by Qwillia Rain
Leave his lifestyle behind.
Chapter Four
Rose fell in love the second Ellie pulled her sedan into a parking space and shut the motor off. The building was a blend of warehouse and Spanish hacienda with its size, curved windows and doorways, and adobe-like textured walls. She lightly slapped Ari’s shoulder before getting out of the car.
Ari exited on the opposite side. She rubbed her arm and stared over the roof of the sedan at her. “Ow! What was that for?”
“You and Norah and Ellie have been keepin’ secrets.”
Mirabeth waggled her finger at Ari. “You have.”
Ari laughed and hooked her arm through Mirabeth’s and turned her toward the building. “Only a little one. By the way, I hate you, you know.”
Mirabeth blinked. “Why?”
Rose followed Ellie and caught up with the others. “It’s indecent. You’re seven months pregnant and barely have a baby bump.” Rose motioned to the electric-blue suede minidress and matching bolero jacket Mirrie wore. “Soon-to-be mamas should not look like Marilyn Monroe dolls.”
Mirabeth laughed. “Blame it on the Carter genes. Mama says all the Carter women carry small.”
Ari let go of Mirrie’s arm and pulled out her phone when it chirped from the pocket of her white leather halter dress. “Hello?”
They waited at the steps leading to the entrance while Ari finished the call. “Great, we’ll see you inside.” She closed the phone and tucked it back into her pocket. “Norah’s on her way,” Ari announced.
Rose clapped. “Yes. I’m glad she changed her mind.”
Inside the club, Rose took her time reading through the agreement form before signing it and then giving her name and fingerprint to the man at the door. A blend of voices and music filled the building, echoing off the high ceilings and the industrial-style exposed ductwork and pipes. The walls and concrete floor were a matte black with glowing green lines drawn around the different display areas.
“Oh my God.”
Ellie’s choked-off exclamation drew Rose and the others’ attention.
“What?” Mirrie asked.
Ellie didn’t speak; she simply pointed to the platform across the room where a man stood, fire dancing on his fingertips before he snuffed it out.
“Wow,” Rose whispered, impressed by the confidence and aura of calm surrounding the man. Dark blond hair was clipped short, accenting his angular features and tanned skin. Bare-chested and clad in black leather pants, there was no doubt the man knew his way around a gym. Muscles flexed and relaxed when he assisted a young woman onto the stage. He waited for her to shed her clothes, then lifted her onto the altar-like table.
“Norah!”
Rose blinked, startled from her observation by Ari’s cry. As the tallest in the group she easily spotted Norah making her way toward them, her strawberry-blonde hair loose around her shoulders, determined expression on her face.
Some shuffling through people and Ari’s uncanny familiarity with the layout helped them find a semiquiet corner where they didn’t have to shout to be heard over the music and growing number of customers.
Norah hugged each of them as Ari grinned. “I’m so glad you changed your mind.”
Norah smiled, but the amused look she gave the four of them couldn’t hold Rose’s attention. There was so much happening in the club. From the band playing, to the people dancing to the displays on the different stages around the room, everything was so new and interesting to her.
She didn’t miss the looks that came her way as she hovered beside her friends. Perhaps she shouldn’t have worn her high heels. There weren’t that many people as tall as her, and the ones that came close were all men. Not an Amazon in sight. A part of her wanted to curl up and hide from the curious stares at the same time the attention sparked something in her. A strange urge to preen, to show herself off.
Could Ibraham be right? Was it possible her height wasn’t as off-putting as she’d thought?
“I guess what they say is true.”
The comment from Norah registered. Rose turned to look at her. “What who says?”
Mirrie laughed. “Inside every good girl is a bad girl dying to get out.”
Rose chuckled. If anyone epitomized the bad girl emerging from a good girl, it was Mirabeth. She looked very sexy with her platinum-blonde hair framing her face and hanging in soft waves down her back. The electric-blue suede skimmed her figure and left her legs exposed from midthigh down. The same bright blue decorated her toenails, matching the open-toed four-inch stilettos she wore.
