As he greeted Linda, Valerie sat back.
He’d adhered to the Dom-standard of black and more black. His cargo pants were in a Goth style, with D-rings and buckles. A long-sleeved Henley fit snugly, outlining hard muscle. Black leather belt and boots. A gold band circled his biceps…and hmm, Cullen and Sam wore them, too.
As the men talked, Valerie whispered to Linda, “What do the gold bands on their arms mean?”
“Means they’ve received the club honorific of ‘Master’ for experience, power, and service. The Shadowlands doesn’t hand them out like lollipops.”
Master, huh. Valerie wrinkled her nose. “My ex thinks he should be called Master.”
“What to call your Dom is an internal relationship choice.” Linda shrugged. “After all, a Dominant can tell his submissive to call him anything he wants, right? But he can’t force anyone else to use his title. Inside the club, we all call these Doms the “Masters” because they’ve earned our respect.”
“Although some of us try to dodge any title.” Cullen grinned.
Finn gave him a displeased frown. “I’ll stick with simply Ghost, thank you.”
Linda smiled slowly. “As it happens, the Shadowkittens heard Ben calling you Colonel. Since you hate ‘Master’, we decided to use your rank. Because we’re nice that way.”
At Ghost’s grunt of displeasure, everyone burst out laughing.
“It works,” Sam said. “Everyone knows colonels are sadists.”
“There is that.” Ghost held Valerie’s gaze, then grinned and bent to whisper, “It’s lucky for you I didn’t achieve the rank of general.”
Oh gods.
“Valerie.”
She jumped when Master Sam said her name.
“Um, yes?”
Ghost chuckled.
Sam tapped the paper in front of her. “Study those rules before you leave the bar.”
“Right.” She set the page under the brightest spot of light.
“What rules?” Ghost moved forward to read over her shoulder.
He smelled like a Florida morning in winter—all sea breeze with a hint of citrus. Mmm. She barely resisted leaning back against him.
Sam scowled. “Apparently, Wrecker had the guard hand out “free night” tickets at the open house, and those guests are walking in with no supervision, no warning to the members, no intro to the rules.”
Valerie hunched slightly. Had she done something wrong?
“Not your fault, girl,” Sam said. “We’ve discussed free tickets in the past, but there are too many liability and legal issues.”
Gripping her shoulder, Ghost turned her to face him.
“You didn’t get anything to read or have to take a class?” he growled. “No one was assigned to watch you? No special collar or—”
“No.”
Those were two unhappy Doms. No, all three. The bartender appeared just as displeased.
“The night keeps getting better and better.” Ghost kept his hand on her shoulder. “Cullen, give me one of those supervision collars we store behind the bar.”
“Good plan.” Bending down, Cullen rummaged, then set a golden leather collar on the bar top with a marker. “What name goes on the tag?”
Both Sam and Ghost spoke: “Mine.”
Cullen laughed. “You have a woman, Sam. I’m giving this one to Ghost.” He wrote, “GHOST” on a tag and inserted it under a plastic cover on the collar.
“I don’t understand.” Valerie stared at the collar, feeling like when she was five and got lost in the winding alleys of a souk.
She really should have stayed home.
“Now, lass, don’t fret.” Ghost showed her what was written on the collar tag.
“Permission to play must be cleared with: GHOST.”
He continued, “Anyone scening with you needs to know you didn’t get the background and medical checks required for members. Since you didn’t attend an orientation class, I’ll vet your play partner and help you negotiate if needed.”
She frowned. “The regular members go through all that?”
“We do.” Linda tapped a finger on the bar. “Remember, though, simply because someone passed a background check doesn’t mean they’re good people. The club does try—”
“Did try,” Sam muttered.
“—but there aren’t any guarantees. Not in here, or in regular dating, or in life, for that matter.”
Huffing out a breath, Valerie smiled. “A disclaimer is reassuring, actually. I wouldn’t trust a place promising utter safety.”
Ghost chuckled, then lifted the collar. “You’ll wear this. Anyone who wants to play with you needs to find me and get permission first. Agreed?”
