by Maren Smith
"Permission to explain, Master Eric?" Marco asked, his face beet red, his fists clenched with anger.
"One of you had better."
"We broke up recently. Lyla called and asked me to come tonight to talk. When I arrived, she was already in a scene with Master Richard. She set this whole scene up to make me jealous." Turning to glare at Lyla, he asked, "Didn't you?"
"Yes." Lyla's voice broke with her admission. "I didn't know what to do when you left. I was devastated." Her eyes swept from Marco to Richard who stood beside him, glowering at the lying woman. "I'm sorry, Richard. I had no idea he would hit you."
Looking at Eric, she met his gaze. "I am the only one at fault here, Master Eric. Please don't blame Marco or Master Richard for my phenomenal lapse in judgment. All I can say is that I have not been in a good place for days."
"You are suspended, Lyla, indefinitely. Continued membership will be decided by the board when we meet next week. Go now. I will inform you of the decision." Turning to the sub whose only crime was being hotheaded, he issued a warning. "Marco, I suggest you call it a night as well. Your role in this will be discussed. Although I recognize you are blameless in Lyla's scheme, you still hit another member."
"I'm sorry, Master Eric. Of course, I will abide by the board's decision."
Eric waited until Marco escorted Lyla from the room before addressing the still irate and bleeding Dom.
"We have a first-aid kit at the bar, Richard. If you haven't already had your two-drink limit, they are on the house. I noticed Judith was in the lounge tonight. She's a nurse by day if I'm not mistaken and could take a look at that lip for you."
Richard brightened upon hearing that the submissive he'd been attempting to seduce for the past few weeks could be found at the bar. It took just a moment for him to gather his equipment and head that way. With the combatants no longer fodder for gossip and gawking, the members went back to their play.
Valerie, as if reading his mind, said, "It seems those two are in love, but very confused in their roles, don't you think? Marco hardly seemed submissive to me, and the way he led her out of here, I imagine a spanking will be his next order of business—giving, not receiving."
"Let's find a place to talk." A stickler for club etiquette, Eric signaled to a nearby attendant to wipe down the station the overdramatic trio had heedlessly abandoned. He then led Val to one of the many booths that lined the huge horseshoe-shaped room. He motioned her inside the plush u-shaped booth and pulled the privacy screen behind them. "Okay, tell me what that was all about."
"Well," she replied hesitantly with a surprised tone. "They are obviously having some major discord in their relationship—"
"No, not between Lyla and Marco. Explain how you knew so much about them."
"Oh, that." She looked down and tugged at her short skirt. His eyes followed, noting the nervous habit. He also noticed that her skirt had ridden up quite high on her thighs. His admiring gaze scanned her curvy hips and soft thighs as he waited for an answer. "I suppose I'm just observant."
"Try again. Exactly what do you do for a living?" Her flush told him he'd made a direct hit. He'd developed a few skills of his own as a leader of men, and a leader in business. Not to mention he was the Master Dom here. It behooved him to be observant and know what was going on in his club. That he'd missed the issue with Lyla and Marco bothered him. Was he overextended between Rossi and Decadence?
He watched her squirm. Leaning in, he commanded in a firm but even voice, "Stop fidgeting and answer the question. I don't like to repeat myself, Valerie. If you were my sub and stalled the way you have, you'd be ass up and feeling the flat of my hand. Just because we have a platonic agreement for tonight doesn't mean I won't spank you for disrespect or disobedience, so spill."
"I'm a therapist."
He waited for more, but none was forthcoming. "That was rather succinct. I'm assuming not the rehabilitative type, but more like a psychotherapist."
"Yes, I have a private practice in Long Beach. I do couples therapy and have witnessed many scenes like that, without the flogger and leather of course. That was a first." She ended with a little giggle, and he couldn't help but smile. The lilt of her voice and the curve of her lips made her all the more beautiful.
"Why would you hide the fact you are a psychologist?"
