Gerald looked her up and down, and a faint smile crossed his lips. “Well. Angela. Pleased to meet you.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, taking her cue from Genna.
“Angela is quite new, and she has some strong limits,” said Genna.
“Really?” said Gerald, who looked amused. “Not sure why you’re bringing her by me, then.”
Genna’s eyes glittered. “I have my reasons. But above all, Angela isn’t here for sex, and a lot of people around here think that BDSM is just kinky foreplay. You’re one of the ones who knows better, Sir.”
“Yeah.”
“She needs someone experienced, Sir.”
“Good point.”
Angela listened to the conversation, her eyes opening wide. Genna’s appeal to the man’s ego was so obvious. And so effective. Each time she flattered him and said the word “Sir,” Gerald warmed to her chain of thought a little more. Gerald wasn’t her fantasy man, but then she couldn’t expect a fantasy man to exist in real life. Although Kent had come awful close, and I ran away from him.
Gerald turned to her. “We’ll take it easy, at first, and try the St. Andrew’s Cross and some light flogging. We’ll see if you’re really cut out to be a submissive.”
Things were moving out of her control. But that was kind of what she wanted, wasn’t it? Light flogging didn’t sound too bad. Emphasis hopefully on the word “light.” Those floggers looked sexy as hell, but Angela wasn’t at all sure that she’d like the way they felt. Still, through a couple layers of clothing, presumably the lighter ones wouldn’t sting too much. It sure would have been nice if he asked if she was interested, though. She bit back the thought. She was here to learn about BDSM and to learn about herself, and the best way to do that was to go with the flow, as long as the current didn’t threaten to drown her. “Yes, Sir,” she said.
“You wait here. I’ll go put us in the queue. When I get back, I expect to find you kneeling properly.” He walked off, heading toward the X-frame near the door. Apparently “St. Andrew’s cross” was another name for them.
“How do I kneel ‘properly’?” Angela asked Genna frantically.
Genna smiled. “That’s a bit over the top, asking you to kneel when you barely know him. And ‘properly’ varies from master to master. Kneel with your knees parted, your back straight. Put your hands either behind your back, or open, palms up, on your knees, and either look up at him, or avert your gaze. My guess is that Gerald’s the avert–your-gaze type.”
Angela knelt as directed, trying her palms face up, as it made her feel a little less vulnerable. The skirt wasn’t decent with her knees spread out like that, but she was close enough to the ground she suspected no one could quite see her panties if they weren’t practically on the floor themselves. “I think my type would want me to look up at them.”
Genna grinned. “I suspect you’re right,” she said.
“Then why…?” Why had she brought her to Gerald, and why had she manipulated the man into taking her on when he clearly didn’t want to?
“Trust me, love. I’m going to help you get the right man. Some men, the way to their heart is through their stomach; some men it’s through their cock. But yours requires a little more convincing. The thing to remember is, the moment Gerald violates your limits, yell the club safe word loud and clear. You remember what it is?”
Angela nodded. “Albatross.”
“Good.”
“Hopefully I won’t have to use it.”
Genna gave her a cryptic look. “Don’t worry. You’ll be very, very safe.” She nodded over to where Gerald was walking back. “I’ll leave you two alone, but I’ll make sure the dungeon monitors know you’re new, and they’ll be watching out for you.”
For a moment, she was alone in the big crowded room.
“Keep your head down, slave,” said Gerald, when she looked up at him. When had she become a slave? She hated that word, but she did as directed. At least he couldn’t see her grit her teeth that way. “I see she told you to put your hands on your knees. I guess that’s all right.”
“Now what, Sir?”
“Now we wait. Genna said you had some pretty hard limits. What are they?”
“No sex. My clothes stay on.” She took a breath, trying to think. She really should have thought about this more before she left the house. “No bruises, no blood.”
Gerald shrugged. “Some people bruise more easily than others. I can’t make guarantees, but I’ll try my best. You married?”
“Would I be here if I was?”
Gerald laughed. “Lots of married people come here. Some of their spouses know it, and no sex is usually part of the condition for letting them come here and satisfy their taste for pain. Others are getting a little kinky sex on the side, and ‘no marks’ is usually their limit. They don’t want to be caught, after all.”
“Are you married?” Angela half-hoped he was, because that would give her an out. No way was she going to help some guy cheat on his wife.
“No.”
“Well, I’m not either.”
“Anything else?”
“Besides not being married?”
Gerald sighed loudly, and it was all Angela could do to keep looking at the ground and avoid seeing his frown. How had she gotten here, and why had she trusted Genna? Probably because she was as easy to manipulate as Gerald was.
“No,” Gerald told her. “Any other limits.”
“Not that I know of.”
Gerald snorted. “That’s right. You’re new. I’m pretty sure I could name a few other things you won’t do. Well, you’ll learn. We’re just going to have a nice simple session, and you’ll get an idea if you want more or not.”
“That sounds very good, Sir.”
“And our spot is open. You can get to your feet and follow me; I rather doubt you know how to crawl gracefully yet. Carry my bag.”
