Subfrenzy (the Subfrenzied Series)

by Jane, Kimberlee

  Tiny stared at me, judging without having to say a word. Mentally exhausted enough to relax, all my body ached for was rest. Ghosty, Lane's cat, rested his back against the side of my neck. Tiny curled up on my chest. They were comforting, finally helping me drift into deep sleep.

  - Chapter 4 -

  ~ So Hott ~

  'Hi, it's Quinn. Sorry I missed your call. Call me back and we'll set something up?'

  I had been working when he called mid-morning on Monday. Seeing that he had kept me nicely distracted for the rest of the day. When I got back to him later that evening, the ringing went on for a few seconds and went to voice-mail.

  “Hi, it's Claire Gillian, returning your call. What does your--” I nearly dropped my phone when it beeped loudly and started vibrating. A call was coming in. “Quinn?”

  “Hey, sorry about that. I was just getting out of the car. What's up?”

  “I was calling about, maybe, getting dinner sometime...” He sounded busy.

  “How about Friday or Saturday? Are you free either of those days?”

  “I'll be out of work by five. Whichever's easier for you.”

  “How do you feel about Italian, Friday evening?”

  “That sounds great,” I mentally reminded myself not to wear anything white.“Around six? Does that work for you?”

  “It does. I'll make reservations. I'm just getting in, and um...” he sounded further away. “Juggling stuff, sorry again.”

  “No problem. Call or text me tomorrow?”

  “Cool, thanks. I'll talk to you then,” he said. “Have a good night, Clara.”

  “You too. 'Night, Quinn.” I ended the call after a second or two of quiet.

  That had been easy, I liked how decisive he sounded. Excitement twisted in my lower stomach. Turning to my computer, I lost a few hours to writing. It never failed to help me find calm. With plans to meet up with Quinn and five more days to decide about working at Rack's, the heavy pressure finally stopped grating at me. While I knew it was borrowed time, I'd happily take a few days of mental calm.

  Annoyed by the shrill ringing sound, I struggled to locate my phone. It had been a shorter Thursday than usual after helping Ben review and prepare for his day in court. Everyone who worked for him knew to clear their schedules a few days before. Because he knew it would go well, I was able to go home when he left for the courthouse. After checking in with Lane, I fell into bed with the intention of cuddling Tiny for a few minutes.

  Three hours later, I was glad my evening hadn't been lost to another extended nap. It was only six. The phone was under my hip instead of in my pocket, still ringing loudly. I saw the screen and 'Quinn Emerson.'

  “Hello?”

  “Hello,” he replied.

  “Er, how are you?”

  “I'm good. You?”

  “I'm good, too. So... what's up?” I asked after a long, silent few seconds.

  “What's up? You called me.”

  Checking my phone confirmed that I had. Tom, too, and a bunch of random symbols. That helped clear all of my mental cobwebs. “I did! I'm so sorry about that!”

  “Pocket dialing?” he guessed. “I wanted to confirm our plans again for dinner tomorrow, anyway. Sorry if I'm catching you at a bad time?”

  “You aren't. It sounds like you're driving, though.”

  “I am. Er, I need to return a client call. Mind if I call you back in... Soon?”

  “No problem. 'Safe driving.”

  My body churned with excitement. Would he call? Falling asleep again wasn't going to happen any time soon. I texted Tom's '?' back with an explanation.

  'Lol.'

  'What are you up to? Wanna hang?'

  'Working all weekend, closing. Free Monday.'

  'Don't get caught with your phone. Text me Sunday?'

  'Ok. Ttyt.'

  I zoned out, not wanting to actually exercise, or risk watching shows I'd see with Tom. Opening my laptop, I played brain games online while wondering what to do with the rest of my evening. Until my phone rang, the ring tone foreboding and generic.

  “Hello?” I asked, wary of numbers I didn't recognize.

  “It's Samuel Druitt. Is this Claire Gillian?”

  “Clara, yes.”

