“Sir,” said a familiar voice at his elbow.
He looked over at Genna. As he watched, Genna sank to a kneeling position in front of him. She was dressed in a purple leather bra and a short suede skirt, and when she spread her knees apart the skirt didn’t provide very good coverage. For that matter, the view down her cleavage was pretty spectacular from where he was standing, too.
“If you would like a distraction, Sir, I’d be happy to provide it.”
It was tempting, oh so tempting. Genna knew him well enough to know that a night of D/s games didn’t imply a romantic commitment. They’d played together a couple of times before, and their friendship remained that, a friendship. A submissive through and through, Genna got more pleasure from making other people happy than she did by serving her own needs, which was one of the things that made her so very effective at keeping the social aspect of the club going. He could take her back to the office for a quick fuck and they’d both enjoy it. For that matter, it was hard not to think about her taking his cock into her mouth, especially with her kneeling there, lips slightly parted, her hands palm up, resting on spread knees. His cock thought it was a great idea.
If he hadn’t guessed that Charles suggested it, he might have taken her up on it. He shook his head, slowly. “Thank you, dear Genna, but not tonight.”
Genna nodded and rose. If she was disappointed, she didn’t show it. She could be very hard to read when she wanted to be. “You’ve been working hard, Kent. We all have. You should let yourself relax a little bit at some of these parties.”
Kent nodded. She wasn’t wrong. Another week, and surely Angela would be out of his mind. “I know, Genna. And I will, once I’m sure everything is running smoothly.”
“No sense in decreeing your own pleasure dome if you don’t get to play in it.”
“Indeed.” Charles was talking to the blonde, now, and she was smiling and laughing. Charles was a great guy, and a demanding Dominant. He’d take good care of the sub, and push her to her limits.
A scream pierced the air. It didn’t sound like distress to Kent, but he checked it out anyway. It was a good thing the warehouse was a good distance from any open businesses or residences; that noise might have carried outside the club. It came from a plump brunette on the spanking horse. She was naked, her legs straddling the leather seat. Red lines on her back showed the flogging she’d received earlier, but now her Dom fucked her from behind, the flogger almost forgotten in his hand. In the position she was in, her clit was getting a lot of stimulation as the thrusts from behind made her body slide on the bench. They’d already gathered a bit of an audience, and now she shared her orgasm with the entire club. A club like Dark Xanadu tended to attract exhibitionists, although for some of its members public play was merely a necessary evil in order to get to play on the bondage equipment. Others appreciated the extra safety that came with having dungeon monitors around in case the date they’d trusted turned out to be less than trustworthy.
He made a mental note to double check that the spanking bench was cleaned off well before the next couple used it, but he’d been favorably impressed with the Dom, Vince, when he’d met him earlier. Most likely Vince would take care of disinfecting the equipment, and if he didn’t, Kent would take the time to educate him.
Around him, subs were being flogged on the X-frames. A pretty woman with sandy hair knelt on a pillow on the floor, holding a chain in her mouth. On each end of the chain, clamps squeezed her nipples, and the chain was short enough that to hold it in that position stretched them. Her face glowed with sweat. Her Dom watched her from a chair, glancing occasionally at his watch.
Beneath a wooden bondage frame a woman stood, the cuffs on her wrists chained to the wooden beam above her. Other than that she was free to squirm as much as she liked, and squirm she did as her Dom’s gentle hands danced over her, his touch so light that it tickled. He knew subs who wouldn’t bat an eyelash at the idea of taking a dozen strokes from a cane, but who would use their safe word the moment tickling was suggested.
Watching any one of the scenes probably would have given him masturbatory fantasies for a week once upon a time. Even now, he enjoyed the interplay between Dom and sub with an appreciation that was not wholly spiritual. But nonetheless, he wasn’t eager to find a partner and join in the fun. At what moment, exactly, had Angela entranced him? He wasn’t sure, but he suspected it was the moment Morgan showed up in the bar. The trapped little sub had aroused his protective side, and he’d jumped to the rescue out of sheer instinct. That was what hooked him, but he still didn’t have any explanation as to why he
stayed
hooked.
“There’s a woman who wasn’t here last week,” Genna said, gesturing to the door. “She looks a little lost. I’ll go help her out.”
“You do that, Genna.” Kent knew he was brooding, and he didn’t feel very companionable. He didn’t even look over to see who she was talking about.
Angela had come up with at least a dozen reasons not to go to Dark Xanadu. It was a private club, for starters, and she wasn’t a member. She’d found their website, and membership wasn’t cheap. It was probably full of weirdoes, anyway. Perverts, certainly, that was a given. She didn’t have any clothes that were truly suitable, anyway; the closest thing she had to fetish wear was a black lace bra. She certainly wasn’t going to wear that without a blouse on top, so that didn’t even count.
Against that was the fact that she’d dreamed of the place, either while sleeping or awake, pretty much every day since she had made the phone call to her sister to let her know she was okay. To get Stacy and Monica off her back she’d made up a story of the sexual adventures she’d had with her mysterious stranger, but they were vanilla stories. She was pretty sure that wasn’t how things would happen if she really had sex with the man. In her private moments she dreamed of being tied up, being roughly stripped naked or even being flogged.
When she’d gotten home from work that Friday, she put on a snug, black ribbed tee and a mid-length black skirt, and then paced back and forth in her apartment for several minutes. She took them off again, stripped out of her underwear, and put on the black lace combination instead. She didn’t have any intention of taking her outer layer off where anyone but herself could see, but still, she’d rather not be caught in beige briefs. Back on went the tee, this time with a slightly shorter skirt. Black sandals were tossed for black boots—sandals in December would say that she was more interested in looks than sensibility, and she didn’t want anyone to think she was sleazy.
