by Brandi Evans
I chuckled. I'd had variations of this conversation over the years at Red Light. My favorite line being, "Do your guns come with that getup?"
I turned to the mirror. "The outfit's nice and all, but I feel—"
"Like you're wearing someone else's clothes? Or playing dress up?"
I nodded.
She smiled understandingly. "I felt the same way my first night, too, but I assure you, when you see the look on your Dom's face when he first sees you, all that will go away. It did for me anyway. God, I still remember the look in Brock's eyes when he first saw me decked out in leather." She closed her eyes, and an expression like she'd tasted something sweet crossed her face.
"How long ago was that?"
"Not nearly long enough. Our six-month anniversary is next week."
"Considering the way you talk about him, I thought it'd been much longer."
"Sometimes, I feel like it has been. I've been in love with him close to two years, but bad timing and all."
"I know the feeling. I lusted after Max a long time before our relationship ever crossed into something sexual."
Actually, we'd grown very close in the months prior to his wife's death. Our relationship hadn't been sexual, but I'd certainly harbored dirty, erotic thoughts about him. But after her death, Max had disappeared from my life for a long time. I hadn't found out until later that guilt had been what kept him away. He'd been with me the night she'd committed suicide, and he hadn't been able to forgive himself. In some ways, he still blamed himself, and he probably always would.
Viv opened her mouth to speak, but my cell phone dinged. I grabbed it from where it sat on the fitting room bench.
"Speak of the devil." Max had sent a text message.
Got your paperwork ready for your signature. Have Vivian bring you to Brock's office when you're ready.
Paperwork? I didn't like paperwork.
I sent a thumb's up before turning to Viv. "Max said there's more paperwork I need to sign."
"Oh, that." She waved me off. "It's a contract every member signs, agreeing not to hold the club liable for any injury you may sustain on the premises, that everything happening is consensual, and what happens at the BDSM club stays at the BDSM club. It also touches on the club's safe word, alcohol and illicit substance policy, stuff like that. It's for the protection of all patrons involved. But don't worry; Brock will go over everything in detail before he has you sign anything, so if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask."
I nodded and, deciding to stay in the fishnet number, followed my new friend toward her Dom's office.
Toward my Dom, too.
"Assuming I'm not ridiculously sore after whatever happens to me tonight," I said, "I plan on hitting the gym in the morning and getting back to my usual routine. If you want to join me, I'll be thrilled to have you. But I must warn you, I hit the gym pretty early."
"How early is early?" She over exaggerated the dread saturating her voice.
"Usually about five-thirty. That way, I have plenty of time to unwind before hopping in the shower and getting my day on."
"That's early, but if I can get your arms, totally worth it."
I chuckled. "And afterward, there's a great coffee shop close to my work where I like to sit and relax before my shift starts. I'd love for you to join me for that, too, if I can drag you away from your Sir long enough."
"I'd love to! Brock's usually up late every night at the club, so as you can imagine, he sleeps late. I'll likely be back before he even wakes up."
"It's a date then."
When we neared Brock's office, she stopped me with a hand to my forearm. "Wait right here. I want to introduce you properly."
"Viv, you don't have to—"
"Nonsense! Just wait for my cue!"
Apparently, there was no stopping this woman.
She gave the partially open door a single knock and then went right in. Her voice sounded a bit muffled but still very audible. "After an exhaustive search through the bowels of the gift shop, Bree and I have emerged victorious—and a whole lot provocative. So, without further ado, heeere's Sexy!"
Sexy? Was that my cue? I sure as hell didn't feel sexy.
I stepped inside Brock's office, a mixture of anticipation and dread tickling my stomach. Considering Viv's stellar introduction, I feared my actual entrance would prove underwhelming.
Max had been pushing to his feet when I'd entered, but he froze, suspended somewhere between seated and standing. His expression relayed pure wonder, as if coming face to face with something so beautiful, it literally struck him stupid, but that reaction couldn't be for me. If anyone was knocking anyone else stupid, it was Max.
