Black Light: Roulette War

by Grant, Livia

  Had she been sitting on that stool, she would’ve slid right off.

  Her Dom stood, and she heard his steps move back around. There was a long pause where he said nothing. Nothing touched her, and the entire surface of her skin tingled, electric with the unknown.

  Then the leather hit.

  Violet shouted though the gag, eyes popping wide as her head came up.

  There was no warm-up this time. It was clear her Dom for the night considered her ‘already warmed up.’ Now he descended back into the scene like a hawk diving for prey. A second stroke came right after the first, just as sharp, and then a third, a fourth, each side of her ass blaring back to instant heat. There were several more—he had her too off-kilter to try counting, now—before he centered a stroke along her cunt.

  She cried out, instinct to hunch away, but her knees had to stay locked or she’d collapse. And who knew what Mister M was like about punishments? There was nothing to do but present her pussy for flogging, and the man went at it until she was jerking every time against the plank. And just when it felt like a million tiny insects had stung her, cool, gloved fingers probed into her helpless snatch, hooking down and assaulting that place inside her that made Violet feel like she was going to come or pee or both.

  Her eyes focused on nothing and she warbled around the gag. Saliva collected below her lip and trickled down her chin. As soon as she began to surge and buck her hips, the man took her pleasure away and painted her ass with fire.

  Oh God. Oh God, why? Yes!

  There was nothing but a wall to look at. The very far end of the bar. Each blow came vicious and beautiful, and Violet let herself go wild against the restraints. She made ugly noises into the gag to match the screaming of her backside. Another rapid round of strokes blazed along her swollen lips, and then her shriek became something ragged when his fingers replaced leather for the kill.

  She couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t scuttle away while he murdered her g-spot. Her eyes went crossed. Her noises were unglamorous. Fingers from his other hand found and scrubbed her clit, and Violet burst into a latex-covered mess.

  She came on his hand, crying out in abandon. Blood rushed in her ears and the way for his squelching fingers went puddle-slick. Somewhere in the fuzzy background, hoots and a smatter of applause rose and fell like a flock of starlings. The all-round pressure of the catsuit was the only thing holding Violet together.

  When her insides quit clutching at him, and he took his fingers away, she was sure everything she knew was going to come dribbling out on the platform. All she could do was exist there, belly trying to heave with her breath while the cincher denied it, the red ball a damp wad in her left hand.

  The next thing she thought she’d hear was the metal of the latch coming apart, but instead she heard his shoes. They moved around and paused before Mister M stepped into view. He lowered himself to eye level, and Violet knew she was a sight: lips stretched in an obscene ring, no doubt strings of drool roping down from her chin. Watery eyes, but she hoped he saw there the utter release he’d let her have.

  “Are you still green, Miss Payne?”

  More?

  She nodded, panting and wet.

  He brought an object up close to her face and she had to cross her eyes. Another of the clothespins. He tapped her on the nose with it and smiled.

  Oh God, more.

  Her Dom stood again and returned to the scene of the crime. The first pinch of fingers on her swollen labia was warm and friendly; a handshake. The springy bite of wood that replaced it was not.

  Oh, oh! It didn’t let go! And she was plump and buzzing against its tight pinch. This one was high up, near her entrance, and even while she was whining against the first clamp, he had a second one secured into place on the opposite side.

  Violet wiggled and squealed against the pins, and they waved around flapping against her protests. A palm landed on her already-sore ass.

  “Good girls hold still.”

  She breathed and whined, but fuck, this man made her want to be a Good Girl. Violet flexed her thighs and tried to calm down.

  A third clothespin and a fourth latched into place lower down, alongside the frill of her inner lips. It was like someone shifted a spotlight to everywhere she could already feel her pulse. When those gloved fingertips began to spread sensitive flesh and isolate her clit, Violet’s heart really began to race.

  A sound rose out of her like a desperate question when the last pin clamped into place. There was no getting away from it. Her poor little clit stood out raw from orgasm, and now the little jaw held it there, pinched away from her body and trilling with every movement.

