VelvetWhip

VJ
&
Sierra
Summers

Book 3 in the Velvet Scenes series.

Having worked at Velvet Ice for only three months, Ginger
may be the BDSM club’s resident newbie, but Stephen has definitely noticed the
tattooed beauty. Noticed her heady mix of innocence and defiance…her lush
curves…her pale, creamy flesh. Flesh he’s aching to paint with his whip.

Ginny has noticed Stephen, too. Noticed his piercing
gaze…his hard body…his stunning mastery. Mastery she wants to feel both on and
off the Velvet Ice stage.

Now at long last they’re performing together. The time has
come for each to taste the other’s pleasure.

An
Exotika®
BDSM erotica
story from Ellora’s Cave

Stephen Dwyer grabbed his favorite whip. He gripped the
well-worn handle—it fit perfectly. His fingers had carved out imprints in the
leather long ago. He tested the weight and snapped his wrist a couple of times,
sending the tail flying with a loud crack.

He’d already assembled the aftercare stuff in his room at
Club Velvet Ice. A massage table fitted with a thick pad and silky,
high-thread-count sheet waited near the side of the room. Along one wall stood
a low cabinet that also acted as a counter. That was where he’d laid out the
supplies he’d use to care for Ginger, to bring her gently back to earth once
he’d sent her flying. Several velvety-soft washcloths shared space with
antiseptic wipes—just in case and as a precaution, not because he planned to
actually break the skin—and a large jar of high-quality aloe gel.

And—also just in case, though this was him being hopeful
rather than cautious—a box of condoms.

All that was left was to make sure DJ Wicked had the right
music, and to get his submissive as ready as his equipment.

He took his favorite flogger from its place on the wall. The
long leather strips made him shiver in anticipation. He was going to flog and
whip Ginger Wilcox until she was dizzy with need. The newest submissive at
Velvet Ice intrigued him. She was a mix of innocence and defiance. A heady
combination for Stephen. When he’d discovered that Master Sin had paired him up
with Ginger for the scene, his dick had jerked to attention.

She was so different than him. There was nothing
conservative about her. Her long dark hair was streaked with a brilliant
scarlet. Her back sported apple blossom tattoos that started in the middle of
her back and ended at her left shoulder. She was small compared to his six-foot-two
frame and her curvy figure could set any man on fire. But it was her skin, her
smooth, creamy skin, that called to the Dom in him.

She was going to look so damn lovely with his marks
crisscrossing her back and thighs. If she was especially adventurous, he would
kiss her breasts with his whip.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He wore the usual for a
performance. Black leathers and a tight-fitting black T-shirt. Around his
wrists were two thick leather cuffs. He decided to lose the shirt, exposing his
pierced nipples. The audience of club-goers expected him to look the part of a
Dom and for the sub to also dress in fetish wear.

He imagined most of the audience would be taken aback if
they knew he was a button-down IT guy for a major hospital. His nine-to-five
life was completely different than how he chose to spend his free time.

He couldn’t wait to get a look at Ginger. He turned from the
mirror and left the room with his tools in hand.

He traveled down one of the hallways that housed the private
rooms and through a set of double doors that ended in an open play area.

Spotting Wicked in his DJ booth, he moved over to the
half-Asian, half-white man who supplied the music for the club.

“Whatcha got for me?” Wicked asked with a smile that matched
his name.

Stephen handed over the sheet of paper that had been in his
back pocket to the man who spun the records.

“Nice,” the DJ commented. “It starts off slow and builds in
tempo. I like the heavy bass lines. They’ll go hand in hand with your strokes.”
Wicked tapped out a rhythm on the edge of the soundboard. “This is the first
time you’ve worked with the newbie, isn’t it?”

Ginger had only been employed at the club for about three
months. Stephen had avoided her as much as he could. Not because she’d done anything
wrong. In fact just the opposite was true. He was incredibly attracted to her.
From her silky crown to her pink-tipped toes housed in high heels.

She was a lethal, walking combination of sex appeal and
sweetness all wrapped into one hot package. He’d chosen to keep his distance
because he’d been afraid that she would bewitch him with her sexy little body
and molten gaze. He wasn’t sure he was ready for an exclusive Dom/sub
relationship. And Ginger wasn’t the kind of female he wanted to have a casual relationship
with.

