by Joey W. Hill
"Are you telling me that more in relation to Lyda or Noah?" With that question, Gen knew she'd essentially answered Chloe's. Both Mistress and sub interested her, even though she had no idea how to process the Lyda side of that equation.
"Either," Marguerite replied. "Also remember the difference between trying to change someone to your way of thinking and renovating a few rooms to make moving in together more comfortable. It's always a two-way street." Her gaze flickered. "In every good relationship, everyone evolves. Follow your intuition, Gen. It's far better than you realize."
*
Gen had grimaced at the thought of herself in ankle-breaking stilettos and sweat-trapping leather. Even so, when she flipped through her wardrobe, she'd been unsatisfied. She had a basic black cocktail dress and some cute things she'd worn for dates or quick crushes that hadn't turned into anything. Nothing felt right for this.
She told herself buying something super special would doom her expectations to disappointment because of the height to which a new outfit could propel them. Despite that, she'd stopped at her favorite outlet store Wednesday and visited the discount rack. She'd found a dress she liked, and the price had talked her into it.
Thursday night, she made a late night run to Walmart--sans Eeyore pajamas--and she had what she needed to touch up her color, giving her brown hair shiny highlights and making the roots vanish.
So here she was on Saturday night, going overboard for her unlikely adventure at a BDSM club. The dress was a pine-colored green like her eyes, with cap sleeves and vee neckline. The fabric of the dress was gathered in tiny folds at the waistline, an hourglass-shaping design that ran down to the mid-thigh hem, scalloping away to reveal her thighs. That same tight fold pattern was in back as well, flattering the shape of her ass.
Bringing out her airbrush kit, a keeper from her days as a beautician, she did a nighttime makeup application so her green eyes glowed from a frame of thick lashes, enhanced by the brown eye shadow she used. She brushed and curled her hair, clipping it high in back, and pulled some of those lighter-streaked pieces out from the brown, letting them curl around her face, soften it.
It had been a long time since she'd dressed up. Had the last time been Chloe's wedding? Even then, she hadn't really focused on being sexy. Tonight, she felt sexy, female. Young. She wasn't old, yet she'd gotten in the habit of feeling that way. She tried to remember the last time she'd let herself get infatuated with the possibilities of a date. She couldn't. As each candle had been snuffed out by incompatibility, her glow for it had dimmed further, until a hot bath, book and hanging out with crafting friends had sounded more appealing. Safer. What a depressing thought.
Despite her reservations about getting so dolled up, she couldn't deny it helped fuel her excitement about tonight. This wasn't about romance, not exactly, but it was sexual in an exciting way. Her escort was a male who definitely fascinated her. And then there was the woman who "temporarily" owned him. Thinking about a range of possible reactions from either one of them, Gen thought she was like a Coca-Cola, a tingly, fizzy feeling coursing through her blood. Executing a slow turn, she looked at herself from all angles in the floor-length mirror. She'd worn two-inch black pumps on her feet. No stockings. Her legs were good enough not to need them. She'd forgotten she had good legs. And really nice breasts.
Her ass could use work, but most women thought that. She blamed that on Chloe's baked goods, but thinking of what Noah had said about waking up against a soft ass drove any self-denigration away. All in all, she thought she looked pretty damn good. At least here in her bedroom, where she wouldn't suffer in comparison to anyone else.
This was foolish. Too much. She needed to change into jeans and a spangly top, just like Chloe had implied. But that would be wasted money on the dress, and Gen felt strongly about wasting money.
Noah would be there, and so would Lyda. As much as she told herself this wasn't a typical date, and definitely not a three-way date, her mind was churning over the possibilities. She was going to a BDSM club, where sex would be up front and foremost in everyone's mind.
"All right. Enough. This is what they're getting. Tonight will be whatever I want it to be. Nothing I don't want. I'm in control."
Flipping off the bathroom light, she went to hunt up her purse and keys before she lost her nerve.
