Page 73 of At Her Pleasure

Corset sellers had visited the club before, but their target clientele had been women. This one was dedicated to the male demographic. A tall man made up of angles and little body fat, he wore one of his own creations, striped gold and red, with gold ribbon lacing. He’d put it over a silk shirt and brown slacks. A man who knew how to use his own assets to market his product and skills, the outfit suited him. His long-fingered hands had created every garment he sold. His scene name was Tailor.

As he helped dress submissives according to their Mistresses’ preferences, he offered instructional insights in a crisp British accent that might have been as affected as the one Vera was contemplating, but it never slipped.

“A corset for a woman emphasizes the hourglass shape. With men, it’s the V-shape, from the shoulders to the waist, smoothing the stomach and chest, a blend of waistcoat and corset.”

He adjusted a lace, touching the nape of the young man he was dressing. The Tailor gave the watching Mistress a knowing smile as the submissive blushed under his obviously Dominant touch. “They’re always a delight when they’re this sweet.”

“Sweet is overrated,” Cyn muttered to Mick. His lips pressed against a smile as he threaded a finger through the belt loop of her slacks and tugged.

“Men have worn corsets throughout history,” the Tailor continued, for the gathering of potential customers and those who liked watching the fittings. “In the 1800s, a Frenchman said, ‘The secret lies in the thinness andnarrowness of the waist. Catechize your tailor about this … Insist, order,menace … Shoulders large, the skirts of the coat ample and flowing, the waiststrangled.’” The Tailor winked. “That’s my rule.”

“Insist, order and menace,” Mick murmured. “Now I understand why this appealed to you.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, an impulsive gesture that made his eyes sparkle. When the Tailor finished with his current client, she raised a hand to catch his attention.

“How may I assist, Mistress?”

She dipped her head toward Mick. “What would you suggest?”

Tailor ran a critical eye over her subject. With his arms crossed, Mick appeared relaxed, though the expression in his eyes had changed since they’d moved away from her. What was in them had the Tailor looking a little uneasy.

Mick had that effect if he didn’t put any warmth in his gaze, or if he went silent. But the Tailor showed he had a spine, and wasn’t unused to more intimidating personalities. Especially garbing male submissives in a BDSM club environment.

“This one.”

He’d taken into account what she was wearing as well, pulling a corset of silver and black brocade off the rack. It had silver hooks and black laces. Sleek and sexy, and sure to enhance the hero vs. villain mystery of the man who wore it.

“I’d like to put it on him,” Cyn said.

“Of course. That’s part of the pleasure. I recommend he remove the belt, so it will lie more smoothly over his waistband.”

Cyn stopped Mick as he put his hand to his belt. “I’ll do it.”

“Yeah, because if he removes the belt himself, half the female subs watching will pass out.”

Laughter rippled through the gathered voyeurs. The ones who were female subs didn’t deny the assessment.

Vera had called out the comment. She and Ros were at the table Lawrence and Tiger had shared earlier. Tiger was gone, probably watching the public sessions with Skye, since the first round had started. Vera and Ros had the two seats and Lawrence stood beside Ros. His hand was braced on her chair back, thumb stroking her below her shoulder blade as he watched the goings on with his usual impassive expression that most couldn’t read.

Cyn knew it conveyed total attention to whatever his Mistress wanted, and his readiness to get between her and any threat. Though he’d learned to tone that down in known environments, a former Navy SEAL was never off duty.

Since Ros had one elegant leg bent to brace her foot on the chair rung, the other crossed over her knee, Cyn’s attention was caught by her high heels. Tonight’s selection was exceptionally spectacular.

The back stem of the shoe was a shirtless kneeling male, bearing the weight of wearer’s heel on his back. A draped silver chain connected the collar around his throat to the cuffs on his uplifted wrists. Another attached to the back of the collar and ran to the strap around Ros’s ankle, like a leash binding him to his Mistress.

Where did the woman find these things? Cyn put her hands to Mick’s waist to unbuckle the belt and strip it off. She noted the muscle tension beneath her touch, and coiled the belt around her knuckles, feeling his heat through it, before she moved the couple steps needed to lay the belt in front of Vera. “Could you hold onto that for me?”

“My pleasure.”

“No sniffing or rubbing it on you.”

“You are no fun at all.”

Sy wandered up to stand at Vera’s side. He nodded to Cyn in a friendly manner. But when she came back to Mick, she noted Sy’s presence had introduced a different attitude to his stance. And that unsettling look in his eyes? It had increased. Exponentially.

Cyn reached up and touched his face. “Are you under the impression we aren’t completely alone?” she asked.

Mick’s gaze came to hers. As they held, and she showed him what she wanted, how she felt, the fire kindling there changed target and purpose. “Not a soul here but us, Mistress.”

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