"Actually, I'm a clinical social worker. There are reasons why I don't tell everyone I'm at therapist. The big one is that they tend to get paranoid around me when they find out, as if I'm psychoanalyzing them or something. Every time I told a spanker that I was a social worker, they looked at me panicked, like I was going to take away their children." She must have read the surprise on his face because she explained, "I did my master's thesis on spanking."
"Really," he said with a wide grin. "I bet your professors loved that."
"I did get an A."
"Naturally, but spanking is a broad topic. What was it on, specifically?"
"Do I have to say?" The becoming flush had reappeared.
"No you don't have to, but I am curious. Is it that embarrassing?"
Val looked at him for a moment and then nodded as if concluding he was trustworthy. "It was titled 'Human Sexuality: Adult Spankophilia.'"
Impossibly, his grin widened further. "I'd love to read it someday. How did you conduct your research? Was it hands-on?"
She ignored his obvious amusement. "No, it was done through questionnaires, direct interviews and a few observations."
"They let you watch?"
"A few of the participants were very cooperative."
"So were they lifestyle couples, every day folks, or just kinky players? Did you watch anything other than spanking?"
"No, it was a mix of couples and those who were spanked wore clothes. Can we change the subject, please? This is rather embarrassing."
"Why? Are you afraid someone might find out about your interest in spanking? Look around you, Valerie." Leaning back, he grinned. This was fascinating and it was making her blush prettily while she squirmed in her seat. "Tell me some of your findings."
"There was so much data, but it seems that spanking is a common fantasy for men and women. A little under 50 percent of men and 40 percent of women said they had either spanked or been spanked."
"Anything else?"
"You'll find this amusing: Although BDSM was not the topic of the study, I threw in a few questions to identify my demographic and cover all my bases. Only 2 percent of the survey respondents admitted to being involved in BDSM, but 80 percent engaged in some sort of spanking or power exchange role-play on a regular basis. So, it seems more people are doing it than care to admit."
"Of course, people don't like to be labeled. What did you learn from the couples?"
"Eighty percent of the males were the spankers. Spankings ranged from a few playful swats during sex to full sessions with paddles and straps. Fortunately, almost 100 percent of the respondents reported they were happy and in stable relationships."
Eric nodded, unsurprised. "Your recall of the data is remarkable. It's been several years, hasn't it?"
"Well… I, uh, reviewed the stats recently."
That made him chuckle. "In preparation for your visit, I imagine."
"Yes. It eased my anxiety a bit."
"Tell me about yourself. You're what, 37, 38? Obviously, you had an interest in spanking before now. Why are you only now testing the BDSM waters?"
"First, I must thank you for the compliment. I'm actually 40. I was married to my high school sweetheart, managed to finish my degree while raising two kids and working full time. I didn't have much time for anything else besides family and work until recently when my youngest went away to college."
"You didn't have time for sex? What a shame."
She frowned at him, not appreciating his wit.
"And your husband?"
"He died a few years ago from cancer."
"That's rough. So you and your husband weren't practitioners?"
"No," s
he admitted softly. "Kent was a good provider, but he was sort of—passive. I think you'd also call him 'vanilla.'" She looked down and began to fuss with her skirt hem again. He doubted she realized she was doing it habitually.
"What did you come here to accomplish?"
"You probably don't want to hear this, but you and Master T are a lot alike. You're both very perceptive and ask a lot of questions… Sir."
His mouth quirked. She'd barely remembered to tack the 'Sir' on at the end so it didn't come across as quite so disrespectful.
"You are avoiding the question, little one. You are submissive and your marriage was unfulfilling because your man didn't satisfy a crucial need inside you. Tell me about your fantasies. Do you dream of being taken over a man's knee and spanked?"
"Yes." This time her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the noise in The Club.
"You crave a strong man who will give you what you need, to take the lead and be in control when you need him to. The thought of giving up control excites you, doesn't it?"
