Nessa’s eyes narrow as she homes in on the invitation in my hand. “Where? When?”
I snort. “Somewhere with excellent security and where the police would stick out like a sore thumb.” I pause, and can hardly suppress a chuckle as I ask her, “How do you fancy going to a BDSM club tonight?”
You can read a lot in someone’s expression, often things they don’t want you to see. Interested to see her reaction I’m studying her carefully. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the flash of excitement takes me by surprise. Oh, fuck. She was jealous of Zoe, and I hadn’t missed her reaction to Danielle earlier. Perhaps going to an intimate club with a woman who can’t hide that she’s got the hots for me is not the best idea in the world. I wait for her answer, hoping that she’ll find some excuse not to go. The Parisian BDSM club we’ve received invitations to is not for the faint-hearted.
She brushes her hand across her forehead as though trying to wipe a residual headache away. Whether she’s succeeded or not, I don’t know, but she surprises me when she looks up with a determined expression and asks just one question, her voice husky and full of anticipation. “Where can I buy fetwear?”
Oh! Shit!
My mouth drops open, and immediately my cock jerks at the thought of seeing this woman dressed in the minimalistic clothing of my lifestyle. Wanting to object in order to keep my sanity, instead I find myself pointing her in the direction of the concierge to get the information she needs. Half of me is hoping she’ll have second thoughts and decide not to accompany me―having issued the invitation I can’t very well retract it―and the other half hopes she doesn’t. Going to a BDSM club with a woman who, though she doesn’t know it, with just one look can command my dick to stand to attention is not the best idea I’ve ever had. I certainly wouldn’t be harbouring such thoughts about Ryan or another work colleague. If I play this wrong, I could end up giving her totally the wrong impression. And Ben would certainly fire me if he knew what was going through my mind. Fuck Ben, why did you put me in this situation?
It’s a couple of hours before she returns to the suite―heaven knows what she’s been up to. Returning in the middle of the evening, she slides into her room carrying some bags, unable to meet my questioning eyes, and doesn’t emerge until shortly before it’s time to leave. And then she’s wearing a trench coat which leaves everything to the imagination. Despite my misgivings, I’m curious about what she’s chosen to wear. If I was her Dom I’d make sure I approved before we set off, but I’m not, and she will never be wearing my collar. Even enjoying her obvious assets for just one night would be a mistake of the greatest magnitude.
Deliberately damping down my growing attraction, I decide my best course of action is to help her. If she’s determined to play, perhaps I’ll try and find her someone suitable to initiate a novice sub and help her negotiate a scene. And I’ll certainly be matching her up with a Dom. Nessa’s a sub, through and through, whatever she thinks. A blind man would be able to see that. But taking advantage of the dungeon we’ll be visiting, will have to wait on the back burner until after we’ve had our meet with Danielle. Tonight is all about business. And business always comes before pleasure.
She doesn’t open her coat or give me the slightest hint of what she’s wearing underneath until we’ve entered the club, and she checks in her outer clothing. And that’s when I discover what she’s been hiding under the black gabardine.
It stuns me. Even under her dowdy clothes, I’d already noticed she had a decent figure, but the shiny black leather corset, cinched tight, narrows her waist and enhances the size of her breasts so they almost spill out of the top. Too shy to wear a thong, black leather boy shorts cover her well-formed arse, and dark fishnet stockings attached to the red suspenders show off her slender legs and thighs. To complete her outfit, she’s wearing shiny black boots which come to just above her knees, the high heels making her legs go on forever. Her striking auburn hair left loose and long flows around her shoulders, complimenting the sombre colour of her outfit. She might be dressed as a Domme, but her attitude is that of a nervous newbie sub.
Taking her hand, I lead her into the club proper, feeling her pulse quicken and seeing her mouth drop open in apprehension as the scenes taking place around us immediately signify this is not a fancy dress party. Her eyes settle on me, widening slightly, a silent plea for help.
