Velvet memories, p.1
Larger Font   Reset Font Size   Smaller Font       Night Mode Off   Night Mode

       Velvet Memories, p.1

           Violet Summers
Download  in MP3 audio
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Velvet Memories

  Velvet Memories

  Violet Summers

  Published 2011

  ISBN 978-1-59578-871-9

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2011 , Violet Summers . All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books





  Terri Schaefer

  Cover Art ist

  April Martinez

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.


  Their senior year Rob broke Michael’s heart when a moment of passion led to months of panic and denial that ended their friendship. Ten years later, Rob has come to accept what he couldn’t back then: he’s gay, he’s a sexual Dominant, and he wants Michael now more than ever.

  When Rob walks into a wax-play workshop at Velvet Ice, the club where Michael works as a submissive, it brings back memories of pain and rejection, but it also brings back memories of a passion Michael has never found the equal of.

  Can a Dom with an agenda and a sub with a healthy fear for his heart move beyond their past and find the courage to face the future … together? This title contains unrequited love, emotional baggage, molten hot wax, molten hot boy-sex, Bondage, Domination, submission, and awesome techno club-mixes.


  To Sierra, who indulged me, and to Tender Dom (, for the information, the kindness, and the offer. Reformed rakes are always the best men. And, finally, to Terri, because I love how our relationship is growing, but I’ll still miss the way it was … if that makes any sense. XO-VJ


  Workshop Title: Creative Wax Play

  Presenter(s): Master Sin and Kendra

  Fire and Ice, Heaven and Hell … Experience sensation play at its most fundamental level. See your submissive melt under the slow, sensual slide of hot wax, only to shudder in delicious agony under the bite of ice skillfully plied by your expert hand.

  Workshop covers basic safety issues, but is focused on sensation and edge play and the use of wax as a tool in helping your submissive find their headspace and complete surrender.

  Seats: 5 seats available for Velvet Ice members attending with a partner

  3 seats available for Velvet Ice members attending solo

  1 seat available for non-member attending with a partner

  1 seat available for non-member attending solo

  Non-members are subject to background check and interview.


  Club Velvet Ice. Mysterious, alluring and notorious — particularly in certain circles — the club was the holy grail of playgrounds to both Dominants and submissives in the Metro-Detroit area.

  Membership was limited and the vetting process, Rob had discovered, was brutal, beginning with sponsorship by a member in good standing, including an extensive, intrusive background and financial check, and ending with an interview he’d heard was on par with his most intense cross examination.

  Rob, with no member contacts, hadn’t even made it to the background check.

  That was until Derek Thomas, a partner at his law firm, pulled a gold coin out of his pocket while digging for change for the parking meter.

  Derek’s patronage had been enough to get Rob in the door for the Wax Play Workshop, and he had no intention of squandering the opportunity.

  The club was dimly lit as a tall, attractive blonde led him to the third floor and into an open sitting area. The rich interior was sensual and erotic. Scattered about were several velvet couches, mixed in with various BDSM equipment. A St. Andrew’s Cross dominated one corner. Several special play chairs and tables waited with delicious menace. It was a cornucopia of dark pleasure.

  “Welcome.” A deep male voice drew his attention to the small staging area set up in the center of the space. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Master Sin. This afternoon we’ll be reviewing the basics of wax play, but focusing on the sensory elements of scenes involving hot wax.”

  Master Sin was hot as hell with his long hair and bronze skin. He extended his hand, and a lush, lovely woman joined him on stage. Rob recognized the expensive jewelry wrapped around her neck as a collar.

  Rob felt a slight sting; it had been way too long since he’d had a steady submissive in his life. Longer still since he’d partnered with someone who meant anything to him. And if he were going to be honest with himself, which he’d vowed to do once he’d recognized his Dominant cravings for what they were, he had to admit that even in the few longer-term relationships he’d had there’d always been something lacking. Such ruthless honesty had first led him to the acceptance that nine times out of ten, he preferred his play partners to be male, an admission ten years too late to do him much good.

  Then he’d had to work out that he was looking for a special sort of submissive. One who could be topped, but who could also challenge him and hold his attention. Someone smart and confident. Someone secure in who he was, comfortable in his own body.

  Rob gave a little internal sigh. He was beginning to wonder if such a submissive even existed.

  Master Sin sat in a chair facing them, and his sub moved gracefully around the semicircle of chairs, handing out slender pamphlets to the participants.

  “As you know, BDSM play is all about being safe, sane and consensual. There is no room for maybe — especially when we are talking about edge play. Because of the possibility of serious burns, wax play definitely falls into the edge play category.”

  The Master was undeniably gorgeous, but somehow he didn’t arouse anything more than surface appreciation. When his submissive sat on a cushion at his feet and Master Sin began to play absently with her hair, the envy Rob felt wasn’t sexual, it was entirely for the intimacy which so clearly existed between them.

  “My wife Kendra and I have experimented with wax play and have both found it very enjoyable.” The woman gave Master Sin a melting smile, and the man’s piercing eyes softened for a moment. “One of the things that makes it possible for us to experiment with this sort of scene is the fact we have complete trust in each other.”

