“Gillian.”
He glanced down at the way I was sitting. “Are you on your way out?”
“I just escaped from co-workers, and I was on my way out...”
Quinn nodded, bringing his hands together around the beer bottle. “I'll hope to run into you again sometime, then.”
I got out of the chair and felt seconds tick by. “I'm not sure how much you smoke, but d'you want to step outside for another cigarette?”
“... Sure.” He grabbed a light weight winter jacket. Black, to match the color of his shirt and shoes. “After you?”
When he had trouble lighting his cigarette, I lit mine and offered him the end.
“Thank you, this time.”
He was charming, polite, reserved. “Thanks for coming back out into the cold again.”
The things I saw in him made me want to see more, my inner vision focusing to get details. His energy was calming, yet he felt very masculine. Self-assured. It was there in the way he was standing, how he held his cigarette.
“Co-workers, you said?”
“I'm sure you heard us. It's a retirement party, thing.”
“Good for them,” he commented without any traces of bitterness. It was refreshing, after hearing about Diane all day in tones varying from painfully feigned happiness to the borderline of bitter.
“Mind if I ask what you do?” I asked, blaming the alcohol for my awkwardness.
“I'm a financial analyst.”
“... I don't know anything about that. I'm sorry.”
“I help my clients manage their money, or I help small businesses and companies become more efficient.” Quinn shrugged casually. “That's pretty much it. What about you?”
“I work at an Entertainment law firm. Assistant to an attorney.”
“It's rude to ask, I know, but, um, can you give me an age range, if not your actual age? I'm usually better at gauging.”
“Twenty-four,” I answered honestly. “And you?”
“Thirty.”
He moved quickly, but I had seen the door opening. It was nice of him to try and shield me from it. Four people from work came out of the bar and headed toward their cars. I was glad they couldn't see me behind him.
“You don't look thirty.”
“Thank you.” Quinn looked at me in a way I couldn't read. “You don't look twenty-four.”
“Thanks.”
He reached into his back pocket to hand me a business card. “Call or text me if you want to get dinner sometime.”
“I will. Here's mine, for you.” Aside from smoking past the filter, I was done with my cigarette. As was he.
“Where are you parked?”
“Right there,” I pointed to the fourth car on our right. “Are you far from here?”
'I'm just across the street.” His car was dark blue, more for speed than convenience. Mine was a regular, four-door sedan. He threw the butt of his cigarette into the gutter. “It was really nice meeting you, Clara. Thank you again.”
- Chapter 2 -
~ Paralyzer ~
“Are you as bored as I am?”
“Maybe,” I replied, tabbing out of my word document. “C'mon in, Lane.”
“Maybe, or yes? I want to start the New Year off right. Don't you?”
My eyes widened as I glanced over. She had talked about it for years, even before we moved in together as roommates, but I hadn't thought it would happen. I had seen her with black hair, brown, as a blonde with highlights, other random punk colors. Her natural color was golden red, soft and wavy, though it wasn't long enough to reach below her waist anymore. The ends barely touched the top of her shoulders.
“It was finally long enough to donate. Come out with me tonight and celebrate! I guarantee you'll like where I want to go.”
I smiled, almost accepting that I'd be going out. “That's what you said about the party for New Year's Eve. I went. Remember my three day rule about social... things? I just went to that party for Diane yesterday, and-”
“But it's Saturday, Clara... The new year is only a week old. C'mon.” She smiled in her charming, persuasive way, which usually worked. I Alt-tabbed back into my document and settled into my chair.
The one thing I wasn't immune to were her eyes. They were almost purple, framed with long, dark eyelashes. When she wanted to do something I didn't, I had to avoid looking at her or I'd be sucked into her plans.
“Your hair really does look incredible.”
“You're high already, aren't you? Or is it work that has you so scattered tonight?”
“Like you said, it's the weekend.” I found my pipe hiding behind my keyboard. “I'm actually not that high yet.”
“You're only supposed to smoke pot when you have a migraine, y'know.”
“I'm using it to stave one off.”
“Fine,” she smirked, “you do that. I'm hyper from caffeine. Ask me where we're going.”
“Where are you going, Lane?”
“We. I'm taking you to Rack's tonight.”
“Where?”
“The club Rack's, about half an hour from here.”
“I don't think we're talking about the same place. The club Rack's, in downtown Montclair?”
It was an s/m club. So far as I knew, that wasn't her crowd.
“Yes, love. I've only lived here for four years. I know where it is. When's the last time you were on a date?” she switched topics. “Or, not even a date. When's the last time you wanted someone... not as a friend?”
“You and Tom are in-sync again. Every few months, the two of you worry about my lack of a sex life. Usually at the same time. If I want to get laid, or date, as you put it, I'll... I might have found someone already. Yesterday, actually.”
“Rreeaally.”she said, sounding surprised and pleased for me. “What's he like?”
“I'm not sure yet. We didn't get past polite conversation.” He was quick to react and courteous, I remembered that much.“He's a financial... something. Adviser? Consultant? Definitely not an accountant.”
“No, I meant-- Now's the time, I guess.” She got off the bed and went to browse through my books. Apprehension curled in my stomach when she stopped in front of the third bookshelf.