She never thought she’d be made to feel inadequate for not crawling, but she almost didn’t walk to show him she could too crawl. Gracefully? She had no idea how crawling could have anything to do with grace. Maybe one swung one’s hips a lot. In any case, he was taking off, not watching how she walked or crawled, and if she wanted to keep up she needed to get a move on. She trotted after him.
When she got there, he scowled at her. “You forgot the bag.”
“Oh,” she said, red faced. She turned and hurried back for it. It was a big sports bag kind of thing, and not at all light. There was no way she could have carried it if she’d been crawling. She brought it back and dropped it at his feet. “There.”
“There, Sir,” he corrected. “And eyes down. I’m going to flog you anyway, but now it’s punishment.”
She looked down, reluctant. Punishment. She didn’t really like the sound of that. She wasn’t trying to mess up. What happened to a nice simple session to see if she liked it? Now it sounded as if she wasn’t even supposed to like it.
He wrapped leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles, and then turned her to face the cross. He tugged on her arm, and she had to stand on her toes to reach the position he clipped her cuff in. Then he did the same to the other side, before getting her ankles. She didn’t know how long she could stay on her toes like that, but she was determined to give it her best shot. She’d run from Dark Xanadu the first time, and she’d been regretting it ever since. And the position did vaguely stir something within her, a heady mixture of anxiety and arousal.
He pulled up her skirt and bunched it around her waist. It felt as if he tucked the hem into the waistband, too. In any case, it didn’t fall back down.
“Hey! I said the clothes stay on!” She tried to turn her head to look at him, but since she couldn’t turn her body at all, she could only turn her head halfway and see him out of one eye.
“Look the other way, slave. It is on. You’d never feel it if I flogged you with a light flogger though the skirt.”
“Pull it down,” she said.
“You never said anything
about your clothes being rearranged. If you don’t pipe down and obey, I’ll pull your shirt up too.”
The idea mortified her as she thought of all the people looking. Yes, she’d had fantasies about being exposed, but those fantasies involved someone she loved, not someone who just happened to know more about BDSM than she did. On the other hand, all the people looking meant the dungeon monitors. She remembered what Genna said. “If you don’t pull my skirt back down, now, I’m going to use the club safe word.”
Gerald laughed. “You yell for help for no reason but because I’ve exposed your ass—which is still partly covered by those lacy panties of yours, by the way—and no one here will want to play with you ever again.”
Angela thought about that. She was turning bright red at the thought of what she was displaying to all and sundry, but by the standards of the club she was dressed like a maiden aunt. Maybe they wouldn’t want to play with her ever again, and if she could find someone who could give her the thrill she’d gotten a tiny taste of, being shackled against the cross, who wasn’t such a jerk, well, that would be very nice. But she wasn’t going to back down. “Skirt down. Now.”
Gerald laughed again. “I give the orders, not you. Know your place.”
She shrugged, and regretted it, the motion making muscles in her upper arms strain painfully. Oddly, that little bit of pain made the next part easier, even if it did doom any chance of her fantasies becoming reality. “Albatross!” she yelled.
“Fucking hell,” she heard Gerald saying. He sounded really angry, and she was aware she couldn’t defend herself against him. Genna had told her she’d be safe but surely it would take people some time to react.
“Don’t touch me!” she yelled. “Don’t you fucking dare touch me.”
“It’s all right Angela,” said a voice, calm but with an edge behind it. “Give me that flogger or drop it, Gerald, I don’t care which.” Kent’s voice.
She heard the sound of it dropping on the ground. “I didn’t do anything against her limits,” Gerald said.
“Didn’t say you did. But she called the club safe word, and that’s it for the scene. I’ll get her down. You take a walk, cool down, and look for me when you get done.”
“Bitch.”
“That’s enough Gerald. Walk. Now.”
She heard him stomp away. She felt Kent’s hands at her wrists as he undid the cuffs around her wrists. Her arches thanked him. Wearing heels was bad enough.
“You picked a real winner, didn’t you?” Kent scowled. “Never mind that. I’ve got you now.” He knelt behind her, taking the cuffs off her ankles. She pulled her skirt down, aware that her ass was in his face.
She was free. She wanted to be held, to be told that everything was okay, but then there were a lot of times in life like that, and for two years she’d been getting through them on her own. Gerald’s words rang in her head. No one here will ever want to play with you again. She didn’t even really want to turn to face him, but he took her hand and nudged her shoulder so that she would have to push back against him to avoid turning.
His eyes locked with hers. “Are you all right now?”
She nodded. “I’m okay. I just…I freaked out, I guess.”
“What did he do to you?” Kent’s voice was level, but there was an undercurrent of anger there. Anger at her? She realized with relief that wasn’t the case. He was angry at Gerald. She remembered what he had said the first time she’d set foot in the warehouse, warning off Genna and Brennan. She’s under my protection.
Still, it was embarrassing to explain. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to be exposed like that, and he wouldn’t…I didn’t…I guess I’m being kind of a prude, with all these people naked, and all, but—”
Kent pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay. Everyone here has a right to dress the way they want to. Stark naked. Covered head to toe in leather. Even that guy over there in the polyester suit and tie. This place is about freedom.”
