by Livia Grant
When she got face to face with her Dom, she muttered, “You?”
Chase grinned. “So, I see you two have met. Let’s give the wheel another roll, shall we?”
Pointing to the wheel, he handed her the ball and re-explained the directions since she’d clearly not been paying attention. “I’ll spin, you drop the ball when you’re ready. If the ball lands on an activity that either of you have deemed a hard limit, we’ll spin again. Okay?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Then here we go.” He gave her a wicked smile, trying to encourage her to smile as he set the wheel to spinning. Except she seemed to have zoned out again, and Chase sighed, whispering, “Riley, you have to drop the ball.”
With a nod she finally set the thing spinning in the track, shifting self-consciously as she awaited the roulette wheel’s decision. She tensed when it landed on… “Humiliation!” he called. Glancing down at his list, he asked, “Not on either of your lists, is it?”
“No,” Riley spoke softly.
“No,” Dane confirmed. “We’re good with this.”
“Yeah. Good.” She confirmed as Dane took her hand, pulling his shell-shocked submissive stage left.
“I won’t do it. I quit!” Veronica Masterson was making a scene. “This was rigged. You did this to me on purpose, you bastard.”
“Oh, please, stop being so melodramatic. At least sex and dominance is something we’ve always done well. It was the other parts of the marriage you suck at.” The congressman got in a jab.
“Oh, right. And you’re such a prince.”
Chase tried to get things under control, not interested in fielding another argument before the event could start. “Alrighty then. Looks like we’ll have some entertainment here tonight, folks. Mrs. Masterson, if you’d...”
Chase was interrupted by her correcting him. “I’m no longer his Mrs.”
He corrected himself. “Sorry. Veronica, if you’d be so kind as to join us on the stage. You can roll for your kink. That is unless you are dropping out before you begin.”
Congressman Masterson was being a real dick. “Yeah, Ronnie. You always have been a quitter, doing everything half-ass and then abandoning things before you finish.”
His words acted as a challenge... a dare. His ex-wife stomped up the stairs in her heels, pushing aside Garreth’s helping hand to grab the marble from Chase defiantly.
Only when the marble landed on Pet Play, did her hard-as-nails facade start to crumble again.
“And the Mastersons will be starting out with Pet Play this evening.” He fought to keep the laughter from his voice. “That concludes our pairing ceremony. I thank all of you who are participating and also, those of you here to observe. You may all get started with your first kink.”
Keep reading, it’s time to spin the wheel and join Valentine Roulette…
Broken by Renee Rose
A Black Light: Valentine Roulette Novella
by
Renee Rose
Chapter 1
See-through leather and mesh dress: check.
Fuck-me pumps: in the bag.
Push up bra that didn’t really hold anything up anyway: already on.
G-string panties so she didn’t show her twat in front of the entire crowd: also already in place.
What else? Jennifer rifled through the small duffel bag of her things for the Valentine Roulette event one last time before leaving her one-bedroom brownstone.
She would change when she got there. Riding the Metro in that outfit would get her arrested at best. Not to mention the fact she’d be hoofing it across the Key Bridge to Black Light from the Rosslyn Station Metro stop. At least she’d had time to stop at home and change out of her Army uniform. She preferred no one at Black Light see her in her service uniform. If anyone at the Pentagon found out Major Dibbs, daughter of General Dyson Dibbs, liked to have her ass whipped at a BDSM club, she’d never again successfully command the men underneath her.
She locked her door and walked to Union Station, blood humming with the happy buzz of anticipation, knowing she soon would receive the oh-so-coveted pain—her drug of choice.
She needed it, craved it. Every weekend since it opened found her at the elite club, Black Light, the only place she could release the pent-up stress of exceeding everyone’s expectations as the most perfect female soldier.
She’d spent her career proving women deserved equal treatment in the ranks. The irony that she needed to spend time on her knees in front of a man to let all that go wasn’t lost on her.
She slipped onto a crowded Metro train and grabbed the overhead handrail. Couples were out in droves for their Valentine’s dates, fingers and lips tangled together in juicy public displays of affection.
She didn’t need any of that. Roses and chocolate had never been part of romance to her. Just give her a long, hard whipping, and she’d find Jesus.
Every freaking time.
The Metro pulled up at Rosslyn station, and she climbed out, then took off at a brisk pace down the darkened streets. She kept her gaze alert and her demeanor confident.
Never show fear.
It was one of the many lessons her father had drilled into his only child from the time she was old enough to understand his lectures, along with never quit, don’t let them see you cry, and hard work pays off. He may have been a hard-ass, but he’d taught her skills that had allowed her to fast-track into a level 4 position of major at the tender age of twenty-nine.
Not that she was afraid to walk alone at night. If the Army had taught her anything, it was how to defend herself, but there was no reason to invite trouble.
She passed Runway, the wildly popular new nightclub where, on weekends, teams of beautiful twenty and thirty-somethings lined up to get in at street level. But it was what went on below Runway she’d come for—Black Light.
