by Livia Grant
The arrow stopped on Ageplay.
Jennifer didn’t hide an eye roll.
Chase laughed. “Slave to Pain doesn’t look impressed. Perhaps she’ll say red.”
Jennifer shook her head.
The woman didn’t ever safeword, and he had a feeling it was both out of pride and a high pain tolerance. Obviously she didn’t think ageplay would even come close to scratching her itch. Because they both knew how hard she needed it.
He stood and waited while the rest of the couples were matched up and chose their activities, but the entire time his mind was on his problem—how to swap partners with the senator. He could try asking, but he knew Chase and Jaxson would never go for it. The game was the game, no matter how stupid he and the senator thought it was.
No, better to take matters into his own hands…
The couple supposed to be up at the wheel were bickering so much they didn’t hear Chase prompting them.
“What?” the dom answered the sub glaring up at him.
“And a one, and a two, and…” Chase sang out, conducting the crowded room as if they were an orchestra. The entire room echoed, “What?”
The couple jumped, startled, and the audience chuckled.
When the last pairing had been made, he took Ms. Jones’s elbow and led her off the stage, choosing a single seat in the crowd with no empty chairs near it. He sat and pointed at his feet.
She adjusted her mask, though it was already on straight, and shifted on her feet.
“Kneel, Ms. Jones.”
Her lips took on a doubtful angle. “Um…”
He gave her a cold, disapproving stare. “Little sub, if you don’t want me to start your orgasm torture with the worst caning of your life, you need to kneel at my feet. Now.”
Okay, maybe he was trying to scare her off. He could’ve shown a little more sympathy for the girl who was obviously so completely out of her depth. But when she toddled back and whispered, “Red,” all he could do was laugh.
Jennifer had zero desire for an ageplay scene. Senator Kane appeared amused, and she had a feeling he’d probably make a great daddy dom, but it just wasn’t her thing. She didn’t need to be coddled by a dom. In fact, she craved the opposite—delicious, cold cruelty. The way Master D gave it to her.
She sighed, holding the senator’s hand as he led her through the crowd to a plush sofa. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap.
Yuck.
Totally not her thing. She shot a glance across the room, where her spidey sense alerted her to Master D’s presence. He wore that hard, dominating look she loved so well as he pointed to the space at his feet.
She almost laughed. His poor sub had no idea what she was in for.
“So what was that eye rolling up there all about, little miss?”
“Come on, Senator. You know ageplay isn’t exactly my cup of tea.”
“Right. You like to keep things clean of all emotion.”
Ouch. While it might be true, she didn’t like hearing it out loud. “What’s wrong with that?” she asked a little too defensively.
He gripped her ear and tugged it like she was a naughty child, although she could see humor in his eyes. “Watch your tone, little miss.”
She refrained from another eye roll with great effort. But then her heart lurched.
There, looming imposingly in front of her, stood Master D. His unhappy sub was in tow, looking ready to scream for help.
“We’re swapping subs.” He reached for Jennifer’s hand while thrusting the frightened sub toward the senator.
Kane shoved her ass off his lap and stood, throwing a protective arm out to encircle Ms. Jones’s waist. They knew each other, somehow, but she’d bet her last dollar they’d never scened together, because Ms. Jones was a BDSM virgin if she’d ever seen one.
D pulled her up against his hard muscled body, and her temperature rose by at least four degrees.
“What’s going on?” spluttered Ms. Jones.
“She safeworded,” Master D explained, “but I don’t want her to flunk out so quickly. She just needs a different dom.”
“Sounds like you’re mine, now,” the senator drawled. “Unless you want to safeword out of the whole thing.”
“You’re going to get us all disqualified,” Jennifer said, but without much conviction. Yes, she could really use the free month’s membership, but she’d also much rather play with Master D.
“I’ll run it by the Dungeon Master. Besides, the senator will cover our fees if that happens.” He winked at the senator, who grimaced but didn’t deny it.
