Black Velvet (The Velvet Rooms Book 1)

by Linnea May

  I didn’t like that last question. Am I going to kill her? Why would she say something like that?

  She looks tense and nervous, back to the frightened young girl, the one I tried to get rid of by making her come on my fingers.

  “Does this scare you?” I ask her.

  She nods. “Yes.”

  Again, she forgets to address me properly. I’m about to lose my patience with her.

  “Good,” I say. “It’s supposed to scare you, because this is where most of your training will take place.”

  She looks up at me, her eyes now filled with bewilderment. “Training?”

  “Your punishment,” I clarify. “Your training is ongoing, there’s no physical place for it. But this is where you’ll be punished.”

  I pull on her leash, forcing her to come closer to me. She follows the motion, grimacing in pain as the collar cuts harshly into her throat. Her breathing speeds up when I lean forward, placing my mouth so close to her ear that her wet hair dances in the current of my breath.

  “I’ll whip you, cane you, spank you, tie you up, and force you to come again and again,” I whisper, relishing the heat that radiates from her cheeks. “And you’ll love every second of it.”

  She doesn’t have to agree or even say anything. It’s all clearly written on her face when I retreat back a couple of steps to look at her. Her mouth is partly opened, as if she’s about to speak, but no words escape her lips. She looks up at me, her cheeks burning red.

  “What do I have to do?” she finally asks. “To get food?”

  I raise my eyebrows, giving her a chance to correct herself.

  And this time, she notices her mistake all on her own.

  “Master,” she adds. “What does my Master want from me?”

  I smile at her. “Good girl.”

  It unnerves me that she’s flinching away from my touch when I lift my hand to caress her pink cheek.

  Time. She needs time, more than any of the others needed. There’s no way for me to direct her behavior other than through the training methods laid out in the contract. I can’t tell her to tone it down, I can’t tell her to be more open to the task she signed up for, and I can’t tell her to be less afraid. Maybe she’s not even acting afraid, maybe it’s the real deal. Maybe she really is this afraid because she didn’t understand what she was really getting herself into.

  “I want you to accept your first punishment,” I tell her. “For the many transgressions you’ve incurred so far.”

  She bites her lower lip. “I thought the attic was my first punishment.”

  I smile. Touché, little Ruby.

  “Yes, you’re right,” I agree. “That was your first punishment. But there have been so many other breaches since I let you out of there, one punishment wouldn’t come close to making it right.”

  She furrows her eyebrows, trying to recall the mistakes I’m talking about.

  “You forgot to address me properly, many times, you’ve talked back, you haven’t answered simple questions, you’ve refused to follow commands,” I explain. “Shall I go on?”

  Ruby shakes her head, rolling her eyes at me again, this time in clear sight.

  “And that,” I say, pointing at her eyes. “Rolling your eyes at me is one of the worst offenses. If I was you, I’d cut that one out immediately.”

  She presses her lips together and nods. “Yes, Master.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” I add. “Since you’re new, I’ll be gentle. One punishment to even the score and set you back to zero. Does that sound fair?”

  She hesitates, her eyes scanning the room, pausing at the glass cabinet, as she ponders her response.

  “I guess so,” she finally replies, adding another blow to her punishment. “What are you thinking?”

  She says it as if there’s any room for negotiation. Cute.

  “We’ll start slowly. I’ll tie you up to this,” I say, placing my hand on the St. Andrews Cross that we’re standing next to. “And I’ll spank you. I will only use my hands.”

  She inhales audibly, her face unreadable when she turns to look at me. Instead of saying a word, she turns her back to me and places herself the way she thinks I want to see her, spreading her legs to put her ankles into the shackles, and then doing the same with her arms.

  What a good girl.

  I fasten the shackles around her ankles and wrists, and take a step back to admire her. She’s rather slim, but has a perfectly curvy ass that will feel soft beneath my hands. When I approach her, she flinches, burying her face against the cross and closing her eyes. I don’t know if her flinching is due to the anticipation of the pain I will inflict on her, or because she cannot stand to be touched by me in general. If it’s the latter, it will take a lot longer before we can proceed to actual playing. I’m not fucking a woman who doesn’t want me to claim her, ever.

  “Eighteen,” I say. “That’s how many slaps you have coming, nine on each side, and you’ll count each one of them. Understand?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  There’s no hesitation this time. Her response follows as quickly and obediently as I expect it to.

  I stand right next to her, my right hand caressing her pale ass cheek. It will change color once I’m done with her, maybe even leave a mark that she can enjoy for more than a few hours.

  “One!” she exclaims after I release the first blow on her ass. I’m starting out slowly, only giving her a taste of what is to come, but even at the second and third strike, she’s already screaming as if the pain may be too much for her to handle.

  However, I know she can handle more, way more. She’ll be surprised by how much she’s able to withstand.

  “Six!”

  It’s the first one that’s accompanied with an actual cry. Her ass cheeks are starting to change color, now glowing in a beautiful pink. I change the location of impact ever so slightly with every fresh slap against her skin. Like an artist drawing his picture, her ass is my canvas, my hand a violent brush, awakening the blood inside her.

