Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace

by Hill, Joey W.

  Did she mean Lyda? The way M held her gaze an extra moment made her think that was the case.

  “Some subs get it mixed up in their head,” Chloe added. “The ones whose craving for that fantasy, the idea that their wants and needs are secondary to the Domme’s, is so strong. But the healthy reality is they have to work it out where it’s more of a give and take. Even Brendan has some of that problem, and I had to learn to understand it the right way, not think he was being some kind of whore.”

  Gen winced, remembering her initial agitation, her accusation that Noah was being used as Lyda’s bait. Seeing it, Chloe made an understanding face.

  “Sometimes you have to have a come-to-Jesus moment to get it cleared up. We did, even before we were married. Remember what I said about the whole possessiveness thing, when Brendan was acting like it was okay for me to make the decision to pick another sub at the club?”

  The sudden bemused look on Chloe’s face, the light flush to her fair skin, told Gen a great deal about the graphic nature of the memory. “I forced the issue by doing exactly that, poking his inner Hulk,” Chloe continued. “And yes, believe you me, he does have one. Once we reached the green skin stage, I made it clear I only wanted to be with him, and I damn well expected him to want that from me.”

  Gen closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “So sometimes you have to convince a certain type of sub that they have to get in touch with their own wants and needs, because that’s what you want, as their Domme.”

  “Yeah. Gives you a headache, doesn’t it? Like a snake biting its own tail.” Chloe shrugged. “Don’t get bogged down in it. What you were asking, about how do you know if he even likes you? That’s something you can feel in your gut, no matter what signals he puts out or what he says. So much of this is about intuition, not words. Yet in some ways Dom/sub stuff is more straightforward than the vanilla relationships. A lot less games about what they’re feeling, because it’s about being honest or nothing. So think about it. Did you get the feeling he likes you?”

  She thought of the moment at her car, the tone in his voice when he said, Come this weekend. She remembered the way he’d held her, soothed her. As if he understood what it was to be hurt so deeply, to feel so lonely and afraid of her own needs…

  “It was just a weekend,” she said. “He belongs to her.”

  Chloe exchanged a glance with Marguerite, then looked back at Gen. “You were kind of interested in her too, weren’t you? Things aren’t always about couples.”

  “I…” The automatic assertion she was straight came to her lips, but she was already figuring out things weren’t that clear cut in the BDSM world. “I told Noah I might meet them at The Zone this weekend.”

  The unexpected admission jumped out of her mouth, but fortunately Chloe didn’t explode with unfettered joy, something that would have sent Gen into full retreat. Instead the girl merely said, “If you do, be sure and try the bourbon brownies in their coffee bar. They’re awesome.”

  Gen couldn’t read M’s expression. Giving Gen a brief nod, she went back to focusing on her computer.

  “What should I wear?” She turned to a safer topic. Or so she thought.

  “You definitely need the proper gear,” Chloe said immediately. “We’ll hit the Naughty Kitty on the main drag this week. Four inch stilettos are SOP, and as much leather as you can slap onto yourself and still show off your tits. A corset is perfect for that. Relax, I’m messing with you.”

  Gen closed her dropped jaw, shoved Chloe as her friend burst into laughter. “You should see how horrified you look. You can wear whatever you want. People wear everything from street clothes to full bondage gear. There are locker rooms so you can change inside the club too. For some people, that helps them shift mindset. But if you’re going mainly to check things out, I’d say go with clubwear. Jeans and a sparkly sexy top. Stay away from weekend sweats and sneakers.”

  “So my Eeyore slippers and flannel pajamas would be too casual?” Gen eyed her.

  “Big yes. It’s not a midnight Walmart ice cream run.”

  The faint smile playing about Marguerite’s lips, a response to their exchange, gave Gen the fortitude to clear her throat, draw those pale-blue eyes back to her. “I’m getting a warning vibe off you, M, but I can’t figure it out. Would you tell me what it is, so I don’t mess up?”