Jennifer had to bite down on the laugh bubbling up. Both Master D and the senator were take-charge sort of men—obviously. Following the contrived rules of the roulette game didn’t work for them. They had their own ideas of who they wanted to scene with, and it seems D had just ensured they both achieved those desires.
Master D and the senator traded sub cards, not that hers had any limits listed. “Say ’bye to the senator,” her dom growled in her ear.
She smiled, the anticipation of pleasure sending endorphins coursing through her body. “Have fun.” She waved at the senator and Ms. Jones as Master D tugged her away.
“Thank God,” she said in an undertone. “I should have listed ageplay as a hard limit.”
Master D stopped and twirled her around to face him. “Thank God you’re scening with me or thank God you’re not doing ageplay?”
Oh please. Sometimes the male egos around there were just too much.
“Both,” she answered diplomatically.
“Oh, we’re still doing ageplay, baby girl.”
She threw her hands on her hips. “Really?” He must be out of his mind—he was about the furthest thing from a daddy dom she’d ever encountered.
A gleam appeared in D’s eye—one she didn’t love.
“What? You think I can’t break you as your daddy? Afraid to go over my knee for a bare bottom spanking?”
She snorted. The idea was ludicrous. D never used the over-the-lap position. For one thing, he wasn’t a touchy-feely daddy dom. For another, he gave it hard, which required the full swing of his arm with his chosen implement, most often a rattan cane. So, yeah, the thought of an over-the-lap spanking from him was so un-scary, it was laughable.
“I believe this requires a change of costume.” His lips quirked up like he was thoroughly enjoying himself, and he tugged her toward the costume room.
When he looked back, she gave him a roll of her eyes.
“Uh uh.” He pulled her up alongside him, guiding her through the tangle of tables and chairs, sofas and kneeling pillows. “One more eye roll, and Daddy will put you in diapers. And I’m quite certain that would be a real punishment for you.”
Ugh. Seriously?
Her stomach tightened. A flush of heat spread across her chest and up her neck, and her nostrils flared with distaste.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he prompted, giving her ass a pat.
She pressed her lips together, feeling mutinous. This wasn’t the way they played. He didn’t pat her ass, he whipped it, and he never got cutesy.
His grin broadened.
He stopped dead in the middle of the floor and spun her to face him. Although couples were starting their scenes in the various areas throughout Black Light, they drew a fair amount of attention from the seated spectators in their vicinity.
Without a word, he gripped her dress at the back and tore it off, fabric ripping as it went.
Damn. She’d just bought the thing, and it hadn’t been cheap.
A few females nearby gasped. The push-up bra went next. “Shoes off,” he barked, tapping one of her calves.
She slipped out of her stilettos, which he picked up, along with the ripped dress. She now stood in nothing but her lace-topped black thigh-high stockings and a tiny G-string, annoyed, but more than a little turned on by his sudden and unexpected show of dominance.
He surveyed her critically, eyes traveling over her small brea
sts, down her tummy and the length of her legs. To her shock, he bent and ripped her stockings off, too.
Her belly quivered with excitement. This was the master she knew. Hard and demanding. Unbending, unwavering in his domination of her. His firm hand both steadied and unmoored her, because while she liked his control, she hated screwing up. Hated the way he viewed her with thin-lipped displeasure now.
“Sorry...Daddy,” she whispered when his ice-blue eyes met hers.
Something gleamed in his gaze, whether it was that he liked her apologizing or liked hearing her call him Daddy, she wasn’t sure.
All she knew was that it was going to cost her to act like a baby girl. She liked to play slave. She would’ve licked his boot if he’d demanded it. Would’ve crouched down and served as his footstool without a moment’s hesitation. But this—this daddy thing—was uncharted territory for her.
It was too cozy. Implied a closeness and emotional attachment, which they didn’t do. Not even as a child had she acted like a little girl. Her mother’s death when she was just six had ended her babyhood. She’d had to grow up fast and start performing for her father, the highly undemonstrative and exacting General Dibbs.
