by Kitty Jones
“It was wrong of me,” I say.
A couple of the Dommes start murmuring about my rudeness, but one of them looks at me carefully.
“You know her,” she says thoughtfully.
“A long time ago,” I tell her honestly. I’m not sure why I’m being so blunt with these women. The Dommes of a club are important and they deserve respect and honor regardless of what they’re doing. Although I’m a Dominant myself, I’m finding that it’s hard to hold back when it comes to telling them how I’m feeling.
“So you walked in to what, accidentally bump into her?” She says, but there’s no judgment in her words.
“Something like that.”
The women all look at me. A couple of them shake their heads. Finally, one of them speaks up.
“Look, they aren’t together.”
“What?” I look over at her sharply. Her makeup is heavy, yet somehow subdued. She’s standing perfectly straight, probably courtesy of her five-inch heels, and her posture is the best I’ve ever seen.
“Taylor has a long-term partner. Hank. The guy in the wheelchair.”
“He was injured a few months ago,” someone else offers. “Mallory is just their stand-in while Hank recovers.”
So that’s why the non-active partner was sitting with her while the Dominant cleaned up after the scene. He was helping with aftercare while the Dominant took care of everything else. Taylor wasn’t abandoning her the way I thought he was, and they weren’t topping her together, the way I suspected they might have been. It was one Dom and one sub: not two Doms.
“It’s an unusual arrangement, but it works for them.”
“They’re all friends. They’ve known each other for awhile.”
“Nobody judges them here.”
“And nobody interrupts their scenes.”
They all look at me again, almost expectantly. Suddenly, I’m glad I’m a Dom and not a sub, because something tells me that if I pulled this kind of bratty behavior as a submissive, I’d be the one strapped to that bench and having my ass beat.
“Understood,” I say.
The Dommes seem satisfied, and they turn to one another and continued speaking, effectively excusing me, which is fine. Slowly, I head to my car and climb inside, but then I sit there for a very long time.
It was a mistake to come here tonight, but I wanted to see her. I hadn’t planned on moving back to the area at all, hadn’t planned on drumming up old connections. I hadn’t planned on meeting with people I knew long ago, and I definitely hadn’t planned on meeting with a woman like Mallory.
When we parted ways, I suspected it was probably forever, but then, I’ve never really been one to listen to fate.
No matter how loudly it yells at me, I just can’t seem to listen.
Fuck.
I slap the steering wheel hard and finally, I pull out of the parking lot and head home. I need to go home and feed my cat. Then I’ll go to bed, wake up, and head to work. Everything will look better in the morning, and maybe I won’t feel like such a fuckhead.
Chapter Three
Mallory
“I heard something juicy happened last night at the club,” Tabitha slides into the chair across from mine and rests her hands on the break room table.
“It’s not what you think,” I tell her, biting into my turkey-and-cheese sandwich. It’s not the best lunch I’ve ever had, but it’s good enough for a workday. I’ve been packing my own meals because I want to be healthier and save money. Traveling isn’t something I do enough of, and I want all of that to change. If a few simple lifestyle choices enable me to do that, then, well, I’m going to do it.
“No?” She raises a perfectly waxed eyebrow and stares at me like she doesn’t believe a single thing I just said.
“No,” I shake my head.
“Then what is it?” She asks. “Because it sounds like someone from your past waltzed into the club, was pissed at Hank and Taylor, and tried to start trouble.”
“Oh,” I said, looking back at my sandwich. Then I look back up at my colleague. “Then yeah, that’s exactly what happened.”
“What!?” She screeches. A couple of teachers from across the room look over at us. Tabitha gives an apologetic little wave and turns back to me. Lowering her voice so no one can hear, she whispers, “So what happened? Dish.”
“You already know everything.”
Well, not everything.
She doesn’t know who Aaron is.
She doesn’t know that I was wildly in love with him or that he turned me down.
She doesn’t know that he’s the whole reason I’m into BDSM in the first place.
“Seems fake.”
“Okay,” I sigh, looking up. Tabitha’s face holds no judgment or anger. There’s nothing mean, cruel, or harsh about the way she’s looking at me. I swallow hard and look back down at the sandwich in front of me.
Can I do this?
Can I be honest with her?
Tabitha is the closest thing I have to a friend right now, and honestly, I could use someone like her to keep me sane. What I’m going through is...
Well, there are simply no words.
“He’s my older brother’s best friend.”
“What!?” She screeches again. This time, one of the other teachers speaks up.
“Quiet, please,” Angelina Metalbrew says. “Some of us are trying to grade.”
“My apologies, Mrs. Metalbrew,” Tabitha says in her most formal voice. One of the other teachers snickers, but Angelina just frowns.
“It’s not like it sounds,” I say when Tabitha turns back to me.
“Really? Because it sounds like a sordid love interest from the past walked into the club and tried to sweep you off your feet. Oh, he obviously failed, but it sounds like he tried at least sort-of hard.”
“I don’t really know what happened,” I admit. “Or why he came in. I haven’t seen him or talked to him in a very, very long time.”