Suppressing a sigh, I realise this was inevitable; I’ll have to take her under my wing, take responsibility for her while we’re here. She’s too innocent to be left alone. Telling myself I’m regretting not being here with Ryan, while acknowledging a certain part of me is intrigued by the woman at my side, I eye up my surroundings. There’s a discreet table in the corner of the bar area, away from the main activities going on, but visible enough so Danielle will see us, and which will afford me with a good view of the dungeon. I guide her across to it with my hand on the small of her back, the slight contact enabling me to feel her jump as she hears screams of pain and pleasure echoing around the dungeon.
Glancing round, I see my target is nowhere in sight. We’re early, so I’ve got some time to address the matter at hand. “I need to talk to you,” I tell Nessa, pulling her chair out so she can sit. I take the opposite side of the table, my back to the wall.
“It’s not what I thought,” she whispers, her voice breathy as though she’s having difficulty getting air into her lungs. It’s clear she’s out of her depth, and also apparent she’s forgotten the reason why we’re here. She’s sparing no thought, not even looking around for the woman we’re supposed to be meeting.
I attract the attention of a waitress and order some non-alcoholic drinks. Then I stare intently at my companion, and sigh, “Nessa, what do you think you’re going to do, here? Apart from meeting Danielle, of course.” As I add the last, she looks at me in consternation. I was right. In her excitement at coming to a BDSM club, she has forgotten why we’re here. “You've dressed the part.” I wave at her costume, “And you wear it well.” I give her the slight compliment while thinking she looks like a sheep in wolf’s clothing. “Are you planning on playing tonight? You certainly look ready for it.”
The way her shoulders lift and fall tell me she hasn’t thought this through at all.
“Okay.” I pay the waitress, and then turn back to Nessa, knowing I’m going to have to educate her about a few things as she’s never been to a club like this before. “You see that area over there?” I point to a circle of couches, just to the left of the bar area. When she looks in the right direction, I continue, “That’s where the unattached subs wait to catch the eye of a Dom or Domme who is interested in playing with them.”
She shrinks a little in her seat, as though trying to hide, then asks, “Would you sit there? If you wanted to play with a Domme? If we weren’t waiting for the meet, of course.”
I laugh loudly, appreciating the way she’s tried to bring it back to business, and then answer her loaded question which was aimed to see if I’m going to be playing as a sub tonight. “No.” My answer is emphatic.
“Why not?” Is that disappointment I discern in her tone?
Keeping my eyes scanning the dungeon on the lookout for Danielle, I understand I’m going to have to set her straight. I know she’s aware of the rumours about me, that anything goes, but in truth, I’m not quite as liberal as gossip would make out. Especially after what happened to me last time I played a submissive role.
“It’s true I will occasionally bottom, but only in limited circumstances, and not with just any Top.” As I say the words it occurs to me she might have had expectations of playing with me. My cock twitches at the thought, and as I shift myself in my chair, it’s harder to remain immune to her than I hoped.
If anything, her hazel eyes are opening wider. I hadn’t appreciated how beautiful they were before. Lost in their depths, I’m only just aware she’s asked another question. I have to ask her to repeat it.
“If we have time, will you be playing as a Dom tonig
ht then?”
As I give my eyes a break from checking the room, I spare another glance for my companion, taking in her lily white breasts trying to spill from the restraints of the corset, her wide, eager looking greenish brown eyes, the freckles on her face that refuse to be entirely hidden by make-up and I suddenly know that there’s only one person that I’d like to play with tonight. And the role I want to take is certainly not that of a bottom. Picking up my drink I lean back in my chair, my long legs stretching under the table, crossed at the ankles, squashing any expectations in that direction right away.
“I’m a Dom, Nessa. We call it play, but I don’t play at being what I essentially am. Through and through, that’s what you get with me, love. I can’t turn it off and on at will.”
“But you’re a switch!”
