Vanilla_Little Black Book Club

by Remi Richland

  Vanilla

  Little Black Book Club

  Remi Richland

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  About the Author

  Also by Remi Richland

  1

  “Hey, V, how do you like my new outfit?” I paused at the entrance to the club and gave the man who had asked the question a once over. The giant of a man in front of me was wearing a pair of skin tight pants with suspenders, both made of leather, and nothing else, save a pair of thick black boots. Also made of leather, I would assume. He was covered in hair from chest to forearms, and a thick bushy beard concealed his chin. A passerby on the street would be terrified. I, however, was used to such things.

  “I like the suspenders, PB,” I said with a wink and a smile. “Jordan probably didn’t want to let you out of the house tonight, did he?” The skin above his whiskers flushed crimson and he dipped his head as he let me in through the locked entryway.

  “Oh you know how Jordan is, I barely escaped with my life.” PB, or Papa Bear as we knew him around the club, was a genuine, leather wearing man bear, and his husband Jordan was a tiny bit of a jealous lover. Rumor had it that PB only started wearing the leather to look more intimidating as a bouncer, but found out that he liked it so much, he became an active member of the Las Vegas leather community. I’d only been working at Club Consent, or Double C, for about a year, so I only knew him the way he was now. I also knew he had the sweetest disposition of anyone I’d ever met, and I trusted him to keep the patrons of the club safe. Papa Bear was a mountain of a good man.

  “Have a good shift tonight V, make lots of money,” he said as he closed the door behind me and I walked further into the dimly lit bar.

  “Get rich or die trying, right?” I teased. No one was getting rich, not in Las Vegas, but we made enough money to keep life interesting, and sometimes that was all a person could hope for.

  It was eleven thirty at night and the Double C was already crowded with bodies in various stages of undress, but that was normal. This was a kink club, where people could be free to be open about whatever it was that turned them on, and our club was very popular. For so many people, it was their safe space. For me, it was just a job. A job I enjoyed, but still, the kinky sex stuff wasn’t really my thing.

  “Hey, Vanilla, come here a sec,” A low, feminine voice called from across the bar. A flash of red hair caught my eye and I saw a slim, black gloved arm waving in the air at the far end of the room. Vanilla was not my name. It was, however, what everyone called me. Because, well, that’s what I was.

  Vanilla.

  Plain.

  Kinkless.

  Boring.

  The first time someone called me that, Ash, the bartender and my immediate supervisor, got angry. It didn’t bother me though. I knew the name was sometimes used as an insult, but it applied to me pretty well, and names can only hurt your feelings if you let them.

  So, Vanilla I stayed.

  Making my way through the crowd of mostly regulars, drinking and having a good time, I finally found the person who had been trying to get my attention. Mags, or Mistress Maggie, as everyone else referred to her, the club’s Dungeon Master.

  “Vanilla, do you have some time before your shift starts? I need to go over inventory before this month’s event.” Mag’s tone was all business, which went great with her thigh high latex stiletto boots and her midnight purple corset with silver buckles across the front. On the street she would have stuck out like a sore thumb, although this was Vegas so maybe not. In here though, Mags was the boss. Anyone who didn’t follow the rules had to be disciplined, and not in the way they might like. If Mags didn’t like your attitude, or thought you were disrespecting the club or the patrons, you were out. Don’t piss off the dungeon master.

  “I have about twenty minutes, what do you need?” I was early for my shift, I always was, but I was already tying my little black apron on over my jeans and white v-neck t-shirt so I was as ready as I needed to be.

  “Mags it’ll have to wait,” a voice to my right cut in. Ash, the club’s bar manager and secret object of my affection, was leaning over the bar and crooking his finger. “V, I know you’re early but I’m slammed and can use the help.” Mags perfectly red lips turned into a finely sculpted pout. Ash trumped the dungeon master, at least when it came to bossing me around.

  “You always hog her Ash,” Mags grumped as she moved away from the bar and towards the crowd, scanning the entire room and checking for anyone not respecting the rules.

  “I don’t hog her, Mags, she’s my employee,” he said, throwing me a wink. “I direct her to where she will be making the best use of her time. And right now I need her help behind the bar." Ash flicked his bar towel playfully at Mags, but she had already turned her back to us and was swallowed up by the crowd on the floor. There was a spank scene going on to the right, and it had gathered a bit of a crowd already. I didn’t pay much attention to those things though, they just didn’t do much for me.

  I looked around the bar and raised a skeptical eyebrow. “The floor looks pretty populated true, but the bar isn’t that busy, Ash. Did you really need me to start early?” I said, as I went behind the bar and started doing a mental inventory of every glass, bottle and olive.

  “It’s not anything I can’t handle, but would you rather be counting off butt plugs and paddles in the staging area, or would you rather be up here pouring drinks with me?” He lifted one sandy blonde eyebrow in question, and I had to hand it to him. He was right. Even though I wasn’t really fazed by sex toys in the least, seeing them lined up on a shelf like ammunition was a little unnerving.

  “Thanks, boss man, you did me a solid.” Ash wrinkled his nose in irritation.

