by Kate Allure
Not likely…for a lot of reasons.
But tonight she didn’t care about any of that. She was about to see Randy again, and excitement made her giddy. She would enjoy her time with him and not let worries about their future—or lack of one—ruin even one minute.
The stud serving as doorman tonight reached out to take her coat.
She hesitated, both excited and self-conscious about revealing her risqué attire. “I’m someone’s guest tonight, and I’m not sure about the protocol,” she said.
Bowing slightly, he replied, “Your gentleman has already been informed of your arrival, and—”
The door leading directly into the Serengeti opened, and there he stood, smiling at her.
“Hi,” she greeted softly, moving straight into his arms.
He lowered his head and kissed her, a few endless moments of bliss, the doorman forgotten.
“Hi,” he whispered in her ear.
He pulled back to smile at her and spoke in a voice so husky and low she had to strain to hear. “I want you. Come.”
She took a deep breath to calm her nerves.
Here goes nothing…
Exhaling in a fast whoosh, she uncinched her belt. Smiling seductively—at least she hoped it looked seductive—she slowly opened her trench coat and let it slide from her shoulders.
Ever the full-service establishment, the door-stud stepped behind her to ease it from her body before disappearing into the club. She hardly noticed, she was so fixated on her new lover. Even with his mask, she saw his eyes flare wide and heard his breath catch.
Might as well sell it.
She placed a hand on her hip and vamped for all she was worth. Her smoky lavender corset pushed her large breasts so high that when she lifted her shoulders a hint of areola could be seen. She lifted her shoulders. Beneath that she wore dark-gray suede hip-hugger shorts that showed off her curvy figure, and black platform pumps. She cocked her hip and grinned up at him.
Finishing off her look, she wore a Mardi Gras–style mask in black and gray, framed by a cascade of her blond hair, her curls bouncing on her shoulders when she moved. She tossed her head.
Last, she gave him her backside and, eyeing him over her shoulder, she wiggled her ass, her tiny hip-huggers so short they revealed the undercurve of her cheeks.
“Brilliant!” He looked like a dog salivating after a wet bone.
Closing the distance between them, he yanked her to him. He slid a hand behind her neck to hold her firmly and lowered his head to kiss her on the mouth. He claimed her, thrusting his tongue inside while his other hand roamed her body, exploring every inch of bare skin he could reach. At times, he jerked her tighter against him, rubbing his hard body against her. Other times, he shoved her away so he could stare hungrily at her corset. Then he’d pull her back to him and begin all over again.
When he finally released her and stepped back, they both stood there panting.
“Wow!” he uttered, his voice nothing more than a grunt. Running a hand through his hair and looking distracted, he mumbled, “Ah…sorry about attacking you. Your…um…fucking hot getup was…unexpected.”
Overwhelmed by his erotic assault on her body, she could only manage a small grin and a shrug. His drugging kisses made staying upright in her six-inch platform pumps a death-defying act as difficult and dizziness-inducing as walking a swaying tightrope. Her knees started to buckle, and she put a hand on the nearby wall to steady herself.
When she didn’t say anything, he stepped closer, apologizing again in a louder and clearer voice. “I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen—”
“No,” she blurted, still overwhelmed…and now also puzzled. What was the strange sensation that tickled the back of her mind? “It’s okay. Really.” That wasn’t what she really wanted to say. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this sexy and desired in my entire life. I’m grateful.”
Be bold, she scolded herself silently. Be the woman you’ve always wanted to be.
She met his gaze. “To be absolutely honest, I’m so fucking aroused I’m not sure I can wait to get to our private room.”
His arm around her, he led her into the Serengeti. It looked like he was scouting a place to sit, but she wanted to go straight to a private room. When he took her into a vacant alcove and shut the curtains, she thought he wanted to do it there—not quite exhibitionist, but almost.
Inside their private little space, he lowered her to the chaise, designed in the Victorian fainting style. She reclined against the higher side, cocking a leg seductively. He shut the privacy curtains, and the voices of people talking outside dimmed.
They were entirely alone.
He sat for a moment watching her as though he had something important on his mind, unreadable emotions in his eyes. Then he said, “We should talk. There’s something I want to tell you.”
“Just sex,” she purred. “I don’t need anything more right now, like drinks or making small talk. But I hope you’ll agree to be my…teacher…as I explore this amazing world.”
She had wanted to say “master” but couldn’t bring herself to go quite that far.
He reacted with a low groan and what looked strangely like relief. He leaned toward her, and in his trademark husky tones, he whispered, “I have a gift for you that can start us down that path and mark you as my…pupil. I had planned to give it to you later, but after what you just said…” He reached into the pocket of his black blazer and pulled out a—
What was it?
He held out to her a large gold metal hoop with colorful inlaid crystals. It had a hinge on one side and a clasp on the other.
“That’s pretty, but what is—”
And then it dawned on her.
“Oh!” She exhaled sharply, excited and apprehensive at the same time. “It’s a slave collar, isn’t it?”
He nodded, her man of few words. He held the ring out to her, but she didn’t take it. He saw her hesitation. “It’s for fun more than anything else, but wearing it here signals you’re already taken. No one else will bother you.”