In answer, she gathered her hair and moved it out of the way, then lifted her chin.
He buckled the collar around her neck, his hands competent and warm. The collar had a soft fleece lining, and rather than being terrifying, felt almost comforting.
“Ever worn one before?” Ghost asked softly.
“No.” Barry made his slaves wear them. She’d never agreed, despite his annoyance. Because she wasn’t a slave.
She frowned, and the question spilled out. “Do you have slaves?”
He stood close enough she felt the warmth of his body. “No, lass. I’m single and unattached.” Sadness dimmed his eyes for a moment, then he pulled her hair out of her grip and let the strands fall over her shoulders. “The collar looks good on you.”
Shouting sounded from the back, catching his attention. Brows together in a dark frown, he glanced at Cullen. “From what I’ve seen this evening, Wrecker’s hired DMs are worthless.”
“Agreed, buddy. You going to check on whatever’s happening?”
“What else?” Ghost nodded to Sam. “She’s with you.”
“Got her.”
Ghost squeezed Valerie’s arm. “I’ll find you in a bit. Enjoy your night.”
Limping slightly, he walked away, his shoulders wide and military-straight.
And the tingle from his touch lingered. “A DM is a dungeon monitor, right?” She remembered that much from the group she and Barry had joined.
“Right. They’re supposed to make sure things run smoothly and according to the rules.” The irritation in Sam’s voice left no doubt about how he felt. “Josie was right about things having gone to hell. When’s Z flying back?”
“Just arrived home a few hours ago,” Cullen told him.
Sam grunted.
Who was Z? Well, not her business, now was it? “Is Ghost a DM?” Valerie asked.
“Not these days, pet.” Cullen started mixing a drink. “However, for some men, duty is a calling. Even being discharged doesn’t release them.”
She gazed after Ghost, seeing his firm stride, head up as he disappeared into a hallway at the back of the club. “Apparently not.”
“Time to show you the place. If you want to be introduced to a Dom, let me know.” Linda slid off the barstool.
Did she want to meet Doms? Not really. Yet that was why she’d come.
Or had she come just to see Finn again?
“Stay with at least one other submissive, missy.” Master Sam gave Linda’s hair a tug. “Or I’ll tan your ass.” Delivered in a low growl, the threat sounded too real.
In a husky voice, Linda responded, “Yes, please, Sir.”
Valerie blinked. Well, wasn’t that an interesting answer?
Laughing under her breath, she joined the redhead for a leisurely stroll.
Most of the scene areas were against the walls. St. Andrew’s crosses were popular. So were the luxurious spanking benches with padded surfaces for the torso, elbows, and knees. They appeared far nicer than the cheap sawhorse ones her small BDSM group had used.
At the very back, down a hallway, was a room Linda called the dungeon. On one side, a sex swing was being used vigorously enough the chains to the rafters clanked slightly with each thrust. Only, rather than a man fucking a woman, a female Domme wearing a strap-on was penetrating a man’s ass.
The guy climaxed with a happy moan.
Uh, right. “Sex is allowed in BDSM clubs?” Valerie kept her voice low.
Linda smiled. “In some. It depends on city and county regulations and the club itself. The Shadowlands does. For a lot of people, pain is tied to arousal, and it’s nice to be able to act on it.”
“Not for you?”
“Oh, sometimes. I’m a 24/7 masochist, one of those people who likes most kinds of pain, and I get cranky if I don’t get my endorphins. But Sam can easily turn a few whacks into a sexual frenzy.”
“There are different kinds of masochists?” Frowning, Valerie stopped by a fire cupping scene.
Leaning her hip against a couch, Linda laughed. “Probably as many kinds as there are people. Are you the sexual arousal type?”
“Um. Maybe?” And wasn’t that embarrassing to admit? “I haven’t had much experience.”
“A lot of masochists get aroused by pain, depending on the Top and the scene. Sadists are just as variable.”
What was Ghost? Not wanting to show her curiosity, she looked away.