“Exactly,” Norah agreed with Mirrie.
In her favorite black stilettos, Rose towered over all four of her friends. The black sequined halter top and leather miniskirt hugged her curves, but she worried about her choice of outfit after seeing the skimpier ones on the different customers milling around. “Ari said it was leather night.”
Ari’s hand was cool and soft as she patted Rose’s shoulder. “You look fine, Rose. Tall, but fine. Actually you look fabulous, like a naughty Snow White, especially with your hair down. All of you look great. Perfect for Omen’s crowd.”
Norah and Ellie had chosen to wear leather pants and matching corsets. Instead of the ever-present black, Norah wore deep violet leather that went well with her strawberry-blonde hair and ivory skin, and brought out the gray of her eyes. Ellie’s outfit was a vibrant fire-engine red that highlighted the copper and gold in her chestnut hair, and quite the change from her staid outfits and tight chignon. She looked like the beauty who tamed the beast with her vibrant blue eyes and creamy skin. But of the five of them, Ari was the most daringly dressed in a white leather halter minidress that zipped closed from hem to the deep, plunging neckline. She’d left her red hair loose to fall in soft corkscrew curls down her back. All she needed was a little white cap and stethoscope to round out the naughty-nurse vibe.
“The next show begins at nine. It’ll only last fifteen or twenty minutes,” Ellie explained, her voice vague since her attention was drawn to the man working with the flame.
Norah shook her head at her friend’s distraction. “Once the master or mistress finishes their presentation, you can approach them to ask questions.”
Ari nodded. “If you’re interested in experiencing what they’re demonstrating, you can ask, but if they say no, don’t push. Some forms of play are risky and take years to master, so playing with a novice doesn’t appeal.”
Rose and Mirrie exchanged a look before Mirrie asked what they’d both been wondering. “How long have you three been coming here?”
Each of the other three women blushed and then answered.
Norah admitted, “About six months.”
Ellie coughed, then said, “Eight months.”
Ari confessed, “Three years.” Then she hurriedly added, “But for research.”
Rose gasped, not sure if she was hurt that she hadn’t been invited by her friends or proud that she was friends with women brave enough to explore a lifestyle usually kept secret from the world. “And you never thought to invite us? That’s just mean. Just pure—Oh. My. God.”
All thought left her the moment she saw a man climb on top of a black-barred cage and hold on as it rose off the ground.
Ibraham. But not the daytime Ibraham she was familiar with. This one belonged to the night. Last night, if she really wanted to be specific. His hair was loose around his bare shoulders, and black leather pants hugged his lean hips and long legs. Even his bare feet were sexy. Was this what he’d meant about things she didn’t know about him?
Norah’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Isn’t that—”
“Ibraham.” Rose sighed.
Ari corrected, “Master V.”
“What?” Rose and the other women turned to look at Ari.
“He’s known as Master V here. If you address him, you must remember to call him that,” Ari explained. “It’s protocol.” She grinned at Norah and nodded toward the man on the other stage. He held a gle
aming silver rod tipped with fire in one hand and stroked ribbons of flame along the quivering torso of the woman reclining on the alter, before he rolled his other hand along her skin, snuffing out the blaze without a single flinch. “He’s referred to as the Priest, or Father.”
Norah groaned. “Oh God, not Mr. Bishop. I was hoping he wouldn’t be around tonight.”
Rose ignored Norah’s mutterings about her boss and kept her entire focus on Ibraham as he examined the chains attached to the corners of the cage that connected to larger chains hanging down from the ceiling.
Finally Ari’s voice broke through Rose’s fascination with her sexy neighbor, forcing her to pay attention.
“Rose, you said you wanted a man unafraid of PDAs. Master V loves display.”
It took everything Rose had to keep from running out of the club. She didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that Ibraham was here, but she sure didn’t want to see him with another woman. Not after last night.
