by Jenna Barton
As the boys served tea, Lady Nerita turned her attentions to me again, my measurements and fabric preferences having been settled. “So, Erin, you’re new to the lifestyle or were you in it out in California?”
“Um…no. I’m new.” Again, the newbie. Would it ever end? “I tried, but—”
“Big scene.” Lucy, surprising me, nodded. “The first time I went out to San Francisco I felt lost.”
“Lu? No.” Nerita laughed. “Child, you haven’t been intimidated since you came kicking and screaming onto this earth. Please, intimidated.”
“Did I say intimidated or did I say lost?”
“Anyway, Erin,” Claire said, turning a narrowed eye at Lucy. “But you tried a couple of munches, right?”
The truth of it—and telling it to Lady Nerita and Lucy, not to mention those sleek, almond-skinned boys—made my stomach knot. “I never went inside. It was difficult, for a lot of reasons. But I suppose I never found the right place to insert myself. Meeting Claire was fortunate.”
Lucy snorted, relaxing into the sofa again. “She’s excellent at finding places to insert things, aren’t you, Claire?”
“Lucy, stop!” Claire blushed—actually blushed—and giggled.
“You’re what I call the educational gatekeeper for a lot of new submissives. Between her tips and tricks, and Tate and Wa—” Lips turned to a thin line, Lucy fell silent.
Then the room fell silent. Even the boys came to rest, as though settling on show benches at Nerita’s flank. Walt’s voice, again, telling me he had been More hound than I’d like to admit to you just the night before echoed in my ears. Lucy and Walt said that word a lot, hound, in reference to suspect males in the scene. A wayward dog under the direction of his basest instincts, their implication always was that a hound made his home on the driest, most accommodating porch within his range.
Claire turned her own cup of tea in her hand.
“I don’t have a problem with that,” I blurted. Lucy’s eyebrow shot high and she grinned at me from her perch. “If that’s why you stopped, Lucy. I know Walt has…done things—played—with a lot of people. He told me.”
“Ah. Okay,” Lucy said mildly.
The female ritual of discussing their dates never made sense to me. I never had the opportunity, honestly. Dani was far better at interrogation than me, but I also kept my interests obscured, safe from her questions. This circle was different, though. A country’s distance, I reminded myself, from the commentary of my mother and sister. The trio of women clustered before me presented an opportunity.
“There was someone before Nicole. Someone else, right?”
Lucy craned her neck past one of Nerita’s boys, who was assembling a small plate of shortbread for her, jutting her chin toward Claire. “Who’s Nicole?”
“You know, the one with the red hair. FiestyFelineFemme.”
“Who?” Nerita accepted her shortbread and immediately lifted one to her lips.
“The one with the big tits who played with Tate at the winter party. Remember? He hogtied her on the dining room table with those Christmas tree lights.” Lucy made an exaggerated purring sound and shimmied her shoulders.
“No, that’s Gala Apples. Lucy, you know, the other redhead. Tommy’s new girl’s friend. The tall one?”
“I know that girl.” Nerita looked like she’d tasted too much lemon in her tea. “Walt played with that girl?”
“She was new,” Claire said, shrugging. “It didn’t last long.”
New. No history, always unproven. I busied myself with an important pill at the seam of my linen dress.
Mercifully it was my turn for shortbread. “I thought you might prefer a cool drink to Lady’s tea.” A boy, the one I’d started calling Boy 1 in my head, stood before me, offering a tall, frosted glass full of iced water, cucumber, and mint. He spoke soft and swishy, much like the black silk I’d just chosen for my sensible corset, and turned sad doe eyes back toward the two Dominants on the sofa. “It does get quite warm up here in the afternoons. Lot hotter when Miss Lucinda come around.”
I smiled up at him and took the plate. The glaze matched the one on the cup Claire had shown me earlier during our drive to Asheville. “Thank you.”
“clover makes them tea sets too. Makes them for everybody. You just ask her, clover’ll make you whatever you like to have.”