Val sat nervously, head bowed, hands fidgeting in her lap. As close as they were, he could hear her rapid breathing and see the fluttering pulse in her neck. "Look at me."
She hesitated and he waited. When she didn't move, he reached out and captured her busy hands in his own. "I don't like talking to the top of your head, Valerie," he stated sternly. "Look at me, please."
She obeyed, and he saw her eyes were shiny with tears.
"Do you think anyone here hasn't struggled with what you're going through? Do you think they've never wondered why they need to be spanked, controlled, bound or flogged? They've all wondered why the sound of the whip, a groan of erotic pain and the smell of leather makes their heart beat faster, their mouth parch with anxiety, or their bodies respond faster and hotter than ever before. Do you think no other submissive has been where you are?" Lifting a hand to her cheek, he gently wiped away a tear with the pad of his thumb. "My philosophy is that we are what we are. If society finds it wrong, or dirty or sinful, that is their problem. As long as it's between consenting adults and no one gets harmed, I say screw what society thinks."
She sighed heavily, her lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile. "I like you, Master Eric. You are a very kind and wise man."
He laughed, pulling her in for a hug. "I'll accept the wise part, but if word gets out that the Master Dom has turned kind, all hell will break loose."
"You have to maintain a persona of being hard and severe to keep order here?"
"That's putting it mildly. I have to rule with an iron fist. It's a jungle out there, baby, and the natives often get restless." He shuddered and earned a little giggle as reward. "Now that we've gotten to know each other, we can get on with that tour you were promised. We have an event planned at midnight and I want you safely on your way home by then."
"Can't I stay?"
"You don't even know what you're asking, but the answer is no. No new subs allowed."
"But—"
"With that iron fist comes an iron palm. Don't push it."
"Yes, Sir."
"When you're in my dungeon, it's Master Eric, little one."
"Yes, Master Eric."
"Good girl. Let's go."
* * * * *
During Marco and Lyla's little drama, Valerie had been distracted and caught only brief glimpses of the playroom. When Master Eric pulled the curtain and helped her from the booth, her eyes widened.
From their vantage point, she could see just about everything. The room was huge—no, that adjective didn't do it justice—it was mammoth, the size of a warehouse. Elevated booths lined the walls and they were all taken, filled with people in various stages of undress. The women's club wear was eclectic, ranging from revealing formal gowns to risqué ensembles to practically nude. Everywhere she looked, there was skin and leather. The men were dressed mostly in black; in fact, the predominant color of clothing for everyone was black. Some men wore business suits, or dress shirts and trousers, like Master Eric. Others wore leather pants with loose-fitting shirts or tees, or they simply went bare. Others wore vests, their bare chests and arms revealing tattoos of all kinds. A few men, obviously submissive, wore nothing but black leather harnesses.
With her leash still clipped to his belt, Eric took her hand and began her tour. The Club's main room was unique, laid out like no other nightclub she'd ever seen, although that wasn't saying much. The play area was set up in four concentric circles, like a dartboard, each ring delineated by different flooring and lighting. The center ring stood out easily, being an elevated, revolving platform. Eric explained it was used primarily for demonstrations or special event nights, the show easily viewed from any point on the main floor. The next ring contained dozens of roped-off partitions, containing a variety of bondage equipment. The next circle was a wide walkway where voyeurs or casual observers could stroll from scene to scene, observing the various and sundry forms of kink carried out on a nightly basis. The outer ring contained the plush booths, roomy enough for a small group to gather to relax or for intimate play when the privacy screen was pulled.
At the far end of the room was an area nicknamed "the wailing wall." According to Eric, this play space housed the heavier pieces of equipment that needed wall mounting for safety and support. He explained that the eight larger partitioned sections allowed plenty of room for a Dom to wield an implement like a single tail or carriage whip. The word whip both shocked and intrigued her, but they never got close enough for her to see anything because Master Eric kept steering her away. That piqued her curiosity even more.