And noticed interested gazes from a wide variety of people—women and men, including some around her age.
In fact, as she surveyed the population, she spotted several middle-aged couples. Not everyone reached their fifties and traded out their wife for a younger one.
Linda headed down the other side of the room with Valerie beside her.
“Hey, it’s the old bag with the sag. The frump we got Master to dump.” The piercingly high voice and the hackneyed rhymes were all too familiar.
Barry’s slave was sitting with two young women who’d convulsed in laughter.
Spit. If Kahlua was here, so was Barry. Yes, this evening had taken a quick right turn right into hell.
Was Alisha at the club, too? Doubtful. She didn’t particularly like people.
Bad enough Kahlua was here.
Spirits sinking, Valerie kept walking.
“Seems like she found someone her age to hang out with,” Kahlua said loudly. “Like two hags in a bag.”
“Shut up,” one of the young women snapped. “The redhead is Master Sam’s submissive. Do you know what that sadist could do to you?”
Linda didn’t lose a step although she wrinkled her nose as if she’d stepped in dog poop. “I assume the mouthy one isn’t a friend?”
“Not even close. She’s one of the slaves my ex brought to live with us.” After getting out of sight of Kahlua, Valerie stopped. “I should go. I really don’t want to run into my ex. He’s the kind to make a scene.”
Linda shook her head. “Are you going to let your ex-husband dictate all your choices? Permit him to ruin any fun you might have?”
The blunt words had Valerie straightening. “Put like that, the answer is obviously no.”
“Let me introduce you to some people for a buffer if you need one. And I might have a word with the manager. Disrespect to other members is frowned upon.” Linda moved forward again. “You said the mouthy one is one of your ex’s slaves. How many did you end up with?”
“Two. Kahlua was the second—whom I didn’t agree to—and one of the reasons I left.”
“Ah, I see. Polyamory works for some people, but I’m glad Sam isn’t interested.”
“What would you do?”
“I’m not sure.” Linda pursed her lips. “Discuss it. But it would change things. How I see him. The trust. I can intellectually think that loving another doesn’t diminish what we have, but my emotions don’t agree.”
The relief of Linda’s understanding and sympathy was so profound, Valerie couldn’t keep walking. “That’s how I felt. Barry said I was selfish and insecure.”
“Maybe. Or is he selfish and insecure, instead?”
The question was a startling light in the darkness. Valerie stumbled. “Why didn’t I ask myself that?”
Linda frowned. “Have you talked with anyone like a counselor?”
The idea made her laugh. “BDSM and counselors don’t belong in the same zip code.”
“Not for most counselors, true. There are kink friendly ones. Ask Gabi for recommendations.”
“Gabi?”
“I saw her…” Linda scanned the area, then motioned toward a St. Andrew’s cross where a tall Dom in a suit was restraining a woman with strawberry blonde hair. Streaks of blue and green showed in her bangs when she turned her head. From her expression, she was sassing the Dom.
“That’s Gabi.”
Valerie grinned. “Her attitude doesn’t seem like a healthy choice for a submissive.”
“It certainly wouldn’t work for me—not with Master Sam. Gabi’s different. Her over-controlling parents never let her speak her mind. Master Marcus encourages her, partly to break the programming they did, and partly because they both enjoy the consequences of her sassing him. Funishments.”
“Oh. Hmm.” Being punished for fun? Interesting.
“If he’s walloping her, they’re having fun. She says if she does something that really bothers him, his disappointed expression is far more painful than anything physical he could do.” Linda slowed as she neared three barefoot women in a conversational area.
“Linda, you made it.” The first jumped up, and then all three were hugging Linda. “It’s been too long.”
“Sam got overloaded with the harvest—orange season, you know?—and he wouldn’t let me come to the club without him.” Linda pointed to two of them. “He thinks you two would lead me into trouble.”
The three were laughing as they took their chairs again.
“I hear none of us have been here for over a month,” the one with her hair in pigtails said. “Vance and Galen were really unhappy when they realized that.”
