Surrendering to Her Mate

by Erzabet Bishop

  She dug into the lasagna and gulped down the bottled of water, smiling at the packet of Ibuprofen Natalia had thought to tuck in with it. Her sore muscles protested as she padded into the small bathroom and showered. The warm water and gentle swirl of her fingers washing the day from her hair made her sigh.

  It was then that she remembered she hadn’t brought her suitcase inside.

  Shit.

  To hell with it.

  Tonight, she was going to rest. Tomorrow she’d go out there and dig through her stuff. Clean and her hair washed, she toweled her hair dry and ambled back into the bedroom.

  Fed and watered, Sylvester lay among the sheets snoring contentedly. She shifted and curled against him, happy that she had a place to rest safe from her ex-boyfriend’s damaging fists.

  Chapter Four

  Waking up in a strange bed had never felt so good before. Clover threw on her old clothes from yesterday, took Sylvester outside for his morning walk, and got him his food. She even had time for a quick run and found a small patch of wild basil not far from the parking area. The scent of wolves, cats, and coyotes resonated through the field and woods beyond so she knew to keep close.

  Hurrying back and forth, she brought in some of her things and got ready for work.

  Unsure of what the uniform was, she dressed in jeans and a black tee shirt like she’d seen Miranda wearing. She’d opened the door to find a small breakfast of a granola bar and a banana with a bottle of water. She gobbled it down, surprisingly hungry, even after a nibble of basil. Making sure Sylvester was settled in on his towel, she kissed him on the head and headed down to the bar, curious about her new environs.

  “I hope this is okay,” she told Miranda.

  “Of course. Right now, you’re just training. Tonight, I’ll get you something more in line with the presentation aspect of the job.”

  “Okay...”

  She followed Miranda out of the bar area and observed the other woman as Miranda turned on the lights to reveal a large, cavernous room filled with wooden benches covering the floor. On the wall, what looked like paddles and other and unidentifiable leather and rubber objects hung from pegs. A stage covered the back side of one corner of the room, and on the other a dark hallway beckoned.

  This was nothing like anything she’d ever imagined when she stepped through the doors.

  “This is a nightclub, right?”

  Miranda shot her an amused expression, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “In a manner of speaking?”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  “Inferno is a BDSM club. Do you know what that is?” Miranda went over to the wall rack and picked up a wooden paddle with little hearts carved out of the middle, turning it over in her palm.

  “No.” But it sounded interesting. As long as that thing didn’t come anywhere near her.

  Miranda giggled. “I’m not going to use it on you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  Clover gazed at the wooden benches and approached one. “Can I touch it?”

  “Of course, you can. It’s not going to bite.”

  “What are these for?” Clover ran her fingers down the beautifully carved wooden structure. Curious, her gaze shot to the other benches. Some of the pieces were all wood while others had a leather cushion.

  Miranda strolled up to her, the wooden paddle still in her hand. “They’re called spanking benches.”

  “Oh.” She considered her words. “But who gets spanked? And in public?”

  The very idea had her bunny curling up into a little ball of quivering fluff.

  “Anybody who wants to,” Miranda replied with a laugh. “And yes, pretty much in public.”

  Ugh.

  “Wow.”

  “Do you...” She didn’t know how to ask such a personal question.

  Miranda ran a loving hand down the smooth lines of the bench. “I do. This is one of my favorite paddles right here.”

  “Oh.”

  Clover didn’t even know what to say.

  The curvy brunette swished the paddle through the air, the sound of the current whistling through the open holes. “Do you know what BDSM means?”

  “No.” In the small-town world she lived in, it had never come up. She’d seen a few ladies reading 50 Shades at the diner when they thought no one was looking, but for the most part it was squeaky clean romances with cowboys and not a lot of heat.

  “Bondage. Domination. Sadism and Masochism.”

  Her mouth dropped open just a little.

  What the hell was that?

  “Masochism?” God, that sounded ominous.

  “Don’t worry,” Miranda snorted. “I won’t let them put the screws to you if you get their drink order wrong.”

  “That’s good to know.” Clover gave a nervous giggle.

  “We have a set of rules we go by here. It keeps everyone safe.”

  “Like what?” Safe wasn’t something she was used to feeling, and she had a hard time believing this smiling woman standing in front of her would willingly let some guy paddle her ass for fun.

  And how would a bunch of rules stop anyone? She’d always heard the rule that men didn’t hit women and that one never seemed to apply.

  Miranda smiled. “That’s a good question. If you drink, you don’t play. We had to make some changes in our operations after a few things that had gone down the last couple of years. We have stamps that work with body chemistry. They change color with alcohol level in the blood.”

  “Why would you need that? This is a bar, right?” Clover was confused. Why have a bar at a place you couldn’t drink?

  “We’re not like most clubs or bars. You can get a drink here. You can have a great time and we even have the kitchen open on the weekends for people who would like to experience an erotic dinner experience. But, unlike a regular bar or nightclub, if you imbibe you can’t partake in any of the extracurricular activities that we offer.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  And what was an erotic dinner experience? She was afraid to even ask about that one.

