by Aya DeAniege
“That choker dress suits you,” Mr. Wrightworth said.
“The red was chosen for a reason,” I snarled, snatching my wrist from his hand.
“Oh?” Mr. Wrightworth asked, turning his attention to Nathaniel. “You didn't say colours would be in effect.”
“Only for her,” Nathaniel said.
Mr. Wrightworth made a sound at the back of his throat and turned to me. “I apologize, Isabella, I was unaware that your dress choice was a statement, at least not that sort of statement. I do hope you can forgive me.”
I made an annoyed sound in response and left the room.
Down in entrance hall, I came to a stop at the small table that had been set up. On the table were collars with all the names of the guests, as well as a few unnamed collars for those whom Nathaniel hadn't invited, but would decide to show up anyhow.
There were always people who just showed up. It wasn't considered a successful party unless uninvited guests did drop in.
No one would be allowed to attend unless they wore a collar. Those in the community had been given invites, though they were also warned about the dress code. I worried that Doms would be insulted at having to wear a collar, a few were, they threw fits and left. That was fine, and it was expected to happen.
Even some vanillas started a shouting match with the women manning the table, not realizing that Nathaniel had hired Oberon's ladies to work the party.
They loved it, but until a collar was on a guest, the Dommes had to treat them with the respect due to a rich person. Which really only meant that the Domme could not beat a stupid person until the stupid person learned his or her place. As I watched guests be checked in, a familiar—and unexpected—face showed up.
“Father Ezekiel?” I squeaked out.
Ezekiel wasn't what I called him then, it was the vanilla name I had been told to call him. His actual name is no one's business but his and whomever he tells.
He was, however, jokingly referred to as 'Father' within the community. It reached the point that the vanillas who visited the community unawares thought that we were Catholic because we had a Father. Ezekiel did train to be either a Father or a Pastor, but he never completed that training.
“Isabella Martin," he said, smiling as his eyes went down the dress once, then straight to my eyes. "I thought I'd come visit you in your home for a change. Nathaniel mentioned the party. I thought it'd be a perfect time."
“But, Father, this is a—it's a—"
It wasn't hard to struggle with what had to be said. Ezekiel was a figurehead in the community. He was our gatekeeper, our leader, and speaker. Having him attend the party made the whole venture seem foolish.
“A party to explore the nature of those kinks which are referred to as BDSM, and the community within,” Ezekiel said calmly. “Yes, I know. I was also told that if I dared attend, there was a chance that I might be called 'Daddy' instead of 'Father' a notion that I must say, I'm not certain how I feel about. However, I believe in taking a... one-on-one approach to getting to know my flock.”
One of the women manning the table laughed and plucked up a collar.
“Father or not, you still have to wear the collar,” I said as the Domme held the blank collar out to Ezekiel.
The man's eyes narrowed to pinpricks as he looked at the collar. There was something very dangerous about him when he looked past the collar, to the young Domme who held it. Her smile faltered. An older Domme reached over her shoulder and snatched the collar from the younger one.
“Don't be stupid,” the older one said, snapping out a permanent marker.
Which was how most of the collars had been labelled, besides a few rich folk whom Nathaniel thought might not enjoy the lifestyle. For them, he had had small tags engraved and attached to their collars, something for them to take home with them at the end of the night.
The older Domme held the collar back out to Ezekiel, who took it, read what was written on it, then laughed. The man placed the collar around his neck.
'Daddy' it read.
Ezekiel strolled away, very pleased with himself.
The older Domme waited until he was away before she cuffed the young one upside the head.
“Don't bait the predators, you tit.”
“He's a Daddy, not a predator,” the younger protested.
“Don't mess with Ezekiel,” I snapped, this time using his community name. “Or so help me, I'll beat you.”
“Madame, why don't you head towards the ballroom?” the older Domme asked. “I'll head in, in a few moments. Once the last flood of fashionably late people arrive.”
“Good, don't forget your crops,” I said.
The older Domme laughed. “As if I'd have to worry about there not being a crop at an even Nathaniel is hosting.”
What's that supposed to mean?
I headed towards the grand ballroom, with all the elegance and sparing no expense for decor. There were flowers, food, three different bars at various places in the room. There was ven a pianist sitting at the grand piano in the one corner. Soft, elegant music drifted across the floor. The lights had been lowered to near twilight. Nothing bright or glaring about the room.
It seemed very romantic to me, to be in that twilight. Some vanillas were collected in the more lighted areas at the corners of the room. Those from the community were spread throughout the room at various stages of lighting, but the purely vanilla stayed in the light. As if they were afraid the shadows might bite them.
There were some members of the community who were mingling with the vanillas, with none of the prey aware of what was going on. A few were looking around. They seemed to be trying to spot those who were more at ease. I spotted one or two who were frowning at a couple of people from the community who had already begun to playfully tease one another with the paraphernalia that Nathaniel had provided.
Like vampires, that's what my mother had said.
I turned towards the doors as Nathaniel walked in with Mr. Wrightworth on his right.
The maker of my Sir.