Years.
“So, what’s the deal between you two?”
Where do I even start? The problem with trying to rehash your past is that our memories are always more like spiderwebs than straight lines. There are things that happened first, and then later, and some things in-between, and I’m not really sure what’s relevant and what’s not. What I’m sure of, more than anything else, is how I felt about the whole situation.
What I’m sure about is how he affected me at the time.
“I was crazy about him.”
“But he never noticed you,” she says sympathetically.
“Pretty much. I mean, it was like something from a movie. He and my brother, Matthew, would hang out. They’d do their thing and I’d...Well, I’d just be there.”
“Would you hang out with them?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I’d just sit in the next room and eavesdrop while they talked about all of the girls they liked.”
“That sounds kind of sad, actually.”
“Pathetic, you mean?” I ask, taking bite of my sandwich. I chew slowly, swallow, and then nod. “Yeah, it was pretty sad. Not my best moment.”
“So, did you have an encounter of some kind? Was he your first kiss? Did you come onto him? Did he turn you down?”
“Yep.”
“Yep to which question?”
“All of them,” I frown.
“Yikes.”
“It was their senior year. I was a sophomore. I wanted to go to prom and of course, you can only go if it’s with a senior or junior. I’d been crazy about Aaron forever and it was a really obvious crush. No matter how hard I tried to play it cool, everyone knew.”
“Even him?”
“Apparently, not him.”
“How is that possible?”
“My brother told me several times that Aaron didn’t think of me like that, and that Aaron didn’t even know I liked him, but I didn’t believe him. I finally convinced myself that if I was just brave enough to ask him to the prom, that he’d finally notice me
, take me, and we’d have this happily ever after sort of moment.”
“So, what happened?”
“He and my brother were at the house watching movies with some friends. Matthew had gone to bed, and so had the other kids.”
“Sleepover?”
“Yeah, something like that. Everyone was crashing on couches and stuff. I wasn’t invited, so I’d stayed up in my room. My parents were pretty relaxed and let everyone have parties when they wanted to.”
“Nice of them.”
“Yeah. Well, there were guys and girls at the party. In the middle of the night, probably at like, two in the morning, I wanted to get a drink. Lo and behold, he was in the kitchen. Like I said, it was late, and it was dark.”
“Wait,” Tabitha scrunches up her nose. “Don’t tell me you accidentally kissed your brother thinking it was Aaron.”
“What? No! Gross!” The idea makes me want to puke. “But Aaron couldn’t see me clearly. He turned to me and was like, ‘Who is it?’ And I said something I thought was coy and obvious, like, ‘It’s the girl you’ve been waiting for.’”
“Oh, that’s a good line.”
“He thought so, too. He took a step forward, grabbed me, and kissed me.”
It had been totally unexpected and totally wonderful and totally sloppy, at least on my part. Aaron, even then, had been completely calm and collected. He’d been in control of everything in that moment.
He’d guided me, and I had completely melted into him.
“That’s romantic.”
“Yeah, it was, until someone else came into the kitchen and turned the light on. He saw that it was me he was kissing and immediately jumped back, like I was burning him or something.”
I had been horribly embarrassed. The guy who’d walked into the kitchen was tired, and honestly, probably drunk. He hadn’t noticed us at all. He’d just looked around, turned the light off, and left, but the damage had been done.
“He asked me what I was doing.”
His exact words had been worse than that.
What are you doing? You’re just a child.
Immediately, it made me realize that he actually hadn’t known it was me. He’d probably thought I was Cindy or Megan or Hannah Marie. He obviously thought I was one of the many beautiful women that he and my brother ran around with.
“He called me a kid,” I shook my head. “It was horrible.”
“Ouch,” Tabitha cringes. “That’s rough.”
“I took it pretty hard. It was the first time I’d ever kissed anyone. I felt...gross. Unworthy. I felt like he’d been into it until he saw my face, and then suddenly, he wasn’t anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Tabitha reaches out and touches my hand. I give her a gentle squeeze and then nod.
“Thanks,” I tell her. “I appreciate that. A lot.”
“Did you ever tell your brother?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“He was sympathetic, but he had warned me. I told him what happened because I didn’t want Aaron coming around the house when I was home after that.”
“And?”
“They were graduating in a month and then going off to summer jobs and then college. My brother was super cool about the whole thing. He said it wasn’t a problem.”
He’d been wildly kind to me. He hadn’t pitied me. He hadn’t given me shit. He’d just pulled me into his arms, hugged me, and then ruffled my hair.
It’s going to be okay, kid.
Somehow, Matthew’s words had meant everything to me.
Everything.
I clung to them forever: as I finished high school, when I moved out to go to college, and even when I landed this job. Even now, when I’m having a hard time, I think about those words, and how they really did change everything for me.
“And he came into the club last night,” Tabitha says, shaking her head.
“Yep.”
“And he wanted to scene with you.”
“Maybe,” I whisper.
Maybe.