  Marguerite could be cryptic, but she never dodged a straightforward question. She stopped typing. “If you’re going to a new country,” she said, “go with an open mind. Learn the culture and determine if you can appreciate it. Don’t impose your own or be influenced in the wrong way by the experiences of your own life. You understand?”

  “I do,” Gen said slowly. “I just don’t know how to keep my own baggage out of it.”

  Marguerite knew her history, as did Chloe. Gen had never dumped it on them, but both had ways of ferreting out information. Particularly Marguerite. Gen was pretty sure their boss knew things about her and Chloe they didn’t know about themselves.

  “There’s a difference between withholding who you are, keeping it separate, and letting who you are integrate with their world, broadening both parties as a result. My point is, if you can’t accept the basic foundation of what makes them who they are, then you have to accept you’re taking a vacation there, not making a permanent move.”

  “Are you telling me that more in relation to Lyda or Noah?” With that question, Gen knew she’d essentially answered Chloe’s. Both Mistress and sub interested her, even though she had no idea how to process the Lyda side of that equation.

  “Either,” Marguerite replied. “Also remember the difference between trying to change someone to your way of thinking and renovating a few rooms to make moving in together more comfortable. It’s always a two-way street.” Her gaze flickered. “In every good relationship, everyone evolves. Follow your intuition, Gen. It’s far better than you realize.”

  * * * * *

  Gen had grimaced at the thought of herself in ankle-breaking stilettos and sweat-trapping leather. Even so, when she flipped through her wardrobe, she’d been unsatisfied. She had a basic black cocktail dress and some cute things she’d worn for dates or quick crushes that hadn’t turned into anything. Nothing felt right for this.

  She told herself buying something super special would doom her expectations to disappointment because of the height to which a new outfit could propel them. Despite that, she’d stopped at her favorite outlet store Wednesday and visited the discount rack. She’d found a dress she liked, and the price had talked her into it.

  Thursday night, she made a late night run to Walmart—sans Eeyore pajamas—and she had what she needed to touch up her color, giving her brown hair shiny highlights and making the roots vanish.

  So here she was on Saturday night, going overboard for her unlikely adventure at a BDSM club. The dress was a pine-colored green like her eyes, with cap sleeves and vee neckline. The fabric of the dress was gathered in tiny folds at the waistline, an hourglass-shaping design that ran down to the mid-thigh hem, scalloping away to reveal her thighs. That same tight fold pattern was in back as well, flattering the shape of her ass.

  Bringing out her airbrush kit, a keeper from her days as a beautician, she did a nighttime makeup application so her green eyes glowed from a frame of thick lashes, enhanced by the brown eye shadow she used. She brushed and curled her hair, clipping it high in back, and pulled some of those lighter-streaked pieces out from the brown, letting them curl around her face, soften it.

  It had been a long time since she’d dressed up. Had the last time been Chloe’s wedding? Even then, she hadn’t really focused on being sexy. Tonight, she felt sexy, female. Young. She wasn’t old, yet she’d gotten in the habit of feeling that way. She tried to remember the last time she’d let herself get infatuated with the possibilities of a date. She couldn’t. As each candle had been snuffed out by incompatibility, her glow for it had dimmed further, until a hot bath, book and hanging out with crafting friends had sound
ed more appealing. Safer. What a depressing thought.

  Despite her reservations about getting so dolled up, she couldn’t deny it helped fuel her excitement about tonight. This wasn’t about romance, not exactly, but it was sexual in an exciting way. Her escort was a male who definitely fascinated her. And then there was the woman who “temporarily” owned him. Thinking about a range of possible reactions from either one of them, Gen thought she was like a Coca-Cola, a tingly, fizzy feeling coursing through her blood. Executing a slow turn, she looked at herself from all angles in the floor-length mirror. She’d worn two-inch black pumps on her feet. No stockings. Her legs were good enough not to need them. She’d forgotten she had good legs. And really nice breasts.

  Her ass could use work, but most women thought that. She blamed that on Chloe’s baked goods, but thinking of what Noah had said about waking up against a soft ass drove any self-denigration away. All in all, she thought she looked pretty damn good. At least here in her bedroom, where she wouldn’t suffer in comparison to anyone else.

