If she could not find what her heart and pussy desired in a sea of practiced subs, putting the effort into training one would be an exercise in futility. A gesture of benevolence she simply no longer had any interest in offering.
So she didn’t.
Knowing Aryas would not approve him for the hunt, or accept him without references from two Dominants who’d worked him, that gave light to three possibilities for his behavior.
The first, he liked punishment and from the get-go wanted her to know that.
The second, being aware of his uniqueness in any realm, definitely this one, and his attraction to the opposite sex, not to mention his natural alpha bent, he thought he could top from below (this, incidentally, would be in his profile as a note, something which would be shared by one or both of his previous Mistresses … or Masters).
The third, he’d thrown down the gauntlet. He felt he was unbreakable but he wanted to see her try.
She hoped like all hell it was the third. The first, she could do … and enjoy it. The second, she had no interest in (obviously).
The third would be nirvana.
She entered the darkened hall that led to the maze of playrooms. There were forty-five. Some small, almost closets. Some large, for group play. Most a uniform size but equipped for different types of scenes.
When Amélie came to the club and did not know which toy she’d be selecting, she always reserved two rooms.
One was utilitarian. Perfectly appointed for its purpose, it didn’t offer anything special.
The second, Aryas actually had designed specifically for her. Even so, she rarely used it for she never took a new sub there and it was with disheartening infrequency a sub earned the reward of the wealth she could offer him there.
Not thinking about why she chose as she did, she made her decision of where she intended to take her beast. Only glancing into the floor-to-ceiling-windowed cube rooms that had their blinds raised for display of play, Amélie strode purposefully along the wide, plush burgundy-carpeted passageways that made up the cobweb of playrooms.
In one of her glances, she caught Talia with Bryan. He was naked, ass in the air, ball gag in his mouth, stretched over her legs getting his spanking.
The ball gag was a creative solution, one that almost made her smile.
She did not smile.
She led her brute to her special room.
There were two others appointed for its purpose.
This one might be used by others, but it was still hers.
The silhouette blinds were drawn. Through them, due to her reserving it, she saw the lights were on and this time, she did not wait for her selected specimen of the evening to open the door for her.
She opened it and took only a moment to flip the switch by the door that would tell the control room this space was now being used, a mandatory requirement of all Doms the instant they entered a playroom. This was so staff could turn on the cameras and open the other room she’d reserved.
That done, she walked right to the center of the room.
She turned to him and saw him automatically duck, as if the top of the frame of the door could not always be assumed would be one he wouldn’t run right into.
It was a sight that made him even more alluring.
As he slowly closed the door behind him and moved his eyes to look through the room, taking it in, she watched them get wide.
They dropped to her and his amusement was clear. Not only radiating from his gaze but twitching at his lips.
Another unusual—and unacceptable—reaction.
He thought this was funny.
She hoped like fuck she had the opportunity to prove him wrong.
She crossed her arms on her chest and slightly put out a foot, like she was about to start tapping her toe. In the wrap dress she wore, she knew this opened the overlap, not exposing anything, but the promise for him was impossible to resist.
His attention dropped to her legs.
“In the playrooms,” she began with a snap, and his gaze cut up to hers, “I want eye contact. Unless otherwise instructed, you should not only feel free to look me directly in the eyes, if I’m in your line of sight or I’m not giving you something that your body’s natural reaction would make it difficult to meet my gaze, I require it.”
She stood there staring as he did nothing but dip his chin in acknowledgment.
Cheeky.
Exceptionally cheeky.
Fabulous.
“Unless I’ve asked for their silence or for them to ask for leave to speak, I also require my toys to respond when they’re spoken to. Even if it’s only a ‘yes, Mistress,’ or ‘no, Mistress.’”
His stance relaxed, like he was settling in at the beginning of a show he found vaguely intriguing, and his deep rumble of a voice bounced like boulders through the room. “Yes, Mistress.”
Christ, even his voice declared his challenge.
“Excellent,” she allowed. “Your name?”
“Olivier,” he answered.
French.
Also unusual, at least in this country. And interesting.
She liked it a great deal.
She studied him.
He let her, holding her eyes.
“I’m Mistress Amélie,” she eventually informed him.
“I know. You got a lotta fans out there … Mistress.”
The hesitation over him saying “Mistress” gave less of the impression he was testing her and more of the strange impression the word was unpracticed when, with any experienced sub, it would slip right off their tongue.
She made no comment to that.
“There are things we should go over,” she remarked.