  “Good. I'm calling from Rack's. I've read through your Checklist.”

  “What do you think?”

  “You could make a lot of money.” He laughed, the kind of laugh I heard at work when we got a big client. “Are you free at all tonight, or sometime this weekend? I want to talk to you about it, in-person.”

  “When this weekend?”

  “Tomorrow evening, any time Sunday. Tonight, if you can.”

  “I can't tomorrow. You said you're free tonight? Or Sunday. It's up to you.”

  “We might be able to have you start this weekend. Can you get here sometime in the next hour?”

  “Yes. I can,” I felt swept along by dangerous energy. “I'll see you soon.”

  Waiting for Samuel, I listened to the dulled pain sounds that vibrated through the floor. The downstairs rooms were being used by two s/m groups. It was eerie, seeing how empty and dark the upper floor was when the club wasn't open.

  “Really glad you could make it.” His office door opened and he ushered me inside. “I only have a few questions, no need to worry.”

  His black desk chair hissed when he turned in a half-circle to face me. There was a comfortable, black leather couch in the corner. His computer and monitor looked new, but he definitely needed a new desk. The scratches on it's surface went down deep into the yellow oak.

  “You can submit to a female or male Dominant?” he asked, looking through my Checklist again.

  “I prefer a male Dom. It doesn't matter for demonstrations,” I decided. “I'd like to work with Rhys for a while, at least until I get a better read on the other club Tops.”

  “Of course. You've been a submissive for the past, what, four years?”

  “At least, yes, but before you ask anything else-? My other job has to come first, I'm not sure what the schedule is like here.”

  “What's your schedule like?”

  “I have weekends off, but I can't do anything Monday to Friday, sometimes Saturdays.”

  Samuel was already nodding. “The only real rule I have is, if you say you'll be here, I expect you to honor the commitment.”

  “Of course.” That made things easy. “If I schedule a pain session, I'll be here for it.”

  “I've seen you perform here before. I know you like taking pain. We don't allow penetration, of any kind, on club grounds. We do allow the use of vibrators over fabric. That, you can discuss with your Top.”

  “That won't be necessary.”

  “I'll give you copies of the employment papers to take with you. Read them before you sign.” He put a thin manilla folder in front of me. “Your third interview will be a private Session, here. With Rhys, I assume. After that, you can start with whatever event interests you.”

  “Sounds fair.”

  “Do you have any questions for me?”

  “Not yet. None that I can think of.”

  “None? Well, while you think about it, do you want the insider tour?”

  I followed him out of his office, down a short, wide hallway with three doors, one to my left and right, one with sliding double doors directly in front of us. He opened the left door, painted black, which led into a square storage closet.

  “We keep things for pain, for pleasure, and for sensory play in these trunks.” There were five of them, three vertical and wide, two long and horizontal.

  The larger, metal door to my right opened. “Cushions for the couches, for the s/m equipment. The s/m tables, crosses, benches, stocks... you know what we have.”

  “When you rent the larger s/m furniture, it's for the whole night, right?”

  “Right. After a piece is used, it's rolled back here to be sent out. We have everything thoroughly cleaned after s/m sessions. Everything that's used during the night
.” He opened the double sliding doors. “The break room. If you and your Top need a break, this is where you can rest.”

  There was a television and adjustable speakers on the walls for music. Four short couches were arranged around a low-sitting, flat table. An older-model, white fridge fit into the space between two cabinets, one with a coffee-maker on top.

  “And... that's pretty much it.”

  “Thanks for the tour,” I walked with him back to his office. “If I think of any questions, I'll e-mail you.”

  “Or call. Anytime. There's some club information in that folder about payment, safety, safewords and signals for how to stop play however you're restrained. Make sure you read through those, too.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh,” he said, remembering as I got to his door, “I forgot to mention. Once you sign and agree to work here, there's no entry fee for you and one partner. No extra charge for the hardcore s/m stuff, too.”

  “Those are really good things to know. Thanks for the interview.”

  “Feel free to look around before you go.”