*
She'd never been to The Zone. Typical of many adult clubs, it wasn't in the best area of town, but she saw Tyler's influence in the ownership. Security personnel patrolled the parking lot, and a complimentary shuttle circled through to offer rides to the door, a boon to women in icepick heels. She saw plenty of those, and the women wore clothes to match the shoes, which made her glad she'd worn what she'd worn. While she saw some casual street garb, the place had that festive, dress-up feeling classy clubs emanated after sunset.
She hadn't expected to see anyone wearing scanty bondage wear in the parking lot, but plenty of the members carried purses or totes large enough to contain a change of clothes, or other things her wild imagination couldn't help but entertain. Whips, chains...
Some only carried a small handbag, however, reassuring her that she wouldn't be the only one here just to watch. For them, the BDSM might be merely a titillating floor show. She expected that provided a good balance, since some of those who actively participated might like having an audience.
Did Noah like being on display while his Mistress was dominating him? Did Lyda get off on people watching her do that? When she imagined Lyda binding Noah and doing a wide variety of sexual things to him, Gen wasn't sure how she felt about it, mind-wise, but her body obviously had no problem with the idea.
The thump of music coming from within reminded her that there was a great dance floor and DJ, according to Chloe. Another clue that the activities inside weren't all about the D/s games. It made her feel a little better, a little less self-conscious. She shouldn't feel self-conscious, though. That was for people who cared what other people thought about them, and she was supposed to be way past that.
Yet this was what happened when a cautious person left her comfort zone and tried something so freaking brand new it might just change her entire life. A car horn beeped, startling her back to the here and now. She'd stopped just short of the curb, the car owner reminding her she was standing in the flow of incoming traffic. She gave a startled hop up onto the curb, touching her hair self-consciously and staring at the red carpet leading into the double doors. Silver lettering slashed across the smoky glass. The Zone.
She propelled herself into motion. The two security people at the entrance, one female and one male, opened the doors for her with polite efficiency and watchful eyes. The woman gave her a reassuring look, though, telling Gen she must look nervous.
Noah had said he'd be watching for her between eight and nine. It was a few minutes after nine, so she thought she'd have to page him. Instead, she saw him right away. There was a lounge just beyond the hostess' station, and he was in a small booth by himself. He rose the moment she crossed the threshold.
He'd waited for her. One part of her felt guilty for being late, but the look on his face when he saw her flattered her beyond description. There was no mistaking the expression of a man who felt every minute he'd waited had been worth it.
On her side of that equation, he made her pulse accelerate to the urgent beat of the dance floor music. He was wearing some type of slick leather pants. No shirt. The silver and black thin braided cord was double-wrapped around his throat, and the matching ones were back on his wrists. His long hair was in a sexy tousle, loose on his shoulders, his brown eyes fastened on hers like a sleepy wolf who'd just woken up.
She was a thirty-something woman who could handle all this in a mature manner. Yet when she clung to that gaze, she was reminded of a film she'd watched where a teenaged hero had touched the young heroine's jaw in a key moment. He'd stilled her fears by drawing her attention to his eyes, to the assurance there that all would be well. He'd done it with such surety
, making it clear all his attention was on her care. Their youth hadn't really mattered. It was a simple heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul communication, recognized and desired by all ages.
She followed her more carnal desires now, letting her gaze course downward. The pants were low on his waist, below his hip bones. He had the lithe rock-star build to pull off such a look well. From the glances that followed him when he passed other tables, his ass must look irresistible in the tight pants. The front view was nothing to be sneezed at, his groin nicely substantial. Yet he seemed neither self-conscious nor like he was flaunting it. As he approached, his gaze was traveling over every inch of her. She wanted to touch him too, and so a breath caught in her throat as he kept coming, right into the grasp of her eager hands.
He curved a hand alongside her neck, under her hair, and lowered his mouth to hers. She leaned into him, letting his strength support her as his other arm circled her waist. Sliding her hands around him, she hooked her thumbs in the low ride of the pants. Then she couldn't help herself. She cupped his ass and found yes, the people who'd sent him covetous looks were absolutely right. His ass felt awesome. And of course there was nothing under that thin, slick covering but him. Her abdomen was pressed against the decidedly firm package of cock and testicles.
