More slaves were bound upon them. Gold pieces of treasure were scattered over the sandy ground and caught the flickering torchlight. Over the darker area of the shipwreck, a shadow lamp made it look as if schools of colorful fish, sharks and manta rays were passing over the mostly naked bodies restrained there.
The center feature of that public play area was a large water tank. A staff submissive was on display, her long hair floating free, her upper body bare except for ropes that created a shibari-style harness. It bound her wrists beneath her breasts. Her lower body was wrapped with tight latex to form a jeweled and slick mermaid"s tail. A waterproof vibrator was inside her, and the control was on the outside of the tank, where guests could adjust the speeds, and watch her flounder and writhe like a graceful fish at the stimulation in the tank"s confined space.
Since she of course didn"t have the gills of a mermaid, she had a close-fitting, discreet oxygen mouthpiece beneath the jeweled mask she wore, the tank disguised behind the water ferns. In addition to that precaution, a Dom in a dark wet suit watched over her. He"d “caught” her and bound her in the harness, an intricate underwater rope performance, and now added to the torment the patrons were administering by touching her as he pleased, occasionally bringing her up to his mouth and giving her air in place of the mask.
It was a complex scene, but both were well trained. They also were husband and wife. The team of John and Tori had become a favorite attraction.
She moved onward, past the dance floor, and then to the mezzanine, where she could get a different view of the floor and the bar. While many BDSM clubs didn"t permit alcohol, she knew it helped relax and stimulate. Plus, she had a large clientele who came to dance and be entertained merely as voyeurs. Those going to the underground level for rougher play knew that they would be required to take a Breathalyzer test. They had to prove they were sober enough for safe play in private. Knowing that, the patrons regulated themselves. And in the public areas, she had more well-trained staff that blended and kept things in line.
Her snug skirt hugged her hips, her stilettos placed precisely as she moved along the mezzanine. She was aware of the way her body moved, from the quiver of her breasts to the swing of her hips, the brush of her thighs as she tightened those muscles to walk sure and upright on the heels. James, her head of security, followed. They usually did these rounds together, because she gave him insight on who might need extra attention from his people.
Being very good at what he did, he usually identified those trouble spots at the same time. But exactly because he was good, he wanted the additional set of eyes, the viewpoint of what he might miss.
So far, tonight"s crowd was a good one. Of course, Atlantis didn"t allow just anyone in their doors. Even a guest pass required thirty minutes with a staff person, discussing the rules of Atlantis. Anyone who gave off warning signals, or appeared to be paying lip service to those rules, didn"t make it past the lobby. The vetting for the underground level was even more stringent.
She paused at the rail, scanning. Even as she assessed, she enjoyed as well. Watching the give-and-take between power and surrender. Whispering hands, bodies straining and needy. A slave"s eyes glazed in lust, the Master"s expression deep in the zone, registering every nuance of a submissive"s reaction. Once stepping over the threshold of Atlantis, the shell was left behind. This was the sanctuary for the Freudian id, the primitive impulses and needs of the soul.
Impressions like those came at her in varying waves of heat, and she rode those currents like a shadow dolphin in the undersea exhibit, her attention wandering over the floor.
Then she felt something extraordinarily different. Turning her head with unerring instinct toward the source, she saw a man leaning against the bar.
Though he was all the way across the main floor, he locked gazes with her. In that brief second, he caught her breath, took it away from her with all the power of a black-and-white movie, though she couldn"t explain why or how it happened. She"d been a Dominant all her life, recognizing it quickly after reaching sexual maturity. It was something she didn"t doubt in herself, in her blood. Yet this male was no submissive.
In fact, he was pure, 100 percent Dominant in all aspects of his life. He would possess the woman he chose, body, heart and soul. Such a woman would have to be as strong as he was to hold her own and demand his soul in return. He would be satisfied with nothing less. He was looking for an equal, a Mistress. A unique, complex Mistress who would surrender to him and him alone, time and again, because it would simply be that way between them.
While all sizes and shapes of people came in here, she"d seen her share of devastatingly handsome men, both Masters and subs. With his dark eyes, close-cropped hair and powerfully built body, this one certainly had no trouble catching female attention. But she was barely aware of anything about him except his eyes in that vital first-impression moment. A moment that lengthened into a cycle of accelerating heartbeats as he straightened, left his drink and came toward her.
She was aware of every inch of her skin under his gaze. That heartbeat that slowed in the quiet hours, when Atlantis"s lights shut off, was pounding as rapidly as the rock beat on the dance floor.