“Never mind,” Lucy said. I glanced toward her, and the boy turned to vapor, the plate of cookies my only evidence he’d been there. “Some girl.”
“A play partner, that’s all.” Claire smiled at me. “Nothing serious.”
“Wanda’s been prone to whoring, the hound.” Lucy winked with a lazy wave of her hand. “Don’t worry, babysub. He’s seen you in daylight. Different dynamic entirely.”
Nerita turned to me, and again my neck prickled. “I think Erin is asking about Holly.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, yeah.” Claire’s silence matched Lucy’s uncharacteristic reticence.
“Holly?” This name was new to me. I’d heard about Hailey, his best friend Brady’s wife, and Melissa, his lost high school girlfriend. Most other women were this girl in Atlanta or a bottom I know from Mid-Dixie LeatherFest. They never had names, just places or…well, places in play.
Which I still didn’t have.
“Holly was around for what, Lu? Two or three years?” Nerita waved over her shoulder, and the other boy appeared. “I’d like some of that cucumber water, boy.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Poor thing,” she continued. “Sweet girl.”
“Yes. So sweet.”
Lucy stood, her jaw hard. “Sweet. Real sweet, pulling crap like that on Walt. Pardon me, please.”
Once she’d reached the bottom of the stairs, I looked at Claire. “I’m sorry. Should I have not asked about Holly?” The name was beginning to take on an ominous life of its own. “I should ask Walt.”
“If you ask Walt you won’t understand about Holly, though.” Claire sat her tea aside. “Walt made a lot of mistakes—”
“But it wasn’t his fault,” Nerita added, beginning to look as agitated as Lucy had become. “Erin, I think you’ve been fortunate to find Claire. Not all new submissives are so blessed.”
“Oh, Ma’am.” Claire beamed.
“No, girl, you accept that as true.” She waved her hand in my direction. “Claire, you ask this girl if you’ve not blessed her life since you’ve been friendly.”
Inside, I turned nearly as squirmy as Claire appeared to be. How to say something like this to another person? And a woman who was my friend? “I do. I feel really lucky to know you.”
Claire’s lashes fluttered at her suddenly wet eyes, and she reached for my hand. “Me too. I’m glad you gave me a chance.” She set her cup aside. “I think to Walt, Holly was one of those people who is never one thing. And they’re not enough of one thing to make who they are definite, you know?”
I shrugged. “Not really.”
“They dated some, but mostly played. She adored him.”
“She did indeed.” Nerita nodded. “I think he did care for her, too.”
“Oh, definitely. We all did. But after everything Walt’s been through—and those are things you should talk about—he’s…well…”
“Claire doesn’t want to tell you Walt tends to white knight, Erin. Not in a bad way. He’s a good man with a good heart, who has been hurt and recognizes it in others. And that goodness makes him want to save people from their own hurts.”
“Oh,” I muttered. I didn’t like the heavy slosh of cucumber-mint flavored bile climbing toward my throat.
“Holly had been around for a long time. But she had been in some very scary situations…”
“Ugly business,” Nerita said. “She had been a slave in a very bad situation for years. Alex knew her—can’t remember where they met.”
“At a trade show,” Claire offered. “Alex was selling her whips and—”
“Oh, that’s right. Yes, down in O
rlando?”
“Or Ft. Lauderdale, maybe?”
“Florida,” Nerita concluded. “At any rate, you know Tommy’s girl?”
“Hawkshadow?” Claire added. “He’s one of Sir’s mentees.”
Their history was so long, had so much depth and spanned so many people. Not only did I have to learn all of these affiliations and tangential relationships, I had to remember who played on what side of the fence, and when. “I’m not sure…”
“What they’re not telling you is Alex mailed Holly a bus ticket so she could leave her owner, a real charming guy who messed her head and body up—permanently. A lot.” Lucy’s voice echoed across the room. “So she came up here and moved in with Tommy and Alex. She had nothing of her own but what she could stuff in a backpack. She was fine at first.”
“She was.” Claire held her hand out to Lucy, who joined her on the arm of the club chair. She’d been crying. I could tell from the fresh powder and eyeliner she wore. It was evidence of how concerned she’d been for Walt then—and the depth of their friendship.
“But she wasn’t, not really. And Walt wanted to make it better for her.” Lucy huffed. “The dumbass.”
“It wasn’t to be helped,” Nerita said and sipped her water. “The girl was broken.”
“Yes. She was.” Lucy took a deep breath and continued. “She wanted and needed a lot more from Walt than he wanted to give her. She wasn’t the one for him, and he knew it. But he sold—”
Claire turned a sad smile toward Lucy and finished for her. “He soldiered on. Because she needed him.”
Nerita made a soft, compassionate sound. “That’s what he wouldn’t tell you, Erin.”
“Do you think he blames himself for what happened?” Claire looked at Nerita. “He did get her home, after all.”
“Wait, Erin is missing a few details,” Lucy said. “Holly got clingier and more weepy and needy.”
“She was hurting, Lucy.”
“Okay, Claire, we get it, she was hurt and broken and sad. That doesn’t justify slitting her wrists in Walt’s bathroom, okay?”
The room went silent, except for the sound of my pulse thudding in my ears. “Oh,” I said dully. “Did she…”
“No. Walt got her fixed up and then found her family. He took her up to them in New Hampshire…Vermont…somewhere up north.” Lucy flipped her hair over her shoulder. “And she became their problem, pulled the same trick in their bathroom a couple of months later.”
“Oh no.” I couldn’t think of anything better to say about this poor, sad woman who apparently had loved Walt in the only way she knew how, but I felt very sorry for her. After a long moment, I took a deep breath. “I think sometimes loving someone new is like rubbing over a scar that’s numb underneath. Instead of healing it, it just reminds you it hurts there.”
Nerita nodded and smiled at me. “Yes, indeed, Erin. That is very true, indeed.”
Refusing the temptation of more tea and cookies, we exchanged good-byes with the other ladies after a bit more, lighter-toned, conversation. We left Nerita’s gallerie and crossed Asheville’s busy main street. After a surprisingly good lunch of fried green tomato sandwiches and tea, this time, cold and sweet, Claire cleared her throat. Time to talk business.
“I’ll be helping Tate set up, so you can drive over with Lucy. When you come up to the house, you might notice it’s a bit different than the club in Charlotte.”
“House?” I glanced at her over my glass. “Oh, you mean your friend’s lake house? He lives near Lucy, right?”
“Yes. The Enclave is on Lake Arden. Lucy lives there but on the other side of the lake. The east side is Tate’s side.” She prodded the remains of her sandwich, considering something. “It’s formal, you know. Up there—at the house.”
I couldn’t help laughing a little. “I hope it’s formal. Otherwise, I never would have spent that much money on a piece of underwear I might never wear again.”
“I think you’ll have more than one opportunity to wear them,” she said with a sly smile. “And anyway, corsets aren’t underwear. Not in the lifestyle, anyway.”
More pushing at her plate. Another prolonged sip of tea.
“Claire, is there something else? Does—should I not be there?”
“No, no…not at all. I think you’ll find it interesting. I think you’ll like it.”
I couldn’t help wonder who she was trying to convince. “Is there more?”
“There is.”
I sat back against my chair. “Okay. What else?”
“Sir and I, we do formal protocol. Most of the couples, we do a sort of enhanced D/s. It’s not a requirement, but when we voted to offer your invitation, I was asked to mentor you.”
“Wait a minute.” My head swam a little and I reached for a sip of tea. Living in the South was starting to seep into my bones, propelling me to reach toward a cool drink at the first whiff of disturbance. “I was voted—you mean people talked about me?”
“It sounds much worse than it actually is, Erin. Sir said I could propose you for an invitation, so I did. Then Lucy and Walt agreed. So three Tops agreed to put you forward. And me.”
“And who sacrificed the goat?”
“Oh, Erin, it’s not like that.” She scowled at me playfully and pulled her spangled green patchwork tote to her lap. “I’ve been working on something for a while, and I thought you could read it. Maybe work through it? The big letter people have a mentoring class, one or two groups of ten a year. Walt is one of the mentors, actually.”