  “Ten!”

  She’s trembling now, her wrist yanking against their constraints while she processes the pain. Her screams are changing, every one sings to a different melody, adding another level of pain and desperation - and lust. Her mind is drifting, moving to a place that might be new to her. It’s apparent in her voice when she yells out “Thirteen!” with a groan that could be an orgasm just as easily as it could be a cry of tremendous pain.

  Tiny pearls of sweat are glistening on the small of her back. Her entire body is tense, trembling under a blissful tremor, and I don’t wait to unleash fourteen, fifteen and sixteen on her.

  “Only two left,” I tell her. “Let’s make them count.”

  She moans an unintelligible reply. Her shrieks during the last two blows are nothing short of a beautiful song, only meant for my ears, the grand finale being her sobbing in relief as she realizes that her ordeal is over.

  Chapter 20

  Liana

  What is this? Pain, that’s for sure. I never knew that it was possible to inflict this amount of pain with just a hand, a simple slap on the ass, a spanking. How something so silly can hurt this badly?

  I’m feeling as if I’ve broken a fever. My entire body is burning and shaking, while sweat is running down my back. My cheeks are glowing and I feel dizzy and confused. When I can feel the touch of his hand on my ass again, I jerk away from him. His touch is gentle, barely touching my tortured skin as he caresses the curve of my ass, but the contact still sends a burning pain sizzling through me, every nerve ending on fire.

  “You did very good,” he whispers in my ear, while his hand rests softly, gently, against the heat of my skin.

  I’m panting as if I’d just finished running a marathon, and I feel equally exhausted.

  And so fucking turned on.

  My mind feels foggy, thinking only of one thing. I want more. I want – no need – more of him. I need
him inside of me.

  “Look at me,” his voice commands me from the left side of my body.

  I obey and turn my face to him, my eyes only opened halfway when they meet his. He’s fixating on me, his gaze earnest and concentrated, as if he’s searching for something in my expression.

  My legs spread from being tied against the cross, so it’s easy for him to take advantage of my exposure, as his hand wanders lower, finding the spot between my legs that tells him everything he wants to know.

  I moan when he reaches my pulsating core, gently parting my lips before he slides one finger inside. His arm is pressing against the abused skin on my ass, sending little bolts of pain through my center that mix deliciously with my arousal.

  “What a slutty good girl,” he whispers, his face still close to mine. “This was supposed to be a punishment. How come your pussy is drooling all over my hand right now?”

  I don’t know, I want to say. I really don’t know.

  “Did you enjoy this?” he wants to know.

  I groan as he starts playing with my clit, picking up on my agitation and laying havoc with it. I know I could come like this, but I don’t want to.

  And I’m not sure if he wants me to.

  “You did like it, didn’t you?” he says, continuing his assessment. “I guess I was too nice to you.”

  I shake my head, still robbed of words. ‘Nice’ is not a word I would use for what he just did to me; it was quite the opposite, actually. The spanking hurt more than I expected. I feared every single blow more than the one before. They grew in intensity and in the level of pain. As my skin was becoming more sensitive to the torture, he only increased the impact.

  I can still feel the pain oscillating through my body, but by now it has changed into a staggering throbbing that feels very similar to a slight buzz after having a few glasses of wine. It’s almost pleasant.

  He withdraws his hand from my center, leaving me in drenched in heat, desperate to come. He will let me come, right? He has before.

  I look at him, a question clearly written on my face, but all he does is lick my juices from his fingers, relishing the taste of it. Another rush of heat spreads through my face, this time caused by embarrassment.

  He goes down on his knees and unfastens the shackles around my ankles. I’m so taken by my horny vertigo, that I can’t help hollowing my back for him as soon as my feet are freed and I can position them away from the cross, allowing for an invitation that was not possible before.

  He chuckles next to me.

  “Poor needy Pet,” he comments.

  I hide my face from him, ashamed at my own arousal. And he doesn’t even release me from my shame by giving me what I want.

  Instead, he beckons me to stand up straight, gently leading me back into position by applying a soft push on my sore behind. I cast him a questioning look when he begins to unfasten my wrists, showing no intention of taking me from behind as I expected he would. Isn’t this why he kidnapped me? To fuck me? Isn’t that what he said he’d do?

  “You’re not going to fuck me?” I blurt out, after he has released my hands and taken hold of my leash to lead me out of the room.

  “Not today,” he says.

  “Why not?” I want to know.

  He doesn’t give me a response, but leads me back into the bedroom. Hope blossoms in my chest when he leads me toward the bed and attaches the leash to the black frame. He gestures for me to get on the bed, and I oblige, unsure how he wants me to position myself. I sit on my heels, the only position he has taught me so far, my hands resting on my thighs, as I cast a questioning look up at him. My naked heels feel like hot daggers piercing through the tortured skin on my ass as I sit on them.

  He’s standing next to the bed, shaking his head while crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  “Not today,” he repeats, and my heart sinks.

  “Isn’t that why you brought me here?” I ask. “To fuck me? To have me please you?”

