#ruby garden

Steve would be a mafia boss - just, but ruthless in executing his law and expectations. He went through a lot when he was a young boy and some of the men conspired against his father, leading to a massacre. For years, Steve worked hard and bloody to regain his birthright kingdom. He has certain trust issues, which is why he's not taking any advances from the mafia princesses who in his eyes are often controlled by their fathers or brothers. Then, unexpectedly, Darling appears like a breath of fresh air and catches his eye. Her parents were within the close circle, but both died when defending Steve's father. Darling went away to live with her mother's family, returning many years later as a grown woman. She doesn't feel like she belongs, especially with the women she used to know as girls but who grew up into a different shape (both physically and mentally) than her. To Steve, she's perfection.

Bucky and Curtis are mafia enforcers under Steve's rule. They were loyal throughout the years and formed a specific bond between each other. They shared women occasionally, though it wasn't something they commonly did. Until a certain mafia princess draws their attention. Fawn isn't an outright brat, but she is more wild and playful than most of the women Bucky and Curtis know in the mafia's specific environment. It starts when she wants to train for cross-country run and talks Bucky and Curtis to go on those trainings with her, otherwise her father won't allow her. That's where primal play starts sparking into a hot, real possibility.

Lloyd is a hired mercenary, showoff and a little unhinged, just like the Lloyd we know from canon. He's finishing off a target, his team swiping the place, when he registers a sniffle. He investigates the sound, only to find Pumpkin - curled and shaking in a huge walk-in closet, hiding behind coats. She's scared of him yes, but she's also clearly been hurt by the man Lloyd had just killed. His soft coo doesn't reassure her much, but she knows there's no way she could escape anyway. He takes her onto his plane. Actual care he displays mixes with sweet degradation and mindfucking, that will slowly develop into turning her into his personal toy. A well taken care of, protected toy.

Ari leads another crime organisation. Appearing easygoing and charming on the outside, he can be merciless and exceptionally evil in his retaliations. He never felt the need to settle, though mostly due to the fact no one held his full interest. Also, most of his partners couldn't handle his intensity for long. When he notices a curvy, sequined-entity arguing with one of his bouncers in front of the VIP section at his club, Ari walks closer to check the unexpected ruckus. Cherie keeps sassing the bouncer, trying to convince him that she merely wants to see the pretty crystal chandeliers in the VIP sections. Ari signals the bouncer to let her in, then observes in amusement (and astonishment) that she actually was speaking the truth - she wasn't interested in powerful men mingling there, she wasn't planning on killing anyone, not even stealing. He decides to approach and let her look at the chandeliers while he has he spread beneath him on the couch in his own lounge. One taste of that sparkling woman and Ari decides she's his, no matter how fiercely she fights him. He has ways to make her obedient and pliant.

Andy is Ari's consigliere, a respected, cutthroat lawyer who can be as dangerous (or maybe even more) as the mafia enforcers. He's also one of the mafia men who treats tradition with serious respect. Which is why he had been meticulously assessing mafia princesses to pick a perfect wife for himself. At first, Birdie wasn't high on his list of candidates, because as much as Andy wanted his wife to be a softer type of woman he though Birdie's too innocent and shy to stand beside someone like him. However, when at one of the events they share a brief interaction, Birdie's slight trembling and sweetness lure a very dark beast in Andy. He can't stop imagining how responsive she'll be, how deliciously it would be to ruin her and then have her still a docile, warm housewife.

Ransom's an heir to a generations-long corrupted family that provided the mafia men with all sorts of necessities, which gained them even more profit. He's spoiled and selfish, but he's also incredibly smart. A few steps ahead of his own family. While his mother creates intricate plan to pick a wife for Ransom which she could control, and thus have influence on the power and inheritance Ransom alone will gain after Harlan's death; Ransom schemes his own victory. While posing as the usual careless trust fund prick, who goes through meaningless fuck buddies situations, he's been already sharpening his claws for that one woman. The one no one expects. Leaf is a widow. Older than him nearly a decade. Though for many mafia men this poses as a "don't touch" sign, Ransom sees her as the key. Because she's named the sole beneficiary in a certain man's will - her biological father, who left when she was a kid and looked after her from afar.

He paused, saying your name this time. With a tinge of firmness that tugged on the invisible leash that formed between you two as your power exchange dynamic developed.

Your gaze lifted up to his face, mouth still a little parted.

"I wanted to make a Valentine dinner for us, but you were the one adamant on helping out." Steve pointed out. "But I sense you're deriving from the type of bonding activity cooking together was supposed to be into a different kind."

"I was just lost in thought." You shrug, but feel heat scorching your face with shame.

"You're going to chop those herbs for the dip, or should I secure you in the bedroom so you don't cut yourself while lost in thoughts?" He arched a single eyebrow.

With a huff, stopping yourself from sticking your tongue at him (because that would end in immediate Dom reaction), you returned to finely chopping the mountain of herbs and garlic.