  “I know I technically am your boss, but it’s weird that you call me that. I’m like, thirty seconds older than you are.” I laughed and turned back to counting. I liked working with Ash. He was really easy to talk to, and if you didn’t know any better, he could be taken for a vanilla like me. He normally wore jeans and t-shirts, albeit both of them tight enough to show off his muscled physique, and his shoulder length, dark blonde hair was generally pulled up in a high pony or bun at the back of his head. The only thing that marked him as something different from myself was the thick, hammered silver torque he wore around his neck. That wasn’t just any necklace, it was a statement piece. Someone owned Ash, and it would have to be someone with a very Dominant personality, because Ash wasn’t a meek individual by any means. I’d never worked up the nerve to ask him who he had contracted with though, and it really wasn’t any of my business anyway. I just knew that no matter how masterfully he flirted with me on a daily basis, sadly, he was off limits for me.

  I just smiled and turned back to counting how many lemon wedges were in their little plastic container when I smelled the warm scent of vanilla and spice. As soon as the overwhelmingly pleasant aroma filled my senses a familiar, and equally warm voice followed it. “Ash, you may trump Maggie, but I trump you, and I would like to borrow Amelia for a moment, if you please.”

  Damien Stockton, another reason I loved my job. The owner of the Double C and one of the most delightfully British men I had ever had the pleasure of meeting. To say I had a little crush would be a severe understatement; just the sight of him sent electronic impulses zinging through my arms and legs. Everything about him was a rigid stereotype from his black frame glasses and hi
s clipped English accent, to his perfectly pressed slacks and matching jacket. He was an incredibly handsome man, but there was just something so…adorable about him. He was endeared to me immediately, and as far as big bosses go, I couldn’t be luckier. Damien was a legit nice guy. And he owned a kink club, no big deal.

  Damien was also the only person in the entire club who refused to call me Vanilla, and always used my given name. My full, given name. I loved the way the vowels rolled off his tongue. Amelia. Ameeelia. It was so damn cute.

  Today he had his dark hair combed back from his face and his signature glasses pushed high on his nose. Instead of a jacket though, he had a navy, long sleeved button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He looked a bit harried, which was normal for Damien. As the club owner he was always being pulled in twenty different directions. As a simple server, there was only so much I could do, but I would always be available to help with whatever Damien needed. This club treated me well.

  “Amelia, I would like to introduce you to my friend Wesley.” Damien gestured to the elegant, silver haired gentleman standing next to him. My breath caught in my throat for a moment and I quickly adjusted what I was looking at so I didn’t get caught staring. Wesley was older than me to be sure. If the hair was any indication he had to be in his mid-sixties at least.

  But damn that man was fine.

  Actually, by his posture and the way he was dressed, he looked like a future version of Damien, sans glasses. Except Wesley had a friendly smile on his face and Damien looked like he had sucked on one of the lemon wedges I had just finished counting. Wesley was his friend, right?

  “Amelia, this is Wesley’s first visit to the club, and unfortunately he did not call before he came, so I fear I don’t have time at the moment to give him the attention he deserves. Can you keep him company for a bit while I get some things taken care of? I don’t trust leaving him with Ash. Who knows what that heathen might fill his ears with.” That last bit was said without heat, and Ash barked a laugh at the other end of the bar, clearly he had heard the barb as well. I knew what Damien meant though. First timers to the club were often nervous, and didn’t know what to think of being surrounded by kink so openly. As the only non kinky employee, those first time visitors were often more comfortable around me.

  I took it as a compliment.

  “No problem Damien,” I said as I gave my boss a mock salute. “Your friend’s virtue is safe with me.” Then I threw Wesley a wink over the bar and he laughed, a warm, pleasant sound that caressed my ears like summer rain.

  That was one dangerous man.

  Damien didn’t laugh. He was already pushing through the double doors to the back of the club which led into the offices and store rooms—probably to deal with whatever emergency had come about. I wasn’t a manager so I didn’t care to guess what fires needed his attention, I focused my gaze on the handsome man in front of me, and wondered how I was going to entertain him while Damien was gone.

  2

  “That poor man needs a vacation.” A look of surprise crossed Wesley’s face at my words.

  “Damien? A vacation? You’d have to pry the keys to the club from his cold dead fingers before that happened,” mused Ash as he moved closer to my end of the bar, pouring a blue liquid into shot glasses and placing them on a tray. I laughed because he was right. Damien was a workaholic. Ever vigilant. Ever in charge.

  “V, can you page Michelle and let her know her scene is coming up? I told her I’d give her a fifteen minute warning but the crowd is pretty thick tonight, I can’t leave the floor.” Maggie was already walking away from the bar again before the last word was out of her mouth. She took her job very seriously, and she just assumed everyone else did as well. When the dungeon master gave orders, you followed them. Without question.

  I picked up the handheld radio from its spot on the shelf under the bar. It seemed a little childish, calling people on walkie talkies, but in a busy club it was actually really convenient. Smiling at Wesley, who was watching with silent curiosity, I pushed the little button on the side of the radio.

  “V to Michelle, Mags just gave you the fifteen minute signal.” There was a moment of silence before the radio crackled to life.