  The Master lit a candle and held it up as the group contemplated his words.

  Complete trust. What a novel idea. Did anyone really have anyone’s complete trust anymore? Rob watched the flame reflected in Sin’s dark eyes, and found his mind wandering.

  Unbidden, he pictured a lean male body stretched across a weight bench. Blue eyes glowing as intensely as the candle flame that seemed to almost hypnotize him. The first, tentative moments of trust, crushed by fear and insecurity.

  Rob sighed again and forced his attention back to the presentation, quickly becoming caught up in the low timbre of Master Sin’s smoky voice.

  “Waxing is a total experience. It doesn’t start or stop with the application of the wax. When playing out a full scene there is usually an intense build-up before one drop is ever spilled. It also doesn’t end after the wax has set. Taking it off can be as erotic as the application.”

  Rob’s attention never wavered as he listened to the other Dom talk about using paraffin wax, dropping it at varying heights over various parts of the body. This seemingly simple form of play was actually quite complicated, and there
were a lot of things to keep track of.

  The longer the lecture continued the more excited he became. Rob’s cock gave a throb when Master Sin discussed the various methods of removing the cooled wax from a willing body. The list was long and varied but a secret thrill moved up his spine when the discussion moved to blades. While they weren’t the only implement one could use, they were the one that played to Rob’s personal fantasy.

  He pictured a short sword, ancient and deadly, stroking over smooth, golden skin. No blood, no pain, but the delicious threat of both holding him and his submissive on the edge of ecstasy.

  He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever play with someone who would trust him enough to go there.

  Master Sin stood, offering his hand to help his submissive to her feet, and yanked Rob’s attention back to the present.

  “Since we’ve covered the basics, my beautiful submissive has volunteered to allow me to demonstrate on her just how fucking incredible a scene using wax can be.”

  * * * *

  Michael swallowed back a sigh as Kendra dropped her white silk robe and slid onto the table her Master had prepared, settling comfortably on her back. Her skin glowed pale against the black plastic tablecloth and her auburn hair burned like a flame. He’d played with Master Sin and Kendra on occasion and, though he preferred male partners, he’d found Kendra’s mixture of sweet innocence and carnal flame made partner play both fun and scorching hot.

  Master Sin began by massaging a light coat of baby oil over Kendra’s body. She arched and wriggled under his touch, and Michael wriggled a bit himself, knowing exactly how Master Sin’s hands felt on slick, warm skin.

  Sinclair was speaking as he prepared Kendra, explaining the types of candles he’d prepared, and the different methods of applying the wax. Since this was all old information to Michael, he took a moment to look over the group gathered in a semi-circle around the staging area. He recognized several Doms, some by sight, some by name. Many had brought their own submissives to practice on, like Master Sin and Kendra. He felt a brief pang at the sight of Kendra’s jeweled collar. It had been almost a year since his last monogamous contract had ended, and even that had been more a matter of convenience than an emotional match.

  Looking for a distraction, he turned his attention to the workshop attendees, and found his gaze caught by one of the non-members. The man was exactly Michael’s type. Wide shoulders filled out an obviously expensive black silk shirt, and black leather pants wrapped snugly around thick, muscular thighs. The unknown Dom had dark brown hair, cut short and tight, and a strong jaw rough with dark stubble. The urge to wriggle came back with a vengeance; the man was Michael’s every wet dream come to life.

  Then, as if he could feel Michael’s eyes, the man turned his head and looked straight at him.

  Michael caught his breath in a rush as dark eyes locked on him. From a distance they could be brown or even black, but Michael knew they were green; a green so dark it only showed in the sunlight. A green that lightened to emerald when the man was with any strong emotion.

  Of course the man was his type. Hell, he was the basis of the type, the original model that had infiltrated every one of Michael’s fantasies and overshadowed every one of his lovers for the last ten years.

  Robert Hilton. Whoever would have guessed?

  Chapter One

  Ten Years Ago

  Michael was freaking freezing. Detention had let out fifteen minutes earlier and he, along with his fellow felons, had been booted out of the school to await their rides in the December chill. No late buses — oh, no, not for detainees. Michael snorted derisively, watching his breath plume in the air. All the other kids had been picked up promptly at five thirty. Of course none of them were friends of his, so none bothered to offer him a ride. Mom wasn’t answering her cell phone, which meant she was probably pulling an extra shift at the restaurant, and that meant Michael needed to head for the city bus stop. Dammit.

  To add insult to injury, he’d been set up. As much as he’d wanted to draw a caricature of Mr. Butler, he hadn’t done it. Hell, if he’d done it, it would have been a lot better quality. He was probably lucky all he’d gotten was detention, though. A suspension would look way bad on his record, and he wasn’t going to let anything mess with his scholarship to the Detroit Art Institute. Not even asshole World Geography teachers.

  Michael sighed and started down the concrete steps to the path leading around the building. Might as well get walking. At least there was a shelter at the bus stop. He was heading down the driveway when three cars whipped past him, honking and revving their engines.