Performing a scene would be formal and with an audience. It
wouldn’t be just the two of them playing. He wasn’t about to tell Sin that he
couldn’t perform with her. Instead he was going to remain unemotional and
professional while they were together. That way any temptation he had where she
was concerned would be within a controlled environment.

“She’s pretty spectacular to watch,” the other man
commented.

“I know. I’ve seen her play before.” What a sight it was
every time he caught her subbing for anyone. She was so damn responsive to the
pleasure and pain.

He grew hard remembering Velvet Ice’s last public play
night, when she’d been bent over a spanking bench and tied down with her
rounded ass in the air. She’d merely been paddled but her reaction had him
going. Her large mahogany eyes showed every emotion. Pleasure as well as a bit
of defiance danced in those eyes.

He was getting the chance to know what she felt like under
his ministrations. There was no one better with a whip. It was his specialty.
One that he’d spent years perfecting.

His excitement grew as the Dungeon Master for the night,
Mistress Ty, stepped up to introduce the scene. It was time to begin, and he
felt like a kid in a candy store.

* * * * *

Ginger came out of the employee changing room and up the two
flights of stairs to the third-floor play area. Her nerves were fired up and
she felt the electricity that had been building inside ever since she found out
she’d be working with Master Stephen.

His name alone elicited a shiver along her sensitive flesh.
She ambled over to the bar and sat watching him as he discussed something with
DJ Wicked.

Her eyes narrowed on the whip he’d clipped to his belt and
the flogger tucked through his belt loop. Damn but he was a gorgeous specimen
of a man. Not like her usual type at all. The men she usually attracted were
more of the timid types who were shocked whenever she revealed her true sexual
appetites. She didn’t even bother anymore telling the men she dated about the
acts that truly made her weak in the knees and gave her the best orgasms on the
planet. It was why she’d come to work at Club Velvet Ice. Here she could
indulge her true sexual nature without being judged for it.

Stephen was tall, a couple inches above six feet, and was
built like a football player with wide shoulders and a tapered waist. He kept
his wavy brown hair conservatively short, and he was clean-shaven. His face was
perfectly sculpted, with cheekbones any model would kill for and a dimple in
his chin that just begged to be kissed and licked.

He had pale-blue eyes that penetrated the deepest parts of
her. It was as if he knew what she was all about. As if he knew all her
secrets, no matter how hard she might try to hide them. No, she wouldn’t ever
be able hide anything if she belonged to him, and that scared the hell out of
her.

You were always vulnerable as a submissive, but Ginger was
able to go to that subspace where you didn’t think, you only felt. With Master
Stephen, it was going to be different. Her emotions were already involved. It
was dangerous territory to tread. What if he felt only a minimal connection
with her? She wanted there to be more, so much so, her chest ached with it.
Hell, she didn’t understand the pull herself. It went beyond physical attraction.
It was deeper than that for her. She just flat-out craved the chance to writhe
under his whip.

Not that the physical attraction was missing. He turned and
she zeroed in on his great ass. The leather hugged his cheeks and her fists
clenched. She wanted to squeeze the firm globes.

She licked her lips as she caught the glint of his nipple
rings from across the room. They were the only real outward hints of his inner
kinkster. What she wouldn’t give to taste them—his hot flesh against the cold
steel of the rings.

Her pussy already ached and she’d done nothing more than
look at him from the other side of the club.

Janie the bartender shoved an icy bottle of water in front
of her. “You look like you could use this,” she said.

“Is it that obvious? I thought I was hiding the fact that
I’m ready to pee my pants.”

The other woman laughed. “No, you don’t appear nervous, but
you forget I’ve seen how you look at him when you think no one is watching.”

Ginger picked at the label on her bottle of water. “Damn,
and I thought I was being so smooth.”

“Sorry, sweetie, but you look like a lost puppy whenever
he’s in the vicinity.”

Her face burned. Did everyone at the club know she was crazy
for Master Stephen? Could they tell she spent many nights thinking about what
it would feel like to belong to him?

“I wish I had something stronger to drink,” she mumbled more
to herself than to Janie.

“You know the rules, Gin. No alcohol during the
demonstrations,” the bartender admonished. “Brady would have a fit if any of
his employees drank during these sessions.”