Next, Ari pointed toward the Priest and looked at Ellie. “He’s the one you should watch. His fire-play techniques are sinful, and he can definitely light your fire.”
Ellie laughed. “Ah, the irony. A fire chief’s daughter tempted by flames.” She looked at Mirrie and Norah, then Ari. “What about them and you?”
Ari gestured to the second-floor balcony. “There’s a rope-play demonstration I think Mirrie will love. You know, tie you up and make you feel safe.”
Norah spoke up, “The schedule says there’s a new dom showing ways to use a violet wand. Fortunately, it’s upstairs, so I don’t have to watch my boss while I check the demo out.”
Rose couldn’t help but giggle. Ari’s last book had gone into great detail about electric play and the varied uses of a violet wand. “You should see if the new dom can make you tingle the way Jake always could.”
She could see the shiver tremble through Norah before her friend asked, “What about you, Ari? Who are you going to check out?”
Something in Norah’s expression told Rose that her friend knew exactly where Ari would be going. Rose noticed the color flushing Ari’s cheeks and chest.
“Master Damian,” Ari said. “He owns the Omen.”
Mirrie grew serious. “What will he be demonstrating?”
Ari smiled, one of the rare smiles that lit up her green eyes. She practically glowed. “Impact play.” When Rose and Mirabeth gave her confused looks, she explained with a pleasure-filled sigh. “Floggers and whips.”
The bliss suffusing Ari’s face compelled Rose’s gaze back to Ibraham. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all of them gained what they wanted most tonight? Even if it was only temporary.
* * * *
Viola tried not to smile at the stunned look on the young man’s face as Betty Jo requested copies of the rules for the club. As the man turned to open a drawer of the desk, Viola took notice of the sidelong glances and odd looks she and her friends drew from the people passing by them on their way into the Omen. Their pearls and Sunday best didn’t quite fit in with the abundance of leather everyone else wore.
Two men stood beside the double doors leading into the BDSM club. They used handheld devices to scan the fingerprint of everyone entering. Twice she saw them shake their heads at someone and refuse them access. No arguments came from the people turned away, merely fulminating looks and hasty retreats when a comment about getting the owner was made.
Mabel’s cool tone broke into her thoughts, drawing Viola’s attention back to the desk where her friends hovered over several documents.
“Fairly straightforward, ladies,” Mabel announced. “No interfering between a dominant and his or her submissive. If you want to play, you have to ask permission first. Keep your hands off other people’s property unless you ask and are given permission to touch. No means no. The safe words are Red, Yellow, Green. No photographs or video. And stay behind the green line at each of the display areas.”
After Mabel signed one of the agreements, folded her copy, and tucked it into her purse, Viola, Betty Jo, and the others signed their copies as well.
The young man took their papers and set them in a folder before motioning toward the two men beside the entrance to the club. “The shows began half an hour ago and will end at midnight. There is a limit of three alcoholic beverages per person if you aren’t going to play, one if you are, and a required designated driver.”
Mabel held her hand up. “That would be me, son. Now, may we go in?”
The boy jumped to his feet and handed an orange rubber bracelet to Mabel. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll scan your right index finger and take your name, then you can enter. Enjoy your visit to the Omen.”
Viola understood the boy’s nervousness. In her cherry-red suit and with her hair pulled into a neat chignon, Mabel exuded power and command. Even the men at the door seemed intimidated despite towering several inches over Mabel’s slender frame. While she and Betty Jo had to give their name to the doorman after their fingerprints were scanned, Mabel hadn’t. Rae and Lucy were right behind them when a masculine yelp had Viola and Betty Jo turning to see the man at one of the doors rubbing his butt and sending a dismayed look at Rae.
Viola couldn’t help but grin while Betty Jo shook her head. “Rae, that boy is younger than Arabella. Behave yourself.”
Rae rolled her eyes and grinned unashamedly. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Betty Jo. You know it’s better to get ’em young and train ’em well instead of dealing with breakin’ bad habits.”
