He removed the rabbit from her arms and set it aside. Gripping her wrist, he made her face the table, her back to the audience, and pushed her down, her cheek to the cool surface. “Look at the one you really wanted,” he said.

  She had to turn her head toward the side of the room holding all the carnival stuffed animals. As she did that, he molded his palm over her ass. He pushed his fingers beneath the panties, drawing up the elastic edge to expose one fleshy cheek.

  “Keep looking at it,” he said.

  He knew how to hit the widest part of the buttock, down low, the sweet spot. He also knew how to build the sting, so within three or four swats she was starting to hurt, to quiver, want to wiggle. But that was okay, expected. It was another reaction that disturbed her.