Maybe a buttoned blouse would look better than the tee…
She shook her head. She could spend the whole evening changing outfits and never get anywhere. If she was going to go crash the scene at Dark Xanadu, she should go. If she was going to spend the night with some early Anita Blake and a glass of wine, it didn’t matter what she wore.
Fantasies about kinky sex hadn’t started with Kent, nor had they started when she read her first Anne Rice book. She’d been dreaming about being tied up since before she really understood sex at all. Edward, her long-term, live-in boyfriend, hadn’t been the type for those fantasies, though. He was kind, gentle, and loving, and she loved him back. Sex with him had been pleasurable and mutually satisfying. He’d been dead for two years, and she hadn’t stopped loving him. That was part of the reason she hadn’t sought out—no, had avoided—men. She felt as if she were being disloyal for liking anyone very different than Edward, and yet the men who were most like him didn’t do anything for her at all.
All of which brought her to the real reason why she wanted to go, and didn’t want to go, to Dark Xanadu. Kent. He’d probably be in someone else’s arms—well, more likely have someone in his arms. She’d only met him once. She ought to be able to deal with that, but she wasn’t entirely sure she could. On the other side was her fantasy that he would swoop her off her feet and make all her kinkiest dreams come true.
Lipstick. She got up, smudged off the pale pink lippy she’d worn to work and replaced it with a ruby red she hadn’t used for ages. It was far too provocative a shade for the workplace, but it went well with her nearly black curls.
Here goes nothing.
She had time for second and third thoughts in the car ride over, but in the end she parked her blue Chevy Malibu in the lot behind the warehouse. The lot was nearly full, a few dozen cars in it all told. As before, nothing marked the building as a club. Obviously, keeping a low profile was important. She figured that probably meant that people entered from the back, too, so she walked up and tried the back door.
It opened, but she didn’t see the broad expanse of the club she’d been expecting. Instead she was in a small “room” of sorts that hadn’t existed last time, although the wood plank walls didn’t go all the way to the high ceiling. She recognized Brennan immediately. The muscular man was sitting on tall barstool, wearing tight leather pants and a leather vest that was open in front. The man had more hair on his chest then he did on the top of his head, and he wasn’t anywhere close to bald.
“Hey. Angela, right?”
She nodded. “And you’re Brennan.”
“You’ve got a good memory for names. Or you haven’t been able to get me out of your mind.” He grinned, taking the conceit out of the comment before she took him down a peg or two.
The sounds coming from the club beyond were like a siren’s call to her. She could only imagine what was going on behind the moans and more. “Something like that,” she told Brennan.
“May I see some ID, please?”
Angela fished in her jacket pocket for her wallet and showed him her license. He took out his iPhone and looked between it and the ID for a few moments. “You’re not on the member list.”
She’d expected that. And clearly, a place like Dark Xanadu didn’t let in people off the street. But from what she’d read in the membership application, a member was allowed to bring guests. And of course the owner qualified. “I’m Kent’s guest.”
Brennan shook his head, obviously more amused than annoyed. “Ixnay. He would have told me and put you on the guest list.”
She’d been so sure it would work. She sighed. If she got to this point she intended to shrug and let it go, deciding it wasn’t for her. But she didn’t want to let it go.
“May I take your coat?” Brennan asked.
“Excuse me?”
“May I take your coat? It’s plenty warm in the club.”
“But you’re not letting me in.”
“I didn’t say that. If Kent challenges you, tell him you’re
my
guest.” A mischievous smile played on Brennan’s face. “Hopefully I’ll get to see him turn purple.”
Angela laughed.
“That’s the spirit,” said Brennan, taking her coat off her unresisting shoulders, and handing her half of a three of spades in return as a coat check ticket. “You looked a little tense. Don’t be. Nothing is going to happen here that isn’t safe, or without your consent. Do you have anything else you’d like to check?”
She held her hands open and looked down at herself, and then back up at him. She shrugged. Did it look as if she had anything else to check?
“You’d be surprised, sweetie. Some people check all their clothes.”
Oh
. “No. I’m keeping my clothes on tonight. I’m just…checking things out.”
“Ah. Right. Well, have fun.” He grinned at her.
“Thank you, Brennan.”
Chapter Three
Angela’s jaw nearly dropped open when she entered the main room, even though it was very much like she fantasized it to be. Brennan hadn’t been joking about people checking their clothes. Half the women, and quite a few of the men, would be arrested for indecent exposure if they wore as little on the street. Maybe they all came in trench coats. She suppressed a giggle.
For a moment she was distracted by it all. Behind the diaphanous black curtain to her left, a woman was being fucked, and was in turn sucking off another man. Right in front of her, a naked man strapped to an X-frame was being caned by a Domme covered in glistening black rubber from neck to toe. Another couple needed only a wall, it seemed; o-rings were bolted into the wall much like they were on the X-frame, and a woman wearing only a thong, garter belt, stockings, and high heels was leaning against it, her hands bound above her while her Dom spanked her with his bare hand.
Feeling as if she held her heart in her throat, she scanned the room for Kent. She saw him. Genna was walking away from him. Genna was so beautiful, and she knew exactly how to carry herself. The purple bra only emphasized her large breasts. Even her walk was sexy, her long legs flashing beneath a dangerously short skirt. If Genna wanted Kent, Angela was sure she’d have no chance at all.
Instead, Genna was heading straight toward her. If Genna was going to make a pass at her, she was going to have to tell her she wasn’t interested. But more likely Kent had sent her over as some kind of messenger. He was alone, but obviously he was too busy to pay much attention to her.
“Hello, dear. Angela, right?”
Angela nodded.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Genna said warmly. “Are you a submissive or a Domme?”