Her mind spinning at the amount of bare skin and leather on display around her, Viola tugged on the sleeve of Betty Jo’s dark green suit.
“Yes, Vi?”
To distract herself from memories she’d thought long buried and not because she didn’t know the information already, Viola asked, “Remind me again what a safe word is.”
Mabel answered instead. “A safe word is a specific word chosen to slow, suspend, or stop play altogether if a submissive is feeling nervous or has had enough.”
Rae piped up next. Her tight black dress, black stilettos, and chunky gold jewelry fit right in with many of the people present. “Green means everything is okay.”
Even as Viola watched Rae’s attention drift toward the second floor, Lucy provided the reminder for the next safe word. “Yellow means to slow down or ease off on the intensity.”
Lucy’s interest seemed focused on a bare-chested blond man who assisted a nude woman from a table before wrapping her in a blanket. Holding her close to his side, he carefully guided her down the steps and over to a small settee where he settled into the cushions and cuddled her on his lap.
Betty Jo finished the explanation. “Red means the submissive wants to stop altogether or renegotiate elements of the scene that may be too much.”
Viola watched Betty Jo’s gaze rise toward the second floor. She hadn’t really paid attention to her friends’ explanations, having learned about safe words and how they were used long ago, but her worries about memories intruding were unfounded as someone across the room drew her interest. Absently she muttered, “Okay,” as she watched a man situated atop a cage constructed of thick black bars.
Several feet separated the cage and the floor, but the man didn’t seem fazed by the distance. A closer look brought a grin to Viola’s lips. Jackpot! She’d bet Betty Jo’s winnings from last night’s poker game that the barefoot, shirtless yummykin on the cage was none other than Ibraham Rajonovich.
Mabel’s words broke into Viola’s thoughts. “The next show should be starting in five minutes. Take your time. Look around.”
When she stopped talking to glare at something behind Lucy, Viola looked in that direction and barely stifled the giggle that bubbled up. Raelene beamed at a young man kneeling at her feet. She stroked her hands through his golden hair while her eyes devoured his fit and tanned body revealed by the leather pants and harness he wore.
Mabel’s sharp rebuke made Viola jump. “Raelene, stop fondlin’ that boy.”
Rae sent a disg
runtled look toward Mabel before she turned back to the twentysomething cutie. “Run along now, sugar. I’ll find you later, hmmm?”
The boy rubbed his cheek against her thigh, then rose to tower over her. The way he smiled down at her clearly revealed Rae was in charge. “Yes, Mistress.”
Lucy rolled her eyes and nudged Rae when she rejoined the group. “We are here to find men for our girls, not select your next ex-husband.”
“Exactly. The scenes should give you an idea of what the different types of kink are. Find one you think your girl will be interested in.” Mabel’s instructions were snapped out like military commands. “The men paying attention to the scenes as well as the male presenters themselves should be considered potentials. If you have any questions about demonstrations, the presenters will answer them after they finish.”
Betty Jo spoke up, “We’ll meet back here in two hours.”
Viola watched the others spread out and move off. She gazed around the room; it was all so different but very similar to the place she’d visited so long ago. There had been no fingerprint scanners twenty-seven years ago, only men who served the function of bouncer and monitor as they wandered through the customers, keeping an eye on the crowd.
It wasn’t hard to spot the monitors in the Omen. Each one wore a black or gold T-shirt with the club’s name emblazoned in bloodred on the front and the word Monitor in big white or black letters on the back. Looking at those men and spotting the ones who weren’t so blatantly identified, Viola recalled the amused but steady gaze of a certain black-haired, gray-eyed man who’d functioned in the same capacity and played hero to her damsel in distress.
A tingle spread through her at the memory of her single attempt at adventure and all the consequences that followed. Shaking away the thoughts, Viola glanced toward the area where the cage was descending. Before she approached Ibraham, she wanted to get a look around, see if anyone else exuded the same aura of carefully controlled danger that Ibraham did. If her Rose was going to have an adventure, she wanted the candidate to be one worth remembering long after he was gone.