  Mister M took the time to tap each one of the clothespins with a finger and set it swaying. Violet still mewled from that as he brought a thumb up to trace around her pouting hole. She had to look like a damn pincushion back there, all splayed and bristling and pink.

  His touch left, but the pins held. More footsteps, what could he be up to, now?

  A palm splayed over one side of her ass, and the bridge of her nose wrinkled against the sting. There was no way to grimace with a ring in her mouth. He squeezed, pulled her cheeks apart with a thumb, grinding the torment home.

  Then something cold as a fucking iceberg kissed up against her asshole.

  The gasp of air she took in ended in a high-pitched thread of sound she couldn’t have described.

  What the f—!

  Her entire puckered ring tried to suck itself back inside her body, but the Dom followed it with whatever freezing cold thing while her toes curled inside her high heels and the clothespins grabbed on with glee.

  No. Not ‘whatever cold thing.’ Violet knew this shape. It was the stainless bulb of her foxtail plug. This motherfucker—that’s what ‘Mister M’ stood for, didn’t it?—had to have had it sitting in ice-water or something. It was the kind of cold that made her want to climb up the wall. To leap away from waves on the shore in fucking February, but there was nowhere left for her to go.

  He came with the plug, fingers keeping her cheeks wide, until her shoulders pressed hard against the plank and her head whipped back and forth in denial. The thing was slippery, too, most definitely lubed and, despite the involuntary tightening of her hole, was dilating her in a stretch that would have made her teeth grind. If she could bring her teeth together.

  Violet whined as he ushered it home, but did the sadist let her breathe when her body swallowed it up, at last? No, he did not. This perfect bastard, this ‘Mister M’, took hold of its base and drew it out again. Then he stood there, teasing the frigid stainless past her angry little ring, over and over, fucking her hole with it while the clothespins captured the throb and desperation of her pussy.

  Somehow he managed to stop before she hyperventilated, but the plug stayed in place. Her Dom, however, did not.

  She heard wood clunk on wood, and he pulled the stool to where she could see. He sat and laced his gloved fingers between wide knees. Everything behind her was abuzz with sensation. Every inch of her skin, snug in the latex.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are right now, Miss Payne?”

  Violet let her eyes travel up to his. Beautiful like a trainwreck, she would have said if she could have made words. But there was nothing mocking on his face.

  “Your cunt is red from the flogger,” he said, and now her face probably was, too. “Your lips are puffing around the clothespins, and everything pink up the middle is wet. Glossy under the lights. And the way your asshole looked when it was swallowing down that steel for me?” He clucked his tongue, as though he had to squirm through the memory, himself. And each thing he described called Violet’s attention to it all over again.

  “And this gag?” Fingers came up to trace the metal behind her lower teeth. “I can see your pretty tongue moving inside. And look at this.” The hand disappeared below her chin, only to lift back up with a web of drool spread between black, nitrile fingers so she could see. Violet whimpered. “You can’t hold it bac
k, can you? When I flog you and finger you and pin you.” He smeared the spit along the jaw of the latex hood, and Violet’s pussy hummed. She made and unmade fists against the plank.

  “Do you know how backwards this all is?” he asked. “To have you all sealed up and sterile, but then to have the filthiest parts of you exposed for me to play with?”

  The man was standing again, and Violet squirmed. Her body nursed at the plug and she could feel the length of her braid swinging like a pendulum off one side of her neck. Mister M was fishing in a trouser pocket. Unzipping.

  His dick was out. The black of his glove stroking along the shaft far hotter a sight than she would have guessed. Violet shifted her weight from leg to leg and put every tone of begging she was able into the wordless sounds she made.

  So wet, oh God, he needs to fuck me already.

  Now there was a condom, and he was tearing the wrapper. Rolling it down the blush of his length, and it was one of those fetish black ones. When he got it to the base, slacks only unzipped but belt intact, he looked glossy and threatening, like some intimidating new dildo she’d buy and then have second thoughts about. He matched her now, ink black and covered in latex.

