by Cynthia Dane
She returns not even five minutes later. “Ms. Alison,” she begins sheepishly. “I can’t charge this card.”
“What?” My veins thicken as I take the card and wonder who the fuck I call about this. Eva sits up in her seat and watches with intrigue. “It didn’t go through?”
“Oh, I didn’t run it.” Poor Champagne Girl looks like I’m about to smack her on the head. I don’t doubt that some clients do that in here. “It’s just there have been very specific instructions left regarding any purchases made by you.”
“What?” I haven’t been here in at least four months! The last time I came here everything went smoothly. What the fuck is going on? “You’re shitting me, right?”
Girl is cowering now. No. No she is not shitting me. As I imagine the fucking worst, she says, “Someone has offered to cover all purchases you make here.”
I lower my scolding finger. “Excuse me?”
“The note says that a separate card is to be charged anytime you want to purchase something from our boutique. I’m sorry if I frightened you, Ms. Alison.”
I…
Who the fuck is buying clothes for me?
No.
Oh no.
I know who it is.
“This very generous benefactor’s name wouldn’t happen to be Ian Mathers, would it?” My hands are on my hips, and Eva is cackling behind me. “Because you can tell him to piss off for me. I will buy my own clothes.”
Champagne Girl doesn’t have to tell me. I know it’s Ian. He probably did this after I agreed to his upcoming submission game.
There are a lot of things I’m willing to play around with. Having him pay for my pretty dresses is not one of them.
Who does he think I am? One of his middle to lower class girlfriends he can “spoil” with treats from his money? I don’t think so! My father’s been spoiling me since I spilled out of my mother’s womb. Before that! Shit, I remember him telling me that my mom would take “in utero” French lessons. Meaning she paid for a French tutor to read stories to me in the womb. I would like to point out that I don’t know French, so that was a waste of money.
I know I was whining about having to pay Stephanie May 50k a month, but I’m not that hard up for money. I can drop a couple grand on these dresses and barely see it nudge my bank account. What I will see, however, is the way Ian looks at me when I show up in a dress he bought for me, and not as a present.
As a favor. A courtesy.
Fuuuuck him.
“I don’t care what Mr. Mathers says. I will be buying my own dresses, thank you.” I shove my credit card back into Champagne Girl’s hands. “Although…” On the couch, Eva is still giggling, her dress bunched up around her waist and her straps slipping off her bony shoulders. “I’m sure Mr. Mathers would love to make his contribution to the Warrens’ wedding celebrations and pay for a lovely bridesmaid dress to be tailored and dyed.”
“Oh! Ian’s buying me something?”
I grin at my friend as Champagne Girl walks away, this time with the intent to run my credit card. “Seems like it. He’s not buying me anything…”
“Dearest Kathryn.” She’s awake now. So awake that her legs are crossing and she’s leaning forward, that glint of making trouble in her eye. “Why is someone like him trying to buy you clothes? Doesn’t he know you can afford your own well enough? You’re not Jasmine Bliss or, dare I say it and not get in trouble, Monica.”
I roll my eyes. Yes, those women don’t have anywhere near the amount of money I have, but last I heard Monica makes a hefty sum from her business and Jasmine has plenty of her own personal funds from her boyfriend. For them, however, part of the thrill is their men buying them niceties. Pretty sure women like Monica Graham, who are lifestyle submissives, get off on it.
I don’t get off on it.
“Hey, if the man wants to get me some clothes, far be it from me to tell him otherwise,” Eva says with a wink. “I don’t have nearly the same amount of money as you do anyway.”
“One day you will. Finish grad school first.” Don’t get us wrong. Eva’s loaded. Millionaire loaded, though, not billionaire. I know. It’s a tragedy. Girl doesn’t have a real job yet, though, so there’s that.
“Feh. Grad school.”
“I know. I remember.”
After changing back into my day clothes, I leave Eva to deal with the woman who will dye her dress. This is after making sure my card was charged for my clothing. I hope Ian enjoys knowing that he bought Evangeline Warren a sexy bridesmaid dress. He’ll probably give me an earful.
I rather hope so.
Since I don’t live too far from the CBD, I decide to walk home as opposed to hailing a cab. One of these days I’ll get a car to roll around in. I’m not big on driving, though, and cars are boring. I’d rather be driven around, and that is definitely an alternative I can look into. But it’s bothersome finding a driver and a car. Anita could do most of the filtering for me, but at the end of the day I still need to make the time to interview and find a driver I trust. Plus dealing with paying them.
Yeah, rather walk or take a cab.
“Ms. Alison,” the doorman says outside my building. He always greets me if he notices me, but today he’s approaching me, making sure he has my attention. “A letter was left at the desk to be delivered personally to you.” He hands me an envelope marked only as, “I.”
Uh huh.
“Thank you.” I flash the doorman a smile before hopping into the elevator and heading up to my floor. There’s a text from Anita on my phone, saying she tidied up my place and took care of the cat. Turns out Anita loves cats and has two of her own. When I randomly brought Sinéad home a few weeks ago, I never thought I’d see my assistant come back down from the cosmos. My housecleaner doesn’t even have to clean up after the cat. My assistant is more than happy to do it. The weirdo.
