Black Light: Roulette War

by Grant, Livia

  Not a serial killer, no. And not a politician. Maybe corporate lawyer.

  She smiled into the jungle of neon and clubgoers. The man probably thought Elixxir had called her name out as ‘Miss Pain.’ It would be fine, for now. He could just go on thinking she’d chosen a ridiculous nickname.

  If she were to judge by the firm hold of his forearm across her chest, the play of his thumb at her throat in a way that was already building a hum between her thighs, Mister M was probably not thinking about nicknames.

  There were no more couples onstage. Elixxir made a sweeping gesture at the crowd. “Everyone’s paired up,” he said, voice resonating through the sound system to carry over the din, “and you know what that means! It’s time to start Valentine Roulette! It’s time to get this party started!”

  More applause and cheers, and the music thudded back to a more motivating volume. Not normal dance club loud, but more than it had been during the roulette spins.

  Mister M had been Dom Number Seven. Seven was her lucky number.

  See? A good sign.

  People began to disperse. Roulette Doms and subs moved off to hunt for furniture and gear. Spectators went back to the bar to refresh drinks.

  “I see latex isn’t among your hard limits,” a smooth voice said above her right ear.

  Violet turned her body again so she could look up at him. Her Dom for the night was paler than she was, like he didn’t get outside much. His hair was either black or the darkest seal brown, and perfectly combed, like a news anchor’s. Or a dentist. There were never dentists with crazy hair. His eyes… might be light green? They’d have to move into better lighting for her to be sure. They looked poised to dissect her.

  “I’ve… never tried latex before, Sir, but… I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

  If the man had an opinion about this one way or the other, his face didn’t show it. Unlike a few minutes ago, when she’d been certain he was looking for ways to bail. God, she couldn’t deal with that again. At least not tonight.

  She’d put herself entirely up on the block. ‘I’ll do anything except these four things. Anything you want. Just take me someplace new and not horrible,’ was the statement she’d been making by putting her name on that wheel. Black Light vetted these people. There were dungeon monitors everywhere. How bad could it be?

  Her new Dom’s eye ticked back and forth across her face in some silent assessment. Did the man smile, ever?

  Bad. It could be bad.

  Whatever he saw, it brought him to some decision. He switched focus to somewhere over her shoulder. Then that same hand that had hypnotized at her throat slid around to the back of her neck. Mister M moved forward, and Violet had to go with him.

  “Let’s find out,” he said, and guided her away from the stage.

  Rather than any furniture or play space, he led them to a person. Garreth, one of the monitors, who was already watching them approach.

  “We’ve rolled latex,” said Mister M as they approached. “Is there somewhere we should go to pick out gear?”

  Garreth smiled at her and bobbed a nod to her Dom. “We have some things already set out,” he said, “if you’d like to have a look. We have the latex items over here instead of in the costume room.”

  “We would,” said Mister M. “Miss Payne?”

  They followed Garreth a short way to a compact metal clothing rack wedged in by the end of the stage near a St. Andrew’s cross. Several hangers dripped with glossy latex pieces, most in black, but she could see a flash of purple and red peeking out.

  “We have a few different things here,” said Garreth, sliding some of the hangers apart while his eyes kept a scan of the club behind them. “Two or three catsuits. Couple hoods. Stockings. Cinchers.”

  Violet felt herself breathing through her mouth. She’d be in some of this gear. Soon.

  “You have powder?” her Dom asked.

  That was right. She had heard you couldn’t just pull latex onto bare skin.

  Garreth pointed a flat hand away from the stage. “Powders and lubes are on that small table against the back wall. If you need other gear, we have an area set up out in front of the gift area for Roulette participants. It’s on the other side of the bar.”

  She followed the line of his arm and found the table. Jars and bottles of all sizes stood on top in a cluster, along with other low, open containers, full of what, she couldn’t see from here. It was a lot. A lot to take in. A lot about to happen with this man she didn’t know.

