Chapter Text
At heart, Wednesday was a writer. Having fought to publish two of the five books in the Viper de la Muerte series, she earned a small amount in royalties every month. She had a small following of morbid readers who enjoyed the graphic descriptions of violence that various editors had told her were ‘gratuitous’ and ‘deeply troubling’. Fans of the series posted in online forums poring over the mystery she had weaved and speculating about the next book in the series. Although Wednesday took great satisfaction in proving Viper’s detractors wrong, the royalties she received were unfortunately not sufficient to cover her rent. So when she was not writing, she modelled for a BDSM skin mag.
It had shocked her college roommate, Enid, when Wednesday had told her about the job shortly after graduating. “What on earth is a skin mag?” Enid had squealed.
“What does it sound like?” Wednesday replied, deadpan.
“It sounds like…porn!” Enid guessed, scandalised.
“Got it in one.”
“But why? Wednesday, you know you don’t have to do that!”
“I want to. I want to write, but I am under no illusions about it being a lucrative profession. This way, I can write and pay off my student loans—” Enid scrunched her face and opened her mouth to interrupt, but Wednesday knew what she was going to say “—without using my parents’ money and therefore being beholden to them.”
Enid still didn’t look happy about it, not that Wednesday needed her best friend’s approval. She found herself explaining further nonetheless. “I want to be independent, and this kind of work pays well whilst also not cutting into time I could use for writing. It’s a means to an end, that’s all.”
Enid sighed, considering Wednesday from her spot at the kitchen counter. “But are you sure you want to…expose yourself, like that? You have a degree! You could earn money in a normal job.” She wore a distasteful expression, looking rather prudish. Wednesday would feel judged if she hadn’t heard Enid wailing and carrying on through the thin walls of their shared apartment just last night. Her roommate regularly brought home different girls from the local gay bar, and made no effort to hide what they are doing when they scampered off to the blonde’s bedroom. Wednesday didn’t see how her new job was any different.
“This is a normal job.” Wednesday deadpanned. “I go to a designated place of employment, sell my labour, and receive a paycheck. Just like everyone else. The capitalist machine keeps turning. I get to write.”
Enid left it alone after that conversation. Although she had insisted on coming with Wednesday to the first shoot, to make sure it was all above board. Clearly satisfied that Wednesday wasn’t about to be raped and murdered in some seedy warehouse, Enid had spent most of that afternoon checking out the other models, giggling and whispering to Wednesday like a schoolgirl. Suffice it to say, Wednesday was off the hook. And if she occasionally had to play wing-woman for Enid when a pretty cover girl caught her eye, then it was a small price to pay for her continued silence on the matter.
From her first spread in the magazine, over a year ago now, it was clear that subscribers liked her look. With her intense dark eyes and unsmiling face, people were desperate to see Wednesday come undone. So she did the dance, played the game. Kneeled before the camera and spread her legs, infused her expression with the desperation and longing she had seen on her own lovers’ faces. She predominantly posed in shoots where she was acting as the submissive to some burly tattooed Dom.
In her own sex life, Wednesday enjoyed switching, not opposed to both giving and receiving pleasure. Innately, she was a sado-masochist. She was fascinated by pain, and how it could be turned to pleasure. Regardless of who was on the receiving end. But for the sake of the magazine, she leaned into the stereotypes implied by her petite frame and youthful features. She only had a few tattoos, wore small silver batwings through her pierced nipples, and kept her dark hair in its signature braids. Next to the large, leather-clad men and women she posed with, she looked every part the submissive. The challenge evident in her eyes was perceived as a brattiness which models and readers alike were eager to tame. That fantasy got her paid, so she played into the illusion. But in reality, Wednesday didn’t let just anyone into her bed, despite the looseness that people presumed in her line of work.
The magazine described her as ‘Viper – the goth girl who wants you to make her scream’. Perhaps modelling under the name Viper was a little on-the-nose, but if there were any overlap between the readers of her novels and subscribers to the magazine, they had yet to piece together her identity. Viper had quickly become one of the magazine’s most sought-after models. It meant she was able to do bigger shoots, multi-page spreads featuring her in all sorts of compromising positions. Wednesday could care less about how much skin she was showing. She got paid more for the larger spreads, and they cemented her as a fan favourite. Solo shots of Wednesday on her knees, looking up through her bangs at the camera were among the most popular, giving the viewer the impression that they might be the one to tame her.