  There was no need to push the mental calm I'd found. The desire to call Rhys was rising. If I were going to submit for him at the club, I wanted to see if he would have a practice session with me, just between us. The money I made from Rack's would go into my 'When Ben retires' account. I lit a cigarette and leaned against a light post near the car. The drive wasn't long enough for me to air it out. I respected that Lane hated when the upholstery reeked of smoke.

  It was cold enough out that my desire to submit iced over. When I got home, my toy and I would be spending some time together. I needed to redirect some energy before I drove myself mad.

  “Clara?”

  I froze, hearing the voice that called my name. No. Oh no... “Quinn? … … Hi?”

  “How are you?” He crossed the street, leaving what was left of his cigarette at the curb. “Is everything alright?”

  “I'm fine, yes. How are you?”

  “Good, thank you. What brings you downtown?”

  “I was... Well, there-” I gestured vaguely, away from the club. “What are you up to?”

  “I live in the apartment complex, that way,” he pointed to our left, “and I had a business meeting, there. It used to be much nicer.”

  The bar a few doors down. “I stopped going when the old managers sold it. Does it look a lot different now?”

  “Yes, very. My client wanted a really good margarita. At least that hasn't changed.”

  He had good posture and nice taste in suits, his jacket and pants dark gray, well-fitting, with a crisp white shirt underneath. I felt incredibly awkward, wearing a short, lacy black skirt. My corset was light blue and black, though he wouldn't see so long as I kept my long coat closed...

  “How did your meeting go?”

  “It went really well, thanks for asking.”

  “Good. That's good to hear.” I finished my cigarette, looking to see if he was just being polite.

  “Are you on your way home, or do you have other plans for tonight-?”

  “I've got nothing planned. Are you still working?”

  “My schedule's clear. I'll buy you a drink if you want one, just not there. Or we can have one back at my place.”

  “Somewhere not there sounds good. I'll leave where up to you? All I have to do is call my roommate and let her know I'll have the car.”

  “Cool.” Quinn reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a cigarette. Then he paused, pulling out the pack and his lighter. “I left my credit card inside.”

  “I'll be here.”

  He hesitated before crossing the street. “Do you want to come in with me? I feel strange about having you wait here.”

  “That's okay. I'll wait in my car, if that makes you feel better.”

  “It does. I'll be right back.”

  “Hey, Lane,” I answered her 'H'lo.' “Do you need the car tonight?”

  She groaned loudly. “I'm still two thousand words short for my Philosophy paper. No. I won't need it for the next two days.”

  “I won't be gone that long.”

  “You sound nervous. And happy.” I heard her smile. “Did you meet someone?”

  “Yes, I did meet someone. Again.”

  “What?”

  “The same guy who gave me his number a couple days ago. He'll be back in a minute. We just met up again.”

  “Did you meet him at Rack's?”

  “No. If he knows I was there, he hasn't said anything about it. I'll try and help you with the paper when I get back. Sorry, I don't have long to talk.”

  “Whenever. Check in with me, okay?”

  “Of course. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Okay,” she said cheerfully. “Be safe.”

  Then it was just me and my nerves. I turned the car on for the radio and heat. It took some effort, but I kept myself from staring at the bar door in my side mirror. What was wrong with me, letting myself be so vulnerable in public? Sub frenzy, I heard the word echo in my head. The inner shields were back, but far too late.

  “Hello again.”

  “Welcome back,” I replied, rolling my window all the way down.

  “Want to follow me to my place? There's a private lot. Your car won't be on the street.”

  “Right. Er, okay then. Lead the way.”

  It only took ten minutes, parking included. His “apartment” was a large townhouse, separate from the actual apartment building. There were four other townhouses nearby, two in light blue, three in white, Quinn's included. We drove past the clubhouse and exercise room, their Olympic sized pool. Corporate-style living. He parked next to the blue sports car I remembered. Three concrete steps ended at his front door. It opened to a wide hallway. A sturdy, narrow wooden table held mail and opened FedEx envelopes. His kitchen was to the right, done in black and white, with wide, long counters and gleaming metal appliances.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, putting his laptop bag down.

