The Lion's Den

A/N: First story time ;)
WARNINGS: Dominatrix-y themes with feminist undertones. If you're fine with those, then enjoy the read!

"Hey, babe. Hit me up with another shot," A highly intoxicated middle-aged man piped up, obviously not in need of another. The bartender gave an exasperated sigh, nodded, and began filling the now thrice emptied glass. The man smirked powerfully as he began talking up the ladies surrounding him once again.

"Wow, Crispin... Are you sure you need more? There's something else to get drunk off of besides vodka." A voluptuous woman leaned suggestively into his toned muscles, making sure to press her chest to him in emphasis. The intoxicating (and intoxicated) grin came to the man's face once more. "Baby, one more shot and we're out of--"

Crispin's train of thought derailed as he met eyes with a woman about his age. She gave him a disgusted look, one that set him off in an instant. Then, as if their gazes had never exchanged, she plopped in next to his seat. "Screwdriver on the rocks, please."

The bartender seemed relieved at the new arrival. "Certainly. Your ID, Ma'm?"

The mysteriously alluring woman flicked her hand to the back pocket of her skinny jeans, pulling out a small leather wallet. She unsheathed a simple ID card and placed it on the table, in Crispin's full view. He snuck a peek and managed to get her name: Valentine Richardson.

The bartender scoped the card for a brief second and nodded in approval. "It'll be right out."

"Thank you."

Once the bartender had turned around, Crispin got to his feet and faced the woman. She looked up blankly, hazelnut eyes meeting ocean blue.

"I don't know who you think you are, bitch, but I'll be telling you right now: this is my ground. Ain't no way in hell some woman is gonna take my dignity."

Valentine cocked an eyebrow and scoffed. "That is a pretty big ego you've got there... Compensating for something?" Her clever retort had people within earshot snickering, and Crispin fuming.

The bartender walked up to Valentine, serving the drink she'd ordered. "Here you go, ma'm."

"Thank you," Valentine politely replied. Manicured fingers wrapped around the glass, fingering the condensation as she spoke.

"So, what do you call yourself, big boy?" Valentine continued. She sassily flipped her raven-colored locks and looked at Crispin expectantly. Her gaze exuded power, something Crispin wasn't used to. All of his flings had been with submissive, feminine women; he didn't know what to make of her.

"Crispin. Crispin Hart," he replied. She smirked and held out a hand, nodding politely at him. He shook her hand firmly but cautiously.

"Name's Valentine Richardson. Though I suppose you already knew that, hm?"

Crispin was taken aback. This one was observant as hell if she'd noticed that. He decided to brush it off. "N-Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure." She smiled warmly at Crispin, keeping up the act of innocence. The buzz of alcohol keeping his mind foggy, he smiled back-more an evil grin, but a smile nonetheless.

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They ended up speaking for hours upon end, and before they knew it, it was closing time for the bar. Both were completely wasted, each having had at least five drinks within the span of three hours. Crispin saw this as an opportunity.