Velvet submission, p.1
Velvet Submission, p.1Violet Summers
Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2010, 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
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.
Gregori learned all about pain and submission in Communist Russia, but it wasn't until he came to America that he was able to make sense of those lessons. Now he's learned to take the pain and make it the source of his strength, and he's looking for the Domme who can command his soul as well as his body. Megan sees D/s as a power play; for her it's not about sex, it's all about control. She's not the Domme for Gregori, she knows it. So why can't she walk away from the sexy Russian? Because all she wants is Gregori's Velvet Submission.
Friday, October 31st
Gregori Lavinkia stood at the top of the stairs looking over the semi-private second floor dance space, and wished the night would end. Normally he loved his job as security at the very exclusive, very exotic club, Velvet Ice, but it had been a bitch of a week, and Halloween brought out the psychos.
He really couldn't complain, though. A long week in Royal Oak, Michigan was nothing compared to the long weeks in St. Petersburg, where he'd lived until his twelfth birthday. And while Velvet Ice's Halloween psychos were annoying, they weren't dangerous. It was a distinction he'd learned early to appreciate.
Gregori was pulled from his self-indulgent musings by the appearance of a goddess.
Tall and voluptuous, the golden-haired vision was making her way up the spiral staircase as if she owned the place. Something in her stance, her confident walk, sent a tingle up Gregori's spine. Something in her determined expression sent a warning flag up in his brain.
He swept an assessing gaze over the writhing dance floor and caught sight of a lone she-devil, looking more overwhelmed than excited. A quick glance at the staircase opposite his revealed a sexy little slip of vampire who looked bent on trouble.
Gregori smiled to himself. He'd been warned about Jenner's "Terrible Trio." They were legendary at the club. Led by Celia Jenner, the younger sister of club regular Dorian Jenner, the three had staged a two-year siege on the club and sent Brady Ryder, his boss and part owner of the club, into a homicidal state of mind that hadn't abated in the entire year Gregori had worked at Velvet Ice. Ryder had made it more than clear that these three ladies were not by any means to be allowed past the front door. Somehow though, in spite of her under-age status, the ingenuous Ms. Jenner managed to infiltrate the first floor on an almost weekly basis, and she and her cohorts showed up on the second floor far more often than was acceptable.
The vibe this one sent off didn't feel under-age or innocent in the least. In fact, golden hair and ivory skin aside, something in the big blue gaze currently locked on him like a heat-seeking missile practically demanded he drop to his knees and beg to serve at her feet. Those candy-pink lips curved and her brow arched challengingly, and Gregori couldn't help wondering if she wanted to master him as much as he wanted to be mastered.
Unfortunately, he was here to work, not to play, and even if he weren't, he didn't play with children, no matter how appealing they might be. Shaking his head in amusement, Gregori stepped forward to send his young goddess on her way.
"Aphrodite, I presume."
Megan Jamison felt that deep, accented voice shiver down her spine with a heady thrill that spoke to something beyond sex. It spoke to something dark and visceral, something she'd only begun to recognize since she'd left home and her father's influence. She heard that voice and wanted to own him.
Tipping her head back, Meg took stock of the stunning specimen of masculine perfection before her. He was big. Really big. Megan appreciated size in a man. At five-eleven, she was no dainty blossom, and she preferred a man who didn't make her feel like a hulking giant. This man was easily six-four, and built like a football player: thick and wide and hard.
Executioner's garb, a costume that suited him all too well, bared a wide bronzed chest. Unlike many of the men present, he hadn't shaved or waxed his chest, and the light covering of hair looked silky and lent him a slightly barbaric appearance.
His black hair was cropped so close to his skull she could see the skin of his scalp. Not much to grab onto, but it emphasized the high cheekbones and almost almond shape of his glinting gray eyes.
"Oh, no, sugar," she replied with a laugh. "Aphrodite was too easy. Too willing to be controlled by her emotions." She stepped closer, laying one hand on his bare chest. Ummm. That chest hair was just as silky as it looked, the skin beneath hard and smooth. She could almost swear his breath caught at the contact, and something flared in those gorgeous eyes. She had to resist the urge to pet him. "No, Sug, I'm Athena." She moved in even closer, pressing her breasts against his arm just to see his reaction.
He didn't disappoint, going tense and tight between one breath and the next.
"The goddess of war?" his voice went even deeper, and gracious she wanted to hear that voice begging for … something.
"The goddess of war," she agreed, pushing lightly on his chest. He stood his ground, but she didn't think he really wanted to. "And wisdom," she added with a slow smile.
He blinked and took a deep breath, and to Megan's great disappointment, those mercurial eyes cooled just a bit. He stepped back and gave her a bland smile.
"A wise goddess would realize that Mr. Ryder would not risk his licenses by allowing a woman under twenty-one, no matter how compelling, into his establishment, let alone onto the private floors."