  “Thanks, Vanilla, I’ll be out in a bit. Just had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction.”

  “Everything okay? You need an assist?” I would have to slip away from the bar but I was sure Ash could handle keeping an eye on the drinks and Wesley for a few moments.

  “It was sketchy for a minute, but Damien is on it. I’ve got him sewing my bra strap together with a little sewing kit. Everything should be good to go. Thanks, V.”

  “Copy, see you in a few.” I chuckled to myself as I placed the radio back in its cubby space. No wonder he had looked so stressed out. Club manager turned seamstress, it looked like there really wasn’t anything Damien couldn’t do. I felt Michelle’s pain though. Michelle did shibari, or rope techniques, and she wore a costume but she didn’t do it nude. Every performer took great care with planning their costumes, and one popped seam could be the difference between being empowered and in her element, and a very uncomfortable and humiliating situation.

  I turned back to Wesley and he regarded me with solemn eyes.

  “Vanilla? Dare I even ask?” I knew what he was asking, and it really didn’t bother me.

  “It’s a nickname, and no, it doesn’t bother me. The people at Consent are my friends, they would never use a name for me that would disrespect me in any way. I’m just a plain old city girl with no kink whatsoever. I’m about as vanilla as it gets.”

  He smiled then, and tapping his long elegant fingers on the bar he spoke slowly. “You know, being vanilla can be a kink as well. Anything can be a kink, if you think about it. How are you so sure you don’t have one if you don’t even know what’s out there?”

  “Touche’,” I agreed, while busying myself with wiping down my end of the bar. “It’s the same thing as walking into a sushi restaurant having never tried sushi before, and asking me what my favorite dish is. I don’t know, I’ve never had it, but the thought of eating raw fish makes my stomach queasy so that’s enough to keep me from taking that first step. I don’t mind if other people eat it, but it’s not for me.”

  “Blasphemy!” Wesley sounded shocked, but the corners of his eyes were crinkled with laughter. “Sushi is delicious! And I will have you know, it doesn’t even have to be raw. So many foods to try.” His eyes sparkled with delight as he leaned, pulled a small black card out of his shirt pocket and slid it across the bar towards me. “You should give our services a try, there is more under the sun than one kind of kink. I bet you would find, with a little education that you aren’t even vanilla at all. And plain? It’s simply untrue. I happen to find you refreshing.”

  I picked up the card and looked at it briefly.

  Little Black Book Club.

  What is your fantasy?

  “Do you run a kink club too?”

  Wesley smiled at my question, not in the least bit offended. “Not quite. The Little Black Book Club is a service, Amelia.” I could tell by the way he said my name that he would be another one who refused to use my club name. Just like Damien, I mused. “We match fantasies, much like this club, but on a more personal, and detailed scale.”

  I slid the card into my apron pocket, just to be polite.

  “Wesley, I don’t really have any fantasies.” He clutched his hand to his heart, and mimed an arrow piercing straight though.

  “That, my darling girl, is truly a tragedy.” I liked Wesley. He reminded me of a more relaxed Damien. I wondered if Damien was like this in his off time, if he ever loosened his tie, so to speak. I couldn’t imagine it.

  “Why won’t you look at me, Pet?”

  My head snapped up, my conversation with Wesley forgotten. It wasn’t the term, Pet, that had the hairs on the back of my neck raising. It was the voice that uttered the words. The dirty, cruel tone of voice. The obvious disdain. The words were
directed at Ash, who was standing behind the bar, looking at the floor with his arms held loosely at his sides. To me, it looked like he hadn’t even heard the man, but there was no way that could be true. Several other heads at the bar had already turned, and I had heard him speaking from several feet away.

  “Has it been so long that you can’t acknowledge your Master, Ash?” The man speaking hadn’t raised his voice, but he still had a commanding presence in his tone. He wasn’t much to look at, at least not to me. Maybe five foot five, five foot six, an average if slim build, small bald spot on the back of his head. He certainly wasn’t anything for me to be scared of, but Ash still wouldn’t look at him, and his fingers were flexing, his hands opening and closing into fists at his sides. He finally raised his head slightly to look at me.

  “V, would you please assist this customer? I’m afraid I can’t.”

  I hurried over to Ash’s side, relief evident on his face as I put my arm on his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. There was something about this man that was throwing him off. This wasn’t the Ash I knew, but we were working, and I could get the story later. For now, I needed to dispel the situation.

  “HI, I’m Vanilla, what can I get you tonight?” I normally don’t introduce myself that way, but I thought my bizarre nickname would do the trick in distracting the stranger from his obvious delight in making Ash uncomfortable.

  “I’m not fucking talking to you, normal, what are you even doing in a place like this? I’m talking to my pet. Answer me, Pet. I’m speaking to you.”

  Yeah. No.

  One thing was abundantly clear. Whatever relationship Ash had with this man in the past, he clearly made him uncomfortable now. We had a strict policy at Double C—consent and respect. Not only did Ash not give this man consent to speak to him in this manner, but he clearly had no respect for my friend as a person. There was something about him though, that made Ash unable to respond, and it made my heart bleed a little to see my friend so visibly shaken.