I was so used to seeing Sir in his standard three-piece suits that men in suits had rocketed to the number one spot on my Sexy Men's Attire List. The way Max's suits were tailored perfectly to fit his frame, a frame I knew intimately, only fanned my desires. I especially liked it when he'd lose the jacket, leaving only his vest and tie with his slacks, sleeves rolled up. Yowza.
Looking at Max never failed to kick-start my libido, tickling that spot deep in my core no other man had ever been able to stimulate, and dear god, he was so kick-starting my libido right now, but with a sexy twist that would forever be burned onto my retinas.
The black slacks were standard; the deep purple button-down, with its vibrant hue that seemed to shift under the lights, was his usual, too. The leather vest and tie combo, however, were entirely new. The look was both sleek and let's get down to business. He was my Max but edgier.
In a sentence: Maxwell Penn was positively fucktacular.
Brock broke the silence. "Damn, babe. She looks amazing. You do stellar work."
"I know." Viv beamed. "But honestly, she'd look good in anything. Look at her biceps! I'm immensely jealous!"
Their praise felt strange, and I fought the urge to cover myself. This wasn't an intimate moment between lovers or guys hitting on me at Red Light. It was near strangers talking about my body as if I were an object.
"You, my pet, have nothing to be jealous of," Brock said with a smile, turning Viv in his arms to face him. "You're already perfect."
"That's one hell of a cheesy line, Sir, but I like it." She pushed onto her tiptoes and planted one right on Brock's lips.
Leaving the pair to their PDA, I turned to the man whose comments about my body always made me feel desired. "So, what do you think? You've been awfully quiet since I came in."
"That's because you've rendered me speechless."
Max motioned me to turn, and I obeyed, spinning in a slow circle. When I'd made half a rotation, Max caught the hook at my left wrist cuff and tugged me into him, my back coming to rest unforgivingly against his front, his hard cock caught between us.
"You're too stunning for my own good, Breanne Jennings. Other Doms will be fighting for the pleasure of providing you pleasure. It will be spectacular to watch."
His words were hot and steamy against my neck, and I shivered—and not just with anticipation. Would other Doms really fight over me? For all I knew about the inner workings of a BDSM club, that could be true, and just like that, doubt filtered through my bloodstream like a low-grade fever, infecting my resolve. I loved Max, but on so many levels, I wasn't ready for this. The back and forth was enough to drive a girl mad.
As I tried to tamp down my anxiety, I ran through a list of takedowns that might work to defend myself against a group. I didn't see evasion as a viable option in this environment. That left hand-to-hand combat. I could probably take down two Doms if I was fast. But even at my best, if every move I chose worked, either because I was more skilled in this art than they were or because I'd caught them entirely off guard, I doubted I'd be able to take down more than one more.
Would that be enough if… Again, with the stupid ifs.
I'd just started playing through a different scenario when Brock interrupted my mounting anxiety. "So, guys, what do you say we get this paperwork out of the way so y
ou two can head into the club?"
Max kissed the top of my head, and together, we stepped to Brock's desk. Three sets of paperwork had been laid out, each facing so I could read them. Lying beside the papers on the far right were four colored bands. My bands: red, orange, yellow and indigo. Simple paper bands like one might wear to a carnival.
I swallowed. Hard. This was seriously happening!
"Max turned in your RSVP, but there're a few other matters to attend to before you cross the gilded threshold tonight." Brock pointed to the paper on my left, his right. "This is our standard consent form for visiting clients. It holds visitors accountable to the same code of conduct as our members in good standing, and visitors can only be invited by a member in good standing or by a member in good standing at one of our sister clubs around the world. As you can see, we're very vigilant about who we let in."
Apparently so, which made me feel a lot better.
I nodded, and Brock continued, pointing to the first bullet point on the page.