  She was ready for him to walk behind her, but instead he stepped close.

  With a condom?

  But no. That was smart. They didn’t know each other. And it fit the scene.

  “This cock is going in your mouth, Miss Payne.”

  And it did.

  No further preamble. He came so near his shape blurred, and then warm, latex-sheathed man made contact with her tongue.

  There was no warning with the gag in place. Nothing sliding past her lips or teeth. The cavity of her mouth was empty and then it was full. It was like his fingers, with the gloves. A crude medical exam, but more wrong.

  Mister M dragged himself out, and then moved back in with a slowness, as if to impress upon her the complete lack of say she had about the situation. Well. That wasn’t true. There was always the red ball, but this was the kind of say she wanted not to have.

  He pressed her skull back against the wood with his hips, balls flush to her wet chin, and filled her to the throat. There was nothing to see for a moment but fabric, and Violet felt him leaning over the plank. Leaning, leaning, and she coughed. Her hands splayed. And then the pressure was off, but her eyes went wide.

  The plug shifted in her ass. A small tug—he had a hold of the long fox tail. The clothespins kept her in the present.

  Her Dom began to fuck in and out past the gag, a slow, circular motion, and if Violet thought she’d been streaming saliva before, it was nothing compared to the glut he plumbed out of her now. Twitches from his hand to the fox tail made the bulb of the plug talk to sensitive nerves. She couldn’t help but grind her hips in the air, and that set off the pins. Her eyes rolled and low noises moved up from the throat he was packing full.

  “You like this, don’t you?” He palmed the back of her skull, the latex making sticky noises under his hand.

  Violet made incoherent affirmative sounds around him and the gag,

  And then he wasn’t in her mouth. He was doing something to the back of her neck. A tight feeling released. Fingers were picking metal out from between her teeth, and Violet smacked her lips. Swallowed. She heard the gag hit the platform.

  “Show me how much,” he said, holding his prick at the base. “Show me how much you like it.”

  Violet showed him.

  With lips and eager tongue, and suction. It was all she had, without hands to help, or play in her neck. She hummed and slurped, and he fed it to her, weirdly obscene with that condom slicking him past her tongue.

  The first restrained grunts began to fall overhead, and she felt him get leverage from somewhere—probably a grip on the pillory—and begin to truly seat himself home. To fuck her face. Strokes that shunted deep and held for a pause, each a fan on the flames where she tried to breathe against the throatful. Against the hug of the cincher. Against the tug-tug-tug of the foxtail and the one-two throb of her pinned clit when the rush of blood had nowhere to go, and Violet…

  Was coming.

  Again.

  Again! Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!

  She wailed and her hips jerked. One of the clothespins on her lips popped off and her squeal yipped higher, but nothing dampened that rhythmic grip between her legs.

  The dick in her mouth went rock hard, and Mister M growled. She felt him kick against her palate and closed in around him to suck. He’d be filling the latex with semen; every pulse came hot behind that barrier, and Violet opened to the wild notion that maybe they were in the same place together, just then. Both coming, both restricted by latex. Some kind of bizarre simultaneous punishment and reward for each of them.

  It felt like she’d never take in enough air, and then he was out of her mouth and she was panting. Humming, swallowing spit, trying to get her jaw to work. Her fingertips had gone tingly, and Violet tried to flex the feeling away while her Dom moved off to do who-knew-what.

  She groaned when ‘who-knew-what’ became the first clothespin to come off. Second, if she counted the one she’d knocked loose. He pinched two more away, and then the one at her clit, and she didn’t know whether to cry out or moan when his gloved hand plastered over her entire pussy to massage away the bite of little wooden jaws.

  He was lifting her out of the pillory just when she thought her knees would give and began to walk her around to the waiting stool. Violet tried not to stumble.

  “Sit down here, and I’ll bring you a bottle of water,” he said. He already had his slacks done up, and she had no clue what he’d done with the condom.