That made so much more sense. Like most, I had read stories about vampires. I had gotten into—for a short while—the classical novels from just before the end which detailed the complicated relationship between maker and progeny.
Mr. Wrightworth didn't wear a collar, though he was wearing a blue tie with a trinity knot, instead of a purple one. Nathaniel wore a red tie with black lace that almost matched my dress.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Nathaniel said, raising his voice above the din.
His guests drew to a standstill as Mr. Wrightworth drifted away. I moved to Nathaniel's side, slipping my hand through his arm when he offered it. He patted my hand gently.
“As many of you no doubt know, the public has been talking a great deal about my sex life," Nathaniel said with a grin. "I'd just like to announce that they are partially correct. I am a Dominant. Isabella is my submissive. I suppose that would make this my coming out party, but let's not kid ourselves. We all have our kinks.
“So please, eat my food, drink my alcohol, enjoy my music. Talk amongst yourselves and explore.”
I heard something behind me and turned my head as several Dommes walked in. They were dressed as one might expect a Domme to dress, in black leather, a few in corsets, one in a black Gothic dress that went down to the floor and covered all but a bit of her chest and neck.
“These are Dommes from the capital. While they have been hired this evening for services do not mistake them for servants. As we say in the community, dear people. Do not poke the sadists."
In the silence that followed, I heard a small choking sound. I glanced towards Mr. Wrightworth, who had a drink in his hand and a napkin over his lips as Ezekiel grinned at him. Obviously, the Daddy had asked Mr. Wrightwroth something. Perhaps about the sudden change in tie colour?
Or asking if there was a sadist amongst the Dommes?
Nathaniel took me through the crowd, introducing me to several rich folks as we went. I was
polite and reserved. I made no comment unless someone asked a question, then I looked to Nathaniel to see if I could speak.
It wasn't that he and I had gone over that etiquette beforehand. While Mr. Wrightworth had taught me about what rich folk expected of poor folk, as well as how to win over specific types of rich people, that also wasn't why I behaved the way I did.
I behaved, and I looked to Nathaniel for guidance as to when I could speak because I keenly remembered the last time I hadn't spoken when I should have. As much as I had a rising urge to play, while I was starting to feel like I needed to be struck, I didn't want to get that by incurring discipline.
A man reached out to touch me at one point.
“No,” I said, causing him to hesitate because of the tone of my voice.
“Red, in the community, means no," Nathaniel said, motioning to my dress, then adjusting his tie. "If I have another party, I will provide coloured collars. But red always means no. The only one who can touch Miss. Martin is me."
“And Mr. Wrightworth," I whispered.
“And, of course, Mr. Wrightworth. He is here, after all, to make certain you are safe,” Nathaniel said.
“It was either him or Susanne, and Mr. Wrightworth is more comfortable around strangers," I said quickly.
She was there, the whole time. She accompanied Mr. Wrightworth and me to the trial once a week. I had to have meetings with her as well. She replaced Mr. Wrightworth, basically, except most of her duties revolved around auditing the video of Nathaniel's estate.
“Drinks?” Ezekiel asked, pushing between the rich man and myself.
A drink was pushed into my hand as the Daddy turned towards the rich man and smiled kindly. He proceeded to introduce himself and hold out his hand to shake like a common poor person. The rich man shook his hand, frowning at the collar, then at Ezekiel's face.
“Aren't you that man from the church?” the other man asked.
“Yes, I am, as I said, Father Ezekiel.”
“Your collar says 'Daddy,'" the rich man said arrogantly.
“I've meant to ask about that," Ezekiel said, turning to Nathaniel. "Don't Daddies play with littles, who are people who act like children? Wouldn't that make Daddy's pedophiles waiting to happen?"
“No," I shouted.
Nathaniel chuckled, but cast me a sidelong look, meaning to quiet me.
“Daddies do tend to play with those who identify as littles, but littles vary as vastly as any other does. Most Daddies identify as a Dom who takes on a caring role for their sub. So, giving you that title was not meant as an insult, or even to insinuate that you touch little boys.”
“Why would I touch little boys?” Ezekiel asked with a frown.
“It's something Fathers were once known for,” Nathaniel said. “A very bad stereotype that was applied to them due to the actions of a few.
“Anyhow, the Dommes thought it would be amusing to give you the title of Daddy because you care for a flock, which is what a Daddy does. You take a hands-on approach with your followers, they care for you and see you as their protector. That, in the community, would make you a Daddy."
“So Daddies don't play with women who talk like little girls and wear pigtails?” the rich man's date asked.
“Sometimes," Nathaniel said. "Littles vary, as I said. Some are very extreme. They, I must admit, do make me uncomfortable. It's hard to align that. I can understand the scat kinks, yet I still struggle with age play of any sort. There are some, however, who—well, it's hard to explain."
“Still sleep with a stuffed animal when they're sad, or want someone to read them a bedtime story," I said, trying to recall what some littles had said to me in the past. "It makes them feel safe because it reminds them of when they felt safe."
“Why do you sound so sad about that?” Ezekiel asked.
“Not now, Father,” Nathaniel said quickly.