"This spells out our club rules. Everything that happens within these walls is consensual. No exceptions. If you feel like your rights are being violated, our club safe word is 'red.' Use it, scream it, whatever you have to do. Understand?"
"Yes, Sir." Wait; was I supposed to refer to other Doms as Sir, too? Or just mine? Even after months in the lifestyle, I still had so much left to learn.
Brock pointed to the next bullet point. "There are no illicit substances allowed on the premises. If you want to indulge in illegal drugs on your own, you do you, but within these walls, it's a hard no. We also have two alcoholic drinks per night limit. Again, no exceptions. Safe, sane, and consensual can get hazy when people are high or hammered. And lastly, what goes on here, stays here. We don't discuss it with people who aren't in the lifestyle. Also, do not interrupt another couple or group's scene. If you do, there will be punishment."
"Punishment?"
The word leaped from my throat, and my over-active imagination conjured images of leather-wearing Doms, whips in hand, gathered around me to administer said punishment. And suddenly, I was picturing myself in the center of an actual medieval dungeon, being tortured, not engaged in a scene between consenting adults.
"Breathe, my sweet." Max pressed a wayward kiss to my temple. "Don't worry about any punishments tonight. I will not let you get into any trouble, okay? You have my word."
I nodded, feeling a bit more assured than maybe I should. I trust Max. I trust my Dom. I trust my Sir.
Brock pointed to a spot at the bottom of the form, next to where Max had already signed. "If you agree to these rules, sign here next to your Dom."
My hands were surprisingly steady as I took the pen Brock held out for me and signed my name next to Sir's.
"Very good." Brock pointed to the next form. "These next two are optional for tonight. The first is a member application, and the second's a consent form for us to run a background check."
"A background check?" My spine stiffened. True, I'd had—and passed—several background checks over the years, but given my past, every one of them had made me nervous. This was no exception.
"Background checks are a standard part of the application process," Brock answered. "It's for the protection of our members. We don't want to admit someone who has a history of violence against women, for example."
"I had to fill one out, too," Viv said with a smile, "even though Brock pretty much knew everything about me by that point."
Standard procedure or not, the idea of background checks made me nervous.
"So, I can take these with me and fill them out at home?" I asked.
"Of course," Brock answered. "Max's contract covers you for now, but eventually, if you want to become a long-term member, you'll need your own."
I nodded. Worry over failed background checks was tomorrow's problem. Tonight's worry plate was all filled up.
Brock gathered the papers, secured them with a paper clip and put them in his desk drawer. "You can grab these on your way out," he said to Max as he handed my Dom the colored bands.
"Thank you, my friend," Max said.
Max turned to me and held his hands out, palms up, and I didn't hesitate to place mine in his, which surprised me. I was equal parts terrified and super terrified, but I trusted my Dom. I held tight to that trust as he fastened each band to my wrist, nestled beneath my cuffs.
When he finished, he hooked an index finger into each of the links on my leather cuffs and tugged my hands, one after the other, to his lips. "Let's go, little sub. Your pleasure awaits."
Chapter 6
Max and I stepped through the gilded doors of Restrained Fantasies hand in hand. My grip on Max was bone-crushing, holding him as if he were the only thing keeping me grounded to reality, but if the vice-like grip bothered him, he didn't say anything.
"Holy shit!" The words rolled off my tongue. Somewhere between amazement and reverence, I attempted to take in what I was seeing but failed miserably. I thought I'd gotten the full dungeon feel of the place when Viv had brought me here—when Max had fucked me here—but seeing the space jammed with people underscored just how unprepared I was for all this.
To our right, five of the burgundy and leather platforms swung, their occupants in various scenes and stages of undress. In the opposite direction, it was more of the same. My gaze darted around the space; I was utterly mesmerized and overwhelmed—turned on a bit, too, couldn't forget turned on.
Everywhere I looked, people were lost in their own scenes. To see so many people engaging in a lifestyle I'd only had a passing familiarity about until Max was liberating, but then, we reached the stage.