“So why isn’t Walt—if I need a teacher, why…I mean that assumes there’s something he thinks I should learn.” Suddenly the remains of my own lunch seemed to need inspection. I pushed at a sliver of cornmeal-dusted tomato with my fork.
“Most of the time couples join the Enclave. We have a few unpartnered Tops. Well, Lucy and Walt and Tate are the only regular ones now, but it’s been a while since we had an unpartnered submissive. So even though you’re seeing Walt, you’re not together. Not collared to him, you know?”
“Sure,” I said, nodding as though the pulse radiating into my throat was a small, hardly noticeable thing.
“I would have asked you to the house anyway, because I think you’ll feel more comfortable somewhere private than at a public dungeon. But then, with Walt…”
“But you said we’re—or I’m not attached to him.”
“Just have a look.” Her face was lit with excitement and expectation and so much hope. “You’ll be the first person to see it. I’ve journaled for years, but last winter, when I was moving things around and clearing out our second bedroom for Sir’s girl, I found some of my old ones.” She tucked a stray auburn curl behind her ear. “And I decided to pull it all together.”
“Oh…” I nodded, hoping I looked encouraging, even though Claire had gone far past my depth. “That’s a great idea.”
“The small letter people—oh, I mean submissive types, you know—we don’t have any kind of organized mentorship in this area. There are in other communities, but it’s usually just for Big Letters around here.” She shrugged away a stormy look, and her face brightened again. “I try, but it seems like all the new people at CPEP pair off so fast, or they’re already in a relationship, so they’re not interested in really taking the time to work through this.”
I laughed in spite of the earnest turn of our conversation. “So I’m your QA test?”
“No—well, I suppose. It sounded better when I asked Sir about it.”
“Oh,” I said, Paul’s presence suddenly thudding dully into our conversation. “I’m very interested. Is this a class or a group of some kind?”
“No. Well, not right now.” Claire placed a thin binder in my hands and her voice softened. “It’s a notebook. A workbook, I suppose? And since I was asked to mentor you, I’d like to really mentor you. I think I could teach you, Erin.”
I felt my brows crinkling before I could stop them. “Teach me?”
“How to be submissive—
a good submissive.”
I opened the binder and smoothed the cover back, reading the first page.
SUBMISSIVE.
Willing to submit to the orders of others. Voluntary yielding to the will of another. Deferential. Obedient.
One who gives power to another.
My eyebrows shot high over wide eyes, and I looked instinctively over my shoulder.
These are some of the words and phrases you might find when searching the Internet for a definition of the word submissive.
Even if we listed each one, you, the person holding this book, would have a slightly different answer. Your identity as a submissive, your own submissive nature, is uniquely your own. With your consent, a Dominant, a Top, a Master enters into a pact—an exchange—with you. But note, the action, the intention all rest within you. Voluntary, willing, giving. Many a Dominant will claim your submission to be a “gift”; it’s a popular catchphrase in the D/s lifestyle these days.
I say it is a decision.
You are on a journey that very much includes the way your body responds to your emotional need for submission. Try it on your own first, even if you already have a partner…
“Claire…I’m not sure,” I said. “The physical things…those are good. And, um, interesting.” I tucked my bangs behind my ears, very intent on thumbing over beads of condensation on my glass as I arranged words in my head. Claire was becoming a good friend, and I sensed she felt the same about me. “But I don’t think I want to always be in submission or however it’s termed. I haven’t said much about it, but my mother constantly made concessions in her relationships. All of them. I don’t think I can do that, and I’m not sure I’d want to.”
I felt Claire’s quiet first, before I’d taken note she was silent. And hurt?
“But submissives aren’t taken advantage of, unless they let themselves.” Her voice was a soft, but pointed, accusation.
Dreading the worst from my clumsiness, I rushed back at her, imploring as best I could without looking panicky. “Please understand, Claire. I don’t judge anyone’s choi—”