"Is that all?" Megan thought about following him that one step, but decided not to. She already knew how the encounter would end. He'd shut down whatever current had been flowing between them, and she didn't expect he'd allow her to open it up again. That didn't mean she'd just walk away, though. "I'm twenty-two, sugar. Well over the age of consent."
"Still, unless you've a gold coin to show me, you're adventure ends here for tonight." How could such a bland smile seem so wicked? Megan wanted to pursue it, wanted to explore the forbidden third floor, and wanted to explore it with this man.
She gave an exaggerated sigh, one she knew would cause her generous breasts to swell and threaten to burst free from the fine gold cord holding them bound in her gauzy white gown. As she'd expected, his eyes fixed on the feminine display, and his smile went from bland to predatory in a blink.
"We could share the adventure, sugar," she offered with a confidential smile.
"I have no doubt, my goddess." He returned her smile and gestured for her to precede him down the stairs. "But, regretfully, that is not to be."
"Ah, well," she murmured philosophically. "Perhaps another time."
As she made her way down the staircase she heard his soft rumble, and smiled anew. He'd said, "One can only hope. Desperately."
January, Two Years
"I'm sure you're aware that your background check and personal information came back clean, however I've decided against approving your VIP membership at Velvet Ice." Megan had expected this response from Brady Ryder, and was prepared to address it.
"Mr. Ryder, I fail to see why I'm not fit for your establishment." Her lilting southern accent rolled off her tongue like molasses. It was her first line of defense, and Megan usually got what she wanted when she did her Southern Belle routine. Unfortunately, Brady Ryder wasn't falling for it, if his deepening frown was anything to go by.
"It doesn't have anything to do with your not being fit for membership. Frankly, in a club of this sort, it's necessary that someone have full discretion on membership decisions. At Velvet Ice, that someone is me, and I am rejecting your application." He stood, apparently thinking the conversation was over. Megan imagined that most people were intimidated by Brady Ryder, but she wasn't one of them. She came from a long line of males who thought they owned the world; consequently, as a young girl, she mastered all the ways to maneuver around them.
Now, she crossed her long shapely legs, exhaling deeply. "Mr. Ryder, Brady, I can assure you that Celia Jenner will have no knowledge of my membership." She met his eyes earnestly, not an easy feat, as they'd narrowed dangerously at the mention of her friend's name. "And I promise you, Celia won't have any more access to the second or third floors of the club than she already does."
Bingo. The man's face turned blood red, bordering on purple, at subtle mention of how Celia ran wild in the club. But really, if Ryder's only objection was her friendship with Celia, he was being completely irrational. The woman had practically the entire staff wrapped around her slender little finger, and he darn well knew it.
"Be that as it may, your application is still denied. You need to leave now." He bit out every single word like he was chewing on glass. Megan certainly wasn't going to be shaken, nor was she taking no for an answer. She needed this.
"I know who you are, Bradford Ryder." She kept her voice as soft as possible. "I know all about you. Ryder International, the scandal…"
He slammed his fist down on his desk and Megan felt the first stirrings of unease.
"Do you honestly think you can blackmail your way into my club?"
Oh, dear. She'd really stepped into it this time. "Darlin', I have no intention of doing anything so ugly," she began soothingly. "I only meant to demonstrate that I can keep some things to myself. I am, among other things, discreet."
The big, bald man sat down in his chair, absently rubbing his naked scalp. "So, you haven't shared your knowledge with Celia?"
"No, I have not. It's not in my nature to gossip. Especially when my best friend is smitten with you." She could understand why Celia was so attracted to the man. He was mysterious, dangerous and promised to give a woman the time of her life. Unlike Celia, however, she also knew the baggage he carried around and how it had twisted his soul.
No, there was no way in hell she would ever burden Celia with what she knew about Brady Ryder. Better her friend live with the fantasy of the man than the reality of him.
"Mr. Ryder." She was wearing him down; Megan could practically see the resignation coming off him in waves. "I have certain needs I wish to satisfy. Needs that I don't care to share with even my closest friends." She gave him a significant look and paused until he nodded a gruff acknowledgement. "This is the perfect place for me to explore and play. Here I know I'm safe, as opposed to some open play party I might find on the web." He'd closed his eyes and was pinching the bridge of his nose as though he were in pain. Megan smiled in satisfaction. The membership was hers for the taking. "I'll make a deal with you. Give me three months. If, during that time, you ever feel I have overstepped my boundaries, then I will withdraw my application." He gave her a narrow look, and she quickly erased the smile from her face before continuing. "But if I behave myself, then you approve my permanent VIP membership."
The man closed his eyes and shook his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but all right. Three months probation. During that time you will use absolute discretion, and Celia Jenner will not have access to my club."
Megan let her smile bloom. "Celia won't gain access to your club through me. It's up to you to keep her out the rest of the time, darlin'." She laughed out loud at the sour look on his face, turned on her four-inch heels, and sauntered through the door.