I froze. A half-dozen Doms or so were gathered around a pair of bound subs. Both subs, both women, stood with their feet and hands bound so they were in a vertical spread-eagle position. Both were completely naked and sporting a single band on their wrists.
A black one.
Watching the women with voyeuristic fascination, I dug my fingernails into Max's hand. The woman on the left was bracketed by four Doms. One Dom was taking her from behind. Each thrust of his hips was slow but violent. Her breasts would no doubt be jumping and jiggling under the onslaught if not for the two Doms fondling each mound.
The last Domme, a voluptuous blonde in a red corset, was kneeling and using a handheld vibrator on the sub's clit. Cries, sobs, and screams for more tumbled from the sub's mouth as her body quivered under the onslaught. Judging by the frantic nature of the sounds, the woman wasn't long to remain on my side of Orgasmia much longer, and I couldn't fucking wait to see the moment she crossed the city limits.
No wonder Max got off on watching; this was intense.
Never releasing my hand, Max repositioned me until I stood directly in front of him, my back to his front, and wrapped me close. "See something you like, little sub?" he asked, his breath playing over my neck.
"Yes, Sir."
The sub screamed, and her body jerked a series of rhythmic spasms as she came apart at the hands of the quartet of Doms/Dommes around her. The sight was beautiful. Her pleasure was beautiful. She was beautiful.
Her climax seemed to turn tangible and infect me. I swore I felt her pleasure settle over me, sending jolts straight to my core—or maybe it was in my head and the only thing I was feeling was Max's hand as he cupped my sex over my clothes.
He circled his fingers over my clit and kissed the side of my neck. His actions weren't enough to get me off, but as I kept watching the blonde on stage, her body spasming and quivering, I couldn't be sure of that.
I turned my head and pressed my lips to Max's. "This is intense."
"Yes, it is, especially considering it's you I'm imagining up there right now?"
"I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable on stage." Which was completely true, I didn't like being the center of attention, unless it was Max's attention I was usurping.
"How about somewhere a bit more out of the way?" he suggested.
I pondered his question. "May
be," I finally said. "With you close by… possibly."
"Good to hear." He nipped at my neck a few times. "Come, little sub. Let's get a drink."
I nodded. A drink sounded perfect, a little something to help dull my first-time jitters.
Max steered me to a pair of open barstools at the right of the bar, directly between a tall, lanky blond man and two women I assumed were together, judging by the way they were holding hands and smiling at each other.
As we sat, a woman with jet black hair, ripped jeans, a maroon corset, and a gorgeous array of tattoos stepped before us and smiled at Max. "Master Penn," the dark beauty said, "it's been a while."
"Too long." Max motioned to me. "Raven, this is Bree. Bree, this is Raven, Restrained Fantasies' bartender."
Raven turned her smile on me. It was an unexpectedly friendly smile from a woman with such a bad girl appearance. "The boss told me you'd be visiting tonight. Heck of a first night to join in on the fun! You've got more balls than I do, girl. I told my Sir I'd be working tonight, not working it."
"Your Sir?" The left side of Max's mouth tipped up. "Since when do you have a Sir?"
"Yeah, well, it's a long story." A warm smile played with her lips, the kind driven by fondness and an affection that relayed a deeper intimacy. "Even if he were here tonight, you wouldn't catch me out there." She quickly glanced my way. "Not that there's anything wrong with having that kind of fun; it's just not my style."
I nodded in understanding. "Honestly, I'm scared this might not be my style, either."
"Totes understandable. But just remember, if things ever feel like they're becoming too much for ya, just shout your safe word to the sky. I guarantee everything will stop. Boom! No questions asked."
"Thank you," I said as hearing about the sanctity of the club's safe word time and time again was comforting. "Everything is sooo overwhelming!"
"Just breathe, little sub," Max said. "I won't let anything happen to you."