  And yet the warmth of his hand at the top of her spine was somehow draining off tension. Making her want to stand up straight.

  “Anything else you two need help with so far?” The dungeon monitor made eye contact with her, and Violet shook her head. “Miss Payne.”

  He wanted verbal. This one was a stickler. “No, Sir. I don’t need anything else.”

  Garreth grunted and pushed away from the clothing rack.

  “Are there ballet heels available?” said Mister M.

  Violet took a breath at the kind of spectacle he wanted to make of her, but the monitor shook his head. “We’d have to keep too many sizes.”

  “I thought that might be the case. Thank you, though.”

  This Dom of hers was polite, if a bit stiff here and there.

  “Miss Payne. Mister M,” said Garreth. “I’ll be nearby if you have any more questions. Need any help.”

  What kind of help would they need?

  ‘Fuckin’ serial killer.’

  So dramatic. He can’t be that bad.

  “Thank you again,” said Mister M to Garreth, who was already turning to another couple who’d approached looking like they had questions.

  “Miss Payne?” Her Dom guided her to the rack, palm gentle. “Would you please find a catsuit that will fit you? If there’s more than one, choose one with zipper access. And a cincher. If you would be so kind.”

  A nervous giggle bubbled out of her throat. She couldn’t help it—he sounded so formal.

  “Is something funny?”

  “No. Sir.” Violet bit her lip to make herself stop.

  “And yet you’re laughing.”

  She cleared her throat. Her eyes watered. “You’re… you’re very polite, Sir. Asking me ‘would you please’ and ‘if you’d be so kind.’ You know I’m your sub, right?” That last she regretted in an instant. Who knew how much sass he would put up with?

  His body closed in at her back again, and Violet felt the man’s breath on her ear. “I’m quite frequently kind and polite when I ask for things, Miss Payne.” That soft hold turned firm, then hard, on the back of her neck. “The first time.”

  Hairs stood up on her arms, and his next words came just above a whisper.

  “You’re welcome to test what my manners look like when I have to ask a second time,” he said.

  Nooo thank you. Violet was a lot of things, but a brat wasn’t one of them. And the monitors had unnerved her enough about this guy.

  “I won’t try to make you ask twice, Sir.”

  “Then pick out your things,” he said and let go his hold. “I’m going to go find the rest of what we need, and then I’ll meet you right back here. Do not change out of your dress yet, please.”

  And then the heat of him was gone. Violet turned to see the man slipping away across the club. Her thighs squeezed together.

  Fuck me.

  She’d applied for Roulette in a burst of desperation. A last-ditch effort to stop wallowing in misery and rip the proverbial bandage off. To pair up with someone wholly new and drown the echoes of mistakes out of her head.

  Well, now she was going to drown them in latex. The first of the suits she pushed to the side—it looked cut for a man. Another had legs that looked way too short. This stuff stretched, but not that much. Nerves had her that she wouldn’t find what he’d asked for, but a simple black number with a high neck and back zip looked promising. And then there were cinchers and corsets, clipped sideways to hangers. She lifted
one upright and turned it over with a critical eye.

  Why be nervous? You’re getting just what you asked for.

  And she was. This Mister M was new as fuck. Nothing like her ex, nothing like anyone she’d played with, so far.

  Violet pulled a cincher to go with her catsuit. It had buckles, a few D-rings, and was black like the suit. She’d seen latex scenes, but never up close. The scent of the material wasn’t quite overpowering, but she couldn’t deny the dirty doctor vibes it sent crawling over her skin. Thank god she didn’t have a latex allergy.

  Just as she turned from the rack, her Dom was moving back into view. Something dark dangled from his left hand. In his right, he brought a low, wooden stool. Instead of heading straight for her, he stepped up onto the raised area of the floor that highlighted a cluster of dungeon furniture and set the stool down. Next to a pillory.

  Her jaw went slack.

