Page 23 of The Player

Valente was waiting for them, standing by the table with a glass of wine in his hand. He was a tall, imposing man with a presence that commanded attention. His silver hair was perfectly styled, his suit immaculate, and his sharp eyes missed nothing.

“Mr. and Mrs. Conway,” Valente greeted them with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Welcome.”

“Thank you for having us,” Seth replied smoothly, shaking the man’s hand.

Hope offered Valente a warm smile as well, playing her part perfectly. “It’s a pleasure to be here, Mr. Valente.”

“Please, call me Nero,” he said, gesturing for them to sit. “We’re all friends here.”

Seth and Hope took their seats across from Valente, their movements synchronized, their demeanor polished and refined. As they settled in, a team of silent, efficient servers entered the room, bringing out the first course—a delicate dish of seared scallops with a saffron sauce. The meal was exquisite, the wine even more so, and Valente kept the conversation light, asking them about their time in London, their interests, and their experience the other night at the Citadel.

“Everyone who witnessed it said your wife was the most beautifully responsive sub,” said Valente, “and we’ve had several people express an interest in learning how to use a violet wand. Might you consider teaching a class or putting on some kind of demonstration?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” said Seth.

“My husband is also a Shibari master,” offered Hope.

Seth could feel the undercurrent of tension beneath the surface, the way Valente was watching them, analyzing every word, every gesture. This dinner was more than just a meal—it was a test, a way for Valente to gauge whether or not Seth and Hope were truly who they claimed to be.

Hope played her role flawlessly, engaging in the conversation with a charm and grace that had Valente smiling more than once. Seth kept his responses measured, careful not to reveal too much while still maintaining the illusion of openness.

As they moved on to the main course—a perfectly cooked filet mignon with truffle mashed potatoes—Valente’s questions became more pointed, more personal. He asked about their dynamic, how they navigated their D/s relationship, and what brought them to the Citadel in the first place.

Seth and Hope had rehearsed their story countless times, and they delivered it with the ease of a well-practiced routine. They spoke of their shared interest in exploring their desires, of finding a place where they could truly be themselves, and of their admiration for the Citadel’s exclusivity and discretion. They kept their story as close to the truth as possible.

Valente listened intently, nodding along as they spoke, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that put Seth on edge. He knew they were walking a fine line; that one wrong move could unravel everything they’d worked for.

When the dinner finally concluded, Valente set his wine glass down and leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “I must say, you’ve both been quite the surprise,” he said, his tone measured. “It’s not often we see new members who are so… aligned with our values.”

“We’re honored,” Seth replied, keeping his tone respectful.

Valente’s smile widened slightly. “I think it’s time we introduced you to a different side of the Citadel. Something more… intimate.”

Seth exchanged a quick glance with Hope, who gave him the faintest nod. “We’d like that,” Seth said.

“Excellent.” Valente stood, gesturing for them to follow. “Let’s head downstairs.”

The atmosphere in the club shifted as they descended the stairs to the lower levels of the Citadel. The music grew softer, more sensual, and the lighting dimmed to a soft, ambient glow. The hallways were lined with rooms, some with doors closed, others partially open, revealing glimpses of the activities within.

Valente led them to a spacious room that was designed for performance—a raised platform at the center, surrounded by plush seating. The walls were lined with mirrors that reflected the flickering candlelight, and various pieces of equipment were arranged around the room, waiting to be used.

“This is one of our more private stages,” Valente explained, his tone casual. “Only a select few are granted access to this area. I thought it would be the perfect place for you to show us what you’re capable of.”

Seth could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, the expectations that came with Valente’s words. They had to deliver, and not just for the sake of the mission. Their very lives could depend on how well they performed here.

He turned to Hope, who was already stepping forward, her eyes calm and focused. She met his gaze, and he could see the unspoken understanding between them. They were in this together; she trusted him, and whatever Valente threw at them, they would get through it. The seats were filled with spectators.

Seth led her up onto the stage—which was dominated by a large St. Andrew’s cross. Like the one the night before, it was heavily padded and covered in buttery-soft leather. Once he’d removed her clothing, he put her in four-point restraints and then examined the various implements that had been left for him to choose from. Without asking her, he segregated out three small, glass, antique Hemingray insulators, filling each with a measure of whiskey. Using one of the nearby candles, Seth lit the whiskey in the first one on fire.

Once the fire was out, he slid his hand between her legs, grateful that he’d managed to play with her at dinner so that she had become highly aroused and remained so. He rimmed the larger end of the cup with her honey before setting it against her breast, covering her nipple. It was drawn up and into the insulator by the suction that was created by the air inside it cooling.

Hope sucked in her breath, biting her lower lip.

Satisfied the cup would remain attached, Seth repeated the procedure with a second insulator to fully arouse her other nipple.

“You’ll notice that the first insulator, or cup, is beginning to really draw and redden her skin. For the most part, it’s more of a mind fuck than anything else.”

Hope groaned as she arched her body into him, her entire body shaking with need. Those in the audience applauded.

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