She walked around the block to the paranormal store, entered, and walked through to the back where a security guard leaned up against the wall beside a door. She flashed a plain white plastic card that appeared blank, but when the guard held it under a black light, the words Black Light appeared in bold letters. Without looking, he reached behind himself and grasped the doorknob, twisting it and opening the door for her. She headed down the stairs and through a tunnel. It was dank and chilly, but at least there wasn’t any wind like there had been outside. At the end of the tunnel, she pushed open a door and stepped into the security/locker room bathed in a pale purple hue from a combination of black light and recessed LEDs.
“Hi, Danny.” She presented her card once again to the security guard who sat behind the desk.
He grinned. “Hey, doll.” A locker popped open automatically to her right. “That one’s yours. You know the drill.”
“I sure do.” She put her phone in the locker. All electronics had to be checked here, to prevent anyone from filming or recording anything that happened. Which was one of the reasons she trusted this place enough to come. Heh. All puns intended. But yeah, it was risky enough that she came here anonymously. If it ever got out she liked to be tied up and whipped until she trembled, her career would be over.
Tonight, she’d be earning herself a month’s free membership, which she would use to its full extent. Membership to Black Light cost a fortune, basically accounting for half her entire monthly budget.
But it was worth it. She needed it like she needed food and water and exercise, which was why she was there every weekend, without fail. Always to see one dom.
Only one dom.
God, she hoped Master D got her name on the roulette wheel. No one else would take care of her needs like he did.
The odds were slim, though. There were fifteen doms who would draw numbers to spin for one of fifteen submissives participating in the roulette.
Please let it be Master D.
She headed out of the locker room. Another security guy opened the door to the club, and she stepped in, breathing the addictive scent of leather and vanilla-scented candle
s. The place was packed, but the energy was completely different from the nightclub above.
They were closed tonight, but usually when she came, party-goers were imbibing too much, letting alcohol spur their libidos and lower their inhibitions. In Black Light, customers didn’t get sloppy. There was a sharp awareness to the way people interacted. Energy crackled and charged in readiness, like bowstrings drawn taut and aimed to fire.
Spectators had staked out their seats for the night’s entertainment, filling all the front rows around the stage. Or gathered in seats around the stations they most wanted to observe, such as the spanking benches or fire play area.
She stepped into the main room. Bells went off. Her hyper-tuned awareness had sensed him, and she shifted her gaze, scanning. There—across the crowded floor, standing with his back against the wall and his arms folded across his massive chest—Master D.
She’d served on five tours to Iraq, had been in life and death situations more times than she could count, jumped out of planes, rappelled from bridges. But that ice-blue gaze made her tummy flip and sent shivers down her spine at the same time a warm flush sped across her skin.
My master.
He was her dominant. Not that they’d ever agreed upon anything. They didn’t have any arrangement—she’d refused that, in fact. They hardly talked, and she liked it that way, but she found him here, every Friday or Saturday night, and he gave her what she needed.
Too bad she’d probably have to suffer under another dominant’s whip tonight. She just hoped he wasn’t a bumbling idiot. Hoped he gave it to her hard enough, gave her what she craved.
Nothing changed on Master D’s face. He didn’t lift his chin or wave or wink to show he’d seen her, but his gaze seared like a laser, burning her up from the inside out. He wore that keen, assessing expression, taking in everything, showing nothing. She wondered if he’d ever worked in interrogation when he’d served in the armed forces.
Because he was definitely military. Even if she hadn’t spied him in passing last week at the Pentagon, she would’ve known by the way he carried himself, the set of his shoulders and the lift of his chest. The build of his body and his quiet presence. He had the look of a Navy SEAL or Army Special Forces or Marine Special Ops—alert. Ready. Deadly. Which totally wound her crank. Yeah—he was her type, if she ever had one. To fuck, not to date.
The familiar fluster she experienced with him almost made her blush, but she shoved it back down, lifting her chin even higher as she marched to the women’s locker room, her clit already beginning to pulse between her legs.
Derek watched his little pain slut emerge from the women’s locker room dressed in the hottest shreds of fabric—leather and see-through mesh stitched together in horizontal stripes, somehow suggesting both prisoner and slave. His cock stirred in his jeans.
She was a dream sub for a sadist like him.
Her sandy-blonde hair was down, as he always demanded. Otherwise, how could he bury his fist in it and pull?
Had she bought that sexy little number for him? No. She’d dressed for the audience watching tonight. She probably wouldn’t be his partner, which made him want to storm across the floor, throw her over his shoulder, and carry her out of there before the damn event got started.
But she’d never allowed him to lay claim to her. In the scene, yes. But not outside of it. And damn if he didn’t want to find out if they had something beyond the magic they made here.
Her gaze flicked over to him, and she feigned disinterest. He knew better. Her body responded to him like a violin to a master. She looked tough, and she played a rough game, but he knew how to make Major Jennifer Dibbs come like a freight train.
He didn’t call her that, of course. She went simply by ‘Slave to Pain’ at Black Light.
He wasn’t supposed to know her name, but he’d seen her last week at the Pentagon. He’d barely dared a glance in her direction, but it had been enough to memorize her name and rank, to research the beautiful blonde who rocked his world every weekend.