I wait to read the letter until I’m tucked away in my apartment, curled up on my sofa with a blanket around me and tea cooling on the coffee table. Anything Ian had personally delivered to me like this must be given careful attention.
Fuck the tea. I instantly wish I had grabbed alcohol the moment I see what’s inside the letter.
Chapter 5
KATHRYN
Sometimes I’m amazed at the amount of free time Ian has. After all, he had enough time to hand write this contract stipulating what’s going to happen for three days next week.
Three days of me submitting to him full fucking time.
Did I know that I would be expected to answer his every command? To cook for him if that’s what he wants? To be his maid, his sex slave? Oh, and the best part... I’m supposed to at least pretend I get off on it.
Soft-spoken. Dressed in whatever he wants me to wear. Somehow still doing my work at the hotel while serving his every whim as well.
And at night, I’m sure I’m supposed to do whatever he wants in bed and then wash his dick for him in the shower.
Fucking men, I swear to God.
Eva’s got the right idea. I need to become gay.
Ian was kind enough to include a list of things that I will not have to worry about during our trial. No electrocution, no hot wax, not suffocation, no latex, no other partners or public sex… oh well thank goodness for that!
However, I also have a lovely list of things that I can look forward to possibly happening. The moment I put on my collar, I’ll give him permission to do whatever the hell else he wants to me. Sure, I can say my safe words and they’ll stop, but it’s the principle of the thing. The man will basically own my body, my actions for three days.
I don’t just need a drink. I need an escape.
Three hours later I find myself at The Dark Hour on a Sunday night. You never know how it’s going to be on Sunday. It’s one of the few days people like us have off to spend time indulging in kinks, but it’s also the night before a long work week. So, it fills up, but people tend to leave early. Hence me being here shortly after dinner,
having a strong drink and taking in the sights.
This time I don’t take a private booth. I am secluded in a corner, however, just far enough from others that they don’t really bother me, but close enough to see the action. It’s mostly established couples here, although a few stragglers make the rounds, trying to strike up a threesome here or there. Hey, when a sub’s horny, he or she will do what it takes to get relief.
A couple of guys make eyes at me. I stare them down, threateningly, encouraging them to go find love for the night elsewhere. I’m not here to pick up a sub. Besides, Ian and I are to a point where I expect him to be exclusive to me, and it’s only right I honor that in turn. That includes touching a male sub – or not, in my case.
Even though a lot of them are ripped to hell and back, their chains enticing, their abs begging for my lips, my hands, my pussy grinding against them. One guy has a face perfect for sitting on.
Can’t think about that.
I’m here to soak up the fun of other Doms, Dommes, their toys and their pets. I need as close to a thrill as I can get before I go ahead and try this lifestyle thing with Ian. Not only that, but I need to better understand it before submitting my mind to that sort of headspace.
I came to this club when I first considered submitting to him. Watching the Andrews switch was a unique experience in that it helped me understand their lifestyle a bit more. Except that was sex. The Andrews don’t lifestyle. The only people I personally know who do that are Eva’s family, but I’m not close enough to them to sit down and have a one-on-one girl talk with Monica about serving.
Thirty minutes pass before I find someone suitable enough. A young woman wandering around, doe-eyed in her faux innocence, but aware enough to know what she’s looking for. She swaps smiles with many of the men in suits. At one point she approaches a man I don’t recognize, getting on her knees and placing a hand on his arm. Since she’s barely wearing lingerie, let alone any clothing at all, the man is able to look right at her hardened nipples and thong bunching around her ass. He turns her away only because he’s already spoken for, his full-time sub currently in the restroom.
The girl with curly brown hair almost doesn’t see me flag her down as she walks by.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” she says with a demure voice. She doesn’t drop to her knees for me, although her head is bowed and her hands clasped before her. “I’m afraid I’m not looking for a woman tonight.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not my type either.” I gesture to the empty chair in front of me. “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, though. I’ll buy you a drink for your time and trouble. What have you? Cosmo?”
If she were having any luck tonight, I’m sure she would politely turn me down and go find a cock to suck. Yet it’s a slow night at The Dark Hour. She’s not going to turn down a free drink for twenty minutes.
“What’s your name?” A server brings a drink for the girl.
“I go by Nova, ma’am.”
Everyone has a code name in this damned place. “All right, Nova, mind if I ask you a few questions about… what you do?”
She raises a sculpted eyebrow. “Ma’am?”
“Not your job. No, not like that.” Most of the young female subs in here don’t have careers, unless they’re aspiring actresses or singers. Most of them are looking for some sugar on the side as they go through college or struggle through God knows how many shitty part-time jobs. I don’t envy them. I never have. “I meant being a sub.”
Nova isn’t responding. I think she may be on the verge of getting up and leaving me with an untouched drink.
“Go on, ma’am.”
Well, then.
“How long have you been doing this?”
She pokes a finger beneath her chin and looks the other way, adding up time in her head. She’s a cute little sub, I’ll give her that. Petite. Perky. Big, round lips most men would go crazy for. I’m sure Ian would get a kick out of her for a night.