  Mister M laid his handful down atop the stool and, at the very least among the pile, she could make out the tails of a flogger dangling. He straightened and found her. Headed in her direction.

  Violet’s night was about to go from zero to sixty real quick.

  “You’ve found something that will work, Miss Payne?” he asked on approach.

  God, this was happening. A cocktail of fear and excitement had her feeling her pulse in strange places: her fingertips. Her lower lip. “I think so, Sir,” she said, the catsuit feeling heavy draped over her arm. “We’ll see when I try to put it on.”

  He grunted. “Good.” And moved past her to the rack again. Began sliding hangers.

  Didn’t I just…

  When he turned back to face her, it was with a shiny black hood in hand. Some feeling of compression circled her ribs. This guy was going to shrink-wrap her like a… like a piece of meat. She’d never really given latex a second thought; it hadn’t been on her ex’s agenda, and before that? Nothing she’d tried had been so involved.

  But there it was. That awareness between her thighs.

  Interest.

  Her body agreeing, saying, Let’s see what happens. If he takes you there.

  The hood went on the stool with the rest of his gear, and then an intense amount of focus centered back on her. Violet’s feet moved without thought, bringing her to stand in front of the man like he was some goddamn sorcerer.

  No. Dom. He wasn’t loud or verbose, but he didn’t need to be. Not like fucking Brian. This one had her pulled in like a magnet with no more than an expectant look.

  “I would like you to set your shoes aside, Miss Payne.”

  She pushed them off with her feet, eyes on his, and nudged the patent heels aside.

  “Neatly.” His tone dipped into a key of warning, and Violet dropped, knees together, to find and straighten her shoes. She placed them upright, as if on display for sale, at one of the wooden legs of the pillory, before standing again.

  “Does your dress come off over your shoulders?”

  Happening.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Then take it off that way, please.”

  Her heart thumped. A few people milling slowed to watch as she reached with one hand to take down the opposite shoulder of her dress. She’d normally pull it from the bottom over her head, but the fine knit stretched, and this way woul—

  “Eyes up here.”

  This way would take more time.

  His entire pale green focus was on the reveal. She watched him, as he’d said, instead of the distracting crowd. Saw his eyes flit back and forth while she shrugged out of the tiny sleeves. Violet could all but feel his gaze tracing the lines of black against her skin where her bra cupped and strapped its way around.

  And no panties. They wouldn’t have worked with her fox tail, so as soon as she hooked her thumbs in at both sides of her waist and shifted first one hip, then the other, past the bunched fabric, Mister M—and everyone else—was going to see everything.

  You’ve been naked here before. Big deal.

  She bent to step out of the dress. Stood to take it over where her shoes sat.

  “Stop.”

  Violet blinked at him; dress gathered in a fist.

  Her Dom stepped forward with a critical eye, and she followed his gaze to her tattoo. A cherry tree bonsai in full bloom wrapped around her right side, from hip to just under her breast, petals, ink on skin, trailing off in imaginary breeze along her ribs and belly.

  He lifted a hand. Traced out a line along the artwork of trunk and branches with the barest tip of a finger. She watched his lips move, as though he said something to himself, but no sound came out, and something in the whisper of a touch had her close to shivering.

  Not her ass, not her pussy. This was what the man had chosen to focus on the minute she got naked. The hand touching her was pale. Neatly-manicured. He definitely worked in an office.

  He definitely was stepping around behind her.

  Violet’s arms pebbled in gooseflesh when fingers brushed the mass of her hair off her neck. He shifted it over her left shoulder, and then small tugs began at the back of her bra.

  It went neat and quick. One second there was tension under her breasts, the next: none. He slid the straps down her shoulders, and she could feel the occasional brush of his clothing, a breath-quickening contrast to her own nudity.

  Mister M circled her again, and his eyes added everything new he saw to whatever catalog he appeared to be making in his head. Violet’s nipples tightened down to points, the stainless hoop she had in the right one gleaming in the brighter light above the dungeon furniture. He handed over her bra.

