by Jane Henry
I make my way past the lobby and enter the main bar area of Verge. Even though I’m here tonight as a member and not on the job, I can’t help but do my instinctive quick scan around the room. I note that all exits are unimpeded, in case of emergency. The lighting is bright, and there’s no one whose eyes look guiltily at me, no eyes shifting suspiciously. They know who I am, and even though I don’t wear a badge or uniform, they snap to attention when I walk in.
And fuck me, I like that.
“Hey, man,” Travis greets with an amicable fist bump as I near the bar. He’s a good kid, just graduated college last spring and is now looking for a full-time job. Tobias and Seth, Verge club owners, pay him well, though, and he’s making his way here. Originally from the south, his drawl colors his speech, which somehow makes the ladies go all googly-eyed for him. Or maybe it’s his sandy-brown hair, keen blue eyes, and muscular frame. He’s sporting a new beard I haven’t seen on him before. He’s a good guy, the best there is, and I like him a lot. Though he’s young, he’s easily as mature as most guys I know a decade older.
“What’s up, man,” I greet, pulling out a stool. I set my bag down next to me and he smirks.
“Got something good in there tonight?” he asks, pulling me a Sam Adams on tap without even asking me. He slides the cool, frothy beer over to me and I take a long, refreshing pull before I answer. I exhale, feeling a little bit of the weight of the day leaving me as I settle into the familiarity of friends, a second home, and my favorite drink.
I smirk. “Maybe.” He knows I’m a vault. He’ll get shit all as far as details from me.
He grins. “C’mon, man. I haven’t gotten to play in the dungeon in a week, and I’m jonesin’ to scene. Let a brother live vicariously through you?”
“Not on your life, douchebag.”
He shakes his head, reaches under the counter, and pushes over a small, round bowl of warmed mixed nuts. I take an almond and crunch it between my teeth, chasing it with beer. God, it feels good to be here. It’s my routine: strip out of my work clothes, hit the gym. Shower, go see Beatrice and bring her here, or take her somewhere else. I missed seeing her today and feel a little antsy. I need her here with me.
“Fine,” he says, leaning back against the bar and crossing his arms during a momentary lull. “Fair enough. Anything going on interesting at work?”
He knows I’m a detective for the NYPD and I can’t usually discuss things, but some days I can give him basic facts.
“Yeah, man,” I say. “Today was a good one, actually. Caught the asshole who’s been ripping off credit cards in College Coffee all week.” College Coffee is a stone’s throw from Verge, and one of the most popular coffee shops for college students in NYC, because they cater to students: a library, reference room, station to charge laptops and phones, and cheap but good coffee, they’re a local student hangout. I was pissed when it came to my attention someone was ripping off credit cards, and happy to find the perpetrator.
“Can’t tell you who the guy was, but let’s just say don’t always trust your professors, Trav.”
He shakes his head. “No shit. Did I ever tell you about my French teacher who tried to seduce me?”
I slug back another long gulp of cold beer, wipe my mouth with a napkin, and shake my head. “No, man.”
“She was a married woman with three grown kids, old enough to be my mother. But shit if she wasn’t a knockout.”
I grin at him. “And you said no?”
“Course I did,” he says, shaking his head, pulling another drink for someone else. “Did you miss the part where I said married woman?”
I smirk. “Don’t blame you.”
“Speaking of illegal,” comes a beautiful, lilting voice behind me. “Coming in here looking like that ought to be illegal.” I turn around on my stool, see the familiar halo of blonde hair. I toss my arm around her waist, and pull her onto my knee, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck and giving her a kiss.
“You’re the one half dressed,” I growl in her ear. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
She’s got these skin-tight pants and a small, lavender-colored top on. She smiles at me, perched on my knee. “I ended up covering for a class at the gym and barely made it in time to get to check out the venue with Diana. Haven’t had a chance to change, but I will. I just needed to see you first.”