“Sam, too.” Linda motioned to Valerie. “I want you to welcome Valerie. She was at the BDSM Sampler event, and this is her first night here. Hopefully, not her last.”
With the chorus of welcomes, Linda added, “I wanted her to see how nice we are, but would you believe one of her ex-husband’s slaves is here and was incredibly insulting to her?”
The one with colorful hair and gorgeous tats over her pale breasts and shoulders gave Valerie a sympathetic smile. “That sucks.”
The slender woman with a sweet expression confirmed. “Submissives should support each other, not tear each other down.”
Wearing a boarding-school uniform, the woman with her hair in pigtails pointed to the couch. “Join us, guys. The floor is hard on bare feet.”
Linda pulled Valerie down on the couch beside her. “Adding injury to insult, the witch rhymed her putdowns.”
“How nasty.” The woman with tats frowned. “A rhyme would stick in your head even worse than a normal dissing.”
“It did. It does,” Valerie said ruefully.
“I’m Rainie.” She patted her rotund belly and winked. “I’ve heard my share of rude comments.”
“People can be mean,” the brown-eyed submissive with light brown skin agreed. “Being different is like putting a target on your back. I’m Natalia.”
The brunette in the school uniform rolled her eyes. “Want me to go over and slap some sense into the slave? Oh, I’m Sally.”
Spirits lifting, Valerie laughed. “No need for violence; it’s nothing new. I was simply shocked to see her here. Actually, I don’t know how my ex afforded the membership fees with me gone.”
Sally’s eyes brightened. “His budget tightened when you left?”
“Definitely.” Valerie snorted. “Neither of his slaves work fulltime. Truthfully, I resented supporting two people I didn’t even like. It was…well, destroying my mental health.”
“Oh, sister, supporting a husband’s slaves? That would burn my butt,” Rainie said.
Natalia nodded, brown eyes filled with sympathy. “Especially if you don’t like them.”
The warmth of having her outrage understood ran through Valerie. As her eyes stung, she pulled in a breath. “Thank you, all of you. I couldn�
��t exactly talk about this with people. Not—”
“Not with vanilla friends.” Linda patted Valerie’s leg. “I had the same problem before I joined. It’s one of the reasons I love this place.”
“Exactly.” Rainie pointed to Valerie. “You have to join us for a subbie evening out. We have them now and then, basically to whine about our Doms.”
“Or whine we don’t have one,” Natalia said under her breath, her gaze downcast.
Sally bumped her shoulder against Natalia’s. “You’ll get another one. A better one. Promise.”
Chapter Five
After chatting a while, Linda needed to return to Sam.
“I’ll escort you back to him so you don’t get in trouble,” Valerie grinned, “since he might not dispense a fun kind of punishment.”
“You’re a true friend.”
At the bar, they got paper from Cullen, exchanged phone numbers, and agreed to get together sometime, then Valerie continued her tour.
Alone.
Eventually, she might grow accustomed to being on her own in a place like this. Sometimes, right after her divorce, she’d look around for Barry, feeling as if she’d forgotten something—much like when she didn’t have a purse.
She laughed under her breath. Much like her purse, a husband was a weight she could do without.
After watching a stunning scene where the Top used a variety of knives without ever drawing blood, she headed for the restroom. A familiar-looking man caught her eye.
Tall and handsome with thinning, sandy-blond hair. Big-boned—and with a gut. Scott Hicks?
The patchy beard—which she’d figured he’d grown to hide the lack of a chin—confirmed his identity. Yes, it was Scott. Barry was good buddies with the realtor, although she never understood why. The guy was a creep. However, it explained why Barry was here. Scott had boasted about being into BDSM and been disappointed when Barry hadn’t wanted to join an expensive club.
Shaking her head, she opened the door to the restroom. Nice.
Spacious. Opulent. In cream and gold colors, the floor and counters were marble. Sinks were on the near wall, showers and toilets on the far wall. To the right, a second exit door probably led to the reception area. On the left, a dividing wall sectioned off a dressing area with built-in lockers and a cushioned bench.
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