  “Look at it this way.” Miranda handed her the paddle she’d been holding.

  Clover accepted it gingerly, noting how heavy it was. “Okay.”

  “Would you want someone coming at you with that if they’d had too much to drink?”

  “No. Not really,” she admitted. Or at all, if she was honest.

  Miranda walked back over to the wall. “These are called impact implements. The ones with the little leather strips are floggers. These,” she pointed to a long circular loop made of what appeared to be leather. “Those are whips. And, trust me, you don’t want a person anywhere near you with that if they’re not in control of their faculties.”

  It was beautiful, and she could very well imagine it hurt like the devil. Some things about this life she just didn’t get. Sex, to her, was supposed to be about mutual pleasure. Pain? That she’d experienced and it did anything but turn her on.

  Her gaze went back to the whip and followed Miranda as she picked up something she called a cane.

  “Wow. People actually use these?”

  “They can and do. BDSM can take you places that you’ve never been in your life. It’s not for everyone, but it can be an incredible experience.”

  Without even thinking, Clover held her fingers up to her cheek.

  “Why would you want someone to hit you for fun?”

  She hadn’t meant to say what she’d been thinking out loud, but she couldn’t help it.

  Miranda advanced on her and took the paddle, her mouth curving into a sad smile. “You’d be surprised how this place can make things right again. Come with me.” Miranda led her over to a post on the wall and showed her what looked like a list of rules.

  “This defines what can and can’t happen here. In the vanilla world, anything goes. Here everything is watched, controlled. There are men and women that work the floor. They’re called dung
eon monitors. You can recognize them by their black bands. They are here to protect from anyone out of control.”

  “How do you get them to stop?”

  “There’s something called the safe word. You’ve got a universal system, kind of like traffic lights, if you don’t know the person you are playing with well. Green for go, yellow for caution, and red for oh-hell-no-stop, stop, stop.”

  Clover’s mouth fell open and Miranda laughed.

  “Does that really work?”

  “It does. Some people like to pick unique words that you won’t find in regular conversation. Others will stick with the regular traffic light colors. It’s up to you.”

  “Do you use a safe word?”

  “I do.”

  “What is it?”

  The curvy woman gave her a conspiratorial smile. “Twatwaffle.”

  “Oh my God.” Clover giggled.

  “I never use it, but it’s there if I want it.”

  “I still don’t get it. I never knew anything like this ever existed back home. Small town... I worked at a diner. It didn’t get much simpler than that. My riskiest venture was modeling bras and slips at Macy’s, for goodness sake.”

  “Can I say something?” Miranda asked, her face pensive.

  “Sure.”

  “What happened to you out there would never happen here.” Miranda reached out to touch her cheek and lowered her hand to her side. “There’s no touching without permission. This is a place where women and men can feel safe. Master Cage has put a series of security measures in place. After Natalia was attacked...”

  “What?” No wonder the other woman understood.

  Miranda nodded. “Twice. Once a long time ago, when someone else owned the club and they didn’t check backgrounds on the new clients. Now, every person that comes through that door, yourself included, is checked to see if there’s anything in their background that would prohibit them from playing well with others.”

  “What about the second time?”

  “The guy who was after her...well, let’s just say we set him up to come here so they could apprehend him. Problem was, he snuck in a little bit too soon and she and her mates paid the price.”

  Mates? Those were the men she was with. Interesting.

  Now, Clover really was intrigued.

  “What happened?”

  “I think that’s Natalia’s story to tell. Just like if you want to tell what happened to you, you tell me. Deal?”

  “Deal. Now, let’s get to work. I want you to show me what to do. This isn’t like waiting tables at Cheeseburger Hut or something.”

  Miranda laughed. “No., but maybe if you added some whips and chains,” she said, shaking her head, a grin spreading across her features.

  “I guess I can’t wear jeans, then?”

  “No. Not for the evening hours, but I do have something that you would look really cute in for later. Okay, come on, let’s get to work.”

  “Who’s that tall guy with the beard?”

  “Oh, that’s Master Richard. Do you like his photographs? He’s the best.”

  Clover almost tuned Miranda out as she prattled on about the sexy Dominant, but her eyes strayed to the selection of pictures on the wall of the bar. A dark-haired woman, dressed in black leather and red lipstick, graced the photographs, posed in provocative shots that accentuated her curves. The first one was just a side shot of her perched against one of the benches on the main floor. The second was her kneeling on the floor, her eyes looking up with an intensity that made her squirm.

  But the third...that one took her breath away. The woman’s mouth was open with her eyes shut, very obviously in the throes of an orgasm. Her sooty lashes kissed the snow white of her cheeks and her red lips were an open invitation to be kissed.

  “He did those?”

  Miranda nodded.

  “Who is she?”

  A muscle in Miranda’s jaw twitched and she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “That would be Sarah.”

  She glanced at the picture again and couldn’t help but feel the intensity down in her bones. Was this what BDSM was all about? But as she turned toward Miranda to ask her, she noted the woman’s hard expression.

  “I wonder if he’ll take them down.”