“You didn’t tell me you had a change of plans,” I told her, not happy with this. I like to know where she is, when she’s leaving, and who she’s with. Some would say it’s controlling, but she’s my submissive and this isn’t some small-town suburb, but NYC.
“Oh,” she says with a frown, then a grimace. “I forgot.”
“You forgot.” I fix her with a stern glare. I consider punishing her. She loves to play but I have real rules and she knows better than this. I’m watching her response, making sure that she’s doing what she’s supposed to.
Her shoulders sag. “I’m sorry, sir,” she says, and she really does look repentant.
“Good. Go get dressed. Come back here when you’re finished. I’m taking you to the dungeon tonight, and we need to go over things first.”
She smiles at me, leans in, and kisses my cheek. “Yes, sir.” She quickly skips away to obey. Shit, I love when she calls me sir, most definitely not something that comes naturally to her. But it’s what she does as my submissive. She needs this. I won’t have it any other way.
After she’s gone, and I turn back to my beer. Travis is watching me curiously. “You make her tell you where she is?”
“Always.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Some girls would find that overbearing you know.”
I shrug. “Good thing I’m not dating some girl. Some girls would find me overbearing. Some wouldn’t like being bent over my knee, or strapped to the St. Andrew’s cross, but what can I say? She likes it.” And if that isn’t the understatement of the year. She fucking craves it. I need more, though. It’s time I kick things up a notch with her. But not without her permission.
I keep an eye on the door that will bring her back to me after she’s changed, needing to see her, my eyes roaming the interior, when my friends Tobias and Diana appear in the doorway. Diana’s eyes light up when she sees me, and Tobias gives me a chin lift.
“Hey!” Diana greets, holding Tobias’s hand as they approach. “We were hoping to find you here tonight.” Tobias clears his throat and slides into a bar stool, guiding Diana into the one next to him. I can tell they’re a little nervous or excited about something, and I’m curious what. I polish off my beer and push the mug over to Travis.
“So, you know the wedding’s coming up,” Tobias begins. Tobias is a big guy, strong and serious, with swarthy skin and dark hair that falls onto his forehead. He’s part-owner of Verge, Beatrice’s best friend Diana’s fiancé.
“Yeah?” Tobias proposed to Diana six months ago.
“We’re wondering if you’d be my best man,” Tobias asks. I blink in surprise. I expected he’d ask his friend Seth, his partner. They’ve known each other longer, though we’re all tight.
“Yeah, man, I’d be honored,” I say, and Tobias grins. I give him a man hug, the kind where I lean over and smack his back hard enough to hurt.
“Seth’s traveling,” Diana explains. She entwines her fingers through Tobias’ as she fills me in. She is taller than Beatrice, with a mane of dark, unruly curls and wide, hazel eyes. “He and Rochelle are spending a month overseas, and they can’t change plans. And seeing as Beatrice is my maid of honor, we really would love it if you’d escort her as the best man.”
“Of course,” I say.
“You don’t feel, like, second fiddle, right?” Beatrice’s pretty voice comes from behind me.
“Of course not,” I say, turning to her. “Guys don’t think of shit like—”
But I freeze when I see her and somehow lose the ability to speak. She’s wearing all leather, a sleeveless dress that zippers up the front and ends at the very top of
her thighs, revealing her shapely legs. Her hair’s in some kind of crazy spring thing, the blonde tresses as pretty as a picture, wispy and fetching, making her look way too innocent, belying the inner vixen I know all too well.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” I ask, pushing myself to my feet.
Her eyes go quickly to Diana who merely shrugs. “I wash my hands of this,” she says. “You know I told you you’d get your ass whipped for that outfit.”
“Oh, she will,” I say in a growl, but I’m fucking hard as hell and can’t wait to push that dress up and take her. “Which, I think, is exactly what she wanted.”
Her eyes gleam and she bites her lip. “Who, me?” she asks.
The room fades for a moment and all I see is her, on her knees, the two of us alone. She wants this. I need this. Without conscious thought, I snap my fingers and she drops to the floor, both knees hitting the floor simultaneously, but maintaining eye contact. Other doms demand their subs look at the floor, but I’ve taught her not to break contact with me. I need to see her eyes, need to read her.