It’s such a brash statement; it makes me laugh. I watch her flinch as a loud crack of a whip lands close by, and briefly, I wonder what her back would look like with light welts across it, making a bet with myself that her fair skin would redden easily. Cupping my hands around my face, I run them down my skin, smoothing across my short beard. “During my training to be a Master Dom I acted as a sub and found I didn’t dislike it. There’s something intensely satisfying giving up control over your pleasure to someone else. With the right Domme, and in the right situation, I still bottom occasionally.” In truth, there’s only really one Domme I play with, Mistress Beatrix. There’s nothing sexual between us, but she can launch me into subspace like a rocket.
“But you subbed for a Dom when Jon Tharpe’s wife was kidnapped.” She’s starting to look uncertain, making me think she’d thought she had me pegged and is now finding out she’s been reading me wrong.
“I’m happy to top men, as well as women, or to play a third in either role. I’m versatile, and I don’t have many boundaries. If you recall, that case meant weeding out Mia’s stalker, who we suspected was a wannabe Dom. I volunteered to try to find him.” I know she’d typed up the transcript of the verbal report I’d given after the event. But what she doesn’t know is the trouble I’ve had coming to terms with the aftereffects of that occasion.
She obviously remembers all the details, “You had oral sex with him.”
She’s got to get a bit freer with the language, if she’s serious about getting into the lifestyle, so I correct her. “I sucked his cock.”
“But how could you do that?” She’s frowning, and her eyebrows pull down into a delightful V that my hands itch to smooth away.
Her question makes me glower as I remember. It hadn’t been a particularly pleasant occasion, but I had done what I had to do and made the most of it. It had turned into one of the worst situations in my life when the wannabe Dom had ignored my safeword, and I still carry the scars, both mental and physical. But Nessa doesn’t need to know about that. So, I restrict myself to just one part of it, and tell her with a chuckle, “I used one of my condoms, love. It was strawberry flavoured. Just like sucking a lollipop.”
Now her mouth falls open, she doesn’t know whether to be disgusted or laugh. Then a smile starts to spread over her face, and a giggle escapes her. “You’re awful, Sean!”
“Don’t knock the goods until you’ve tried them,” I send back, raising an eyebrow in question. Quickly her head snaps away, and she’s taking in her surroundings again, though, at this point, I think if Danielle walked in ringing a bell she wouldn’t notice. I examine her again. She’s dressed as a Domme, with absolutely no fucking idea of how to handle the fire she could end up playing with. Suppressing my overwhelming desire to take charge and rid her of that corset that’s pushing her ample breasts up toward her neck, I decide to talk to her about where we are, and get my mind off what I want to do.
“This is what’s known as a ‘vanilla gateway’ club, Nessa.” I begin, and wait to check I’ve got her attention. “Anyone can come in off the street and have a go at playing here.”
I’ve caught her interest. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not necessarily,” I give a quick shake my head in rebuttal, “It’s somewhat freeing how people can play out their kink, can have an experience that they might not otherwise feel able to explore.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” As she comments, she looks around her. I follow the direction of her eyes with mine so I can see what she’s looking at. Several spanking benches are in use, a couple of St Andrews crosses, naked men and women of all sizes and ages are being led around in collars. An overweight, middle-aged man is crawling behind his mistress, barking and pretending to cock his leg. As he does so, he receives a belt from a crop on his backside. He’s led on a few more steps then stops to do it again. It’s a bit much for Nessa, and I sense she’s not into puppy play as she turns her eyes back to me.
I double check that my target’s still not made an appearance, and then expand, as much as to fill in the time as anything. “People come to clubs like this to explore, to feel free to do whatever they want.” I wave my hand toward the alert looking monitors either propping up the walls in readiness or walking around inspecting the scenes. “Club Tiacapan caters to the more serious BDSMers, people who are sincere about the lifestyle, rather than just wanting to get their kicks on a Saturday night.”