  This was foolish. Too much. She needed to change into jeans and a spangly top, just like Chloe had implied. But that would be wasted money on the dress, and Gen felt strongly about wasting money.

  Noah would be there, and so would Lyda. As much as she told herself this wasn’t a typical date, and definitely not a three-way date, her mind was churning over the possibilities. She was going to a BDSM club, where sex would be up front and foremost in everyone’s mind.

  “All right. Enough. This is what they’re getting. Tonight will be whatever I want it to be. Nothing I don’t want. I’m in control.”

  Flipping off the bathroom light, she went to hunt up her purse and keys before she lost her nerve.

  * * * * *

  She’d never been to The Zone. Typical of many adult clubs, it wasn’t in the best area of town, but she saw Tyler’s influence in the ownership. Security personnel patrolled the parking lot, and a complimentary shuttle circled through to offer rides to the door, a boon to women in icepick heels. She saw plenty of those, and the women wore clothes to match the shoes, which made her glad she’d worn what she’d worn. While she saw some casual street garb, the place had that festive, dress-up feeling classy clubs emanated after sunset.

  She hadn’t expected to see anyone wearing scanty bondage wear in the parking lot, but plenty of the members carried purses or totes large enough to contain a change of clothes, or other things her wild imagination couldn’t help but entertain. Whips, chains…

  Some only carried a small handbag, however, reassuring her that she wouldn’t be the only one here just to watch. For them, the BDSM might be merely a titillating floor show. She expected that provided a good balance, since some of those who actively participated might like having an audience.

  Did Noah like being on display while his Mistress was dominating him? Did Lyda get off on people watching her do that? When she imagined Lyda binding Noah and doing a wide variety of sexual things to him, Gen wasn’t sure how she felt about it, mind-wise, but her body obviously had no problem with the idea.

  The thump of music coming from within reminded her that there was a great dance floor and DJ, according to Chloe. Another clue that the activities inside weren’t all about the D/s games. It made her feel a little better, a little less self-conscious. She shouldn’t feel self-conscious, though. That was for people who cared what other people thought about them, and she was supposed to be way past that.

  Yet this was what happened when a cautious person left her comfort zone and tried something so freaking brand new it might just change her entire life. A car horn beeped, startling her back to the here and now. She’d stopped just short of the curb, the car owner reminding her she was standing in the flow of incoming traffic. She gave a startled hop up onto the curb, touching her hair self-consciously and staring at the red carpet leading into the double doors. Silver lettering slashed across the smoky glass. The Zone.

  She propelled herself into motion. The two security people at the entrance, one female and one male, opened the doors for her with polite efficiency and watchful eyes. The woman gave her a reassuring look, though, telling Gen she must look nervous.

  Noah had said he’d be watching for her between eight and nine. It was a few minutes after nine, so she thought she’d have to page him. Instead, she saw him right away. There was a lounge just beyond the hostess’ station, and he was in a small booth by himself. He rose the moment she crossed the threshold.

  He’d waited for her. One part of her felt guilty for being late, but the look on his face when he saw her flattered her beyond description. There was no mistaking the expression of a man who felt every minute he’d waited had been worth it.

  On her side of that equation, he made her pulse accelerate to the urgent beat of the dance floor music. He was wearing some type of slick leather pants. No shirt. The silver and black thin braided cord was double-wrapped around his throat, and the matching ones were back on his wrists. His long hair was in a sexy tousle, loose on his shoulders, his brown eyes fastened on hers like a sleepy wolf who’d just woken up.

  She was a thirty-something woman who could handle all this in a mature manner. Yet when she clung to that gaze, she was reminded of a film she’d watched where a teenaged hero had touched the young heroine’s jaw in a key moment. He’d stilled her fears by drawing her attention to his eyes, to the assurance there that all would be well. He’d done it with such surety, making it clear all his attention was on her care. Their youth hadn’t really mattered. It was a simple heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul communication, recognized and desired by all ages.