Brady sat back and dug the heels of his hands into his closed eyes as the buxom blonde walked out his office door. He had to hand it to Rose Red, as he'd come to think of her. She certainly knew how to play the game. He'd walked away from Ryder International nearly ten years ago without a backward glance, and had thought only his former partner, Marcus Worthington, knew his history.
Now he realized he should have expected Miss Megan Jamison to recognize his name. Her father was a wealthy Virginia business mogul who moved in the same social circles as his family. It made sense she'd know who he was … or who he used to be.
She had him by the balls, but he actually believed her when she said her intention wasn't to blackmail him. She'd invaded his club frequently with Celia, and since he made a career out of watching that little pain in the ass, he'd done some watching of Megan as well. A part of him admired her fire, while another part resented the hell out of it.
Still, he had to admit that she would be a popular Domme; she was tall and curvy as hell. Large breasts and long legs and flowing blonde hair… Yeah, there were going to be a lot of men, and women too, for that matter, falling all over themselves to do her bidding. He hoped they knew what the hell they were getting themselves into with this one. Because, there was one thing Brady Ryder knew, and that was when trouble came knocking. Megan Jamison didn't fool him for one second with her husky, soft-spoken southern accent. She was trouble with a capital T.
Megan looked around her newly decorated room on Velvet Ice's third floor with deep satisfaction. She'd finally completed her three months of probation, and all the resources of the club were at her disposal, including the use of a private and exclusive room. The walls, a deep twilight blue, contrasted beautifully with the whitewashed wooden equipment that filled the space. There were quite a few bulky pieces set throughout the room; the only obviously missing item was a bed. Megan didn't need a bed, though. She wasn't here for sexual satisfaction. Megan never mixed sex and her Domme life.
For her, being a Domme was a way for her to take back control. As the pampered and beloved only daughter of a powerful man, Megan had learned early that her place was to fall in line with her Daddy's plans. He knew the best school to gild the magnolia, the best clubs for her to socialize at, and the best boys for her to date. Megan trailed her finger along a beautifully appointed St. Andrew's cross and smiled. Somehow, she didn't think this was the kind of club her daddy would approve of.
When she'd finally gotten the nerve to explain she wanted to become a nurse and that she was leaving Virginia to attend Madonna University in Michigan, her daddy had been furious. How dare she want to leave her family, to have a career instead of marrying an eligible bachelor handpicked by him? He had her life all planned out for her, and for her to try and change the script at this late date was unacceptable.
Thank God for her Nana Stella. That genteel lady had enough fire to keep her son, Megan's daddy Beau, in line, and enough money to give Megan the freedom from her family she'd so desperately needed.
She'd never been a passive person, or a biddable lover, but Megan believed her Domme persona was born from the last year she'd spent arguing with her father about her future. Wandering in to Velvet Ice the first time with Celia and Kendra had merely put a name to the urges that had been growing in her for years. Dominating a submissive gave her a much-needed release from being under her daddy's command. For Megan, holding a submissive's very will in her hands was even more alluring than sex. And it was a natural role for her; she had a flair wh
Domination wasn't about sex for Megan, but she knew it was for most of her subs and, while she never got off herself, she would, on occasion, allow her submissive to have an orgasm as a reward for following her rules perfectly. Of course, perfection was very, very rare.
Walking to the wall, Megan began to arrange her numerous baby blue floggers on the appropriate hooks. She hung them first by length, then by width, and then moved on to her collection of straps, again in her favorite color of baby blue. A company in California made them especially for her. All her paddles, crops and even butt plugs, were her signature baby blue.
An armoire along one wall held her play clothes. The outfits were meant to tantalize her subs, giving them a hard-on before she ever opened her mouth. Megan knew her body well, and made sure her costumes played up her strengths. Her breasts were large, so her tops were low cut, allowing a generous view of her cleavage. Her hips and derriere were full and round, so skin-tight pants and skirts hugged her ample curves. Megan loved how it felt, walking through the club, ass swaying. She loved feeling every eye on her, hypnotized by the swing of her hips. She loved feeling like she owned the room and everyone in it.
Knee-high boots were another favorite. At five-eleven barefoot, Megan was used to towering over everyone around her. In her role as a Domme, that height gave her another advantage, that of intimidation. Besides, any sub too greatly cowed by her height and physical gifts wasn't a sub worth her time.
She'd even whipped a female sub once or twice, if their Masters requested it. Since she wasn't having sex with subs, it didn't bother her in the least, though she preferred male slaves. The bigger and badder the male, the better, as far as Megan was concerned.
All in all, she decided, Velvet Ice was perfect for her, a perfect sanctuary for her deepest needs. Within these walls, she was in control of not only her own destiny, but also of reality for those she allowed to serve her.
Velvet Submission by Violet Summers / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes