The Effing List

by Cherise Sinclair

  Once her skin reached a nicely flushed state, Ghost started on the lesson. First, where not to hit. The spanking had shown Cameron knew the basics, so Ghost just added a few cane-specific warnings, like avoiding the sciatic nerve with heavy canes, and positioning to avoid wrapping where the cane might bend around a side.

  “Parallel strikes are best, since you can cause damage if the spots intersect.” He demonstrated the light wrist action used and started tapping his way up. “You can flick, taking the cane away instantly for a stinging sensation, or rest the cane on the skin right after impact for a thuddier—and more painful—pleasure.”

  Ah, he did like canes. And Angelica was a nicely responsive bottom, reacting with small squirms and inhalations.

  “Your turn.” Ghost handed the cane over and took his seat.

  The young Dom showed excellent control, and as Ghost watched, fell into Top space, totally oblivious to anything except the scene, his actions, and the bottom’s response.

  Very nice, indeed.

  Not having anything urgent to do, Ghost stayed. He stepped in only when Angelica hit subspace to remind Cameron that her responses were no longer a reliable indicator of the amount of pain or damage she could take. It was time to lighten up and work back out of the scene.

  Mentoring complete, Ghost did a quick tour of the club, hoping to see Valerie.

  No such luck.

  He paused to watch Olivia using a flogger. The Mistress had discarded her leather jacket, leaving her in a sleeveless latex shirt and pants. Her honey-colored hair stood up in short spikes, and her forehead was damp with sweat as she flogged the bottom.

  Ghost frowned. Although the Domme was extremely skilled with a good awareness of the bottom, the scene lacked energy. The submissive was fine, already falling into subspace, and probably didn’t even realize the Domme wasn’t especially into it.

  Like a skilled computer operator, Olivia was inputting the right commands to get the machine’s response, but she was not emotionally involved.

  It was a shame.

  He’d seen Olivia scene with her previous girlfriend, Natalia, and the energy between the two had been heady, like the thundering of an artillery barrage.

  This was more like a few rounds of a .22.

  Shaking his head, he walked away.

  * * *

  Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia noticed Ghost moving away. The tall, gray-haired Master was frowning and shaking his head.

  What was his problem? Her mouth tightened. She hadn’t thought him prejudiced against Dommes. Or maybe he didn’t like lesbians? Not unusual. Even the Shadowlands had always held a few haters. In the past, they’d been unobtrusive.

  Tonight? The club seemed filled with intolerant bastards, especially the new members, although she’d been shocked by a few she’d thought were good people. Not any longer. Bigotry was apparently now accepted here, and the knowledge rubbed her raw.

  But she hadn’t thought the Colonel would be prejudiced. She liked the guy, bugger-it-all.

  Pushing the annoyance aside, she tried to get her head back into the scene, knowing if she’d really been into it, she’d never have noticed Ghost at all. But the scene was flat—at least, for her.

  With a sour taste in her mouth, she continued the session, getting Chelsey into subspace, then bringing her back out with a slow warm-down.

  Finally, she finished and shook out her aching arms.

  Her heart hurt, as well. This hadn’t been a scene where a Domme and her submissive connected on a soul-deep level; it’d been more like a pleasant tennis match. A nice workout and nothing more.

  She bundled Chelsey in a blanket, gave her a bottle of water, and started to clean the equipment.

  “Please hold me,” Chelsey whined. “I need to be held. Can we go upstairs?”

  Upstairs. To have sex. It sure wouldn’t be making love.

  Olivia had found out how love and sex could combine into something glorious—and then that joy was gone. For a couple of weeks after breaking up with Natalia, Olivia had tried to bury the heartbreaking memories with other women. With sex. Including with Chelsey.

  The hollowness of the act had only depressed her further, and she’d stopped coming to the Shadowlands.

  Now, she was back. Tonight she’d indulge her need for topping, give good aftercare…and be done.

  She’d made her conditions clear to Chelsey before they started. “I need to clean the area so someone else can use it, then we’ll go sit and get your cuddles in.”

  No upstairs.

  After the equipment was disinfected, Olivia took Chelsey to a quiet sitting area for chocolate and more water and hugs. Told her she was a good girl and a pleasure to flog.

  Provided the submissive with what she needed.

  And felt even emptier. Why did it seem as if she gave and gave and never received anything in return?

  Eventually, she left Chelsey with her friends, pleased at how they supported each other. Much as she and Anne had stuck together in earlier days. But Anne had Ben now—and the most adorable son.

  Olivia had crickets.

  Bollocks, what was with this self-indulgent whining? Stop. Now. Shaking her head, she headed for the bar. She’d get a drink and chat with Josie, the bartender, a rather adorable submissive who, unfortunately, preferred men. Holt was a lucky guy.

  “Mistress Olivia, what can I get you?” Josie’s short, sassy hair was the color of her freckles. In black pants, black vest, and white shirt, she was the epitome of a professional bartender…although her soft Texas accent made it seem as if she should be wearing a cowboy shirt and jeans. “You seem tired. Maybe coffee instead of alcohol?”

  “How about both?” Perhaps the vodka and Kahlua would help her sleep. “I’d like an espresso martini, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  “How was the honeymooning?” Olivia asked. The wedding had been beautiful, with Josie escorted down the aisle by her grandaunt and her twelve-year-old son.

  “Spain was amazing, and then Greece…” Josie patted her chest. “Oh my heart. We came back early enough to take Carson and his friends to Disney World for a long weekend.”

  Olivia snickered. “A way to say I’m-sorry-we-abandoned-you-to-go-off-and-have-sex-in –exotic-places?”

  “It so was. The trip to Disney World earned us all sorts of forgiveness.” Josie grinned. “It’s great to be back…well, mostly great. The club feels off, at least to me. I know Holt called y’all in, so what do you think?”

  “I’m glad Holt called.” Olivia tapped her fingernails on the bar top in irritation. “The club has changed…and not in a good way.”

  “Hey, look at the lez flirting with our bartender.” The voice came from the other side of the oval bar.

  Another male voice. “She’s one of them muff divers, huh?”

  Seriously? Olivia glanced over to see a batch of men. Late twenties to thirties, around her age. New members. White male Doms with attitudes. The kind of arseholes Z would never have let set foot in the Shadowlands.

  And, bloody hell, the manager, Wrecker, stood with them. Tall, fair-skinned, and good-looking, he reminded her of a scheming politician. He was laughing at what his arsehole friend had said.

  If the manager was a homophobe, no wonder prejudice was thriving.

  She put her back to them and watched the people near the front trying to dance to the sucky music. Z had favored variety, from heavy metal to Gregorian chants, but during prime scene hours, there was always a solid rhythm to enjoy while flogging. Wrecker’s grindcore mixes and bands like Anal Cunt were worthless.

  Turning away, she noticed, off to the left, three Doms surrounding a newer, young submissive. Trying to intimidate her.

  Olivia jumped off her barstool and—stopped.

  Already moving, Ghost pulled the submissive out of the circle, tucked her behind him, and turned on the three men. “Your behavior is unacceptable, a disgrace to Doms everywhere. I don’t know what rock you were raised under,
but in the Shadowlands, everyone”—the Colonel’s dark rasp sounded like the wrath of God—“everyone is treated with respect. If you pull this kind of stunt again, I’ll wipe the floor with your asses before I throw you out the door.”

  “Shit, what’s the old bastard doing?” came from Wrecker. The manager hurried over to the group. “Ghost, what the fuck? They were only having some fun. You’re not a DM; you’re just a—”

  “Just a Master of this club, which gives me an even higher authority than a dungeon monitor.” The Colonel directed a pointed stare at Wrecker and the Doms. “Along with the obligation to correct behavior that goes against the club’s rules.”

  Olivia winced. He was right. As a Mistress, she held the same responsibility. Rather than ignoring verbal abuse, she should have dealt with it, whether or not the manager was involved. If the arseholes spoke so insultingly to a Mistress, they’d undoubtedly been even nastier to untitled members. Other lesbians and gays might be more fragile. She’d been a bloody coward.

  I’ll do better.

  With a low curse, Wrecker stomped away, steaming from the ears. Two of the Doms retreated quickly.

  One didn’t. The one who resembled—and acted—like an aggressive ape stood with his hands in fists.

  Bad choice, you muppet.

  Ghost moved like British SAS operators did. The younger Dom might manage to land a punch or even two, but then Ghost would put the arsehole in hospital—or a grave.

  Apparently making the same calculation, the Dom said something ugly and retreated.

  Ghost put his arm around the submissive and led her toward a sitting area.

  The young woman had tears in her eyes, and Olivia’s heart ached. That’s how Natalia had looked when Olivia sent her away.

  And no matter how deceiving and lying the little submissive had been, Olivia missed her with all her heart.

  Okay, she could do this, Valerie thought. Really. I’m not some teen who can’t go anywhere without a bunch of friends.

  Off in the distance, thunder rumbled over the Gulf. Rain was coming, and the air was hot and humid. Valerie pushed her damp hair off her neck. She’d left it down because…well, her dark-honey blonde, shoulder-length hair was one of her best features.

  As she walked up the sidewalk from the parking lot, she felt as if she’d forgotten her purse. But she hadn’t. Using common sense, she’d locked it in the trunk. Her car keys and ID were in her pockets…and why she’d worn jeans.

  Jeans companies weren’t as misogynistically pocket-unfriendly as women’s suit and dress manufacturers were.

  At the front, she stared up at the three-story mansion. It was much more intimidating after dark. The black wrought-iron lanterns on each side of the door didn’t help.

  She could barely hear any noise from inside other than a thin thread of music. The soundproofing must be amazing. Well, it would have to be, right?

  Here goes. Reluctantly, she reached for the door handle.

  “Hi.”

  At the sound of a woman’s voice, Valerie startled.

  Two people strolled up the sidewalk.

  One was a silver-haired man with icy blue eyes and a lean weathered face.

  His companion was a full-bodied redhead. She smiled. “Could you be Valerie?”

  “Well…” Valerie hesitated, having never seen the woman before in her life.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The woman laughed. “The other day, one of our friends said he hoped a blonde named Valerie would join the club.”

  Valerie blinked. The only Dom she’d given her name to had been the professor. Finn. The thought he’d mentioned her set up a warm glow in her stomach.

  “I’m Linda, and this is Master Sam.” The woman seemed only a few years younger than Valerie, and how reassuring was that?

  “You’re right; I’m Valerie.” She gave them a wry smile. “I was trying to find enough courage to open the door.”

  “In that case, missy, allow me.” Master Sam’s rough-timbred voice reminded her of the actor whose gravelly voice was so well-known. Finn sounded much the same although his voice might be a bit rawer, a bit deeper.

  Sam stepped around her and held the door open.

  The same guard as on the BDSM Sampler night sat behind the desk, obviously bored. “Here. Sign in.” He pushed forward a paper.

  “I’m not a member.” Valerie held out the FREE NIGHT ticket.

  He took it, ripped it in half. “Okay. You’re good.”

  Sam’s eyebrows went up. “What the hell is a free night?”

  “I got the coupon during the open house.” She gestured to the guard. “From him.”

  The guard nodded. “Yeah. Like the manager said to do.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about free nights.” Sam’s eyes narrowed, and he turned to Valerie. “Did you get any instruction about the rules? What you can and can’t do? Fill out any forms? Have bloodwork?”

  “No.”

  “Dammit.” Master Sam looked furious. “Sign in and put ‘free pass’ beside your name. Show the guard your ID.” His glare hit the guard like a baseball bat.

  Paling, the guard sat up straight.

  “Check that her ID and name matches,” Sam snapped. “The rules are in the top drawer. Give her one. Make sure anyone else with a free pass gets the same.”

  After she signed and showed her ID to the now-anxious guard, he handed her the list of rules.

  “Since you don’t have a purse, Valerie, you can leave your shoes in the cubbies here.” Linda put her flats into an empty slot in the shelves against the wall. “If you’re submissive, of course.”

