Alexandra Ravensbrook
assistance, please let myself or my colleague, David, know,” he says formally, cocking his head towards a large man in a smart black suit and tie standing at the end of the bar.
“Ah, thank you. I assume David is security?” I ask, offering a small hello to David.
“He is, but also if there should be any issues with equipment or supplies needed, he can also assist. He is known as ‘The Watchman’; he sees and knows everything.”
“Thank you, Jonathan. That's lovely to know. I’m Isabelle.” I extend my hand for a shake; Jonathan takes it and turns it to kiss my knuckles. He smiles, a cocky, charming smirk, as his lips linger a little too long for a formal greeting.
“Now, Jonathan,” I tease. “Don't make me ask David to get involved so early in the night.” I laugh, pulling my hand back. “I’ll have a double gin and tonic, please.”
Jonathan lets out a filthy laugh. “Well, now, how did you figure David likes to share?”
And with that, he smiles and turns on his heels to pour my order. As I wait for my drink, I look around the bar at the stage areas.
In the far back corner, a woman sits on her chair like a queen. Her arms rest relaxed on the armrests, and she
Yes, Miss
leans back and surveys the two men at her feet, one of whom is being used as a footstool. The other man is kissing her boots, gazing up at her, craving her attention. Naturally, she refuses to give them anything of the sort and continues to talk to a formidable-looking woman in full leathers next to her.
The two are engaged in some sort of hilarious conversation, with lots of laughing and hand movements going on. There are several tables dotted around in the low-lit room with two or three chairs around them, facing the stage areas, ready for any scenes that may be going on.
One man stands out. Not from his looks or outfit—I can only see the back of him—but from the fact he is alone and nursing a tumbler of something. His gaze is fixed on a different stage.
On this one, a woman in a pretty, floral day dress with kitten heels and a cardigan—her entire outfit reminiscent of a Stepford housewife—holds a man at her feet, his back snug against her shins, his leather belt wrapped around his neck as she croons into his ear. His eyes look down at the floor. He turns, kneeling and facing her, his hands on his knees.
The mistress strokes his face gently, a look so adoring that it’s captivating. She leans down to kiss him and tightens the belt around his neck at the same time, forcing him to look into her eyes. As she straightens, she loosens
Alexandra Ravensbrook
the belt as the man takes deep breaths, his eyes glazed with lust. His hands start to stroke gently up from her ankles to her calves whilst he peppers gentle kisses up her legs.
I can’t look away. This is everything I love about being a Domme. There are no whips, no shouting orders, but he gives total control to his mistress because he wants to give it. He needs to. I don’t need to use force to get control and submission from my sub, but that’s not to say I don’t love a little impact play and restraints.
Seeing someone enjoy the pain I am giving them, watching them squirm, hearing them cry out, but then seeing them melt into it as the pain turns to pleasure. This dynamic is everything I love. It is an honour to be given that level of trust, that level of power, over someone. It’s a careful line to tread; abuse that power, and the trust can be lost in an instant.
The lone man at the table rises from his seat and approaches the bar, giving a small wave to the bartender.
“Oh,” is all I can say. The lighting is still low, not allowing me to see his face, but his build is strong, and that black suit and white shirt are so classic and sexy, the top two buttons open at the neck. He walks with an understated confidence but still holds his head down. It’s a mixed body language that I struggle to interpret.
Yes, Miss
Something feels familiar about his stride, but I can’t seem to pin down what it is exactly. I can feel a warmth low in my core that starts to drift lower, and I shuffle on my seat.
This guy is hot, and I need to get to know him. I have everything crossed in the hopes that he is a sub. If he is here on Domme night, it’s a good chance. And judging by how transfixed he was with that scene; it’s looking more than likely.
As he strides closer to the bar, the light catches his features, and I freeze. My stomach drops.
James.
Oh shit. What do I do?
Alexandra Ravensbrook
Chapter 15
James