Steve was a good cook, though he didn't always have enough time to expand on it in daily use. But for special occasions, or simply when he wanted to make you or himself feel special, he went all out on exquisite dishes.

His idea for the Valentine's Day was a dinner together at home - one prepared by him, so you didn't have to be on restaurant schedule, instead enjoying the comfort and quite of your apartment. Then dessert, also baked by Steve, while watching a rom-com of your choice.

Afterwards, a long, delicious session at the Ruby Garden.

Steve offered to stay home the whole night; after all, he didn't need the club to torment and please you into unconsciousness. But you liked the themed events and the additional excitement being at the club gave.

Steve's choice for romantic vibe was Italian cuisine. You melted at the mere mention of what he planned to prepare. Not only because you liked to eat delicious food, but because Italy was your little obsession. Food, movies, style. Never visited, but always calling out to you.

You didn't know yet that in the drawer of Steve's nightstand there was an envelope with a small lemon bow attached to it.

But somehow that certainty gets lost as an onslaught of dark thoughts avalanches to the front of your mind.

He's fed up with all the dumb sparkly things.

I don't deserve them anyway.

Some other submissive, a better submissive, deserves it more.

She'd appreciate it more and show him that sweet gratitude, while I'm only an annoyance.

A few minutes ago, if anyone told you what your partner and Master would tease you with, you'd be your usual self and boldly claim you're just gonna steal that other shiny gift from whoever it was given to.

As you look at the gorgeous bracelet and a matching anklet, and Ari's soft, teasing tone lays out the plan of taking one away for your misbehaving, the brat in you wilts.

Your fingers tremble as you twist them together in your lap, your shoulders lifting up as you curl slightly.

Tears well up in you eyes as the thoughts keep stabbing at you.

How ridiculous I am?! A good sub would feel bad for disappointing her Dom and that's a punishment itself, and I just cry over not getting jewelry!

Spoiled brat!

Shallow. Annoying. Stupid.

"I'm sorry," you whisper in a broken voice.

You can't make yourself look up at Ari. Tears start falling down and you drop your gaze to your bare feet.

"I'm so sorry for being a bad submissive. For wanting pretty things but being so terrible all the time. It's really better you give it to someone else. They will appreciate it and they deserve it- And I know I'm not- I don't-"

You don't see the way Ari's whole posture changes. He noticed the second your lower lip trembled and eyes turned misty, the way you hunched.

This wasn't a reaction he expected. Quite the opposite, the anticipated outcome was your pout, or bratty negotiations, or even daring to grab both pieces of jewelry right away and running away.

He had a plan of following that with your favorite type of body-wrecking, creatively evil punishment.

As it was with any scene, even in a relationship so grounded as yours, some scenes didn't go exactly like planned. Feelings happened. Reactions happened. Neurotransmitters happened. Which is why in a dynamic that relied on power exchange it's important to always look out for any signs and to react accordingly.

Ari knows a conversation is needed, since you seem to be struggling with anxious, self-deprecating thoughts that are rather a rarity for you.

However, now is not the moment for words and holding you at distance.

Instantly, he reaches for you, scooping you up into his arms.

Your warmth pressed to his body gives him a sense of calm, even as you shake and sob. Because you still curl into him, seeking his support.

He tightens his arms around you, one hand covering the back of your head and stroking gently.

"Let it all out," he says gently, kissing your forehead. "You're not bad and definitely not undeserving. And I'm going to remind you how I love you for everything about you, but for now I'm just going to hold you, okay? I'm gonna hold you, Cherie, and you just spill out all that bottled nasty crap."

You sob harder at his words. At the secure embrace he has you in.

You burrow yourself deeper into his arms, clutching at his shirt and pressing your face to his chest. Ari's heart pounds a little faster than usual, betraying his own emotional resonance to your breakdown.

"I love you." He states it softly.

It's not a hushed confession. It's the same firm certainty he tells you every time. A reminder. A vow. A truth.

You cry. For long, long minutes.

No embarrassment gnawed at you when he picked you up because you couldn't move a single muscle. Too lost in it, you didn't even register the amount of fluids staining the bench on which Master Andy broke you apart.

He placed you gently on a small sofa, then wrapped a soft blanket around your naked form. Thoroughly, making sure even your head was partially covered.

Drop of body temperature after a session was over could push you into shock, worsening your sub drop.

With efficient, practiced moves, Andy cleaned the bench and the straps with which you were bound. The toys were swiped into a plastic zip bag, to wash them later.

He asked a free submissive to bring a cup of hot chocolate while he picked a bottle of water and returned to you on the sofa. All the time, whatever he was doing, his gaze was flicking towards you every few seconds. Not for a moment your well being was pushed aside.

Andy sat on the sofa and easily lifted you into his lap. He tightened the blanket around you and kissed your forehead, before opening the water bottle and bringing it to your lips.

He nudged you gently when you didn't even register the pressure against your mouth.

"Open for me, Birdie." Andy's voice was much softer now, lacking that full-on dominant command.