D touched her nose. “You will be sorry, baby. When Daddy gives you an order, you obey it the first time he asks. Got it?”
It surprised her how well the daddy dom talk rolled off his tongue. She’d thought he would sound more out of character, but he didn’t.
Her heart picked up speed at his continued displeasure. She wasn’t afraid of his punishment—she liked that part—she just didn’t like getting things wrong. She didn’t like failure.
He put a finger under her chin. “Answer with words, baby girl.”
She blinked rapidly. “Yes, Daddy.” She cursed her voice for failing her, her words dropping with no more than a whisper.
His face softened. He usually wore either an impassive expression or a stern scowl when he dommed. She hadn’t seen this one before. “Good girl.”
She blinked, surprised at the way butterflies flopped and fluttered in her belly at those words, her pussy growing even more moist for him.
It seemed he could reduce her to surrendered mush with any form of domination—even daddy domination.
He threaded his fingers through her hair. It started as a caress, but she knew to expect pain, and sure enough, he bunched his digits when they reached the back of her head, tugged her hair. “I fucking love that look on you,” he growled.
Her pussy clenched and released, excitement at both his dominance and his words sending heat pouring down her legs.
“Wh-what look?” She hated when she sounded so wobbly.
“Submission. Those beautiful blue eyes go wide, your chest and shoulders go soft, and you have eyes only for me.” He pulled her forward against his body. The hard bulge of his cock pressed into her belly, and she caught her breath, his obvious interest boosting her excitement. “Daddy’s already hard for you, baby girl.”
He released her hair abruptly and stepped back. With a hand on her elbow, he laid a single loud smack on her ass and led her, barefooted and almost completely naked, through the crowd to the costume room.
Jennifer’s heart pitter-pattered against her ribs like a hummingbird on cocaine. Her lips buzzed, face felt too tight. The combination of public humiliation and Master D’s scolding had her fucking falling apart. And he hadn’t even spanked her yet.
Not that she thought an over-the-lap spanking would do anything for her. She had an ass of steel. She rarely marked, even with the cruelest of implements. It usually took the St. Andrew’s cross and a cane to push her over the edge and into subspace.
This daddy thing was new territory, though. She’d always thought ageplay stupid and fluffy. For subs who liked to feel submissive but didn’t really enjoy pain. The kind who needed to be coddled and cuddled and treated like a princess before and after their spankings. That wasn’t her. Not by a long shot. She could take anything a dom handed her.
But she hadn’t expected the rush of emotion she’d experienced when Master D had stripped her and taken her shoes. Such a simple punishment. Somehow he’d known just how to dent her armor and, now, she suddenly didn’t feel quite so confident or content about what they had to do up there on stage for everyone to see.
Master D led her past the hot tub area to the costume room, but he stopped before they entered, pushing her up against the wall with a hand at her throat, his eyes glittering.
She smirked, breaking character. “I don’t think daddy doms pin their girls against walls.”
His slow smile was feral, but his grip at her throat relaxed. “You’re probably right, baby doll.” He stroked a hand down her neck to one bare breast, pinched her erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and rubbed. “Are these little nipples hard for me, little girl?”
Just the deep rumble of his voice had her creaming her tiny G-string. “Always,” she admitted.
He rewarded her with a satisfied smirk that made her chest grow warm. “Good girl.” His hand traveled lower, down her side to her hip, which he squeezed possessively.
“It’s a good thing the senator and his sub wanted to switch.”
Mmm...that voice!
“Why is that?” She sounded out of breath.
“I was going to throat punch him if he fucked you tonight.”
She sucked in her breath, a simultaneous rush of pleasure and anxiety coursing through her. He’d shown possessiveness once before. A month ago, they’d finished a scene, and he’d tugged her hair back and kissed her throat. “Your master’s going to be out of the country for a week or two,” he said. “I don’t want you coming here without me.”