  Perfect. Wrestling practice was letting out. Michael moved to the side of the driveway, getting as close to the edge as he could without actually stepping into the snow. He didn’t actually think any of the wrestlers would run him down, but it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to put to the test.

  A car pulled up next to him and slowed, and Michael felt his shoulders tense up. He’d never really been bullied, but he’d never been caught alone like this either. So when the window rolled down, he was ready for pretty much anything.

  “Hey, Mikey.” Rob Hilton was the captain of the wrestling team, the captain of the football team, and starting pitcher on the baseball team. He was also six feet two inches of hard muscle, with a smile that could melt ice and a dimple that made Michael want to lick chocolate out of it.

  “Hey, Robbie,” he answered with an irritated smirk. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he and Rob were friends. They lived down the street from each other, had been in the same classes for their entire school careers and with last names both ending in “H,” they’d been seated close to each other for-practically-ever, but Rob was a jock, a popular kid, practically king of the school, and Michael was just … just another student.

  “Right, right,” Rob smirked back at him. “Sorry, Michael. ” Rob had given him grief about his name for as long as Michael could remember, and he figured the jackass probably always would. “Anyway, you wanna ride? I’m heading straight home.”

  “Oh hell yes!” Any irritation melted at the thought of the heater in Rob’s Explorer.

  Home was a twenty-minute drive in traffic, so Michael settled in, heat vents aimed directly at his face.

  “So,” Rob cast a wicked smile in his direction, and Michael reminded himself that, unlike him, Rob liked girls . “I hear you shared your vision of Mr. Butt-head with the senior class.”

  “Nope. Wasn’t me.” Michael rolled his eyes at Rob’s disbelieving snort. “Seriously, dude. Did you see it? I could do ten times better with my left hand.”

  Rob laughed a little. “Yeah, I guess so. You always were into the Play Doh and finger paints.”

  “Yeah, well, we can’t all be brainless jocks, Robbie.”

  This time Rob’s laugh was full and rich, and his damned dimple winked at Michael, beckoning like a candle flame to a moth. “That’s what I like about you, Mikey,” he chuckled. “You aren’t intimidated by me in the least.”

  “Hard to be intimidated by someone you once saw eating his boogers,” Michael shot back with a small smile of his own.

  “Oh, so untrue,” Rob groaned. “Slander!”

  They arrived at Michael’s house first, and as the truck idled in his driveway, Michael realized Rob was peering down the street toward his own house, which looked every bit as dark and cold as Michael’s. He knew he’d regret it, knew Rob would turn him down and even if he didn’t, spending any time with the guy was bound to be torture, but the words came out before he could stop them.

  “Hey, looks like my mom’s working late again. I was gonna nuke a pizza and watch Troy for Mr. Cutter’s extra credit. Do you wanna come in?”

  Rob looked surprised, then pleased. Then surprised he was pleased. Michael suppressed a groan. Such a bad idea. Then Rob smiled, more tentative than his usual sunshiny beam, but somehow sweeter.

  “Sure. God knows I could use the extra credit. English is so not my thing.”

  “Brainless jock,” Michael teased, ducking the fist swinging playfully in his direction. “Okay, Forrest Gump. C’mon inside.”


  Three hours and a frozen pizza later, Rob was sprawled out next to him. Somehow those long legs were stretched the length of the couch, size thirteen feet draped over Michael’s legs.

  Michael cast a surreptitious look up the length of Rob’s thighs. They were thick and muscular, and Michael had to force himself to look away before his gaze reached the place where they joined because Rob. Wasn’t. Gay.

  “That wasn’t bad.” Rob stretched arms overhead, long body taut and way too tempting for Michael’s peace of mind.

  “Totally inaccurate, but not bad.” Michael busied himself with the remote; anything to distract himself from the way Rob’s Henley had pulled up during his stretch, baring a slice of lean belly.

  “Inaccurate how?” Rob looked interested. He also looked like he wasn’t thinking of moving any time soon.

  “Well, the war lasted years, not weeks. Agamemnon didn’t die. Oh, and Patroclus was Achilles’ lover, not his cousin.”

  Rob blinked slowly, then blinked again and seemed to notice the way he was draped all over Michael and the couch, and sat up with a jerk.

  “Okay, that’s just stupid,” he argued. “They were warriors, not queers.” He flushed and shot Michael a sideways look. “No offense.”

  Michael hadn’t “come out” at school or anything, but he hadn’t hidden his orientation, either. Yeah, he’d dealt with some bullying, some asshole-ish behavior from the other kids, but whatever. If the dickheads weren’t giving him shit because he was gay, they were picking on Patty Jakway because she was fat. Or Phil Matthews because he was just too fucking weird to exist. Michael had never gotten a homophobic vibe from Rob in the past, but then he hadn’t really spent any time with him, either. And it would definitely make sense for a popular jock like Rob to gay bash — even if it was only verbally. So maybe his voice was a little more bitter than it needed to be when he answered.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Turn Navi Off
Turn Navi On
Scroll Up
Add comment

Add comment