“All the new books I bought are on the second shelf, toward the-- Or not.”
“I was looking for something to read a few weeks ago.” She flipped the first row backwards to see the titles behind them. “Interesting novels. You love categorizing by theme. Too bad I've been reading by theme or I would have found these a while ago.”
My collection of s/m novels. There were two long rows of them, hidden behind text-books I'd collected. I watched as she fixed the over-turned books, not knowing how to reply.
“If you had one or two, I might not have noticed. But all of these-? Was it wrong to say something?”
“Of course not.”
Writing definitely wasn't going to be happening. I felt frozen and distant, wishing I'd left the books in their boxes in my closet. Lane would have said it was subconsciously done, me wanting her to find out so I'd be able to talk about it with someone. Did I want to talk?
“It wasn't wrong,” I said. “I do have some experience with s/m.”
Her eyebrow rose slightly when she looked at me, moving away from the bookshelves. “I'm not judging you. You know me. If I'm being too pushy, let me know.”
“I know you're not judging. You're not being pushy.”
“I saw your blog on the office computer. I lost one of my tabs and you didn't clear the history, so...”
“How much have you read?”
“Most if it.”
I laughed. “You really know how much I like s/m, then, huh?”
“I started researching bdsm because of it, for my Psych. thesis paper. You're not mad, are you?”
“I'm not. It's open for public reading. I'm really not mad.” I appreciated how serious she had become. Normally confident, and airily so, I was stunned by how unsure she seemed. “What are you researching?”
> “I've read a lot about the psychology behind s/m, hence why I want to hit Rack's tonight. I want to see it first-hand.”
“It's Saturday, the only night they allow pain to be inflicted. Or received. Sure you don't want to wait until tomorrow? Or next Friday?”
“Tomorrow's based around pleasure. Friday's bondage techniques.”
“Right. Exactly. It might be better to go on a night that won't-”
“People who feel pleasure from taking pain fascinate me. This could be my spark. The topic that makes my paper stand out, you know?”
“Yes, trust me. I know how worried you've been. What other topics have you come up with?”
“I haven't. Why?”
“Sure you don't want to go to Rack's on a different night?”
“I've prepared. I watched a lot of informational videos online, most of them about pain and pleasure. I want to see the real version.”
“Okay.” She sounded sure. I wasn't worried for her anymore.
“That's the second time you've asked.” Her eyes narrowed, growing sharper. “It's been a while since you last went. Did something happen?”
“No, I started working. You know what a big opportunity that was. I really needed it to work, so...”
“Works been going well for you,” she prompted.
“I'll go with you, sure. I like Rack's.”
“It's is the safest s/m club around, according to what I've read. I mean, 'Rack' stands for Risk Aware Consensual Kink, right?”
“Exactly. Like SSC.”
“Safe, sane, and consensual. If I do my paper about s/m, and other factors, of course, would you-” she stopped herself and almost looked embarrassed. “Only if you'd be comfortable with, y'know-?”
“That depends on what you want me to do.”
“Share your insights, mostly. That's all. I could make up a different name for you, or go the Anonymous route.”
“Just talking? Yeah, sure, I'll help if I can.”
She stood and looked at herself in my full length closet mirror. “I'm going to go change. I got a corset and heels, a skirt that's not really short, but it's... you'll see. Tell me if I look weird.”
“You're not going to look weird. What time do you want to leave?”
“It's not that far away. The club opens at eight. We can get food on the way?”
My computer told me it was fifteen minutes to seven. “Good plan.”
“Mind going over a few psych. things with me before we go?”
“No problem.”
“Cool. I'll set up in the living room.”
Lane was in her room. I leaned against my door. Rack's on pain-play night? I stumbled toward my closet, my legs feeling numb. Catching my reflection in the closet mirror made me stop and stare for a moment. My cheeks were flushed. I felt how fast my heart was pounding. The dark, hungry look in my eyes was what alarmed me. Once the hunger started to show, more effort was needed to conceal it. I needed to find someone before I couldn't blink it away. I'd never reached that point, and I didn't want to.
While showering, I couldn't help thinking back to the books Lane had discovered, then my other trips to the club. When my grasp on control was tenuous, my masochistic side pushed, wanting me to embrace recklessness. I braced my hands on the cool shower wall, refusing to give in. Not yet. I couldn't yet. My judgment was skewed, which meant that looking for someone had to wait. It had to, until I found the dominance my submission craved. I automatically reached for my towel and fell into my routine.
Calming numbness descended, but my submissive side was withering away. I felt it fading, retreating further and further every time I mentally pushed it away. Fear rammed into the mental walls I'd created. I smiled, the masochist's smile, sure they'd hold for another night. My reflection nodded back at me, looking normal. Long, black eyelashes, I'd inherited from my mother. My dark blue eyes could have been from either side of the family, though my long, straight black hair was definitely from my mother's line. I was taller than average thanks to my father, with his lean build. If a potential Dominant found me attractive, he wouldn't find my submissive side lacking.
I knew what I'd be wearing.
* * *
“Do I look okay?” Lane asked when I got into the living room.