Still keeping her eyes on mine, I kneel in front of her on one knee and grab the bag I brought.
“It was on special,” she whispers. “At the bridal shop.”
“You bought that thing at the bridal shop?”
She smiles. “It’s NYC, sir. They have a goth line.”
I pull out the surprise I brought for her and hold it in my palm. I give her a quick nod, my cue to her giving her permission to break eye contact and look at what I’m holding. It’s a beautiful, handcrafted leather collar.
“For tonight?” I ask her. It isn’t a permanent one but a play one, sturdy, though, and fitted with rings so I can attach the chain. She has a fetish for depravity and craves being objectified. I can only take it so far. But a collar and chain? Yeah, I’m down with that.
“Zack,” she breathes. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”
I turn it around so she can see what I had stamped on the black leather. Good girl. Turning to face her, I slide the collar on her neck and click it into place. “Be my good girl tonight?” I ask her.
She nods, but only slightly, as she’s staying still for me to fasten it. After it’s secured, I reach into my bag and take out the thin, supple steel chain, and fasten it onto the ring on her neck. “Back on your feet, doll,” I say quietly. “You’ll wear my collar tonight, but not on your knees. Walk with me.”
She stands, her eyes bright, lips parted. If I reach my hands between her legs, I’ll find her soaked. She loves this and knowing that makes me hard as fuck for her.
“Later, kids,” I say to Tobias and Diana. Tobias gives us a chin lift and a smirk, and Diana smiles brightly.
“Be good, Bea,” she calls. “I saw some other things lurking in that bag.”
Tobias slaps her thigh, but she only laughs.
We aren’t the only couple here with a collar and chain. It’s common in a BDSM club like Verge for submissives, bottoms, and slaves to wear collars and chains, but tonight, I feel like royalty while I’m walking through the room, my girl under my command like this. I take her to the violet room, the one I’ve reserved for us tonight. As a long-term member I’m given the privilege of a private room like this whenever I want, and tonight, this is what I want. It irks me she hasn’t come to my place yet—won’t do it and I don’t know why. But at least I like being able to get a drink first, and to sample the many accoutrements Verge has to offer if I want to.
Tonight, I want her eventually alone. The private room is a compromise. In my bag I have a leather strap, a lexan paddle, a rubber paddle, a pair of clamps, and a few other things she hasn’t yet sampled.
I hold her chain in my hand and lead her to the side of the entryway door, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “You gonna be my pain slut tonight, sweetheart?”
She nods eagerly, eyes bright. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” She closes her eyes briefly. There’s something about good girl that she loves. I open the door and tug her in behind me, and then shut and lock the door. Tonight, Beatrice is all mine.
Chapter 3
Holy mother of the hottest things in the world, he’s not doing this. But he is! He’s never taken me to this room, never outfitted me in a chain, and definitely never put a collar around my neck. Though I know it’s temporary, I love it, I crave it, and I’m already primed for him. I can feel the arousal pulsing between my thighs, my nipples taut against the tight dress.
“Gonna spank your ass for wearing that dress,” he says, shutting the door behind me with an audible click. “You need your ass whipped for that.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. Fuck yes.
He tosses his bag on the floor and snaps his fingers, pointing to the small square of carpet in front of a large, overstuffed chair. When he sits, I fall between his knees, kneeling, my ass on my heels as he’s trained me, and I stare into his beautiful, provoking eyes. He cups my cheek in his hand, and I can tell by the look in his eyes something troubles him, but when he has me like this he wants me listening, not asking questions. When he brushes a thumb across the apple of my cheek, my eyes flutter closed. His hand is warm, the pads of his thumb calloused. He touches me as if he owns me. In Verge, he does.
“You’re beautiful, Beatrice.” I open my eyes and want to say, and you are, too, but I keep quiet. It isn’t easy for me to obey someone and every single time he doms me, I fight it. It’s winning the victory that makes me come back for more. “Turn around and present yourself to me.”
