She gave a nervous laugh. “Okay. Why not?”
As the crowd heading onto the mezzanine area got thicker, he slipped his grip to her hand to move single file up the stairs and onto the walkway. Watching the club lights play over the tattoos on his back, she reached forward with her free hand and slid her fingers over them. He gave her another of those sleepy wolf looks over his shoulder.
He found them a small spot at the crowded railing, where she was secure between his body behind her and the rail in front, such that she could put her hand on either to steady herself. His breath was on her neck, voice against her ear to compete with the backbeat of the not-too-distant dance floor music. “If it gets to be too much,” he said, “Just let me know. We can go dance or look at some of the less hardcore play. Just remember, everything happening is consensual and okay. You’ll see staff circling whose job is to step in if they think otherwise. They’re really good at that.”
When she was a teenager, she’d been the person who liked to jump in the deep end of the pool and work back to the shallow, as if she was challenging herself to face the most difficult part first. Tonight she felt like she was that more daring girl again, and Noah was helping her enjoy that long forgotten side of herself.
Then she looked down at the floor. She felt her eyes go wide, her hand dropping to curl around Noah’s on her hip. A woman was suspended like a spider’s prey in a web of ropes. She’d been bound like a ballerina leaping, one leg bent beneath her, the other stretched out behind her. Her arms were up to her sides like a bird, her back arched and held that way with an array of ropes fastened to a metal circle against the small of her back. The ropes looked like a sunburst, all the “beams” tied to her thighs, arms and torso in a way that kept her in that position.
As Gen looked closer, it was clear the Dom in charge of her suspension had tied her so her joints, while strained from the position, were bearing none of her weight. Even so, she was completely helpless.
He was a tall black man with dreadlocks, wearing jeans and black mesh tank. He was in the process of pinching her nipples repeatedly. In a smooth movement, he added clamps to them. The woman cried out at the stimulation, writhing as much as the bonds allowed, which wasn’t much. He stroked her face, her mouth. Gen thought she heard him call her his beautiful bird. Then he started to attach glittering weights to the clamps.
The weights were metallic colors, so as she shuddered, the light sparkled off them. The white noise of the crowd swallowed some of her response, but Gen could still see her lips part with moans at the stimulation. He’d bound her breasts so they were constricted, her nipples enlarged. Her own tingled in sympathetic response.
Hearing a raucous shout, she turned her attention to another scene, a few feet away from the suspended woman. A man was bound on a large X-shaped upright frame, being struck by a woman with a long whip. Unlike the women coming in from the parking lot on their slender heels, she wore sturdy block-heeled boots. Gen surmised it was necessary to maintain the steady, squared stance as she threw the whip. She placed the popper precisely on his shoulders, his ass, and the inside of his wide-spread thighs. Her movement was like continuous ripples on water. His raw groans built with every strike, as if he was experiencing an overload of sensation. Gen saw red marks on his back, like straight pieces of straw.
“Did the whip do that?”
“No, she caned him first. Or it might have been a switch.”
Noticing Noah’s voice had a hoarse note as well, Gen glanced up at him. He was studying the scenario with an intent expression. His fingers were curled over hers, and the tight, coiled feeling she was experiencing in her stomach seemed to match the grip he had on her. Was he imagining himself where that man was, Lyda on the other end of the whip? What about herself? Which side fascinated her more?
When the Mistress rotated the cross to face another direction, Gen drew in a breath. The restrained man’s cock was locked in a steel cagelike device that clamped at the base of that and his balls.
“Is that…CBT?”
“Yeah, one kind. If he starts to get erect, the chastity cage contains it, makes it painful enough that it subsides.”
Did Chloe do things like this to Brendan? She had no idea how Marguerite’s submission played out between her and Tyler. Actually, she wasn’t sure she was ready to see any of them doing these types of things. She was glad Noah had been sensitive enough to arrange for her to come here on a night they weren’t present.
Her gaze shifted left, where a heavyset woman was bound naked over a bench. She had two tattoos, one on either shoulder. One said “Delia” and the other said “David”. Perhaps her children, because Gen saw stretch marks. Looking around the play area, Gen realized then there were all ages and body types, and what was striking was the lack of self-consciousness by the submissives exposing themselves at their Master or Mistress’s demand. Only their approval appeared necessary, and what she saw in the faces of those Dominants suggested the degree of submission was the attraction, not an arbitrary physical standard of beauty.
Another woman around the same age and body type began paddling the tattooed woman, landing blow after blow. After a time, she gripped the bound woman’s hair, lifting her head to kiss her. The submissive kissed her back with yearning greediness, her hips jerking in aroused response on the bench. As her hips lifted, Gen saw she had a plug in her cunt, one with a jeweled base and prongs that spread out and clamped on the labia, pressing into the skin. Gen tightened her own thighs, her fingers tangled with Noah’s. The hard spanking, the woman’s grunts of pain, made her flinch, but that kiss did other things to her.
Needing a break, she lifted her gaze, deciding she’d watch the people on the facing mezzanine level, see how they were reacting to the performances. She found herself looking directly across the open area at Lyda.
Noah’s Mistress was standing at the rail, close enough Gen saw the frosted gloss on her lips, the dusting of glitter across the top of her high bosom. She wore a silver gray corset and tight gray leggings tucked into black boots. A jet pendant nestled in her deep cleavage. She’d done something to her red-gold hair that turned it into crimson flame, the waving locks forming a lush swirl around her face.
The woman was overwhelming in jeans and T-shirt, wearing sweat and a bill cap. Seeing her like this set off electric impulses in every part of Gen’s body and got her heart jumping like a frog on a hot plate.
When her silver gaze met Gen’s, it held. With Noah holding her from behind, and Lyda’s attention pinned upon her, Gen felt as surrounded as if Lyda was right up against her front. Noah’s hands had shifted to her upper arms and Gen imagined he was holding her still for the Mistress’s touch, her mouth…whatever she willed.
Yikes. This environment and these clothes could be more than a little dangerous. She reminded herself she’d never felt an attraction this overt to a woman, let alone to a man and woman at the same time. Hell, even though she’d nursed a curiosity about the world Marguerite and now Chloe inhabited, it hadn’t motivated her to join the world of whips and chains. Not until she’d been exposed to it by these two people. They made her consider things she’d never considered before. The startling thing was realizing they hadn’t planted the seeds. It was more like they were the sunlight and rain that had finally made them grow.
Noah had implied everyone had Dominant and submissive cravings to a certain extent. Though Gen wasn’t sure everyone wanted to carry them out to the degree she saw in this club, she couldn’t deny the things that surged up in her when she was around them felt…familiar.
Lyda tilted her head, and Noah lifted a hand in acknowledgment. “She wants us to meet her downstairs. It’ll be quieter there and we can talk.”
In her current state, Gen didn’t think she was going to be capable of much coherent conversation, but she let him lead her back out of the crowd. As they followed the perimeter of the dance floor, which was quite impressive, Noah made her smile when he took advantage of an open space to propel h
er into a turn, waltzing her along the edge of the wooden floor with smooth grace. “It’s all right,” he said into her ear. “You’re just here to watch. Remember? Nothing you don’t want to do.”
Her body language had communicated her tension. Lyda introduced a more demanding dynamic, and she’d reacted to it. Noah, bless his intuition, was reminding her it was no different with either of them. It was all her choice.
Their destination was a sitting area buffered from sound by glass walls, such that the groupings of chairs and couches encouraged intimate conversations. An efficient staff and well-stocked bar provided refreshments. Gen noted the furniture was a mix of antique and retro furniture, including the swan fainting couch on which Lyda waited. She was sitting with her back against the cushioned side, her hand resting on the carved swan’s neck, which emphasized the grace of her arm stretched along the slope of the wood. One knee was bent to rest on the seat.
Up close, Lyda was even more captivating, her hair soft and touchable, eyes vivid. The wetness of her lips made Gen moisten her own. Lyda’s attention slid over Gen, marking her appearance in much the same way Noah had. Only this time, there was an undeniable predatory intent in the scrutiny. It didn’t make Lyda less tempting at all. More like the opposite.
She’d stopped a few feet from Lyda. Glancing between them, Noah released her to step aside, leaving the view clear for his Mistress. Gen flushed as Lyda continued to study her from head to toe. Would she realize Gen had bought pretty new underwear for this, fixed up her hair? Misted body spray on her throat and inner thighs, just in case?
When Lyda lifted a hand, Gen saw she’d polished her short nails tonight. One of those fingers made a rotating movement. She wanted Gen to turn, to see her from all angles. She did it, strangling back another nervy chuckle. She could have been a puppet, Lyda’s finger executing an idle spin of the string. She felt the woman’s eyes on her bare back, her legs exposed by the short hem of the dress. Her ankles trembled.
When she finished the full turn, Lyda crooked that finger at her. Aware of Noah’s regard as she stepped past him, Gen wanted to reach out, graze his bare abdomen with her fingers, but she didn’t. She closed the distance between her and Lyda until she was inches away from her bent knee.
She should say something. Hi, how’s it going? Great turnout tonight. Love your outfit. She didn’t.
Lyda rose. In her boot heels, Lyda had about an inch on Gen. That meant on bare soles, Gen was slightly taller, but she didn’t presume that gave her an advantage. What emanated from Lyda had nothing to do with size. It was all about confidence, a blood-deep understanding of what she was, and the many faces that identity took as she executed the day-to-day of her world. Like this moment. She slid a hand under Gen’s hair, much as Noah had done, but she gripped it tight, just as she’d done at Tea Leaves. Gen wondered what would happen if her quivering knees buckled. Then she felt Noah shifting behind her and knew.
“Stay still,” Lyda said, and moved close enough her lips were within touching distance of Gen’s. Another inch and she’d be kissing her. A woman had never kissed her on the lips, not even the quick family brush thing. Gen couldn’t hold her gaze. She had to look down, which meant she was looking at the way Lyda’s corset displayed her breasts, the quiver of them as she breathed. The pendant looked like an oblong river stone, polished as if still wet from rushing water. What would Lyda do if she bent her head, brushed her lips over the top of one breast? It was so close, right there. She wanted to see what it felt like, a woman’s breast against her mouth.
As if anticipating the move, Lyda’s grip on her hair constricted, holding her still. Then she molded her other hand around Gen’s right breast. It was a matter-of-fact, exploratory touch, as if she had every right to touch Gen so intimately. Lyda wrapped her fingers around the full curve, Gen’s nipple stabbing into her palm through the satin of the bra. Lyda’s thumb passed over it once, twice…three times. Slow, even strokes, as Gen’s body hollowed, pressing into that touch, her breath uneven. Pleasure pumped through her as Noah’s hands closed on her shoulders. His body was a column of support, a prop holding her in place for Lyda.
“You’re beautiful, Gen,” Lyda said, touching her chin to draw her gaze. “I’m glad you dressed up for us. And for yourself.”
Marguerite had that kind of touch. Sparing, but something in it that made everything ache and need at once. Chloe called it the benevolent goddess touch, containing protection and kick-ass scariness together. Lyda’s touch compelled that vital, indefinable want from Gen. As well as blatant, pulsing sexual desire.
Lyda nodded to Noah. “He sees the beauty, the sexiness you’ve let out of the box for the night. He senses this is exciting for you, different, and his energy will fuel yours. But a woman sees the deeper side. The fragility, the uncertainty beneath, especially when you’ve locked it down for so long. As you were getting ready tonight, it felt like the first time you ever dressed up, like for a high school dance. Right?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Gen cleared a thick throat.
“Back then, you wondered if anyone would think you’re pretty. It’s even possible that giddiness in front of your mirror was swallowed as soon as you arrived at the school. But maybe it came back when your friends validated your appearance and boys were looking at you. You were still nervous, but you felt better. You were willing to explore the feeling. Time passes, and you lose that confidence. But you hoped for that feeling tonight, hoped enough to try. I’m very proud of you.”