She wasn't working solo today, though. There was some new model, Tyler, she thought his name was. Wednesday hadn’t heard much about him, but that wasn't unusual. They’re there to do a job, it’s not like she gets a run-down of everyone she works with. If the editors thought they had good chemistry, they’d likely book him again. Otherwise, it would be on to the next model.
Wednesday heard two quick knocks on the door to her dressing room, the signal that she had five minutes until call time. She took a last look at herself in the mirror, ensuring everything was in place. Her wardrobe for the day consisted of a full-body leather catsuit, replete with a leather harness that buckled tight around her waist. There were two o-rings at the centre-front and centre-back of the harness, connected by a chain which ran between her legs. She also wore a thick leather collar with another large o-ring at the front, and a headband sporting vinyl cat ears.
It was odd. Wednesday was used to showing far more skin. But there was something about the way the chain rubbed against her core when she moved that makes her feel wholly exposed. Looking in the mirror, she could see the way every curve of her body was on display. Her breasts were pressed practically flat under the leather, making her look almost boyish. But when she turned in the light, she could see the way her nipples were peaked against the material, the barbells pierced through them painfully obvious. Turning fully, she looked over her shoulder to see the way the leather hugged her ass, the silver chain bifurcating her buttocks and pressing close to her body. If she were to lift her arms above her head, her shoulders would lift the harness and cause the chain to dig painfully against her.
Dismissing the thought before she became tempted to try it out, Wednesday exited the dressing room and made her way down the hall to set. The chain ground itself against her clit with every step, and she had to make a conscious effort to even out her breathing. Everything was ready to go when she arrived, nodding to the director in greeting. Bianca Barclay was stunningly beautiful, wore her hair cropped short, and took absolutely no nonsense from anyone on set. Wednesday had come to genuinely enjoy working with her. She could appreciate Bianca’s efficiency in all things. Although her artistic vision did not always align with Wednesday’s personal preferences, she made every shoot quick and painless. Bianca always knew exactly what she wanted. She had a way of explaining the poses that made it feel as though she was occupying Wednesday’s body, controlling her every move.
Bianca caught Wednesday’s eye and tilted her head towards the set, which today consisted of a simple white drop sheet and an armchair upholstered in deep red brocade. Wednesday followed her over to where the other model, Tyler, already stood. He was tall, with chestnut brown hair which curled down over his forehead, and kind hazel eyes. He was not the typical kind of Dom that Wednesday usually worked with. His face had a boy-next-door quality, and she couldn’t help but internally question whether this shoot would even make it into the magazine. Unlike Wednesday, he wore a long black robe. As they approached, he smiled at Wednesday in greeting, extending a hand for her to shake. “Hi, I’m Tyler.”
“Viper,” Wednesday nodded curtly at him, shaking his hand firmly once and dropping it. His skin was warm and golden. On his forearms, she could see two large tattoos which appeared to continue under the sleeves of the robe. They were animals, monsters – a wendigo and a hellhound, intricately detailed and with compelling faces. She gave them an appreciative glance before redirecting her attention to Bianca.
“Okay, guys, it’s a simple shoot today. We’re leaning into a master and pet dynamic with the catsuit,” she inclined her head towards Wednesday. “We also have a leash, which I’d like you to use, Tyler. The two of you can start over here—” she gestured to the large armchair occupying the set, “—and get some shots of Viper kneeling for you. Sound good?”
“Yep,” Tyler said, popping the ‘p’. Wednesday half expected him to give two thumbs up like a cartoon character.
Bianca glanced at Wednesday, “Viper?”
Wednesday merely nodded, and Bianca retreated to stand by the monitor. An assistant approached Wednesday, carrying the leash Bianca had mentioned. She lifted her chin so that they could clip it to the o-ring of the collar. She found it had a satisfying weight to it. The leather cuff was pressed into her palm as a girl from the wardrobe department helped Tyler out of his robe, his back to Wednesday. When the rest of his skin was revealed, Wednesday saw that the tattoos did indeed continue up his arms. In fact, he was covered in them. They wound their way across his skin and definitively put the boy-next-door image to bed. There was a large daemon-looking creature which cast its wicked eyes out at her from the top of his back, just above the leather harness he wore.