“I know. I prefer to be stone-cold sober anyway. I just
can’t believe how nervous I am.”

“You’ll do wonderfully. You’re always amazing in your
scenes.”

“Well, I’ve never been so damn attracted to a man before.
It’s putting me off my game a bit.” She took a steadying breath, willing
herself to chill out. This was a performance, mostly for the benefit of the
club-goers who flocked to Velvet Ice on Wednesday nights for a sexy, kinky
show. Paddling, flogging and whipping—spiced with a healthy dose of
exhibitionism—just happened to be her kinks, and she couldn’t think of anyone
better to indulge them with than Master Stephen.

Ginger adjusted the tie of her silk robe. The deep-ruby hue
matched the streaks she’d dyed into her long hair and the open-toed red
stilettos she’d opted for because she’d heard that Master Stephen loved for his
women to wear high heels. She’d left her hair loose and it fell softly down her
back in large loose curls. She wore the minimal amount of makeup. She tended to
break out whenever she wore full-on face paint. A little mascara, liner and lip
gloss was about as heavy as she got.

She stood. “Wish me luck,” she said, and slowly walked over
to join the man who would be her Master for the next hour.

* * * * *

Stephen and Ginger had never done a scene together, let
alone a performance, but the club had a standard intro that all the performers
followed. So, when Wicked cued up his music, Stephen met Ginger in the center
of the stage and offered his hand.

When her scarlet-tipped fingers brushed over his palm, he
felt it like an electric shock. From the way her breath caught, he thought she
might have felt it too.

She moved gracefully, like a dancer, as he led her to the
whipping post set up at center stage. Giving in to an impulse, he twirled her
around a couple of times, letting the audience enjoy the flare of her robe as
it played peekaboo with creamy skin. He was rewarded by an appreciative murmur
from the direction of the dance floor, and Ginger’s low, delighted laughter.

They reached the post and he turned her to face him, keeping
them in profile to the audience.

“You’re here willingly, yes?”

“Absolutely, Master Stephen.”

He reminded himself that these were just the formalities,
but that didn’t stop the little thrill he got hearing her call him Master.

“What are your safe words?”

“Blossom to slow down, Master, and tree to stop.”

Stephen nodded briskly, approving her choices. It was
important—no,
crucial
—that they had safe words firmly in place,
particularly in a whipping scene. They all knew—the audience, club management
and, most importantly, Ginger—that he’d back off the instant the word blossom
left her lips. And if she said tree, she’d be untied before the syllable had
faded to silence.

“What hard limits do you have for tonight’s scene?” After
all, she was agreeing to be flogged and whipped, not abused. Stephen would be
damned if he did something any sub didn’t enjoy, but especially this sub. He
wanted
this
sub to come back and ask for more. Beg for more.

“Mmmm…” The little humming sound was almost as sexy as her
slightly pursed lips. “I’d rather you didn’t draw actual blood.” She glanced up
through dark lashes. “I mean, like the dripping-down-my-back kind, not the
whip-crack-abrasion kind.”

He nodded again, oddly charmed by her description.

“Right,” he agreed. “No drippy blood.”

There were chuckles from their audience at the description,
and she blushed a little and laughed again, peeking up at him coyly. She had a
remarkable laugh, rich and heady and a little surprising coming from such a
petite body.

“Yeah,” she said with an enchanting little nose crinkle. “No
drippy blood. Oh, and my tattoo.” He quirked his brow questioningly. “Nothing
that damages my tattoo.”

“Absolutely not,” he agreed willingly. “It would be a
tragedy to mess that up. It’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Master.” The blush on her cheeks intensified,
and she gave a little smile, still gazing up at him from under her lashes. The
woman was a little vixen, all sweet submission on the surface and teasing minx
underneath.

The music changed, segueing into Adele singing, fittingly
enough,
Lovesong
, and Stephen tipped his head toward the post.

“Ready to begin, pet?”

This time her smile was less flirtatious and more luminous.

“Oh yes. So ready.”

She untied her robe slowly, following the beat of the music,
and pulled the tie loose with a soft sigh of silk over silk. When he held his
hand out, she laid the length of silk over his palm. Stephen draped the sash
around his neck for the moment, keeping it conveniently accessible.