I have no idea why he walked into the club. I don’t know why he tried to speak to me. We haven’t talked in years. We haven’t talked since it happened all that time ago, and now...now I don’t know what I would even say to him.
My life has changed a lot since Aaron Winters turned me down.
And I don’t think it’s got a place for him in it anymore.
Chapter Four
Aaron
Once I’ve finished paying my membership dues, submitting to background checks, and participating in all of the necessary interviews, including submitting references from the other clubs I’ve played at, I’m allowed to enter Club Shadows again.
This time, I’m not going to make the same mistakes I made before. I’m not going to do anything to scare the submissives. I won’t do anything that will bother or upset the other participants.
I won’t try to speak to Mallory.
She obviously doesn’t want to speak to me.
The other Dominants may not like me or want to be around me, but I’ll win them over in time. It’s a good thing I’m an incredibly patient man. I’m not exactly new to the lifestyle. It’s just that I started off on the wrong foot with them the other night. I probably should have tried harder, or maybe I should have cleared my head more before I tried to approach her.
Mallory and I have a messy past. We have a history that is both painful and frustrating to think about, but we also have a history that is shared. No one knows what Mallory went through nearly as well as I do because I was there, and more importantly, I went through it, too.
I wish she’d want to speak to me. I desperately want to speak with her, if only for closure. Maybe it’s because in some ways, I always felt responsible for her, too. Oh, Matthew was the big brother, but we both guarded her, protected her. At least, I always thought I did. Maybe I did a poorer job than I thought.
It’s a week after seeing Mallory that I find myself, once again, prowling the club. This time, I actually am looking for her, and I check the stages to see if I can find her. The club is a lovely one, and it’s set up in a way to provide both optimum stage presence and optimum privacy. There are smaller play spaces where people can explore their sexuality with one another, but there are also large, open stages where scenes can be performed and everyone can watch from the shadows.
I don’t see Mallory anywhere.
I thought I’d find her easily. I want to talk to her. Hell, I just want to ask her if she’s doing okay. After everything that happened, it’s strange that the one person who knows how I feel is the one I can’t seem to find or get alone long enough to talk to.
“Looking for someone special?” A Domme says, drawing my attention. I turn to her and smile easily.
“I am, actually.”
Honesty is the best policy, right? I don’t know if that’s true in the club here, but I pride myself on being truthful to a fault. I might as well be honest and open with this woman now. Who knows? Maybe she’ll be able to help me find Mallory. Maybe she’ll be able to offer some advice or assistance.
“Anyone I might know?” She raises a perfectly waxed eyebrow. She’s quite put-together, which is completely expected for a dominant. She has to be in utter control at all times, after all. If she loses control in any way, it’ll affect her submissive’s experience and, depending on how they’re playing, the person’s safety, as well.
“Mallory?” I say.
The name comes out like a question.
I don’t know if she uses a fake name at the club. Chances are that she does, and this woman won’t know what her real name is, but I’m a little surprised when the Domme looks me up and down. Now I’m the one put on display: the one who has to prove that I’m worthy of receiving information.
I’m wearing leathers and a vest tonight. My abs are showing, which is perfectly fine with me. I work out hard enough for them. I’m not about to hide them away under something else. Besides, dressing the part of a Dom lets other peo
ple know that I’m serious about them, the club, and the lifestyle as a whole. Just as I wouldn’t show up to a job interview in jeans, I wasn’t about to show up to the club in anything less than the best.
I firmly believe that dressing my part when I go to a club is akin to wearing a uniform. In a place like a play setting, it’s important that everyone understands who the players are.
“You’re the Dom from the other night,” she says thoughtfully. “The one from last weekend. You ruined the end of a scene, if I remember correctly.” She raises an eyebrow, as though silently challenging me.
That’s fine.
I’m not afraid of the big, bad, Domme.
“I believe I only ruined the aftercare, which is to say, I demanded it be administered.”
I’m still a bit rankled at how it was handled, but I know it’s not really my place to say anything about it. Still, the guy was abrupt with Mallory, and he shouldn’t have been. She’s a sweet girl, a kind girl, and she needs the kind of Dom who is going to look after her when they finish a scene.
Then again, maybe that’s just my own perception. I do have my own...inclinations. This isn’t a surprise or a secret to anyone. I’m a bit of a Daddy when it comes to dominating my partners. I like to take care of them, pamper them. It’s important to me that my partners feel cared for, protected. I want them to feel like they are the most important thing in the world to me.
The woman seems to side with her friends, though, and she shakes her head at my comment.
“You’re new to the area. Maybe you aren’t new to the scene, but you aren’t from around here, so you don’t know the way people interact. You need to be more careful in a new place. It’s not going to serve you well if you waltz into a club and start stepping on toes.” She doesn’t seem angry or irritated with me. On the contrary, it seems as though she really wants me to understand that I can’t walk into Club Shadows with expectations. She’s right.
“Understood,” I say.
“She’s here, though,” the Domme smiles. I’m a little surprised that she’s telling me this, and I think the surprise must show on my face because she laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t look at me like that,” she says.