  “On the stool, please.”

  He meant the clothes, not her, and Violet went, folding her dress in a tidy square with his admonishment about the shoes fresh in mind. She hadn’t been kidding about not trying to make him ask twice.

  In putting her dress and bra aside, she saw the rest of what he’d laid out on the stool. Violet swallowed. Had he wanted her to see?

  When she stood and turned back, the man was already folding his jacket. Draping it over one of the rungs of the stool, now that they’d covered the seat in gear. He unbuttoned his cuffs in that mesmerizing way and folded his sleeves back—the most meticulous she’d ever seen—to his elbows. Mister M had a fit look to him; the shift of his charcoal shirt over shoulders and chest had her biting her lip. Wishing he’d untuck it. Let her work apart those buttons.

  Okay, this is working for me. Yeah.

  He was tugging something black out of a pants pocket. Moving close to her again.

  “Why the plug?”

  Gloves. He’d brought gloves out of his pocket, and was stretching them over his hands, one at a time, the thin, rubbery noises going straight to her pussy for no good reason. Violet inhaled.

  Who is this guy?

  “Miss Payne?”

  The plug. Right. She could feel the furry tail brushing the backs of her thighs.

  “I thought”—she cleared her throat and stood straighter—“I thought it would help me tonight. Sir.”

  “Oh? And how’s that?” He snapped the second glove in place at his wrist, but the whole thing felt medical rather than sinister. His question curious instead of mocking.

  “It’s… it feels like a costume, Sir. Or a mask.” He was stepping around her again, and her explanations felt inadequate. “It’s like when I wear it… my head is in a different place. Like I get to be who I want to be. I calm down. I’m more confident. I needed that tonight.”

  She trailed off with a nervous laugh and felt the fox tail move. He was lifting it back there. Not pulling, but subtle movements like he was looking it over. It was still enough to nudge the stainless little bulb she had sucked up between her cheeks. Her thighs shifted, slick now where they met. He dropped the tail, and she had no sense of his reaction to what she’d told him.

  “Did you want me to take it out, Sir?”

  Gloved fingers traced her spine at her lower back before he came around from behind her. His face was a series of cold
ly handsome angles, but none of them screamed disapproval.

  “For now,” he said. “Clean it off and give it to me. There are wipes over there on the table.” He nodded to the back wall, where the DM had pointed out lubes and powders. And then he stood there, fingers warm under nitrile to take hold of her chin and watch her face twitch while she pulled the plug past her body’s tight seal.

  With the first hint of a smile, at the very corner of his mouth, her Dom let her go to do as he’d said. She did and returned, and he took the tail from her and stuck the stainless end in a pocket. The tail hung out of his slacks like some weird, smuggled hunting trophy.

  And now she was really naked.

  No more superhero cape. No more fox tail to make her feel like, Yeah, that’s right. I’m a kinky bitch. I can take anything you can dish out, Mister.

  Now she was just Violet, and this stranger, with his gloves, looked like he was seeing through to her every worry and flaw. He was going to turn them each over with his careful fingers and want more information for his records.

  They hadn’t even gotten to the latex, yet.

  “Why did you sign up for this, Miss Payne?”

  Her eyes snapped to his. He wanted explanations?

  Violet tried not to squirm. “I was… looking to play with someone new, Sir.”

  “Miss Payne.” God, his eyes were a trap. “You did not need to offer yourself up on that roulette wheel to play with someone new.” There was no avoiding anything under that stare; it was like a fishbowl. No walls to hide behind and no corners.

  “Sir?” Her voice came out much higher than she would have liked.

  “You are a well-behaved sub—so far—and you’re almost too beautiful to be here.” Heat crept onto her face, but he continued as if ticking items off a list. “Any available Dom you asked would play with you. So why the need to sign up.”

  It wasn’t even a question, because answering wasn’t an option. Not in response to that voice. Her ribs tried to squeeze in and compress her lungs.