Ezekiel shifted ever so slightly towards me. He reached out and tapped the side of my glass near my hand. Not breaking the no-touch rule, but still showing support. His hand drifted away, sliding into his pocket as he glanced awkwardly at Nathaniel as if gauging the other man's reaction.
I was not seducing yet another Dom, calm down.
The rich man blustered an excuse and left. Ezekiel turned his full attention to Nathaniel and stepped closer.
“Now, sadist.”
“If she doesn't want to talk about it—”
“My father called me a whore,” I said.
It didn't take much thought to figure out what Ezekiel was catching a glimpse of in my behaviour. Nathaniel and Mr. Wrightworth were able to spot a person's strengths and weaknesses. Some others knew what lines they could toe. Ezekiel had always been a great deal keener than anyone else at picking up on when someone was feeling hurt.
I had watched him pull members of the community aside and have private conversations with them. He watched out for all of us, cared for all of us, but he was also very much the focal point. There wasn't a Dom in the community who wouldn't back Ezekiel if someone else started a fight. There was hardly a sub who would say no to him if he offered to play.
Near as I could tell, he was also the oldest in the community. Most were late-twenties at that time, Ezekiel was in his early forties.
“Ah, that conversation,” Ezekiel said. “Was it because you told him, or because of what was on the news recently?”
“The news,” I said.
“Mmhmm,” Ezekiel all but grunted, he looked around, then focused on Nathaniel. “Have you considered finding her a surrogate family? Subs need support of all sorts. Preferably father, mother, siblings at the least.”
“Her mother is still willing to speak to her,” Nathaniel said, his voice changing tone. I looked up as he pressed a hand against his stomach. “I'm not sure discouraging her would be a good idea.”
“Did she threaten you?” Ezekiel asked.
Nathaniel hesitated. Surprise flooded me. Then a fearful cold washed over me as I realized that my mother had threatened him. The woman barely came to his chest. She got slower in her old age, but for some damned reason, she scared every male who ever crossed her.
“Really?” Ezekiel asked.
Nathaniel shifted away from Ezekiel slightly. “She made her stance quite clear. If I hurt her daughter, I will be found floating in a river someplace. She's the sons to do it too. But to prove her point, she had me on my knees.”
I giggled, I couldn't help it.
“He must be joking,” I said to Ezekiel.
“How many brothers do you have?” Ezekiel asked.
“Four, why?”
The man nodded gravely. "My mother had nothing but sons. She learned pretty quickly how to bring us to her beck and call despite the fact that we were all bigger than she was. Interesting. And she knows about your relationship? Yes? All right, next time she visits, bring her to church. I'd like to speak to her about a few things."
“About what?” I asked.
“Don't you worry,” Ezekiel murmured. “Why don't you have a sip of that drink I gave you, relax a little, then go out and play the bitchy Domme. This one appreciates brats, you know.”
“I'm not permitted to bite people,” I said.
“I'd wager he meant literal biting,” Ezekiel said. “The Dommes are beginning to gather over there, why don't you go over and learn a bit about being a Domme?”
“Why does everyone insist I might be a Domme?” I asked.
What I was going through with Nathaniel for exploration, I believed, was between him and I. Ezekiel, being the figurehead of our community, had to know so that he could help guide me through the process of exploration. It never occurred to me that he had a right to know, however.
“I don't believe you are a Domme, I think you are a switch," Ezekiel said. "The difference being that you can swap back and forth whenever it pleases you. You have nothing to dominate at the moment. I think you could use the control over a willing subject. They beat men for a living. They know how to make
men squeal. They probably even know how to bring a sadist to his knees, given how Mr. Wrightworth has been giving them a wide berth.
“So I want you to go over there. I want you to introduce yourself, and I want you to fucking learn how to be a damned Domme, and I don't want any more goddamn questions about it.”
“Fathers aren't supposed to swear that much,” I said sternly.
“And that is the Domme.”
“Maybe I'm just a brat,” I snapped.
“Brats poke, they don't have that fire in their voice. Go learn,” Ezekiel said, jabbing a finger towards the Dommes.
“Stupid Doms being pushy,” I growled, sipping my drink before I marched towards the Dommes, determined to prove Ezekiel wrong even as I obeyed.
Chapter Twelve
I walked up to the Dommes and came to a full stop, completely uncertain what I was doing. I had a drink in my hand, for crying out loud. They stared at me like one might an alien, then their attention turned to the drink.
I didn't know it at the time, but Oberon had one very firm rule.
No one, under any condition, was allowed to play if they had been drinking. One cannot give consent, let alone revoke consent, if one has been drinking.
“What do you want?” one of them demanded.
“Ezekiel sent me,” I said, using his community name.
“Set the drink down,” one of the older ones said, motioning to a nearby table.
I moved immediately to comply. As I did, the older one plucked up a crop and smacked a younger with it.
Female Doms are not like males. Males come and go and swing back and forth. The women act like a pack, with the older ones—who were more experienced—beating the younger ones into submission. By the time a Domme is ready to take on a sub, she has experienced everything she would do to her sub because the other Dommes can and will fuck a body who wants to dominate a male.