“But I thought it was all about giving up freedom. Slavery.”
Kent smiled. “Only a few of the submissives here would call themselves slaves. For most people, that word has a connotation of something full-time that extends past the bedroom and sex to every corner of their lives. Even that is something that happens of their own free will, because they want it. Submission and freedom seem contradictory to you, don’t they? But at the same time any of a number of people here would tell you that it’s when they submit to another that’s when they feel most free. Here they are free to be who they want to be, without being told that they’re not okay, that they aren’t conforming enough.”
“Oh.”
Chapter Four
Kent let her go. She’d needed comfort; that much had been clear. He doubted she usually started and stopped so much when she was talking. On the other hand, he was there to keep her safe, not to take advantage of her, as tempting as that was. He had a whole host of questions for her. “Let’s get away from the bondage cross and go talk in my office.”
She nodded, seeming to notice the crowd that had gathered around them for the first time. Some of them were simply drawn to the drama, eager to know what they could to better gossip with their friends. That never changed. But others were waiting their turn at the play station.
Kent led her back to an office that adjoined the big public room. She looked up at the sword that hung over the office door, out of reach of all but the tallest men. It seemed like an odd thing to have in a BDSM place; too dangerous to be a toy. There were some Chinese or Japanese characters on the scabbard. She pointed at them. “What do they mean?”
Kent followed her gaze. “The rough translation is ‘To protect what one chooses to protect, so that life is worth living.’” He opened the door, and gestured her in. There was a gray desk in the office, one he’d had for a long time. It was army surplus after World War II, and it had been his father’s desk, made of steel and rubber and a royal pain to move. The thing would probably last longer than he did. He sat on the edge of it, not wanting to put it between him and Angela.
She looked between the red leather chair and the black leather couch and chose the chair. It left her looking up at him, which was fine. She crossed her legs demurely.
“So what are you doing here, Angela?”
“I was curious.”
“You weren’t very curious the other night, when I was showing you around.”
“I was surprised, and so I reacted.”
Kent nodded. “I should have warned you before I brought you here.”
Angela shook her head. “I would have never come with you if you had. It’s…” She seemed to search for the right word. “Fascinating.”
“By it, you mean bondage. Submission. All of that.” When she didn’t object he went on. “But you wouldn’t want to trust someone who was into any of that.”
Angela smiled slowly. “I guess that’s it. Kind of hypocritical of me.”
Kent shrugged. A lot of kinky folk thought they were screwed up somehow, and that therefore everyone else who preferred their sex out of the ordinary was screwed up too. Even if they were at peace with their own desires, it wasn’t always easy to believe that other people who wanted the same things might be good people, too. “Are you here as Gerald’s guest?” Usually people who knew each other weren’t quick to use the club safe word. They had their own safe words, for one thing, and more private ways to work things out. It was usually only when strangers played together that the dungeon monitors had to interfere.
“No. I met him for the first time tonight.”
“Okay, good. So whose guest are you?”
“Brennan’s.”
Brennan. Kent gritted his teeth. Brennan didn’t need permission to date a woman he had been with before, and nothing he had done with Angela gave him any sort of claim on her. But he still wasn’t entirely happy about it. He took a deep breath. The fact was, it was his ego that was hurt by the fact that Angela had run out of the club as fast as possible less than t
wo weeks ago with him, and now was back with someone else. “I don’t think Brennan would approve of you hooking up with Gerald.”
Angela shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t think Brennan would care.”
Brennan wasn’t one for long term relationships, but when he was with a sub he was at least as protective and territorial as Kent was. Kent very much doubted that Brennan wouldn’t care. “I think maybe you ought to check with Brennan. If he brings a woman some place, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want her to go floating off.”
“He didn’t bring me.”
Kent raised his eyebrows.
“I just talked to him at the door. He made me his guest because it was the only way he could let me in, but he was just being nice to me.” Angela got up. “I’ve caused you trouble, and I’m not even a member of your little club. I’ll throw myself out; you don’t need to.”
He wasn’t going to let her run again that easily. “Wait.”
She turned and looked at him. “What?”
“You came here wanting to learn about yourself.” He got up from the desk and stepped forward. “You came here wanting to learn more about the world of BDSM. It’s not something you can explore all by yourself. You need someone who knows what they are doing, especially if you’re a submissive.”
“Yes.” Angela breathed. He hoped he wasn’t imagining the meaning behind the way she looked at him. Her smile was thin. “Do you have someone you’d like to recommend?”
There were a number of Doms on the east coast he trusted, people he’d recommend to almost anyone new. Brennan and Charles were two of them. He had no intention of letting any of them play with Angela. “Let me show you, Angela.” He stood close to her now, only a few inches between his chest and hers.
Her shoulders dropped slightly as some tension went out of them. She looked up at him, and then grinned. “I told Brennan I was your guest, but he couldn’t believe that you wouldn’t have told him.”
Her grin was infectious. “So basically, you tried to bluff your way past him, my little brat?”
Dark Xanadu Book One Page 4