At that moment he turned, and Wednesday traced the lines of the harness, below his arm and over his shoulder, creating an ‘X’ in the middle of his chest. Perfect for a sub to hold onto while he dominated them. Wearing the robe, he had looked boyish, almost scrawny, but now Wednesday could see the lean muscle of his torso. Her eyes traced over hard pectorals and up to his broad shoulders, before eventually landing on his face. Tyler smirked at her, and Wednesday realised she has been caught staring.
“That for me?” His eyes flicked down to the leash she held. Her elbow was still bent from when the assistant handed it off to her, and it must have looked as though she was waiting there to offer it to him.
Wednesday rolled her eyes, dropping her hand to her side. She stepped over to stand next to the armchair, making a point of impatiently waiting for Tyler to take up his position as the ‘master’. He followed her lazily, folding himself down into the chair like he had all the time in the world. “You don’t talk much, huh?”
“No,” she deadpanned, staring him down. The rest of his ensemble consisted of leather trousers which creaked when he spread his legs obscenely, and thick, hard-soled black boots. She noticed that there was already a decently-sized bulge at the front of his pants. Turning to face him, Wednesday felt painfully aware of each movement of the chain between her legs.
Bianca’s voice behind her pulled her attention away from the dull ache she was starting to feel. “Okay! Let’s go, people.” A hush fell over the room, and now all eyes were on them.
Wednesday let herself fall into the familiar silence. She held the leash handle out towards Tyler, kneeling before him when he took it. Settling between Tyler’s splayed legs, she felt obsequious and small. He looked down at her, entirely too smug and Wednesday heard the shutter of the camera start up. Ajax, the photographer, moved quietly behind her, snapping a few shots as they got warmed up.
Tyler barely seemed aware of the camera, eyes focused on Wednesday. The corner of his lips upturned in the barest hint of a smile, he looked her up and down in a way that reeled her in, making her want to be closer. She shuffled forward ever so slightly. And even the barest movement dragged the heavy chain of the harness against her core because of the way she was kneeling.
From Ajax’s vantage point at Wednesday’s back, her proximity to Tyler would imply that she was blowing him. She arched her back and spread her legs slightly, resting her ass on her ankles where her bare feet were propped up below her. If there was one thing this job had taught her, it was an increased awareness and appreciation for her body. She knew she looked good like this, that the pictures would sell well. “Good, Viper,” she heard Bianca call from where she watched the monitor. The praise settled into a sensation low in her gut, and Wednesday let her eyes close briefly.
When she opened them, Tyler was watching her intensely, something akin to wonder on his face. “You like that, don’t you?” he said lowly, so only Wednesday could hear.
She rolled her at the stupid question. “What is this? Baby’s first time Domming?”
Tyler chuckled. “Calling me 'baby' already?” he asked with a shit-eating grin.
Wednesday felt her skin prickle. This guy was getting on her nerves. She heared Ajax moving around, the flash of the camera now in her peripheral vision. “Viper, can you touch him?”
Wednesday placed both hands on Tyler’s thighs, parting her lips and angling her face a little to catch the light. Tyler didn’t touch her, leaning further back into the chair and letting his hands dangle from the ends of the armrests. The leash was clutched lightly in between the fingers of his left hand, leaving plenty of slack and betraying no urgency whatsoever. Wednesday glanced quickly away from Tyler’s face toward the leather cuff in his hand and then back again. He caught the rapid movement anyway, smiling down at her wickedly. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I not moving this along fast enough for you?”
Wednesday felt so transparent that she must've been made of glass. She didn’t say a word.
Tyler began winding the leash around his hand, so slow it was practically torturous. The camera clicked rapidly next to them. Tyler closed a fist over the leather now wrapped around his hand, using it to yank Wednesday forward roughly and making her gasp. Tyler caught the sound, a vindictive smile spreading across his face. He tugged at the leather once more, and Wednesday was forced to move with it. Her face was practically in his lap now. She could smell his body wash. It was earthy, with a hint of cinnamon.
