Finn’s hand is still wrapped around mine, his touch grounding me. The frustration of being edged and denied blends with the mystery of this place, creating a heady mix of emotions that has my heart pounding.
As we approach the front desk, Finn leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “Almost there, little sun.”
His words send a new wave of heat through me. I bite my lip, trying to steady myself. Whatever awaits us beyond this lobby, I know Finn will make sure it’s worth every agonizing second of waiting.
An attendant behind the front desk looks up, a polite smile on her face as she recognizes Finn. She’s an attractive female werewolf with long, dark hair, wearing an elegant white pantsuit and an air of authority that suggests she’s more than just a receptionist.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Verran,” she says in a seductive French accent. “Will you be needing something for your guest this evening?”
“Yes, thank you, Stella,” Finn responds smoothly. “Something that sets off her natural beauty.”
“Ah, oui, I have just the thing.” Stella winks and disappears through a black curtain hanging over a doorway behind her. Seconds later, she returns and produces two masquerade masks. “Here you are, mademoiselle. I think you will be pleased, no?”
She hands me a delicate white creation shaped like butterfly wings with intricate swirling designs that sparkle in the light. “It’s beautiful, Stella, thank you.”
Finn takes it and places it over my eyes, helping to tie the ribbon at the back of my head so that it’s hidden by my curls. “It’s perfect,” he says, his voice husky. Then he takes the other mask for himself, sliding it on with the black elastic blending in with his dark hair.
It’s a minimalist design of plain, brushed silver with five points at the top resembling the points of a crown, emphasizing his role as prince within his court and reputation as one of the Verran Kings of Vegas.
“I thought you said this club was exclusive for others now,” I say. “Why the need for secrecy?”
“It’s not about secrecy; it’s more of a dress code. When the Marceau pack took over ownership, they went with an erotic New Orleans theme,” he explains. “Wearing these is a requirement for the club. The Mardi Gras beads are optional.”
He winks one of his golden-honey eyes behind his mask, letting me know he’s joking about the beads. Something tells me even if that tradition was alive and well inside the club, Finn would hold issue with me flashing patrons for some cheap necklaces, sex club or not.
Finn thanks Stella and rests his free hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward a door at the other end of the lobby. As we step inside the club proper, the atmosphere shifts dramatically.
The room is dark and erotic, with red walls and black-painted concrete floors. The ceiling is adorned with multiple hard points for suspension work, and various stations throughout the room hold an array of toys, whips, and restraints. The only light comes from red lamps and large clusters of candles strategically placed around the black leather furniture, casting flickering shadows that dance across the walls.
The people here are indeed all others, their supernatural auras palpable even in the dim light. There’s a female vampire I don’t recognize on a small dais, her fangs glinting as she whispers something to a full-figured Dark Fae while binding her in rope.
A werewolf with tawny hair and amber eyes wields a flogger with practiced ease, each strike against his partner’s back eliciting a gasp of pleasure as they arch into the blows.
A couple of djinns are engaged in a scene involving enchanted restraints that pulse to the beat of the bass-heavy music. Their eyes meet mine for a moment, one offering a knowing smile before returning to their play.
Finn’s grip on my waist tightens. His eyes, intense behind the silver mask, lock onto mine. “Enjoying the view?”
I nod, my throat suddenly dry. The blend of dark eroticism and supernatural energy is intoxicating, pulling me deeper into the club’s seductive embrace. Finn’s hand slides lower, just above the curve of my ass, a subtle but possessive gesture I don’t hate.
“I’m glad,” he says, leaning in so his breath brushes against my ear. My pulse quickens, a fresh wave of arousal mixing with my curiosity and anticipation. Whatever Finn has planned for us tonight, I know it will push my boundaries and fulfill my deepest desires, and I’m so ready for all of it with him. “Let’s start by enjoying the show.”
He guides me to a black leather couch with a perfect vantage point of the shibari scene. We sit, and I can’t help but be drawn into the mesmerizing dance of the ropes as the vampire Domme works on a complex suspension with her sub on the floor of the dais. Hands move with practiced precision, threading the ropes through intricate knots, creating a design with her body in the way it’s held in place with the ropes.
As we watch, Finn’s hands begin to roam, his touch light and teasing. His fingers trace the outline of my bralette, my panties, and along each thigh garter, sending shivers of anticipation through me. My breaths grow shallow along with my need, and it takes all my control not to take what I want like I used to.
The Domme affixes a series of ropes to the ones on the sub then runs them up through different areas of a large ring hanging from up above. Once she has everything the way she wants, it’s amazing how quickly and easily she’s able to hoist the fae into the air before she ties off the ropes to hold her in place. She becomes a floating work of art, her naked body suspended gracefully, the ropes accentuating the beautiful curves of her frame.