“Better than okay.” Wearing a dark blue, plaid skirt, six inch black stiletto heels, and a black corset that emphasized her slim figure, I didn't understand her sudden insecurity.
“You too,” she grinned at me. “You look like yourself again.”
My light gray and black bustier contrasted nicely with the paleness of my skin, the dark silver choker around my neck matching the corset color. I wore a plain, black leather skirt with heels instead of boots, as per her suggestion.
“Want a drink before I start the Inquisition?”
“I think there's some pineapple juice in the fridge. No alcohol for me.”
The way she walked was utterly feminine, her movements graceful and seductive. “We really need to go grocery shopping tomorrow.”
“Yeah, we do. I feel like we've just moved in.”
There was no fruit on the counter, we were out of energy bars, and the containers that usually held trail mixes were empty. It was a small space, but it wasn't usually so barren. The glass candy dish on our heavy glass coffee table was empty, as were the small containers on our folding end tables. Our couch was between them, large and dark purple, dangerously comfortable.
I lit incense, the wooden holders on top of our entertainment cabinet. A flat-screen television was protected from our animals by wooden doors, our game systems by the drawers we modified for game cables. Lane had hung tapestry curtains on the plain white walls, and we had split the cost for a dark blue and black carpet that fit perfectly under the table and part of the couch.
“I told you that Landlord Mitch stopped by, right? He wanted to check the house and drop off updated rental papers for us to sign. I signed. You did, too?”
“Yup,” I nodded. “We're good for another year. They're already in the mail.”
“Cool. I don't want to lose this place.”
The house had been a lucky find by our realtor. It was close to where I worked, even closer to Lane's college. The average-sized yard was perfect for Jackie, a cocker spaniel-Labrador mix. We both had a bedroom and a bathroom, though we shared the room we decided would be our office. The basement had become our exercise room. Financial aid helped Lane live, while money her parents sent paid her share of the bills and rent. It was the deal they made when she had committed to becoming a psychologist. Four times a year, a light blue envelope came with a really nice check.
“You're really, really organized.” I moved from the gaming chair over to the sofa with her. The entire middle section was covered in file folders. 'General Information,' and 'Pain play + Psychology.' There were two kept together, stacked sideways. 'Dominant' and 'submissive.'
I hesitated, seeing the recorder that had been covered by the folder. “That's not already running, is it?”
“Not yet. Do you mind if I preserve our s/m talk?”
“... Go for it. I trust you. I forgot what you're like in information-gathering mode.”
“Sure you're okay?”
“Yeah, I'm good. Start anytime you want.”
She hit the button. “What does bdsm mean, for you?”
I drank slowly to hide that I was already confused. “You mean, what do the acronyms stand for?”
“Sure. How do you define 'bdsm?'”
“Er, okay. It depends on how they're used. B/d together can mean bondage and discipline. D/s together can mean Dominant and submissive. But s/m can mean sadism and masochism, or sado-masochism. When I think 'bdsm,' I use bondage, domination, sado-masochism because that's what I'm looking for.”
“To take pain, not inflict it?”
“Yes, preferably.”
“Not all submissives like taking pain, right? I mean, you do, but I've read about some who don't do anything with pain at all
?”
“There are some s/m relationships that are only based around sex. When I joined the sites and started talking to people, that's one of the things that surprised me. Not all the Dominants who wrote me wanted to inflict pain. Some liked to use verbal reprimands as a punishment. I can't be submissive for a Dom like that.”
“Another thing I'm not sure about,” she checked her notes, “I don't understand the relationships. A Top pairs with a bottom, Dominants with their submissives. What does that mean, exactly?”
“A Top and a Dominant are the ones who take control. How much control they take is up to the bottom or submissive. The difference lays in how much time and commitment they're willing to offer; whether they're meeting up simply to sate a need, or if they bond and start an s/m relationship together.”
“Dominants and submissives meet for s/m sessions. What happens during one? Generally speaking.”
“It's up to the people playing. If they're more into bondage, it's about how long the submissive can stay in the position, or positions. When it involves pain, how long their session lasts rests on what the submissive can endure and how much the dominant partner can inflict. With pleasure, I assume it's as much as their submissive can take?”
“That makes sense. Psychologically, what you said before makes sense to me, too. When I think about giving control away, I don't understand anymore. It all gets jumbled in my head.”
“I think that's because your first instinct is to keep your power. You're drawn to guys who won't ask for more before you offer it. Submissive personalities, mostly.”
“You say that so casually.” She laughed. “You're right about me liking submissive men, you know. I've always liked men who want me to take control. It's exciting when they let me, that they like it.”
“How interested in s/m are you?”
“I have been without knowing it, apparently.” I saw the glint of inner dominance I'd felt in her the moment we met. “How much experience do you have? Is that rude to ask?”
“It's you, I don't care what you ask. I've never had a Dominant. I did have a Top, Rhys, for a few sessions.”
“You saw him for-?”
“An introduction to pain-play. Only pain, though. We didn't fu-- er, We didn't do anything more than that together.”
Subfrenzy (the Subfrenzied Series) Page 2