Gen had learned the dangers of seeking approval from the wrong places, had learned to stand on her own without any at all. Yet Lyda reached into her soul and plucked out feelings like flowers from a field. The bouquet she arranged confused Gen, but she couldn’t deny Lyda’s approval was like sunlight. It spread heat through her, while Noah’s presence at her back was the vital force of a summer storm.
“You are very, very pretty, Gen.” Lyda stroked her cheek, her lips. “And you’re watching me like a forest animal. Wondering if I’ll cause you harm.”
“Will you?” Despite the desire of her lips to tremble under that touch, Gen firmed her chin, lifted it.
“If I do, it will be because you’ve begged me for the pain.” Lyda’s eyes glimmered like a frost queen’s, hinting of magical, mysterious things.
Releasing Gen, she moved back to the fainting couch. “Come sit with me.”
Chapter Five
Noah nudged her forward. Gen began to sink down on the sofa facing Lyda, two women prepared to have a chat, but Lyda extended her hand, clasped it around Gen’s. “Come here.”
Gen was reminded of how one walked a tightrope, keeping eyes on the end goal, not on the feet. Lyda’s grip told Gen what she wanted. What Gen herself wanted.
Lyda was against the arm rest of the couch again, and this time she had one leg up on the seat, knee bent and propped against the couch’s back. Her other booted foot was braced on the floor. It made an open triangle between her legs, and that was where she brought Gen, pulling her down to sit face forward so her back rested against Lyda’s bent knee and supple boot, her hip inches from the juncture between Lyda’s thighs. Lifting her other leg onto the sofa, Lyda stretched it across Gen’s lap. She kept her knee bent enough the weight of her leg wasn’t resting on Gen’s thighs.
Gen noted that the antique furniture had either been reupholstered or it was a modernized replica, because instead of the plush velvet or brocade expected on such a piece, it was covered in a nonporous but butter-soft vinyl, comfortable but resilient to puncture and easy to clean. It gave her vivid ideas of what happened on it to justify that practical design. Lyda shifted her grip to Gen’s other hand, holding it loosely between them as she reached out with her free hand, played with a curl at Gen’s temple.
“Beautiful color. Much better.” Her fingertips slid along Gen’s throat. “Fast pulse. Am I making you nervous, Gen?”
“I think that’s your plan.”
Lyda flashed a smile. “Does t
hat upset you?”
Gen shook her head. She was out of her element, but she didn’t want to move. She was hyperaware of Lyda’s leg stretched over her thighs, her bent one against Gen’s back. She wanted to touch Lyda and be touched by her, and the woman had delivered on that wish.
“Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Do it and find out. Don’t be a chicken.”
Gen hedged. “Were you a cheerleader? A popular girl who got whatever you wanted?”
“No.” Lyda traced Gen’s cheek bone and the soft skin beneath her eye with a fingernail, her thumb following behind to caress the track of the sharp edge. “I was working two jobs to earn money for college. I did think once or twice about bringing a machine gun to the pep rallies, but the narrow-minded college I wanted to attend didn’t consider shooting fish in a barrel a commendable school activity, even if it did show individual initiative. Do you think I expect you to obey me without earning your trust?”
“I don’t know why you expect me to obey you at all. Do you act like that toward anyone who isn’t…like you?”
“Who isn’t a Domme, you mean?”
When Gen made a noise of agreement, Lyda stroked her temple, working her way down. Gen lifted her chin, an instinctive desire for Lyda’s hand to follow the line of her jaw, down to her throat, tease her collarbone. Lyda did it, bringing the other hand up to cup Gen’s face on the opposite side, holding her there as she stroked her windpipe, all the sensitive pulse points around it.
“I expect you to obey me because you want to do it,” the woman said. “You want to see where I’m going to take you, Gen. You want someone you can trust to take you nice places. Close your eyes, and I’ll do that.”
Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace Page 10