  “Down? Why?”

  “He caught her in a compromising situation and their relationship is now defined by the words past tense.”

  “Ouch.”

  God, how she wanted to be that woman. To experience that kind of feeling and revel in it. She had to know more. And why would someone who looked so happy turn around and do something stupid like cheat? Unless he was an asshole.

  “If he takes them down, what will he put up?”

  Clover was curious.

  Miranda’s brow furrowed. “Not sure, really. Odds are, he’ll be looking for another model for the book, though.”

  “Book?”

  “Yeah.” She pointed over to the gift shop. “Check out his first two when you get a minute. They might answer some of your questions, too.”

  “I might just do that.” Clover responded.

  “You did say you were looking at a modeling job, right?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, keep that in mind if you get a chance to talk to him later. Maybe you guys can come to some kind of arrangement.”

  Ugh. No.

  She couldn’t imagine herself taking photographs like these. The woman in these photos was thin and practiced. She was anything but. Her curves weren’t built for latex or bondage gear, but it didn’t stop her from dreaming.

  So, she went to work and when the first part of her shift was over, Clover wandered through the club absorbing everything. It was an alien world she honestly never knew existed. Her small-town life had never prepared her and she hungered to find out as much as she could.

  Gradually, she became aware of the tall Dom watching her from a distance. His dark hair and kissable lips surrounded by a light beard was a sexy combination she found hard to resist, but given her track record with men it was better that she did. Besides, she wasn’t here to start a new relationship. She was trying to escape from a toxic one.

  But the naughty part of her wondered what it would feel like to be on the other side of his camera lens. To be captured on film like the dark-haired woman in the photographs. And, if she allowed herself to really be bad, she considered how his hands would feel on her flesh. Would he be a demanding lover? Considerate? Or would he be a complete prick like Ellis?

  No. No one could be as bad as Ellis. It was finished before it ever got started, leaving her feeling used and dirty every time. Something in the Dom’s eyes told her he would be the exact opposite-and if she was going to feel dirty, it would be because she wanted to.

  Mmmm. She had to stop thinking.

  She was only here for a week and she needed to focus on getting her life in order.

  The day passed and she went upstairs to cuddle with Sylvester. The Chihuahua snuggled into her arms with a relieved sigh and, after a nibble or two, he fell asleep, content. Clover shifted and joined him for a bit, exhausted. When she woke, it was time for a light dinner and she found a sandwich, carrots, and some chips outside the door to her room.

  A lump formed in her throat at the kindness of these people, and she shared her sandwich with Sylvester and got ready to go.

  Miranda had a garment bag brought up to her room for what she was to wear for her shifts in the bar, so she unzipped the bag, unearthing a black corset and filmy black microskirt.

  “Oh my God.”

  She scrutinized the outfit, eyebrows raised.

  It was beautiful. And sexy. And...wow. So not her.

  Would the corset even fit her curvy body? Miranda would know, she guessed. Breathing was probably optional, as long as she looked the part, she thought with a grin.

  She held it up to the small wall mirror and made a face. No way had she ever dressed in anything like it before.

  Fishing deeper into the bag, s
he came up with a pair of heels that looked like they might give her a nosebleed, thigh high black stockings and a black lace thong.

  “Ugh. Butt floss.” She winced and almost put them back in the bag, but considering what her other options were, she laid them on the bed and eyed them with disdain.

  Her inner bunny chittered and smoothed her ears, blinking her eyes at the horror.

  “Not a chance.”

  The corset went on first, the black leather pushing her breasts up so they fairly spilled over the top of the garment. Easy fastenings on the side made cinching it closed a snap and she moved on the thigh high stockings.

  Clover rolled them up her legs and stepped into the frilly skirt, loving how the lacy edge of the stockings deliberately didn’t come to the edge of the concoction.

  Her eyes traveled over the thong again. What was she going to wear with this if she didn’t don the offensive garment? Granny panties weren’t going to cut it.

  It was scandalous. Especially when she slipped on the thong and when she swished the skirt and put on the heels, a flash of her ass was visible in the mirror.

  Oh. My. God.

  She stopped thinking and moved on to freshening up her makeup. A dusting of loose powder, some eyeliner and a dab of mascara fixed her eyes quite easily. The concealer was still doing its work and, with any luck, Ellis’s parting gift would vanish by the time she got to Houston.

  Bastard.

  With the other black eyes, it had taken a couple of weeks for the discoloration to fade, but at least she had her concealer and it wasn’t abnormally swollen. This time. And, luckily, her metabolism healed quickly.

  She took a deep breath and applied her lip stabilizer and finally her favorite shade of cranberry red lipstick that made her lips appear lush and full and her eyes sparkle.

  There.

  She fluffed her hair, and with one more hug for Sylvester, she was ready to go.

  All throughout her shift she felt the mysterious Dom’s eyes on her and while it should have bothered her, it left her feeling strangely protected. It also sent a strange swirl of heat rippling through her body.

  Her bunny liked him.

  She tried to ignore him but each time she passed him, the little furry beast would kick up the heat.