  “You don’t need to leave,” said another voice, and Violet could see Garreth reaching an arm into the platform spotlight. “Here.” He held out a bottled water to Mister M, who took it with a brief ‘thanks’ and twisted the lid off. Handed it to her.

  She drank without ever bothering with the stool. Just stood there, still in full latex and gulped at least a third of it straight down. Her Dom chuckled and hooked her around the waist with an arm, pulling her back to let her lean on his chest while he set his spine against the pillory.

  There was an ease to his gestures. A familiarity to his hold that hadn’t been there at the beginning of their scene. Violet let her weight go against him while his arms circled around her middle to peel off his gloves. When he had those draped over the top of the pillory, he moved to unzip the hood. Her face was damp and cool when air hit it, as latex peeled away from her skin. The hood went hanging alongside the gloves. Then his arms were back, but this time in a loose hold.

  “You can probably let go of the ball, now,” he said near her ear.

  It was her turn to laugh. Violet released the grip she’d been holding for what felt like ever, and the red ball bounced lightly to the platform. She took another sip of the water, this time less urgent.

  “Did you enjoy the latex?” One of his hands traveled down her left side, evaluating the material.

  She cocked her head and could feel wisps of her hair, limp with perspiration at her temples. The catsuit still wrapped her limbs and buttocks and breasts in a perverse hug, and only served to amplify the planes and angles of the man pressed at her back.

  “Yes, Sir, I did,” she said. “It feels like being squeezed all over. And it focuses my attention on the skin that’s expos—”

  “It’s not alcohol!” A woman was yelling, and Violet’s eyes snapped toward the bar. “Give it back!”

  The woman teetered on heels, a hand reaching for what looked like a water bottle Garreth had in his hand. One of the Doms Violet had seen on stage earlier hovered behind the woman’s shoulder, scowling. Mister M’s arm around her circled tighter, protective, as though the drama might tumble their way.

  Interesting.

  Garreth had the cap off the water bottle and jammed his little finger inside. Pulled it out and stuck it in his mouth. Unlike the woman, he wasn’t yelling, but even from where she st
ood, Violet thought she could hear him saying it was vodka.

  She could feel her Dom’s head shake behind her. “Two drink max for participants,” he said under his breath. “If you can’t follow the rules, don’t be here.” The scorn in his voice could have stripped paint, and Violet decided she never wanted it aimed her way.

  The tipsy woman’s Dom was ushering her over to the bar. Gesturing at the bartender, probably to get his sub some water.

  Well, they’re probably disqualified.

  “Would you do it again, Miss Payne?”

  Violet shook herself away from the distraction. “Do what, Sir?”

  “The latex.” He shifted his weight, and her ass moved over the front of his slacks.

  She tugged on her lip with her teeth. “With you, I would, Sir.”

  “You’d be the fucking first,” he muttered, and Violet got the sense he might not have intended to voice the frustration outside his head. And that swearing wasn’t normal behavior for the man.

  But she would do it again, that was the thing. He might be odd at times, but Mister M seemed to know how to find new buttons to push. Buttons she was scared to use on her own or thought they didn’t work anymore.

  And he knows how to treat me with some fucking respect. How’s that for a change?

  She turned in his hold, letting the neck of the water bottle dangle between her fingers near their thighs. When she found his face with her freshly-fucked smile, the man looked like he was trying to push his features back into a mask of control. A wall of calculations went on behind pale green eyes, but he left his arm in place to hold her close. His lips separated the smallest fraction of an inch, as though he were going to say something, but he only watched her.

  Violet found herself wanting to kiss him then, but that would be way, way over the line in a situation like this.

  What happened to him?

  The intimacy became weird, and she dropped her gaze to his chin. “I should probably hand this catsuit over,” she said. “They won’t let us roll latex twice.” She finished with a little smirk, letting him see her satisfaction again.

  “You’re right,” he said, “But leave your plug in and your dress off.” Her eyes snapped to his again, and her insides fluttered. “I want to watch your tail wag while you go roll our next scene.”