Her eyes narrow in thought. “What do you mean?” She thinks. “You said you were trained to be a Dom, Sean,” breaking off she waves her hands around, indicating the variety of people around us. “Has everyone here been trained?”
“At Tiacapan all the Doms will have been. Here? Some perhaps, but most at this club are just dipping their toes in the water to see whether they like it. If they do, they may go on to get trained, or just continue to play in places like this.”
“So why bother to be trained?”
Exhaling a frustrated breath, I know I’m not explaining this properly, and it occurs to me how little knowledge she has. If she’s serious about exploring the lifestyle further, she needs to understand. “BDSM should be all about safe, sane, and consensual. While this place isn’t particularly fussy, and allows people who maybe want to experiment for just one night, a true Dom or Domme will have undergone training, or at least mentoring, before attracting a play partner.”
This makes her sit forward. “Why?”
“You’re aware of safewords?”
She nods, and looks scornful. “Of course.”
I grimace, nearly everyone in the world is now if they’ve read that book or watched the film. Some think that’s the be all and end all of the knowledge required. “Along with safewords, a Dom wielding a whip, or a cane or flogger should understand the human body, so they know which parts to avoid otherwise they might cause permanent damage or scarring. A Dom has to understand anatomy, what areas to avoid during a whipping and what toy can go where or not. He should also know rudimentary psychology and should be able to recognise triggers that might initiate a psychotic episode. A good Dom or Domme can read their sub―it’s the only way to make the experience good for them, and the sub’s pleasure is the ultimate goal.
“Look at the people around you, really look at them.” Discreetly, I point to the spanking bench in the furthest corner of the room. Even from here I can see the sub is tense, not relaxing into the flogging she’s receiving. The ‘Dom’, on the other hand, is clearly getting excited by the red marks he’s leaving across her body, his erection obvious even from here. “Does that sub look like she’s enjoying herself to you?”
She follows the direction I’m indicating and gives her head a quick shake, her face wrinkling in disgust. “Why’s she doing it, then?”
I shrug, “Who knows? Could be her boyfriend wants to try something new, to put a spark into their love life? It could be the way many vanilla women regard sex―get the act over and done with to get on with the cuddling and aftercare that follows. My guess is she wants to make him happy. I just don’t believe his focus is on her pleasure.”
“He might think it is.” She defends the unknown man.
As her brow creases in confusion, I think, at last, she understands she’s not ready for this, and that the lifestyle is far more complicated than she had expected. I find myself longing to go around the table, take her in my arms and show her how a Master Dom treats his sub, as it dawns on me it would be absolutely no hardship at all to divest her of her clothes and sink my cock into her soft depths. Her breasts call out for me to fondle them, to find out what colour her nipples are, to take them into my mouth and suck them. Would she like the bite of pain as I sink my teeth into them, or twist them? Nipple clamps decorated with rubies would surely complement her complexion, or perhaps emeralds to match her eyes and a chain running in between so I could tug it to keep her attention on me. Her arse would colour up well beneath my hand, I’m certain. And would her freckles become even more prominent as she comes beneath my hand, my mouth, my cock? Shifting awkwardly in the chair, I finally admit to myself that despite my best intentions, if she keeps on like this, I’m not going to be able to keep this relationship purely professional for very much longer.
But how to get over the biggest obstacle of all? She’s interested, intrigued by BDSM, but something is preventing her wanting to give up control. That’s why she’s presenting herself as a Domme. How do I get her to see what she is? Submissive right down to her very bones.
A man approaches our table, I glance up, my quick appraisal showing I’ve never seen him before. He’s looking at me, and my companion, as though checking he’s got the right people. Nessa stands out with her long red locks, so I’m not surprised when he greets me with a question, “Master Sean?”
I nod, keeping my face neutral.
He holds out an envelope. “This was left at reception earlier this evening, with strict instructions to give it to you at this particular time.” His face splits into a grin. At this type of place anything goes, and as far as he knows, the contents could be instructions for a scene.
Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4) Page 15