  He smiles.

  “This is pleasing me,” he says. “Seeing you like this is pleasing me.”

  I lower my eyes, averting his gaze.

  “Why are you not fucking me?” I ask. My question not only comes from my greedy need for him to take me, but also because he scares me. His reluctance to do the obvious scares the hell out of me.

  “Because that’s not what we’re doing today,” he says.

  I clasp my hands together, suddenly awfully aware of my own nakedness, now that the heated vertigo from before is dissipating.

  “What are we going to do today, Master?” I ask, lifting my chin to look up at him.

  He has his hands buried in his suit pants, again sporting a visible bulge in his crotch. This did turn him on, he wants to fuck me. A man cannot hide his need that easily.

  What the hell is wrong with him?

  I can ask this question all day long and not find an answer to it.

  Chapter 21

  Joseph

  “Can I assume that you’re still thirsty - and hungry?” I ask her.

  She seems startled by my question, but nods. “Yes, I am.”

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell her, before I turn around to leave her room.

  I can feel her eyes following me as I walk out, filled with unspoken questions.

  I walk back into the bathroom to gather up her things, the clothing she was asked to drop. She’s not going to wear any of them again any time soon, but her special item must be among them, and I swore to never leave a girl without her special protector. I wonder what she brought for herself. I didn’t find anything when I looked through her purse, the first thing I took away from her. She had nothing but her phone and a wallet in there, neither of which she can have while she’s here, as it’s clearly stated in the contract.

  I fold her clothes and put them in a somewhat neat pile. The only thing missing is the gigantic red fur coat. The coat was the distinctive feature that made it easy for me to find and kidnap her, and I assume it’s also closely connected to the name she chose for herself. Her special item could be in one of the pockets of the coat, but as I search through them, I find nothing but a small business card.

  Curious, I take the card out and hold it up to read.

  Violent Delights. Ruby Red.

  It’s the business card issued by the agency, Violent Delights. The girls are always asked to keep their cards on them, so they can identify themselves when asked. I never know their legal names, because I don’t need to. They discard their real identity as soon as they get caught up my in clutches. For thirty-nine days. I only for who they are when they are with me, and I know that person differs from the one they are in the outside world.

  I take the card and put it into my pants’ pocket. She no longer needs it, just like she will not need her clothes. However, I might have to ask her about her special item. I’ve never had to do that before, since the special item is usually obvious.

  I take the pile of clothes and the coat with me, and make my way downstairs. This mansion has been in my family for two generations. I inherited it from my grandparents when they decided to move to a milder climate in Florida, and I’ve lived here for most of my life. I would even go as far as to say that I grew up in these lavish halls, even though my parents have never lived here with me. My father grew up here, but he left at seventeen when he was sent off to college in hopes that he would one day follow in his father’s footsteps and continue the family’s real estate business.

  But sometimes, things don’t work out as planned. Sometimes children disappoint their parents, sometimes they turn into major fuck-ups, leaving the burden for the next generation.

  I grew from a bad seed, corrupted with this dark disease and vanity. Who knows what would have happened differently if I hadn’t changed the course of my destiny with the help of my grandfather years ago. I don’t want to think about it.

  Locking up willing sex slaves every once in a while feels beni
gn compared to the things I know I’m capable of. Yet, it’s an endeavor that needs to be kept secret. Even my house staff never gets to know the full extent of what I do to these women. And every time I release another pet back to freedom, I’m met with the same look in their eyes, the same hurt, the same confusion. I break them for good. They may be wealthy and free after I’m done with them, but they’re no longer the same person.

  Since I sent my staff away, I will have to prepare my own food for the next few days. I usually have a personal chef on hand whenever I need him, but that’s mostly for times when I’m too busy to cook for myself. These thirty-nine days are my vacation, my reprieve. I select these days carefully and set things in motion far in advance, leaving myself with more freedom and time away from the business while I have a pet at home. I can’t withdraw completely and leave the business to itself for more than a month, but I can make sure that there are no major transactions, deals, meetings and contracts that need to be arranged during this time. It’s just business as usual, demanding not much more of my time than a couple of hours a day.

  Ruby’s temporary living quarters take up most of the uppermost floor, an area that no one but me ever enters. My bedroom is right below hers, making it possible for me to hear her move around in her room, unless she’s locked up in the attic as punishment. Every door upstairs locks automatically, and only I have the keys to open them. All other doors are usually open, so the cleaning staff can enter at any time. Except for one room, my office. It’s right next to my bedroom, revealing too much about my sick obsession with the pet that’s living upstairs. They’re never free of me as long as they are here, even if I’m not physically present, but they don’t know it. Cameras in several corners take note of every movement, telling me of any transgressions during my absence.

  I store her clothes in my office and then continue down to the first floor. The open kitchen is connected to a wide dining area that gets used rarely for special occasions. I’m usually by myself and prefer to eat at the counter instead of sitting at the huge table all by myself. I’ve never had a pet down here, because it wouldn’t be right. They have no place in my life outside of feeding my dark desires.