  “Thank you. …where's your bathroom?” I asked, making sure my coat stayed closed.

  “Down the hall to your right. The second door.”

  “Thanks very much. I'll be right back.”

  His bathroom had a jacuzzi. I braced my hands on the sink when I felt how fast my pulse was racing. Fluffy towels were neatly folded on a towel rack instead of thrown over the shower to dry. Everything seemed so organized and clean, elegant in a masculine way. His sink, alone, marble and mahogany... How was I supposed to take my jacket off?!

  I texted Lane the address, as she always did when she went home with someone.

  'Remember what I wore for my “interview?” This guy's in serious evening attire. Emily Post doesn't have a solution to this problem. Do you?'

  'Men like corsets, sexy outfits. Why wouldn't he? You've never cared before.'

  Because he was wearing... Because his apartment- house- was... When I couldn't find a reason, calm found me.'You're right.' I breathed a little easier and felt more like myself. 'I think I'm more worried that he's going to say something about Rack's.'

  'What if he does?'

  'I feel really, really uncomfortable?'

  'Say you were going to go, but you didn't. That should end the conversation if you don't want to have it with him.' Then, 'Trust your intuition. I've solved your problem, btw: Ask him for a shirt.'

  'Thanks. Yeah, I might do that.'

  “Hi there,” he said, getting up from the couch to meet me. “Can I take your coat for you?”

  “I-- Yes? Thank you.” I was all-too aware of how lithely he moved and how powerfully professional he looked. Mentally bracing, I unbuttoned my jacket.

  His eyes visibly darkened as he looked at me. “Nice outfit.”

  “I had a--” I gestured vaguely again. “Laundry day.”

  “You look good,” he said lightly.

  “So do you.”

  “No wonder you hesitated.” His fingers touched mine when I handed him my coat.
“You should have said something. I'll turn the heat up. Don't freeze in the meantime.”

  He brought back a light blanket from one of his smaller sofa chairs. I was mentally relieved, on the verge of taking Lanie's advice. “Thank you so much.”

  “I'm, uh-- I'm going to change. I'll be right back.”

  “Do you smoke in here?”

  “Absolutely,” he replied.

  Relaxing, physically and mentally, I looked around his living room. Two smaller chairs were spaced near the glass coffee table. I lit a cigarette to wait for him. When I dropped my lighter, I saw another set of smaller windows in the dark part of the room. They led me to notice a sliding glass door that opened to his balcony. A dark blue towel hung over the longest railing, next to a lounge chair I hadn't seen in the shadows. Shadows on the floor helped me see a water dish and a pet food bowl in his kitchen. Some of the wariness I felt immediately went away.

  It wasn't long until he returned. I caught glimpses of firm muscles in his chest, outlined by the light blue t-shirt he wore. Lust raged when I saw the taut muscles in his long arms.

  “I've got some whiskey, maybe rum, if you'd prefer that instead? Or beer?” he asked, going into the kitchen.

  “Do you have soda? Beer's fine if you don't.”

  “I've got orange soda, root beer-”

  “Orange would be great, thank you.”

  Quinn put the drinks on the table and sat down, leaning against the couch's right corner. He found a game controller in it's armrest. “Is there anything on Netflix you've been watching?”

  “Lot's of stuff,” I said. “You've got good shows and movies queued.”

  “I've heard a lot of good things about 'Weeds.'”

  “It's a great series,” I agreed.

  He lit a cigarette and watched me put mine out. “You work for a law firm, right?”

  “As a personal assistant, yes.” The way he asked put me on edge. “You're a financial adviser?”

  “... yes. Will it offend you if I smoke?”

  I glanced over at the screen and smiled slowly. “Smoke pot?”

  “I had a feeling.” He grinned. “I usually only smoke on the weekends. Special occasion, because it's only Thursday?”