He hadn't kissed her this weekend, and she hadn't given him the opportunity when she dropped him off. She wasn't making that mistake twice. When she lifted on her toes, he took it as the invitation it was. His tongue teased her lips open and delved in to play, the pierced stud caressing her moist flesh as his fingers tightened in her hair. She wasn't thinking, wasn't planning, anticipating, worrying. She hadn't realized how getting dressed up in a sexy dress, being in an environment like this, would prep her for a state where inhibition was clearly less important than letting oneself feel.
"You look incredible," he said against her mouth. "Lyda's going to eat you in three bites."
Sensation shuddered through her, awaking nerve endings like the sweep of a gusty summer rain. His fingers trailed down her spine, back up, teasing her bra strap. She tried to breathe, to slow things down, but she didn't stop holding onto him. She was grabbing a guy's ass in the middle of a crowded place, and no one seemed to think it was unusual, but it was unusual for her. Trying to prove she could control her own impulses, she adjusted her grip to his waist, his lower back. He wrapped his arms lightly around her shoulders. His skin was slightly damp, as if he'd been dancing or exerting himself some other way.
"Want the tour?" he asked. "Or do you want to grab a quiet corner and make out until Lyda finds us?"
His eyes were intent, aroused, but playful. He always seemed to know how to help her handle her mixed feelings. "Yes, to both. But take me on the tour first."
"Your wish is my command." When he tucked her hand underneath his arm, she clasped his firm biceps. He leaned down to speak into her ear, so she could hear him over the crowd noise. "Lyda will join us in her own time. She's with some other Mistresses right now, probably swapping favorite CBT stories. Or talking about shoes. Girl stuff."
She glanced up at him. "What's CBT?"
"Cock-and-ball torture." He gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry, didn't mean to be that blatant right off the bat. Don't want to scare you."
"It would have scared me more if it applied to me. Just don't tell me if there's a version of that which does."
He grinned, leading her away from the foyer and pointing out the high points as he explained them. "The Zone has three levels now. On the top floor, there's a sound-buffered glass-bottom bar and restaurant where you can watch the dance floor or public play areas from above and have normal conversations without screaming. This middle level has a big dance floor with a perimeter mezzanine to hang out and talk, if you can manage it over the music, and another couple sections for public play. There are a few sitting areas like the lounge area where I was waiting for you, and some of them have noise buffers. The bottom floor has the private playrooms and changing areas."
As they moved through a wide walkway that split off toward different areas, she saw a carpeted stairwell leading to the lower level. Erotic art, chandeliers and elaborate moldings captured her gaze and added to the ambiance. "Watch the signs." He nodded toward one. "They tell you where drinking is allowed. See that archway over there? That's an extreme play zone, where they do anything from advanced suspension to heavy pain stuff. The security guy at that door administers a breathalyzer on whoever passes through, even if you're just going to watch. You score over the legal limit, you can't go in. There's a mezzanine viewing area." He glanced at her. "You want to go take a look from there? If you start with the scariest stuff, the rest will seem totally normal."
She gave a nervous laugh. "Okay. Why not?"
As the crowd heading onto the mezzanine area got thicker, he slipped his grip to her hand to move single file up the stairs and onto the walkway. Watching the club lights play over the tattoos on his back, she reached forward with her free hand and slid her fingers over them. He gave her another of those sleepy wolf looks over his shoulder.
He found them a small spot at the crowded railing, where she was secure between his body behind her and the rail in front, such that she could put her hand on either to steady herself. His breath was on her neck, voice against her ear to compete with the backbeat of the not-too-distant dance floor music. "If it gets to be too much," he said, "Just let me know. We can go dance or look at some of the less hardcore play. Just remember, everything happening is consensual and okay. You'll see staff circling whose job is to step in if they think otherwise. They're really good at that."