  She might as well own up to it. But… “I can’t wear my shoes?”

  “Master Z prefers for submissives to be barefoot unless wearing seriously stunning footwear.” Linda eyed Valerie’s attractive, but nowhere-near-stunning sandals.

  There were certainly a lot of rules to getting in this place. Master Sam’s chuckle indicated her frown had made it onto her face.

  With a sigh, she shoved her sandals into a cubby, then stood there in her bare feet. To her relief, the hardwood floor was polished to a satiny smoothness. At least she wouldn’t get splinters.

  “Very good, missy. Now, you’re ready to go in.”

  Gazing up at Master Sam, she knew she’d lost an inch in height and more in…what would she call it? Power? Authority?

  Shaking her head, she followed Linda and Master Sam through the door into the club.

  Harsh music assaulted her ears. To her right, a few people were on the dance floor. Five younger men and women wearing cat and dog ears, fuzzy mitten-paws, and tails gamboled off to one side.

  People sat in various conversational groups. About half of the roped-off scene areas around the perimeter were being used.

  There was a big oval bar in the center of the room and a dance floor to the right. In fact, the layout resembled a nightclub’s…except she’d never seen a bar with chains dangling from the rafters above it.

  And no one dressed like this in any club she’d been in.

  Look at all the fetishwear. Lots of skintight latex, PVC, and leather. One woman wore hot pink leggings and a tunic with strategically placed holes. Two women were bare from the waist up. She could see mini-skirts, fishnet stockings, corsets, and bustiers.

  Men were wearing chain and leather harnesses, vests, or went bare-chested with suspenders. One had on a kilt. A guy wearing only a loincloth danced with a man in motorcycle leathers.

  Valerie tugged on her black bustier with thin shoulder straps. “I’m under-dressed.”

  “What you’re wearing is perfectly acceptable,” Linda answered. “When you’re more comfortable with the place and people, you can explore more options…or not. The Shadowlands is more relaxed about the dress code than many other clubs.”

  Valerie nodded. “I did check the internet for information. Some places won’t allow jeans or T-shirts or even normal suits.”

  “They want to establish a
sense of community—and keep out gawkers. But since it’s not easy to get a Shadowlands membership, we don’t have looky-loos. A lot of members, like this one”—Linda nudged Sam—“prefer to feel comfortable when they play. But since dressing up is fun, the club has theme nights now and then.”

  “Theme nights?” Valerie almost laughed. The essays she assigned her students often had themes.

  “Basically, kinky costume parties. The Western Nights are Master Sam’s favorites.”

  The Dom laughed, not at all insulted.

  “Let’s sit at the bar while you get your bearings, then we’ll wander around.” Linda motioned toward the dark wood bar.

  A huge male bartender filled drinks at one end; a female bartender with a pixie-cut worked the other end.

  “Master Cullen, you’re working,” Linda said as she took one of the high wooden stools.

  “I wanted to bartend with Josie tonight. Best way I know to get a feel for what’s going on.” The rough-hewn man behind the bar had a grim expression, but then he smiled. After nodding at Master Sam, he studied Valerie with green eyes darker than Finn’s. “Welcome to the Shadowlands, love. And you are…?”

  A hint of an Irish accent danced in his voice.

  “Thank you.” She settled on the barstool. “I’m Valerie.”

  “Good to meet you.” He glanced at Linda. “Andrea’s working, but Rainie and a couple other subbies commandeered a sitting area near the back if you want to introduce her.”

  “I do, thank you. But first, we’ll sit and admire the costumes.” Linda winked at Valerie. She undoubtedly knew how overwhelming the place was.

  “Valerie.” The rasp of Finn’s deep voice had her turning. And had her wayward heart rate increasing.

  When she met his green eyes, the stool beneath her seemed to shiver. Or had that been her? “Hi. I made it.” Such brilliant conversation, idiot.

  Linda nodded at him. “Ghost, it’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”

  Ghost? Oh, of course. Some people used different names in places like BDSM clubs.

  She’d need to remember to call him Ghost.