Mistress Vixen

Raven turned and strode quickly to catch up. There was no drag on the leash, Shadow kept pace with him easily. Vixen did not glance behind, pausing by the heavy-set bouncers to pay the cover-charge. The bouncers opened the door for her, and Raven felt the heat and pulse of the main chamber wash over him.

There was a scent to the space, he thought, that he might not have realised the first time. It smelt like sex, hormones and come. The scent made his pulse pick up, and the leather of his g string to feel confining. Vixen turned away from the VIP area, strolling casually around the booths, curtained or un-curtained as the occupants preferred.

“Mistress Vixen,” a woman with an impressively blunt fringe and her hair scraped painfully back into a ponytail greeted her. She was clad in vinyl from jaw to crotch, in a severely form fitting jumpsuit that stretched to loops over her middle fingers. She played with a black leather belt, stroking it between her fingers. “Your new sub is pretty.