When she was a teenager, she'd been the person who liked to jump in the deep end of the pool and work back to the shallow, as if she was challenging herself to face the most difficult part first. Tonight she felt like she was that more daring girl again, and Noah was helping her enjoy that long forgotten side of herself.
Then she looked down at the floor. She felt her eyes go wide, her hand dropping to curl around Noah's on her hip. A woman was suspended like a spider's prey in a web of ropes. She'd been bound like a ballerina leaping, one leg bent beneath her, the other stretched out behind her. Her arms were up to her sides like a bird, her back arched and held that way with an array of ropes fastened to a metal circle against the small of her back. The ropes looked like a sunburst, all the "beams" tied to her thighs, arms and torso in a way that kept her in that position.
As Gen looked closer, it was clear the Dom in charge of her suspension had tied her so her joints, while strained from the position, were bearing none of her weight. Even so, she was completely helpless.
He was a tall black man with dreadlocks, wearing jeans and black mesh tank. He was in the process of pinching her nipples repeatedly. In a smooth movement, he added clamps to them. The woman cried out at the stimulation, writhing as much as the bonds allowed, which wasn't much. He stroked her face, her mouth. Gen thought she heard him call her his beautiful bird. Then he started to attach glittering weights to the clamps.
The weights were metallic colors, so as she shuddered, the light sparkled off them. The white noise of the crowd swallowed some of her response, but Gen could still see her lips part with moans at the stimulation. He'd bound her breasts so they were constricted, her nipples enlarged. Her own tingled in sympathetic response.
Hearing a raucous shout, she turned her attention to another scene, a few feet away from the suspended woman. A man was bound on a large X-shaped upright frame, being struck by a woman with a long whip. Unlike the women coming in from the parking lot on their slender heels, she wore sturdy block-heeled boots. Gen surmised it was necessary to maintain the steady, squared stance as she threw the whip. She placed the popper precisely on his shoulders, his ass, and the inside of his wide-spread thighs. Her movement was like continuous ripples on water. His raw groans built with every strike, as if he was experiencing an overload of sensation. Gen saw red marks on his back, like straight pieces of straw.
"Did
the whip do that?"
"No, she caned him first. Or it might have been a switch."
Noticing Noah's voice had a hoarse note as well, Gen glanced up at him. He was studying the scenario with an intent expression. His fingers were curled over hers, and the tight, coiled feeling she was experiencing in her stomach seemed to match the grip he had on her. Was he imagining himself where that man was, Lyda on the other end of the whip? What about herself? Which side fascinated her more?
When the Mistress rotated the cross to face another direction, Gen drew in a breath. The restrained man's cock was locked in a steel cagelike device that clamped at the base of that and his balls.
"Is that...CBT?"
"Yeah, one kind. If he starts to get erect, the chastity cage contains it, makes it painful enough that it subsides."
Did Chloe do things like this to Brendan? She had no idea how Marguerite's submission played out between her and Tyler. Actually, she wasn't sure she was ready to see any of them doing these types of things. She was glad Noah had been sensitive enough to arrange for her to come here on a night they weren't present.
Her gaze shifted left, where a heavyset woman was bound naked over a bench. She had two tattoos, one on either shoulder. One said "Delia" and the other said "David". Perhaps her children, because Gen saw stretch marks. Looking around the play area, Gen realized then there were all ages and body types, and what was striking was the lack of self-consciousness by the submissives exposing themselves at their Master or Mistress's demand. Only their approval appeared necessary, and what she saw in the faces of those Dominants suggested the degree of submission was the attraction, not an arbitrary physical standard of beauty.
Another woman around the same age and body type began paddling the tattooed woman, landing blow after blow. After a time, she gripped the bound woman's hair, lifting her head to kiss her. The submissive kissed her back with yearning greediness, her hips jerking in aroused response on the bench. As her hips lifted, Gen saw she had a plug in her cunt, one with a jeweled base and prongs that spread out and clamped on the labia, pressing into the skin. Gen tightened her own thighs, her fingers tangled with Noah's. The hard spanking, the woman's grunts of pain, made her flinch, but that kiss did other things to her.