Page 43 of Black Velvet

Damon

Day five.

Not only do I think that I've made her wait long enough by now, I'm also tortured by my own impatience. I could have showed up before, but I didn't. I forced myself to stay away from her, just to see what it would do to me—and to her. I stared at the time every single night, relishing in the knowledge that she's sitting in the black room, naked, her heart beating fast in anticipation and her pussy dripping for me.

I don't know if this is more than an image in my head, but it spurs me enough to fantasize about her. I get hard just thinking about her sitting in that room, kneeling, obediently waiting for me just as I've told her to, needing me, wanting me. The image has come to me multiple times since I last saw her.

Not tonight, though. I won't be sitting at home all by myself tonight. Tonight will be the first night she won't be waiting needlessly.

It's a quarter past nine by the time I set foot in The Velvet Rooms. She has been sitting in the black room upstairs for about fifteen minutes now, not too long for her to grow tired or to lose her pose, but just enough time to not make me look too eager. A man never wants to seem too eager.

My plan was to stop at the bar for a drink, but I scrap that idea when I see Mr. Bartlet sitting there surrounded by two devils who are both giggling. They pour champagne down their throats, deliberately spilling some of it on their cleavage, which he all too willingly offers to lick up. His eyes meet mine for a split second when I walk by, casting him a nod in a greeting, which he doesn't reciprocate. I wonder if he's bold enough to bring a little bag of powder in here. Probably not. Mr. Bartlet has always been more careful about his use than my parents have. Not careful enough for me to not notice, but careful enough to stay out of trouble with the law. Bringing coke to a club like The Velvet Rooms would be reckless, and he knows that.

I leave him behind and head straight toward the spiral staircase, ignoring the girls who cross my path and try to capture my attention. Just before I reach the stairs, one of them—a devil with round tits, pushed up below her chin—nudges me from the side.

"Finally!" she shouts at me. "About time for you to show up, mister!"

I throw her a confused look, but she just winks at me, jerking her chin up to the stairs. "She's waiting for you!"

My eyes rest on the girl for a moment as she walks away without giving me a second thought. Did word get around about my agreement with Elene? It would make sense to instruct the staff so they stay clear of that black room at the end of the corridor.

I decide not to dwell on it and make my way up the stairs. Darkness welcomes me on the upper level, darkness and silence. I pause for a moment to find my bearings, relying on my ears more than my eyes. There's no sound, no moaning, no slickened noises of flesh slapping against each other, no sign of whips or spankings, evoking blissful yelps. All I can hear is the echo of my own breathing, rapid and erratic as I walk slowly but steadily, turning down the corridor as if led by instinct. The closer I get to the final curtain, the faster my heart raps against my rib cage.

I hesitate before moving the curtain aside, holding my own breath so I can listen for hers on the other side. But any sound she may make remains hidden behind thick velvet. It has only been five days, but right now it feels as if years have passed since I've been here and made her come on my hand, presumably the very first man ever to do so.

I take in a deep, cleansing breath and plunge in at the deep end, marching through the curtain with one wide, confident step.

And there she is. Kneeling on the carpet in the center of the room, completely naked, with her head lowered and her platinum hair cascading down her shoulders in loose waves. I didn't give her any instructions on how to do her makeup and hair, but she found the perfect solution for her bleached strands. Loose and open like that, the locks framing her face give her a more pure, innocent look than an up-do would.

"Good girl," I say, as I approach her. "Look up at me."

She obeys, tilting her head back as I come to a halt in front of her. I'm standing about a foot away when her blue eyes lock onto mine, framed with thick dark lashes, her skin matted with powder and her lips painted in pink. The light, which is set to the exact same brightness it was last time, illuminates her pretty features, causing her pupils to shrink and give room to more of that intense blue.

A smile widens across her face. "Hi."

Chapter 26

Elene

He's looking even more handsome than I remembered. Dressed in a black suit tailored to his broad frame, his brown hair is gelled to the side, with a silver tie sparkling beneath the light above us. He stands tall with his hands buried in his pants pockets, shadows emphasizing the features on his gorgeous face as he looks down on me. The lines on his face, drawn stronger because of the shadows painting his expression, make him look older. I don't know his age, but the last time I saw him I would have guessed that he wasn't even thirty yet. Right now, I wouldn't be so sure of that assessment anymore.

"Stand up," he orders, taking a step back to give me some space to move.

I oblige, happy to stretch my legs a lot sooner tonight than the other nights before. Since I didn't trust my ears to hear his steps in advance, I always remained in position just in case he'd suddenly show up. The urge to please him was stronger than the discomfort caused by having to sit on my feet for an hour.

As soon as I stand up straight, he does the exact same thing he did last time: He circles me, slowly, patiently, his eyes gracing up and down my body. He pauses behind my back, causing my heart to flutter. I can neither hear nor see him, but I know he's there, staring. I tense, expecting a touch that doesn't happen. He just lingers out of sight, taking in my backside.

"Have you ever been spanked before?" he asks.

"Of course," I reply, suppressing a condescending chuckle. What kind of question is that? Spankings were a part of my job for years, and probably the best part. I never liked clients who didn't want to lay their hands on me like that.

"Hard?" he probes. "Hard enough to leave marks?"

My heart jumps. "Yes."

"Did you like it?"

"Very much."

---