Her tummy had flopped. She needed him. Not seeing him for two weeks would kill her. But she wasn’t going to let him dictate terms like that. “I’m sorry, Master, but I have to. I can’t go two weeks without my fix.”
His eyes had narrowed to dangerous slits. “I see.” He’d released her. She’d expected him to argue or say more. It was worse—he went silent. He cleaned their equipment, packed his bag up, and gave a little salute as he walked out, confirming her suspicion he was military.
She hadn’t gone the next week. She’d tried to tell herself it wasn’t because Master D had told her not to, but she couldn’t dredge up any enthusiasm about scening with someone else. She’d gone the following week, and he’d been back. He must have asked around because he’d known she hadn’t gone without him, and had been downright gleeful, rewarding her with five incredible orgasms over the course of the night. That night had been the closest he’d come to being affectionate. But even that wasn’t daddy-style.
It was exactly that possessiveness that firmed her decision not to date Master D—or someone like him—in real life. Their relationship needed to remain limited to where it was now—anonymous weekend hookups at Black Light. No exchange of numbers. No meeting outside of this safe place. Period. Because while his possessiveness was flattering, it wouldn’t work with the way she needed to live her life.
But her thoughts scattered as he kneaded her ass, squeezing roughly before his mouth descended on hers.
The room swooped around her before she closed her eyes and surrendered fully, his lips commanding hers, tongue invading. He tasted of mint, and his skin smelled of a light soap. He dominated her, cupping the back of her head to hold her still as he made his ownership clear. When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against hers and slid his fingers between her legs, under the gusset of her panties.
“That’s right, baby.” His voice sounded low and guttural. Sparks shot through her entire body as he stroked his finger along her juicy slit. “You’re always wet for Daddy, aren’t you?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth to keep from moaning.
He drew his hand away and kicked her legs apart. “Aren’t you?” He delivered a sharp slap between her legs, nearly sending her into climax.
She blinked, trying to clear her lust-addled brain
. What had he asked? Oh yeah. “Yes, Daddy,” she said, because it was true. If he touched her, she got wet. It was pretty much a rule. Hell, she probably got wet just being in the same room as him.
“That’s because this hot little body belongs to me,” he growled and spanked her pussy again. “Doesn’t it?”
God, just one or two more slaps and she’d be there. She had to lean her head against the wall to hold it up. “Again, Daddy,” she whispered.
His lips quirked, but instead of giving her the satisfaction she desired, he gripped her elbow and tugged her into the costume room.
Thwarted lust made her dizzy, and she barely took in the bright, ordered room. It was fully stocked with costumes—racks and racks of every kinky role-play outfit ever dreamed of.
“I need a baby girl outfit,” Master D said to the pretty little kitty sub who toddled out from behind the counter on patent leather platform boots.
She smiled warmly at Jennifer, who didn’t smile back. “That’s fun! I have some really cute ones over here. What age are you thinking?” She beckoned them over to a rack of adult-sized onesies, ruffled Alice in Wonderland style dresses, and Catholic schoolgirl outfits.
Jennifer scowled and cocked a hip, trying to ignore how vulnerable she felt naked.
“Hmm.” Master D tapped his lips, and she couldn’t help but stare. They were sensual and soft, which on another man might look feminine, but against his square jaw, tough, manly scars, and close-cropped hair, just made him look damn sexy.
“Definitely not these—unless she really misbehaves.” He shoved the onesie pajamas down the rack.
Thank God. At least he knew her. He always seemed to know what floated her boat and what didn’t.
“And even these are a little young.” He dismissed the frilly Alice in Wonderland tea-party dresses. “Maybe something like this. He held up a tiny fur-trimmed mini skirt, made fluffy by a layer of crinoline.
Only the memory of his diaper threat kept her from rolling her eyes again.
He took it off the hanger and thrust it at her. “Put this on, baby.”
It was a simple skirt that tied in the back, making it a one-size-fits-all. The kitty lady scurried around behind her to help her tie it.