The youngest female ever to achieve the rank of major, she came from a military family. Her father was a general in the Army. She’d been instrumental behind the scenes in the landmark 2015 decision to allow women in the same combat roles as men. She spent all week proving herself tough enough to fight beside men.
And, every weekend, surrendered to him.
He’d been scening with her since Black Light opened in November. He’d asked around, but no one knew much about her other than that she’d shown up the first night as a guest of Senator Kane’s. Apparently they had scened together in the past but had no romantic attachments.
Lord, he’d never forget the night they met.
He had a sub on the St. Andrew’s cross and had just finished working her over. The sub had come with her own dom—her husband, who had arranged the scene with Derek—who’d taken her down and provided aftercare, leaving Derek free to clean the equipment.
Jennifer stepped forward from where she’d been watching in the shadows. He’d seen her there, of course. His training as a SEAL made him hyper aware of all activity around him at all times. She carried herself like a domme—spine starched, chin up. She walked right up to him in six-inch stilettos, her long, slender legs giving him a hard on, and dropped to her knees at his feet.
He tangled his fingers in her hair and tugged it back to lift her beautiful face. “You want on this cross, baby?”
She licked her lips and nodded. He knew then he was a goner. She was his perfect match. Beautiful. Poised. Experienced. He figured she had to be batshit crazy because all the good ones were.
He stripped her down to a G-string and the stilettos, fastened her on the cross, and warmed her up with a flexible leather paddle. She actually sighed—not a contented sigh, but a sigh of impatience.
He gripped her hair and yanked her head back. “Did you just fucking sigh, little sub?”
Her ass tightened. Christ, he loved that submissive reaction to dominance. It was like a dog tucking its tail. A sub afraid of what he’d do to that pretty posterior. And she should be.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said breathlessly.
“You’re sorry.” He made his voice hard and disappointed, as if the sigh had been the hugest violation in the history of BDSM scenes. “What’s the problem, exactly?” He gripped one of her thighs, which had begun to tremble. It was muscular, like the rest of her. She was fit—but not like yoga fit. More like CrossFit built. Military, he knew now.
She licked her lips, which looked dry. “Nothing, sir.”
He lifted a bottle of water to her lips. “Drink.” It spilled down her chin and neck when he poured it too fast on purpose. “Are you feeling impatient, little sub? Can’t wait for me to get down to it?”
She hesitated, and he knew she was debating the wisdom of telling him the truth.
“I punish for lies, baby.”
“Yes, sir.” The breathy quality of her voice made his cock swell uncomfortably in his jeans.
He softened the grip of his fingers on her thigh, smoothed up and down her leg in a caress. “Good girl. I like it when you tell your master the truth.”
Cheek pressed against the cross, she blinked her long, thick lashes while her chest rose and fell in short beats.
“I get it. It’s the first time we’ve scened together. You’re not sure I’m going to give you what you need. I’m telling you right now, baby, I will never leave you wanting. But I’m in charge of timing around here.”
“Yes, sir,” she said immediately, as if still hoping to hurry him up to the good part.
He had to stifle a laugh. Poor girl needed it badly.
“I’ll have to give you a lesson in patience tonight, little sub.”
She showed nothing on her face, accepting that pronouncement quietly.
He went to his bag and rummaged around until he found a bullet vibe. “This has been sterilized,” he told her, to head off any fears, sliding his finger under the gusset of her tiny G-stri
ng to find her...fucking drenched.
He almost growled with the desire to just fuck her senseless right there, but somehow managed to hold back. Slipping the bullet vibe inside her, he turned it on, watching her face as he slowly slid his belt out of the buckles.
Her blue eyes rolled back in her head, cheeks flushed with the fever of desire.
“This should teach you patience, my dear.” He wrapped the buckle end of the belt around his fist and snapped it across her tightened buttocks. Not holding back.
She made an oomph sound and squeezed her buns even tighter.
Another time he’d give her a lesson in keeping them soft. Not that night, though. He wanted to see how much the beautiful, impatient sub could take.
He whipped her fast and hard, taking care with his aim so he hit only the lower half of her buttocks and the backs of her thighs. By the time he finished, she was glassy eyed, panting, and dripping wet.
He stopped and let stillness reverberate. It made its own music after the fast rhythm of an intense whipping. Her body would be twitching, tingling, and pulsing now. The pain would set in even more fiercely in the moments that followed.
She wriggled on the cross.
He strolled casually to her side and shoved her hair back from her eyes. “Yes?”
Her gaze held confusion and need.
He pressed the water bottle to her lips. “Say it.”
She licked the spilled water from her lips. “What?” Her voice came as no more than a croak.
“Beg me for it.”
“For what?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer, letting the spaciousness of silence give birth to whatever she needed.
She orgasmed right then. Right there. A shudder rocked her entire body, her head flopped back, eyes rolled.
When it passed, and her pretty eyelashes fluttered open, he shook his head, making his face appear disappointed. “Bad girl.”
Her dazed look faded and a little notch of worry ticked between her brows.