  She followed her more carnal desires now, letting her gaze course downward. The pants were low on his waist, below his hip bones. He had the lithe rock-star build to pull off such a look well. From the glances that followed him when he passed other tables, his ass must look irresistible in the tight pants. The front view was nothing to be sneezed at, his groin nicely substantial. Yet he seemed neither self-conscious nor like he was flaunting it. As he approached, his gaze was traveling over every inch of her. She wanted to touch him too, and so a breath caught in her throat as he kept coming, right into the grasp of her eager hands.

  He curved a hand alongside her neck, under her hair, and lowered his mouth to hers. She leaned into him, letting his strength support her as his other arm circled her waist. Sliding her hands around him, she hooked her thumbs in the low ride of the pants. Then she couldn’t help herself. She cupped his ass and found yes, the people who’d sent him covetous looks were absolutely right. His ass felt awesome. And of course there was nothing under that thin, slick covering but him. Her abdomen was pressed against the decidedly firm package of cock and testicles.

  He hadn’t kissed her this weekend, and she hadn’t given him the opportunity when she dropped him off. She wasn’t making that mistake twice. When she lifted on her toes, he took it as the invitation it was. His tongue teased her lips open and delved in to play, the pierced stud caressing her moist flesh as his fingers tightened in her hair. She wasn’t thinking, wasn’t planning, anticipating, worrying. She hadn’t realized how getting dressed up in a sexy dress, being in an environment like this, would prep her for a state where inhibition was clearly less important than letting oneself feel.

  “You look incredible,” he said against her mouth. “Lyda’s going to eat you in three bites.”

  Sensation shuddered through her, awaking nerve endings like the sweep of a gusty summer rain. His fingers trailed down her spine, back up, teasing her bra strap. She tried to breathe, to slow things down, but she didn’t stop holding onto him. She was grabbing a guy’s ass in the middle of a crowded place, and no one seemed to think it was unusual, but it was unusual for her. Trying to prove she could control her own impulses, she adjusted her grip to his waist, his lower back. He wrapped his arms lightly around her shoulders. His skin was slightly damp, as if he’d been dancing or exerting himself some other way.

  “Want the tour?” he
asked. “Or do you want to grab a quiet corner and make out until Lyda finds us?”

  His eyes were intent, aroused, but playful. He always seemed to know how to help her handle her mixed feelings. “Yes, to both. But take me on the tour first.”

  “Your wish is my command.” When he tucked her hand underneath his arm, she clasped his firm biceps. He leaned down to speak into her ear, so she could hear him over the crowd noise. “Lyda will join us in her own time. She’s with some other Mistresses right now, probably swapping favorite CBT stories. Or talking about shoes. Girl stuff.”

  She glanced up at him. “What’s CBT?”

  “Cock-and-ball torture.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be that blatant right off the bat. Don’t want to scare you.”

  “It would have scared me more if it applied to me. Just don’t tell me if there’s a version of that which does.”

  He grinned, leading her away from the foyer and pointing out the high points as he explained them. “The Zone has three levels now. On the top floor, there’s a sound-buffered glass-bottom bar and restaurant where you can watch the dance floor or public play areas from above and have normal conversations without screaming. This middle level has a big dance floor with a perimeter mezzanine to hang out and talk, if you can manage it over the music, and another couple sections for public play. There are a few sitting areas like the lounge area where I was waiting for you, and some of them have noise buffers. The bottom floor has the private playrooms and changing areas.”

  As they moved through a wide walkway that split off toward different areas, she saw a carpeted stairwell leading to the lower level. Erotic art, chandeliers and elaborate moldings captured her gaze and added to the ambiance. “Watch the signs.” He nodded toward one. “They tell you where drinking is allowed. See that archway over there? That’s an extreme play zone, where they do anything from advanced suspension to heavy pain stuff. The security guy at that door administers a breathalyzer on whoever passes through, even if you’re just going to watch. You score over the legal limit, you can’t go in. There’s a mezzanine viewing area.” He glanced at her. “You want to go take a look from there? If you start with the scariest stuff, the rest will seem totally normal.”