At fifteen minutes before twelve, a flurry of activity began around the main stage. A palpable wave of excitement swept through the crowd and Val heard the word carousel whispered excitedly. She hadn't realized it, but Eric had guided her back to the main entrance. Evidently, her tour was at an end. Glancing at the staircase on the far end, she wondered what was on the second floor. Before she could ask, she was jostled by a passing couple. They apologized and hurried away, chattering eagerly about the carousel.
"What's the carousel that everyone is talking about, Master Eric? They seem to be very enthusiastic about it, whatever it is."
"That, my little subbie, is too advanced for a novice like you." Guiding her through the doors, he collected her shoes and brought her to a table in a quiet corner of the lounge. "Okay Cinderella, let's make sure you leave here with both glass slippers."
She smiled at his bowed head as he valiantly dropped to one knee and slipped on her shoes. Iron fist, my big toe, she thought to herself.
When he was done, he looked up at her with an answering grin. "So, my curious little cat, did you enjoy your foray into the forbidden world of BDSM?"
"I did, Sir. Although I have a feeling there was a lot you didn't want me to see."
"I can't show you all of my tricks right off the bat, can I?" His teasing smile warmed her insides and she felt sad when he rose, knowing their night had ended.
Standing close beside him, she had to arch her head backward to meet his eyes. "Thank you for babysitting me tonight, Master Eric."
"It was my pleasure, Valerie." His hand came up to brush the hair from her cheek. When it slid to her nape and speared through her hair, she melted a little. His head lowered next and he captured —that's the only word that fit, captured— her lips. It wasn't the soft, brush of a first kiss. It was an intense possession, like a hot invasion with his tongue leading the charge. He stole her breath with his passion and she clutched his shirt in back, hanging on for dear life. Her mind whirled, her body a torrent of sensations as he pulled her in and claimed her.
When he lifted his head, she whimpered in disappointment.
"I don't want it to end either, but I have to work." Brushing his lips across her forehead, he turned her disappointment around with his next words. "I'd like to see you again."
"I'd like that, too."
"I know this is soon, but what you've seen tonight, is it something yo
u want to explore further or have you satisfied your curiosity?"
"I'd like to explore more with you, Sir."
"That certainly can be arranged. You are very green, my sweet, so I'd like you to join a beginner's class. We have one starting next week. Is that too soon to clear your schedule?"
"I'm self-employed and make my own schedule. When do they start?"
He grabbed her hand and pulled her along to the bar where he picked up a clipboard and shuffled through some papers. Samson came up then, his grin friendly. Was this the same man that a few hours ago had been ready to put her in a cage?
"Survived the dungeon, did you, newbie?"
"Yes, Sir, but I more than survived. I passed the first test and am enrolling in a class."
"Beginners 101? My wife and our sub are teaching that one."
She'd heard plenty of bizarre things in the past two hours, but for some reason that staggered her the most. Samson gave a bark of laughter at her reaction. Master Eric simply reached over and with a fingertip to her chin, closed her mouth.
"Here are the class rules and instructions. I'll put your name in so they save a slot. Now, I have to get you out of here so I can get to work. I'm late." Grabbing her hand again, he pulled her along behind him, this time to the front doors.
Chapter Three
With her nerves a jumble of eagerness and apprehension, she drove at a snail's pace by the front entrance. The Club looked a lot less intimidating this time around. The instructions directed her to park in the upper level of the adjoining garage. There were only about twenty other cars, most luxury models or expensive SUVs, making her Toyota Highlander seem out of place. She wondered, all over again, what a middle-aged, middle-class, professional woman was doing here at all.
Another car pulled into the lot, followed closely by two more. Checking her watch, she saw that her time was up. It was ten minutes before class and she needed to get going. She imagined the instructors would think nothing of demonstrating spanking techniques on the backside of a tardy student.