He’d left unspoken the other half of the equation—that she would be taken by him.
Did she want it that public? She stared at the collar, unsure.
“Is it too soon?” His voice was a husky whisper. “I thought… I’d like us to be exclusive, just you and me exploring the club.”
He wants me all to himself!
Excitement spiked through her, like being hit by lightning but in a good way.
None of the other masked men here interested her. For some unfathomable reason, this one stranger, and only him, called to her. What was it about him? It was as if she’d been waiting for him forever.
But still, she hesitated. “Don’t you think, maybe, I’m a little too old for this?” She held up the collar. “I’ll look like granny playing at kink.”
Surprise made his mouth drop open and his eyes flare. “Are you—? Not a chance! You’re fucking hot!”
“Thanks. But… Well, I guess I’ve gone and pointed out the white elephant in the room…”
He shook his head, but she wouldn’t stop now that she had found the courage to voice her biggest concern. “I am a lot older than you. You’re such a young man, perhaps this isn’t a good—”
“No!” He grabbed her arm. “No. Your age doesn’t matter. You’re the sexiest woman of any age I’ve ever been with, and I want you. Only you.”
Warm, fudgy-like feelings bubbled up, filling the sad emptiness inside her. If he didn’t care how old she was, she’d let it go, become the free-thinking sensual being she’d always longed to be, a creature where attitude, not age, was the only thing that mattered.
He suggested, “What if you wear the collar as a sign that I’m your teacher?” He wasn’t giving up.
A flush of pleasure spread through her. Feeling sexier than she had in years, she finally let go of the idea that she was undesirable, something she’d carried with her since her divorce and made worse by Rupert’s
attitude and then betrayal. She didn’t know how long this liaison with Randy would last, or how far it would go. Hell, she didn’t even know the guy’s real name. But she wasn’t going to give up on the chance for some romance in her life.
Not to mention the best fucking sex ever!
A blush heated her cheeks. Smiling at him from under her lashes, she said, “Yes. I’ll wear your collar.”
“Brilliant.” A grin spread across his face. He took it from her and reached up to put it around her neck. She gathered up her hair, and he hooked the clasp securing it in place.
“Private room or drinks first?” he whispered.
“Room, please.”
He grinned and took her hand to lead her down the main hall. Everywhere, couples were having kinky fun—kissing, dancing, petting, and more—and she was now a part of it with this incredibly sexy man.
The weight of the metal hoop around her neck was a constant reminder that he’d marked her for all to see as his property. After so many years of being in charge of the men in her courtroom, it astonished her how much she adored belonging to this man, like a possession.
She savored the covetous looks of other men they passed, their eyes roaming over her curvy body in her risqué costume. She loved that women looked envious. After being all but invisible to the opposite sex for most of her life, especially in her black judge’s robe, she relished the experience.
She realized she could be both a manager of men as well as the object of their erotic dreams. A heady combination.
Her step took on a buoyant bounce. Only Randy’s hand tethered her to the ground or she might have floated away on pure happiness.
“Come,” he called over the loud dance music. Impatiently, he tugged her through the club, stopping only long enough to ask a waitress to bring a bottle of champagne to the Private Game Reserve suite.
They descended the stairs, and he led her through the Animal Training Reserve. She’d done some BDSM research online since her last visit, so this time she kept her eyes open, only shuddering a little at the sound of flesh being flayed. The walls were covered with whips, paddles, floggers, and on the floor were padded benches and chairs with rings for attaching restraints.
Elegant masked patrons reclined on chaises surrounding a couple that was playing on a raised stage. She wanted to watch, too, but Randy pulled her along to the far end of the large dungeon. He stopped in front of a white-suited staff member. She didn’t see a door, but the employee pushed a hidden button, and the wall slid open.
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
At the threshold, she stopped dead. If the first dungeon looked like a kinky playground for lovers, this one would make the Marquis de Sade squeal with glee…while those he played with squealed in pain.
A large sign on the wall read “Game Warden’s Dungeon.” Weird pieces of furniture and large metal structures, most of which were a mystery to her, filled the room. A male employee was dressed completely in black with a full mask, looking like an executioner. He was sceneing with a blindfolded couple, who were tied together and swinging upside down in the air. Every time he whipped one, the hapless sub moaned around his or her gag.
Tori shivered convulsively.
“Um, I’m not sure…” She took a step back. “This doesn’t look private.”
Randy gave her a reassuring smile. “This isn’t our room. It’s over there,” he whispered, pointing. “This dungeon is kept hidden because it might be too much for some. Anything goes here, no questions asked. But only approved masters are allowed to play in this room.”
Her lips formed a big round O, but she allowed herself to be tugged through the lurid space. The suspended couple actually seemed to be enjoying themselves, but she wanted no part of it.
Stopping in front of a closed door, Randy looked her in the eyes and spoke quietly so as not to disturb the ongoing scene. “Please keep an open mind. I would never hurt you, but I thought we might have some fun in our own private BDSM playroom. If you don’t like it, that’s okay, too.”
He opened the door to their personal dungeon as threads of trepidation wove around Tori like clinging ivy. Would she find herself bound and hanging upside down, too?
Peering in, relief washed through her. The suite was tame in comparison to the Game Warden’s Dungeon. There were, however, restraints everywhere—on the stark four-poster canopy bed made of metal struts, on the padded St. Andrew’s cross secured to the wall, and on tables and chairs. Rings and restraints adorned nearly every available surface in the room, save for the ornate leather wing-back chair that stood on a small platform in the corner.
But rather than a BDSM dungeon, the room had more the feel of a dark Bedouin harem tent with colorful silk curtains draped to disguise the walls and exotic rugs on the floor. A large antique wood chest straight out of the Arabian Nights stood open. It was filled to the top with whips, paddles, and other implements of sensual torture.
She tensed, and her stomach churned. She quickly looked away.
Would he use all that on her?
Seeing her anxiety, he stepped closer and murmured reassurances. “I don’t plan to use any of those on you. I want to tie you down and play with your body. That’s all. Drive you crazy with desire till you squirm and beg. Will you give it a try? Anytime you want, I’ll release you.”
“I’m…not sure.” The very idea skittered excitement through her nerves, but she wasn’t sure if she should trust a masked stranger with that much power. She wanted to ask when—if—they would ever take their masks off.
“Let me be your teacher. Please.”
A knock on the door signaled the arrival of the champagne, saving her from having to answer. After filling two flutes, Randy offered one to her, and they sat on a chaise lounge. While they sipped bubbly, he told her—in his trademark husky whisper—that even in here there were safety measures. He handed her a ring in the shape of a mask. “It’s a guest ring with a tiny transmitter you can activate with your thumb to signal for help.”
She slipped it on her finger, admiring the multicolored stones that made up the mask. “It’s pretty. How does it work?”
After he showed her, he began to gently caress her body, his warm hands simultaneously soothing and arousing. Hot and unsettled, she wanted her clothes off, wanted his roaming hands pleasuring her most erogenous places. Boldly, she tried to draw him to her breasts, but he resisted, caressing only the bare skin at her collarbone.
She brought her hand to the bulge in his pants, thinking to tease him, but he removed her hand and placed it on her lap, shaking his head and tsking like she was a misbehaving child.
Smiling wickedly, he whispered, “Not yet, my naughty pupil.”
He tipped her glass and encouraged her to drink it empty, all the while his roving hands petted her everywhere except where she wanted it most.
Then he took the empty flute, put it down, and pulled her to stand. Tipsy from both the champagne and her arousal, she wavered and would have fallen, but he swept her into his arms and carried her to the strange cage-like bed.
He sat on the edge with her on his lap and whispered into her ear, “I want to tie you up, but we can do it any way that makes you comfortable.”
She felt safe wrapped in his arms—cherished, even. However, she wanted more than feeling safe. She wanted the full edgy experience of being at his mercy, captive to his desires, even if rescue was just a click away.
Rising unsteadily to her feet, she stepped away and turned to face him.
She had an inspiration, thanks to her internet research. Without saying a word, she knelt down onto the Persian rug. Bending forward, palms down in front of her, she stretched out as far as she could reach, forehead to the carpet and ass high in the air.
His sharply indrawn breath, a masculine gasp, told her he understood her gift of submission. She waited patiently for instructions, determined to play her part.
He rose and walked slowly around her, seeming to want to savor the sight of her from all sides.
Still she waited.
Finally, he returned to the bed and grunted. “Slave. Take your clothes off.”
Her sex clenched at his command, and she shuddered. Rising up to her hands and knees, she purred, “Yes, teacher.” She might have offered herself submissively, but she couldn’t bring herself to call him “Master.” Not yet.
Winking at him, she stretched her arms over her head and in a fast, jiggly movement popped her large breasts above her low-cut corset.
He rewarded her with one rumbly word. “Lovely.”
She rose to stand directly in front of him, her breasts jutting out toward him, and his hungry gaze devoured the sight of her. She tingled all over, and her nipples peaked into tight rosebuds.
He grabbed her forearms and pulled her toward him. His lips greedily latched onto a nipple, and his warm mouth enveloped her throbbing breast. Trembling, she gave herself over to his control.
“You’re killing me,” he said fiercely.
He curled his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and yanked them down. At the same time he moved to her other nipple. She yelped when he nipped her. He soothed the pinch with soft laves of his wet tongue.
In a frenzy of lust, he seemed to be everywhere at once. He rapidly unhooked her corset, letting it drop to the floor, and pulled off her thong. Naked, she wore only the gold slave collar and her sheer stockings and stilettos.
He worked her nude body, his hands teasing her limbs and finding all her achy places—fondling her mons, squeezing her ass, pinching her tits. Awash in arousing sensation, tingling delight zinged through and around her body, firing her nerves and making her needy.
She had to get closer. Her hands went to his shoulders to hold him. She bent down and kissed his forehead as her seeking hands finally reached his pants. She massaged his rock-hard erection through the fabric, trying to get to the zipper.
Abruptly, he pushed her away and stepped back. “Not yet. First we play. And you”—he pointed at her—“will pick the toy we play with.” He gestured to the BDSM furniture in metal and wood placed around the suite.