I’m familiar with this pose. Presentation is like the child’s pose yoga move I teach my students at the gym, my chest and belly down, ass in the air, and when I’m with him, arms stretched straight out on the floor in front of me. Sometimes he makes me strip and present. Sometimes I present on the bed and wait for a spanking. This is the first time he’s ever made me present on the floor. They keep it immaculately clean in here, though, and the violet room is carpeted in clean black carpet. The cool floor beckons me to prostate myself, welcoming my submission to Zack.
While I’m like this, the edge of my skirt pulls up so high that I feel the breath of air across my panty-clad ass. I close my eyes. This, to me, is fucking bliss. I need him to use me. I crave it.
His hand comes to the edge of my dress, his palm so large he practically covers my whole ass. “Fucking beautiful,” he approves, before he lifts his hand and smack! He spanks me, hard. He gives me another smack, then another, priming my ass for what I can guarantee will be a helluva lot more than this. He reaches into the bag, I hear a whisper of fabric, and then something light and silky caresses my forehead. His blindfold shuts out the light behind my lids, then I feel him secure it behind the back of my head. With my sigh now gone, by other senses heighten, the smell of polished wood in the room, the dimmed sound of voices and laughter down the hall, the tingle of anticipation along my skin.
Yes.
“You like this, doll?” he asks.
“Yes, sir.”
He’s kneeling behind me as he adjusts my blindfold, then he whispers in my ear. “You trust me, then, Beatrice. It’s a gift you give me, that trust. You know that?”
I nod, suddenly choked with emotion. It is. I do trust him. But I need him to exploit me. It’s the only way I’ll earn his attention. I’m not worthy of a man like him.
He slaps my ass again and I take it, needing more, needing harder.
“Question for you, Bea, before we play. Did you do what was on your list today?”
Oh. Shit. My list? We talked about this last night and I completely forgot.
“Um… well.”
Smack.
“No, sir!”
He sighs, and he’s not playing now, but serious. “I gave you instructions today,” he corrects. I hear him reach into his bag. “You’re getting spanked for that, you know.”
Damn. My stomach drops to my toes and I’m both turned on and a little sad that I’m not just being spanked but punished.
“What were yo
u supposed to do?”
I cringe, but don’t move my arms, my eyes still closed behind the blindfold.
“Pay my credit card bill, sir.”
Now I’m not only getting slapped with a fine, I’m getting slapped with whatever Zack has in that bag of his.
“Six strokes of the cane, young lady.”
Oh, fuck. I hear him reach into his bag and I begin to tremble. The cane is wicked.
I’ve only been caned once, and it was months ago, the night that I forgot to tell him I was home after a night out with friends. I’d fallen asleep in a margarita-induced haze, and the next morning woken up to a Zack pounding on my door, followed by a caning I’d never forget.
My body tenses, waiting for the first wicked cut. The only warning I get is the swish through the air right before it lands. I cringe, hardly able to bear the fiery lick of fire across my ass. He doesn’t even need to swing hard, the cane is that severe.
A second lick of the cane follows the first. He pauses several agonizing seconds between strokes, then lands one after the other. I can feel the thin lines of welts crisscrossing my ass. I’m holding my breath, waiting for the sixth and final wicked cut. It blazes across my ass. I slump, and the tension leaves my body.
He caresses my welted skin, his tone softer now. “I don’t like punishing you, Bea.” My blindfold is wet with tears. This isn’t what I expected tonight. But somehow, oddly, crazily, I need this. The accountability. The discipline.
And hell if the serious shit doesn’t turn me on.
“You took that well,” he says in my ear, a purr that soothes my tears. “Crawl back over to me, now, sweetheart.” Still blindfolded, I follow the tug of his chain, facing him. I hear a zip and a whir. Excitement builds in my belly, my lady parts zinging to life when I realize what he’s about to do. Totally subdued by the caning, he’s going to make me suck him off. I can’t breathe for the anticipation.