Ajax was right next to them now, snapping close shots of Wednesday ensconced between Tyler’s legs. Chancing a glance down at Tyler’s lap, she thought the bulge she noticed there earlier might have grown. She swallowed. Her mouth might be watering.
Bianca’s voice broke into her thoughts once more. “Okay, let’s change it up.” Tyler gave Wednesday some slack, so she could straighten up and look over her shoulder at the director. She felt suddenly shaky on her knees, and kept her hands on Tyler’s thighs to support herself. “Viper, let’s have you facing forward now. Tyler, you’ll be behind her. Keep holding the leash.”
Wednesday shuffled around on her knees, facing the room now. She didn’t take much notice of anyone. The lights were bright, blurring her vision. She felt hyperaware of Tyler moving behind her. He stood, stepping to either side of her feet and positioning himself close at her back. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, or maybe it was the lights.
Once more, she felt Tyler take the slack out of the leash, winding it around his hand. “Show us the lead, Tyler.” Bianca said. He moved to hold his fist out next to them, showing off the black leather against all the negative space beside their bodies.
Without the weight of Tyler’s wicked stare, Wednesday felt herself calm somewhat. That is, until Bianca said “now put your hand on her jaw.” Tyler’s broad, calloused hand brushed across the side of her face to wrap around her jaw. It forced her to jut her chin up, showing off the collar. She felt hyperaware of the hard leather biting into her skin. Tyler adjusted the positioning of his hand, his thumb resting just at the corner of Wednesday’s mouth. Wednesday breathed hard through her nose.
“Viper, can you loosen up? You’re clenching your teeth,” Ajax cut in. Tyler didn’t even give Wednesday a chance to take the note before he was brushing his thumb across her bottom lip and dragging it down. Wednesday felt a surprised sound rise at the back of her throat. She unclenched her jaw with considerable effort. “Yes, that’s great guys.”
Parting her lips further, Wednesday bit hard at the flesh of Tyler’s thumb. He retaliated by tugging harshly on the collar, startling a gasp out of her. She thought she heard him chuckling behind her, could feel the faint movement of his body.
“Tyler, standing in front of Viper now,” Bianca instructed. Without loosening his hold on the leash, Tyler stepped around to face Wednesday. He put his free hand right back on her, thumb over her lips and long fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, below her braid. Wednesday looked up at him from underneath her bangs.
Tyler met her stare head-on, his hazel eyes burning into her. Wednesday could barely move. She felt like a fly stuck in the honey pools of his irises. It was uncomfortable. She didn’t usually get like this during a shoot. Suddenly she had forgotten all about angles and lighting and just-getting-on-with-the-job. She felt the harness pulled taught around her with every breath, constricting her ribs and tugging at the chain between her legs. Her clit throbbed, and despite the hot stage lights, she felt a chill run down her spine. Even her nipples felt sensitive against the leather of the catsuit.
“Open,” Tyler instructed. Wednesday hadn’t realised she was clenching her jaw again. She didn’t think twice about obeying the command. Dropping her mouth open, she let Tyler push his thumb between her lips. Met with no resistance, he kept going, until he was pressing down on Wednesday’s tongue. She salivated at the taste of his skin. “Good,” he said low, so only she could hear. He was getting too much enjoyment out of this, Wednesday ought to bite him again. But she was too busy drowning in honey, the low timbre of his voice the only sound she could make out. “Now suck,” he told her, and she did.
All the print copies of the magazine’s latest issue sold out within a week. The editor told Wednesday that they were the best metrics he’d seen since everything started going online. Readers were calling it Wednesday’s best shoot, and were demanding to know more about the man who made her look like that.
The image that they ran didn’t show their full bodies. Tyler’s midsection was visible, but not his face. Both his hands were in view. One fisted in the leash and evidently reeling Wednesday in. The other grasping Wednesday’s chin, thumb pressed into her mouth. Her full lips wrapped suggestively around the digit. But it was her eyes that really sold the shot. She was captured looking up at her Dom, desire plain as day on her face. Even Wednesday could admit that her eyes in the picture read pure sex. It was the most raw and lustful she had seen herself look in any photoshoot. It made her feel exposed in a way she never had since she'd started this whole modelling thing. It was terrifying. But she couldn't deny that she wanted to work with Tyler again.