I’m completely transfixed by the scene. The fae’s expression is one of utter peace and submission, her eyes half-closed as she lets her weight sink into the biting embrace of the ropes. The Domme affectionately strokes her submissive’s face, whispering words of praise only they can hear.
Finn leans in close, his voice weaving a spell around me as his hand slides up my inner thigh. “Look at how at peace she is. She could stay like that for hours. I’ve only given you a small taste. Imagine giving yourself completely to my ropes, to the designs I could create with the gift of your submission. Would you like to try that someday?”
“What’s wrong with right now?” I ask, a challenge in my tone I’m hoping he takes.
Instead, he chuckles and gives my leg a squeeze. “I love the enthusiasm, but that’s way too advanced for tonight. However, that doesn’t mean we can’t still have some fun. Come on.”
Pulling me off the couch, he leads me to a dark alcove, lit only by the flickering glow of candles, that offers a sense of privacy while still being a part of the main area. There are multiple hardpoints in the walls with rings and hooks for restraining, and a full-length mirror mounted on the back for one’s viewing pleasure while being restrained, I suppose.
Finn drops his duffel bag off to the side and begins to pull out lengths of white rope. The sight of the coils sends a thrill through me, my anticipation growing. He shakes out a coil and turns to me, his eyes bright and intent behind his mask.
“Turn around,” he commands softly, and I obey, my heart racing. “I’m going to add to your outfit and give you some stockings.”
He starts by anchoring a rope around my waist, then wraps the tails around the top of my left thigh twice, so there are four rows, then creates an intricate knot on the outside of my leg and repeats the process again and again. His fingers work deftly, tightening the rope just enough to create a delicious pressure. When he reaches my ankle, he has just enough rope to tie it off in a bow, a delicate finish to the sturdy bindings.
He does it all again, from waist to ankle, on my right leg, his movements precise and practiced. As he works, the sensation of the rope sliding and tightening against my skin sends waves of heat through me, each knot and loop amplifying my arousal.
When he’s finished, he places me in front of the mirror so we can both admire his handiwork. The white rope contrasts beautifully with my skin, creating an elegant, intricate pattern that hugs the curves of my legs. The bindings feel like a second skin, both restraining and empowering. They press into me just enough to make me hyper-aware of every inch of my body, every subtle shift and movement. I feel like a work of art, crafted by Finn’s hands, every knot and loop a testament to his expertise and desire.
Finn gaze rakes over me in the mirror with a mixture of pride and lust. “You look incredible. Like a goddess.”
His words send a fresh wave of arousal through me, my heart pounding in my chest. He steps closer, his hands gently running over the ropes, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure.
“How do they feel?”
“Amazing,” I breathe, my voice trembling with desire.
He smiles with a wicked glint dancing in his eyes. “Good. Because I’m not done with you yet.”
NINETEENFINNIAN
Taryn leaves me breathless.
She stands confidently in her elegant lingerie, her body on display for me with her legs bound in the rope stockings. The matching collar is merely decorative—it doesn’t hold the sacred meaning that signifies ownership in this community—but I’m glad she’s wearing it. The possessiveness I feel for her wouldn’t bode well for anyone requesting I share her for their enjoyment.
The way she moves, the way her skin flushes with arousal, is driving me insane. She’s a vision of sensuality and submission. She is a goddess, and I would happily worship at her altar as she deserves.
I step closer, my hands brushing over her bound thighs, tracing the lines where flesh meets nylon. Her eyes, half-lidded and filled with need, meet mine, and I see my desire reflected back at me.
“Tonight, solnyshko, you belong to me,” I growl possessively. “You are mine to bind, mine to pleasure, mine to care for. Isn’t that right?”
She bites her lower lip, the hint of a smile telling me she’s fighting the urge to let her usual strong-willed personality respond. I hold her gaze in the mirror, and though she can’t see the expectant arch of my eyebrow behind my mask, I’m certain she knows it’s there.
“I am yours to do with as you will, sire.”
A satisfied groan rumbles in my chest at hearing those words tumble from her soft lips. “Good girl. You’ve earned a reward.”
I trail my hands over her hips, across her stomach, and up to her dusky brown nipples straining against the sheer fabric, begging for my touch. She moans as I pinch the stiff buds and arches her back, offering her breasts to me.
I dip my head to kiss and suck on her neck, letting my fangs graze her skin. Her cat-like eyes widen behind her mask, and her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away.
