witnessing the ménage displayed on the screen, before she hastily looked away again.
This evening would definitely prove to be an education it seemed.
"Sign here, and then I would suggest you grab a drink and wait for Ink at the bar. His demonstration is almost over." The blond man shoved a 'rules of conduct' sheet under her nose, and Estelle scribbled her signature automatically. Ink had e-mailed her the rules only yesterday; the man was nothing if not thorough.
Again her gaze strayed to the stage. Knowing it was Ink wielding that menacing looking whip made her insides quiver.
Dressed in nothing but low riding leather pants, his back was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, clearly visible in the spotlights illuminating the stage. His muscles rippled, and his biceps flexed with every stroke he expertly delivered. The crack of the whip as it sailed through the air, before it curled across the bound woman's naked back and ass, made Estelle flinch.
The blonde tied spread-eagled to the St Andrew's Cross, however, moaned her arousal. Ink alternated light touches with heavier strokes, building the crescendo, and the woman's groans and pleas, begging for her orgasm could be heard echoing around the club.
The action on the stage drowned out the low music completely, and Estelle stumbled her way to the bar, fascinated to see this display of raw power and leashed aggression. There was something familiar about the set of Ink's broad shoulders and the way he held himself, but Estelle couldn't place it. She perched her backside on one of the high barstools, cursing inwardly at the indecently short hem of her dress that made not flashing her bits to the club a bit of a military operation.
Though why that bothered her when half of the women and the men, too, seemed to be in various states of nakedness was beyond her.
She suppressed a giggle thinking what the good nuns of her school years would make of this place.
"What can I get you, doll? New here, aren't you?"
Estelle forced her eyes away from admiring Ink's tight butt cheeks and smiled at the brunette behind the bar. Curves in all the right places, she was nonetheless much plumper than was deemed desirable these days. The tight corset cinched in her ample waist until her impressive bosom all but spilled over the top of the cups. Face surprisingly free of make-up, she was a natural beauty, and her open smile caused Estelle's tight insides to unfurl slowly. She hadn't realized how tightly coiled she'd been until now.
"Is it that obvious?"
The brunette laughed and winked at her.
"Well, let's just say I've seen men on death row more relaxed then you, doll. I'm Cherie, by the way. Which of one these overgrown fleabags dragged you here tonight?"
Again Estelle's eyes strayed to the stage, and Cherie whistled under her breath.
"The man himself, hey? Well, good luck with taming him."
"What do you mean?" Estelle asked, her insides once again churning at the shadow that crossed Cherie's features briefly as she, too, looked towards the stage.
"Nothing, doll, don't you worry. He knows what he's doing.
Ignore me." Cherie fixed a smile on her face and busied herself with wiping the immaculate bar top. When she did eventually look up, some undefined emotion in her deep brown eyes stopped Estelle from asking any other questions.
"So, what will it be, doll?"
"A black Russian, please, and my name is Estelle." Cherie smirked, looking behind her and made herself busy fixing the drink.
"Someone called for me?"
The deep accented voice rumbled through Estelle, and two heavily muscled arms came round her and caged her in against the bar. Eyes the color of coal connected with hers in the mirrors behind the bar, the man's white hair a direct contrast to the ebony hues of his skin. He, too, seemed a walking furnace. He rested his chin on her shoulder and inhaled deeply.
"Hmm, so sweet and fresh and unclaimed." Cherie rolled her eyes at Estelle and passed her the drink she ordered.
"She
This evening would definitely prove to be an education it seemed.
"Sign here, and then I would suggest you grab a drink and wait for Ink at the bar. His demonstration is almost over." The blond man shoved a 'rules of conduct' sheet under her nose, and Estelle scribbled her signature automatically. Ink had e-mailed her the rules only yesterday; the man was nothing if not thorough.
Again her gaze strayed to the stage. Knowing it was Ink wielding that menacing looking whip made her insides quiver.
Dressed in nothing but low riding leather pants, his back was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, clearly visible in the spotlights illuminating the stage. His muscles rippled, and his biceps flexed with every stroke he expertly delivered. The crack of the whip as it sailed through the air, before it curled across the bound woman's naked back and ass, made Estelle flinch.
The blonde tied spread-eagled to the St Andrew's Cross, however, moaned her arousal. Ink alternated light touches with heavier strokes, building the crescendo, and the woman's groans and pleas, begging for her orgasm could be heard echoing around the club.
The action on the stage drowned out the low music completely, and Estelle stumbled her way to the bar, fascinated to see this display of raw power and leashed aggression. There was something familiar about the set of Ink's broad shoulders and the way he held himself, but Estelle couldn't place it. She perched her backside on one of the high barstools, cursing inwardly at the indecently short hem of her dress that made not flashing her bits to the club a bit of a military operation.
Though why that bothered her when half of the women and the men, too, seemed to be in various states of nakedness was beyond her.
She suppressed a giggle thinking what the good nuns of her school years would make of this place.
"What can I get you, doll? New here, aren't you?"
Estelle forced her eyes away from admiring Ink's tight butt cheeks and smiled at the brunette behind the bar. Curves in all the right places, she was nonetheless much plumper than was deemed desirable these days. The tight corset cinched in her ample waist until her impressive bosom all but spilled over the top of the cups. Face surprisingly free of make-up, she was a natural beauty, and her open smile caused Estelle's tight insides to unfurl slowly. She hadn't realized how tightly coiled she'd been until now.
"Is it that obvious?"
The brunette laughed and winked at her.
"Well, let's just say I've seen men on death row more relaxed then you, doll. I'm Cherie, by the way. Which of one these overgrown fleabags dragged you here tonight?"
Again Estelle's eyes strayed to the stage, and Cherie whistled under her breath.
"The man himself, hey? Well, good luck with taming him."
"What do you mean?" Estelle asked, her insides once again churning at the shadow that crossed Cherie's features briefly as she, too, looked towards the stage.
"Nothing, doll, don't you worry. He knows what he's doing.
Ignore me." Cherie fixed a smile on her face and busied herself with wiping the immaculate bar top. When she did eventually look up, some undefined emotion in her deep brown eyes stopped Estelle from asking any other questions.
"So, what will it be, doll?"
"A black Russian, please, and my name is Estelle." Cherie smirked, looking behind her and made herself busy fixing the drink.
"Someone called for me?"
The deep accented voice rumbled through Estelle, and two heavily muscled arms came round her and caged her in against the bar. Eyes the color of coal connected with hers in the mirrors behind the bar, the man's white hair a direct contrast to the ebony hues of his skin. He, too, seemed a walking furnace. He rested his chin on her shoulder and inhaled deeply.
"Hmm, so sweet and fresh and unclaimed." Cherie rolled her eyes at Estelle and passed her the drink she ordered.
"She
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