her bottom. Standing, he lifted her and set her gently on the mattress on her side.
The mattress gave as he sat beside her, and then the ropes were plucked from her wrists. He rolled her gently onto her back. He was still breathing heavily from his orgasm and his eyes were bright.
He placed his fingers on either clip over her compressed, now nearly numb nipples. A look of genuine regret moved over his features. “There’s something I didn’t mention before. Taking off the clamps is the worst part. The bad news is, it will hurt like a motherfucker. The good news is, it’ll be over in a flash.”
He was right, on both counts.
They washed together in Dylan’s huge walk-in shower. Dylan had Zoë dry his hard, masculine body, and then he dried hers, his touch incredibly sensual. As he worked, he said, “I was thinking we should go out to dinner tonight. I know the perfect place.” There was something teasing in his tone, and his eyes were dancing.
Zoë kept her tone light as she teased back. “Oh, yes? And where would that be? A BDSM dungeon?”
Dylan's mouth quirked into a half smile, his eyes sparking with a fire that sent a jolt of electricity through Zoë’s core. “Precisely,” he agreed. “How did you guess?”
Zoë’s gut clenched. “Wait, what? I was just kidding.”
“Well, you hit it on the head nevertheless. The club I belong to has a very fine private restaurant, along with two fully equipped dungeons and even accommodations for out of town guests. Saturdays are always hopping, and it’s the best night to show you the ropes.” He grinned, adding, “No pun intended.” Zoë’s return smile was faint, her mind still trying to process what he was saying.
“The club’s in Larchmont. It’s actually an old hotel a couple of guys in the scene bought,” Dylan continued. “I spend a lot of my free time there. I’m one of the staff trainers, though just on a part-time basis, since obviously investment banking takes up most of my time. I’d love to take you to dinner, and then we could check out the dungeons. We can watch a few scenes, meet a few folks.”
Zoë thought about this. She imagined the kind of place this BDSM club must be, with whips and chains on the walls, and people dressed in leather and thigh-high boots. “What would I wear? I didn’t bring anything but the clothes I arrived in.”
“Do you have a black cocktail dress and black heels at your apartment?”
Zoë nodded. “Of course.”
“We’ll stop by your place, then, and you can change.”
~*~
“Master Dylan, a pleasure to see you, Sir. Two for dinner?” Sara, one of The Vault’s staff slaves, smiled at Dylan. He glanced at Zoë, who stood beside him looking a little flustered and a lot gorgeous in her slinky black dress, red slave collar and fuck-me high heels. Zoë’s eyes were on Sara, who wore the staff slave uniform of a black leather collar with matching cuffs around her wrists and ankles, her only other clothing a satin thong of the skimpiest variety. She was a pretty girl, save for skin pitted with acne scars. Her hair was long and very blond, her body slender. Silver barbells pierced both nipples, with a matching piercing in her belly button.
“Yes, Sara. Thank you.” Sara led them into the small but pleasantly appointed dining room of the converted hotel. There were three other couples already seated, some eating dinner, some sipping glasses of wine, heads close in conversation. Mistress Sylvia, an imposing Dominatrix dressed in a full-length black gown, sat at a table. Her partner, Gene, knelt on the floor beside her, wearing nothing but a cock cage locked around his privates, his mouth open as his Mistress fed him from a large piece of chocolate cake.
“Oh,” Zoë murmured softly as they passed the couple. Dylan was holding her hand, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. In the short time they’d spent together, Zoë was teaching him to see the beauty and intensity of D/s with fresh eyes.
The mattress gave as he sat beside her, and then the ropes were plucked from her wrists. He rolled her gently onto her back. He was still breathing heavily from his orgasm and his eyes were bright.
He placed his fingers on either clip over her compressed, now nearly numb nipples. A look of genuine regret moved over his features. “There’s something I didn’t mention before. Taking off the clamps is the worst part. The bad news is, it will hurt like a motherfucker. The good news is, it’ll be over in a flash.”
He was right, on both counts.
They washed together in Dylan’s huge walk-in shower. Dylan had Zoë dry his hard, masculine body, and then he dried hers, his touch incredibly sensual. As he worked, he said, “I was thinking we should go out to dinner tonight. I know the perfect place.” There was something teasing in his tone, and his eyes were dancing.
Zoë kept her tone light as she teased back. “Oh, yes? And where would that be? A BDSM dungeon?”
Dylan's mouth quirked into a half smile, his eyes sparking with a fire that sent a jolt of electricity through Zoë’s core. “Precisely,” he agreed. “How did you guess?”
Zoë’s gut clenched. “Wait, what? I was just kidding.”
“Well, you hit it on the head nevertheless. The club I belong to has a very fine private restaurant, along with two fully equipped dungeons and even accommodations for out of town guests. Saturdays are always hopping, and it’s the best night to show you the ropes.” He grinned, adding, “No pun intended.” Zoë’s return smile was faint, her mind still trying to process what he was saying.
“The club’s in Larchmont. It’s actually an old hotel a couple of guys in the scene bought,” Dylan continued. “I spend a lot of my free time there. I’m one of the staff trainers, though just on a part-time basis, since obviously investment banking takes up most of my time. I’d love to take you to dinner, and then we could check out the dungeons. We can watch a few scenes, meet a few folks.”
Zoë thought about this. She imagined the kind of place this BDSM club must be, with whips and chains on the walls, and people dressed in leather and thigh-high boots. “What would I wear? I didn’t bring anything but the clothes I arrived in.”
“Do you have a black cocktail dress and black heels at your apartment?”
Zoë nodded. “Of course.”
“We’ll stop by your place, then, and you can change.”
~*~
“Master Dylan, a pleasure to see you, Sir. Two for dinner?” Sara, one of The Vault’s staff slaves, smiled at Dylan. He glanced at Zoë, who stood beside him looking a little flustered and a lot gorgeous in her slinky black dress, red slave collar and fuck-me high heels. Zoë’s eyes were on Sara, who wore the staff slave uniform of a black leather collar with matching cuffs around her wrists and ankles, her only other clothing a satin thong of the skimpiest variety. She was a pretty girl, save for skin pitted with acne scars. Her hair was long and very blond, her body slender. Silver barbells pierced both nipples, with a matching piercing in her belly button.
“Yes, Sara. Thank you.” Sara led them into the small but pleasantly appointed dining room of the converted hotel. There were three other couples already seated, some eating dinner, some sipping glasses of wine, heads close in conversation. Mistress Sylvia, an imposing Dominatrix dressed in a full-length black gown, sat at a table. Her partner, Gene, knelt on the floor beside her, wearing nothing but a cock cage locked around his privates, his mouth open as his Mistress fed him from a large piece of chocolate cake.
“Oh,” Zoë murmured softly as they passed the couple. Dylan was holding her hand, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. In the short time they’d spent together, Zoë was teaching him to see the beauty and intensity of D/s with fresh eyes.
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