“About two years, ma’am.”
“Why do you like it?”
I can tell she’s confused, but thus far she’s not asking any questions. “I don’t know…”
“Do you lifestyle?”
She shrugs. Her sheer, pink lingerie shuffles along her breasts and stomach, but does not accidentally show me her goods. I can see those nipples really well, though. “Depends on the Dom, ma’am. Some of them are fun for a night, but after that it’s only for the sex. Others make me want to serve them all day. I don’t have a preference. Every relationship is different.”
I nod. Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. “So you would confidently say that you enjoy being a sub, possibly in a lifestyle sense?”
“Sure.”
She doesn’t know where I’m going with this. I barely know where I’m going with this. There are things I want to know, for sure, but it’s not exactly kosher for strangers to ask each other these things. If I’m not delicate, Nova might bail on me. I wouldn’t blame her.
“Could you tell me… what you find so appealing about it? Submitting to and serving Doms, that is.”
We’ve reached an impasse. Nova doesn’t know me from Eve, and yet here I am, in a BDSM sex club acting like I’m a college reporter doing an exposé on seedy lifestyles and how it relates to feminism.
Gradually, I get Nova to open up. She takes a steady sip from her drink and keeps her eyes on her lap as she answers.
Fun. Thrills. Self-empowerment. I expected to hear those words, so I ask for more information. I’m hoping she has a good vocabulary.
“All I can say, ma’am, is that there’s nothing like it in the world. I can understand how it’s strange to other women. We hear that we shouldn’t let men treat us like that, and yet it’s so ingrained in our society that it feels perfectly natural, totally safe to do it. Especially with powerful men like the ones here. They can take care of you. They give you an escape from reality. In turn, you give them one too.”
You give them one too?
“How so?”
Nova cocks her head as if I’m the stupidest woman she’s encountered in a long time. “Don’t you see? Women like me are an escape for Doms. We give them everything they want emotionally. They don’t get that outside of places like this, no matter how successful they are at business. Sure, they have a ton of money. Sure, they can have sex with a lot of other women who aren’t into kink, but what does it mean? It’s fun for a while, but it quickly loses its luster. They need more emotion. Maybe not love, but they need to feel like the center of someone’s universe.”
It’s compelling, but it’s not helping any of her points.
“I think I get what you mean,” I say after a few moments of contemplation. For so long I assumed the men in my life – men like my father and Ian – didn’t have to want for anything. Yeah, they had to work. Even we billionaires fucking work to keep things that way. Wanting for things? If a relationship isn’t working, it’s not hard to find a new one. You can move at a drop of the hat. Go on vacation on the other side of the world. Buy the latest gadgets and games and gizmos to keep you amused.
Hell, you can buy whatever sex you want.
Of course, I know that it can feel hollow if you don’t have anyone, such as a lover or other family, to share it with, but I’m a woman. Everything’s tinted by my disadvantages, even in this world. I’ve always assumed men live the high life outside of work.
Perhaps not.
“So what makes it so great for you?” I ask Nova. “What do you gain from a random hookup in a place like this?” Besides free drinks and perhaps a getaway weekend with all expenses paid and a few gifts like designer clothes and a charitable gift into a bank account.
“Well, there’s the sex.”
Thanks, Nova.
“Except it’s not about rough, possessive sex with a guy who looks great and smells good. It’s the release he gives you. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
Nova is losing intere
st in me. I can tell because there’s some stud in a suit making eyes at her from across the room. Never seen him before. Probably here on business from out of town. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Tanned. The kind of guy you expect to hear a sexy accent from. He nurses a hard drink and won’t remove his gaze from Nova’s curls and tiny, pebble-like nipples poking through her lingerie.
“For the love of God, go get some dick.”
I finish Nova’s drink for her after she leaves, slinking her way to her rich stud of a Dom. I watch them out of the corner of my eye. The guy is staring at her tits and ass, but he’s also listening to her soft words, waiting for permission to touch her, The moment he does, Nova sighs into his gentle embrace, and just like that, these two are paired off for the evening.
That happened faster than junk at regular nightclubs.
Just my luck, I soon see the studly Dom take his new prize to a dark corner, lift her against the wall, pull aside her thong, and start fucking her without a care for who’s watching – like me.
I don’t feel like a perv in places like these. Half the room is covertly watching them, some men leaning in to whisper into women’s ears and vice versa. Some lucky schmuck starts getting a handy-j beneath a table. More than one couple is making out as this party gets going.
Nova is a woman living in ecstasy. She met this guy fifteen minutes ago, but he’s already inside her, thrusting like a maniac between her legs and whispering into her ear. Her fingers curl against the back of his suit, wrinkling it, trying to tear it apart before he can get away from her.
It makes me think about Ian, about the times he slammed me against a wall and had his way with me. Is that what we looked like? Was I that… relenting?
Back then, did I want this from him?
Why do I want it now?
I almost text him and ask him to join me here. Even if we don’t have sex in front of people – which I’m not into – it might be nice to see how he reacts to the people around us, but I don’t text him. I don’t even entertain going over to his place to see if he’s available for cuddles and sex. I know it’s a bad idea when I’m in this state.
