He watched her walk from across the room. Ah, but he loved women. It didn’t matter if they were blonde, brunette, black, white, old, young–he liked them all. But his favorite type was plump.
There was nothing like a soft-fleshed woman. He loved way she smelled, the sweet scent of sex on her body. He loved when her skin was deeply blushed and bruised from a beating, or the indented lines left from rope, a textural memory his fingers and lips could trace. He loved the way her flesh would indent from a hard thudding blow from his hand or an implement, the waves and dimpling of her skin. How he loved the kiss of sweat that would sheen along her body; her soft folds, and lush curves a beckoning invitation for his attention.
“Your eyes are glowing with that Spidey-sense of yours.”
A soft chuckle and the sweet fragrance of her cologne were all the introduction Madame Fornea needed. It was her club they were in, M/F, details left to the guests interpretation. Not many knew that he was a silent partner in the business, and that the club was named for both of them, Fornea and Michael. M/F had so many other choice manifestations in this perverse lifestyle for anyone to believe something as prosaic as that.
“She is lovely. New, if not to the life, at least to us here.”
He stroked his hand down her arm. “Want to feel her out for me?”
“I’d be happier feeling her up…those tits…” Madame F sighed for a moment, then smiled, a hint of longing burning in her eyes. Male, female it didn’t matter a whit. Her passion was dominance, and the careful inflicting of pain.
His laugh turned more than a few heads, most of them female. Most of them developed a sudden burning in their pussies, as Sir Michael was a handsome Dom, with the magnetic personality so common among those who were Dominants. He was rough, often brutal, but a tender and caring partner as well, as several onlookers knew personally. It was an odd dichotomy, the tender and the brutal, and as intoxicating as a drug.
He frowned as he observed Owen Bash moving in her direction.
“I thought we threw his ass out of here?”
“His bounce time was up. I’d have to have a restraining order on him to keep him out legally, and Kylie hasn’t returned to us since the incident.”
“Motherfucker,” he hissed. There was nothing he despised as much as slimy ‘doms’, ones who were into the beating but not into self control. There wasn’t a thing wrong with beating a sub bloody if that was their thing. But to ignore safewords, to break bones? It was a shame the girl hadn’t filed a police report, had gone underground in a society already filled with dark mystery.
Moving through the crowded room, he slipped up behind the woman, wrapping his arm around her waist.
“There you are, pretty girl. I’m sorry I was late, I got caught up in business.” His fingers tightened in silent warning as Owen turned to him with a look of burning hatred.
“Yeah, the business of hassling people. Too bad you water your drinks and your play. Fake bastard.”
“How unpleasant to see you here again, Owen. Please find another woman to play with, this one is mine.”
“I don’t see a collar–”
“Boys…Doms…Gentlemen.” She raised her hands, palms up, pressing them apart. “I have no idea what your issue is, but please keep me out of it.”
Moving as if to step away, she was drawn up short by Owen grabbing her upper arm, squeezing it painfully tight. While she was a sub who really enjoyed pain, it came with a play partner and certainly not a stranger. Her yelp of surprise was quickly followed by his, as she turned fast and slapped his ear hard with the flat of her free hand.
“You fucking cunt!” He released her arm, grabbing for his ear. “You could have busted my eardrum.”
“If you don’t get the fuck out of my space, I’m gonna bust your balls and stuff them in your ears, you bastard. You keep your fuckin’ hands off of me unless I’m your sub, which won’t happen until we’re wearing ice skates in hell.”
Her face was red, her eyes glowing with a blue fire that was enticing. She took a menacing half step forward, no shrinking submissive violet, and bared her teeth. It was all he could do, Michael thought long after the fact, to keep from applauding.
Owen took a step back, and they all knew in that moment that he’d lost.
“Fuck you, you frigid cunt.”
“I’m only frigid because your cock is too small to warm me up, you fucking worm.”
He thought she might explode, could actually feel the rage pouring off of her. Her tits were wobbling with every deep, angry breath she took, though her corset was working valiantly to contain them. Michael nodded his head at one of the bouncers standing in earshot now. He noted that Madame F stood beside him, preventing Owen from storming off, deeper into the crowd.
“You may leave now, Mr. Bash. Or I can have my steward assist you.”
“Fuckin’ dump. Don’t know why I bothered to come back. This club fucking sucks. You suck, too, you cockwhore bastard.”
He glared at Michael for one long moment before turning and stalking towards the door. When he attempted to veer off at the last moment, the bouncer grabbed his arm and forcefully marched him to the door. He disappeared from sight.
“Well, that was thrilling,” she trilled, her laugh lightening the mood. “It makes me want to beat the hell out of someone. Volunteers?” she called out to the crowd, unsurprised to see a multiple of hands shoot upwards.
“She went over to the lounge,” she murmured, sotto voice, to Michael, as she pointed at one tall, dark-skinned man dressed only in a loincloth.
“Let’s see if I can make your skin blush, dear fellow,” she said, snapping her fingers to lead him away.
Michael turned and headed for the lounge. He had a woman to entice.