Still, your brain was so attuned to the power exchange that your lips parted instantly.

Wide. Your tongue sticking out against your bottom lip.

Andy's chest filled with heat. It had little to do with arousal at your continued eagerness to be used by him, but was a surge of powerful pride at being trusted so greatly.

You believed it to the bone that he would never push you past your limit, or take more than you needed, so you opened your mouth ready to serve, on subconscious level trusting him to know when to stop.

"Not for my cock, honey." He chuckled softly. "Drink some water."

Parts of your brain had to understand his words, because your tongue retreated and you took little sips of provided drink.

Then Andy's arms were tightening around you as he pressed his face into your hair, just beneath the hood of the blanket.

That was for him. Connection after a scene in which he took you hard, until he broke you into an overstimulated, sobbing mess. While he took immense pleasure in that, after a scene a Dom's simply human conscience came to react, too.

He needed you soft and curled in his arms to assure himself that he didn't hurt you. That you still trusted him and leaned on him.

It calmed him further that before the scene started you agreed to spend the night at his place. Andy knew what he planned would wrung you both out, especially when your Master-submissive dynamic was still a fresh, blooming thing.

Having you in his bed, where he could hold you for both your and his comfort, would add to the aftercare he needed for himself.

When the hot chocolate was brought over, Andy took a sip first himself. Checking its heat, but also stealing a gulp of rich sugar to power his own body.

Then, carefully, he encouraged your still mostly zoned-out form to drink it.

The cold started seeping in as your connection with reality reinstalled. You curled into him, sneaking one hand from beneath layers of blanket to slip under Andy's shirt.

"I've got you, Birdie." He reassured.

Four zones of burning fire that pulses in waves, rippling further and further and crashing into one overwhelming tsunami.

Bound on the table placed on the main stage, like a sacrificial virgin for the devil to take and his wicked followers to enjoy; you're unable to escape the torment.

Usually, you didn't have much problem with being watched. You got used to it, having assisted Ari in his classes, as well being at the Ruby Garden so often. But there were certain moments when you barely could handle it - those moments when Master Ari truly stripped you of all the control and all the layers of bratty bravado, leaving you helpless and humiliated.

You close your eyes, letting out another pitiful whine. Writhing helplessly in your bonds, you turn your head to the side to avoid the gazes observing your ruin.

It makes Ari chuckle.

"I thought this is what you wanted, don't get all shy on me now." He mocks, trailing a single digit down your belly.

"You claimed the mood in the club tonight is too mild, Cherie." Ari's fingers travel lower and tease the crease in the juncture of your thigh.

"As a good Dom I felt obliged to deliver a solid dose of spice. Just for you."

And he did.

In the most wicked way.

Being strapped down made you giddy, but the simple addition that followed was what knocked your breath out of you and started your true torture.

Proving, once again, that Ari didn't need elaborate methods to masterfully wreck you.

Just like he said, Ari simply added some spice.

In the form of a dab of ginger lube on the plug that he pushed into your tight ass and smears of heat stimulating gel on your nipples and clit.

The warmth increased to burning within a few breaths. Not overbearing, but driving you straight into madness. You were sweaty in no time. And dripping onto the table.

Ari's feather-light touch adds to the sensations, heightening your desperate need for release. Which, of course, he isn't about to give you.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, I'm going to die," you babble, straining against your bonds as Ari's finger teases your wet, puffy folds.

"Mighty brat losing all fight with just a pinch of spice." Ari taunts you.

When two of his fingers drive into your dripping cunt, your body seizes and you moan loudly. You imagined it would bring much needed friction to ease the madness, but it seems to actually drop you straight into hell.

"Please, Master!" You beg as tears trickle out of the corners of your eyes.

"There, there," Ari coos, curling his fingers against your G-spot and making you arch in delirious pleasure. All mixed with dabs of fizzing pain.

"Gel and lube will lose their heat. At some point." He smirks, driving his fingers into you harder.

ring gag - Ari

Not only as a tool to quiet his bratty submissive, but for the whole creatively evil side of him that loves to wreck you with helplessness with a side of humiliation. He'd put the ring gag in your mouth, then bend you over, face-forward to the club members, so everyone can watch you drool and make incoherent sounds as Ari toys with you. Ring gag often is associated with mouth fucking, but Ari rarely is so predictable. Yes, he would put his fingers in your mouth, fuck your mouth with them... then stretch your ass with those wet fingers and listen to your gurgling sounds of pain-pleasure.

collar with nipple clamps - Ransom

Collaring as a mark of bond and ownership fits more other couples, but I treat is here as a means of play. Ransom would put a pretty collar around your neck, with nipple clamps attach to it with thin chains. Which he of course traps your poor nipples in, keeping your upper half naked and on display. He might let you stay partially covered below, with a frilly apron. Then makes you play a waitress/maid for him, doing all the tasks with those clamps on, and touching you every given opportunity. Absolutely drives you mad and wet.

tentacle dildo - Andy