Authors: Nessa Connor
Scarlett threw her a look of feigned indignation for cutting her off.
“Help me out here, Rissa,” Joelle appealed to the other woman.
Like Joelle, Rissa had never been required to work a day in her life. She simply
wanted
to. Rissa’s father was
the Surgeon General of Illinois and her mother was a Senator, as well as a New York Times best-selling author.
Money was of no object for her family.
“I agree....” declared Rissa, “....with Scarlett. Let’s get out of here and have some fun! I am off from the pediatric trauma center the next 72 hours and I want to enjoy myself.”
“Whatever,” Joelle caved in. “Where are we going?”
“To the Dark Side,” said Scarlett. “It’s a brand new club, right down the street. Tonight is the grand opening.”
“One of your kinky latex and leather places for SNL?” sighed Joelle.
“SNL is
Saturday Night Live
,” Rissa interjected.
Scarlett cracked up.
“It’s called BDSM,” Scarlett corrected when she finished laughing at their naiveté. “Or S&M.”
“Bondage-discipline and sadism-masochism,” Rissa reverted to medical terminology again. “The term
‘sadism’ and ‘sadist’ both originate with the Marquis de Sade in the 1800’s and are now regarded by the American
Psychiatric Association as perfectly healthy and normal expressions of—-”
“—-Okay. Whatever, Dr. Parannella.” Joelle held up her hands to stop her. “It’s a whips and chains place,
right?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Scarlett.
“No way, then,” Joelle said. “I am not going.”
“It will be a lark,” Rissa exclaimed. “We’ll just go look.”
“You, the lily-white angel?” Joelle asked Rissa.
“If nothing else, it will be a good laugh,” cajoled the platinum-haired woman.
“I will never set foot in a dive like that,” declared Joelle adamantly.
The Dark Side was everything Scarlett had hoped it would be. The place was classy but hip, elegant but fun, upscale
but down-to-earth.
Scarlett felt giddy. It was time for a new BDSM club in the Windy City.
Rissa looked curious. Imagine that.
Joelle looked furious. No surprise there.
Scarlett just laughed: she had known her best friend Joelle long enough to know tonight would be good for
her. Sometimes Joelle needed to get out of her own head and come down from her exalted, intellectual world of academia and just be a normal mortal once in a while.
Magna cum laude
at MIT was one part of life; mama cum
loudly was another. Joelle needed a lot more of the latter.
“You’re lucky there was no dress code,” Scarlett said to Joelle. “Most clubs have a leather or latex policy.”
“Or what?” Joelle rolled her eyes.
“Or they won’t let you in.”
“Oh, darn,” she said with sarcasm. “That would have been a tragedy.”
Scarlett thought Joelle looked fabulous in her work clothes: she was still wearing a pretty mauve chiffon dress and her hair in a stylish 1940’s chignon. She had dainty rose-colored pumps that complemented her attire.
The problem was, she stuck out like a sore thumb here at The Dark Side. She looked like a spoiled little rich
girl. Her obvious ‘vanilla’ status also made her vulnerable to any unscrupulous men who came into a place like this
pretending to be Doms, but really just looking to take advantage of submissive women. Most experienced subs could
spot a sleaze-ball fake Dom a mile away, and the bouncers were trained to identify them as well. Scarlett, however,
would still be on the lookout for anyone who intended to prey on her friend and do her harm.
A real Dominant understood his or her temporary position of sexual power over the submissive was a
precious and sacred gift given to them faithfully and generously with full trust in their heart. In fact, the first and foremost rule of BDSM was that the Dom (or Domme, if it was a woman, like Scarlett) was completely responsible
for the sub’s health, safety, pleasure and well-being at all times. Although the Dominant partner appeared to be in
control, it was actually the submissive who had the power to call off the scene, or the entire game, at any moment by
using their safe word. The Dom’s role was also a sacred and special gift - it was a way of putting the submissive partner upon a pedestal and honoring her as a woman in the most ancient and biblical of ways.
For a male submissive, having a female lover willing to fulfill the role of Domme was a way for him to cast off
the responsibilities and pressures of the stress-filled work day. Scarlett particularly enjoyed playing with submissives 7
who were high-powered, professional men during the day. Chicago was filled with billionaire CEO’s, entrepreneurs, politicians and world-renowned surgeons and professors. Some of them were too busy to engage in vanilla sexual relationships, and didn’t have time to woo and pursue a woman in traditional ways. Scarlett was happy to fill their
need - and her own - for a week, a month, a year...even just one night.
It was a mutually satisfying relationship that had always been enjoyable to her. There were no games, no drama, no feminine wiles or false male charms. Neither party changed or got jealous during the course of the relationship because everything, even the length of the Dom/sub agreement, was negotiated ahead of time, and was
usually put down in writing.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Joelle whined.
“Don’t worry,” Scarlett said, towering over her friend. “I’ll protect you.”
On any given day, Scarlett was nearly six feet tall. Tonight, her black, thigh-high stiletto boots gave her an
additional six inches of height. Her immaculate skin and naturally bright-red hair contrasted stunningly with the
skin-tight, black-leather Cat Woman jumpsuit she wore.
Her willowy, statuesque frame made heads turn everywhere she went.
“You look great, Rissa,” Scarlett said. The pediatrician had donned a white leather mini-skirt along with thigh-high boots she had wrestled out of her car’s trunk.
“Thank you. I
feel
great.”
Scarlett was right at home. BDSM was her way of life, and she was pleased to share a tiny glimpse of it with
her two best friends. She was a Domme, and had been as long as she could remember. Even when she was young, she
had been drawn to let out her dominant persona; first playing dress up as a child, then at Halloween in high school.
In college, she was finally able to be herself and express her S&M self freely.
She felt like she had come out of the closet when she discovered the active and open BDSM community in
Chicago.
“Well, let’s not just stand here in the entrance all night,” Scarlett recommended. “Let’s get some drinks!”
The three women strode to the bar. Scarlett knew that inebriation and BDSM did not mix well, so she ordered ginger ale for both of her friends and a light wine spritzer for herself. The champagne she drank that afternoon had
long since worn off.
Scarlett sipped from her glass and handed the beverages to the other women as she warily watched a man
approach Joelle. She peered at him with the eyes of a tigress protecting her cubs.
“Fancy meeting you here,” the man said to Joelle. “Welcome to The Dark Side.”
Joelle grunted outright. Very ladylike Joelle, Scarlett thought sarcastically.
“Connor Barton,” she hissed.
Scarlett threw back her head and howled with laughter.
Oh, poor baby, JoJo
. The hottest man in Chicago wanted her. He was the most eligible bachelor in town and had even been featured on the cover of some national
social magazines and tabloids. Scarlett remembered reading about him at the nail salon last week.
“You’re the last person I expected to see here at The Dark Side,” the handsome man said to Joelle. It was
clear immediately clear from Scarlett’s vantage point that he was just as smitten with her as she with him.
“Ditto.”
Joelle’s eyes darted back and forth. A hilarious grin split Rissa’s angelic face.
“
That
is Connor Barton?” Rissa whispered to Scarlett.
“He is handsome as sin,” the red-head replied under her breath.
“Why don’t you introduce me to your friends?” the tall man said presumptuously. Arrogance and testosterone oozed from every pore, but Scarlett could sense his benign intentions. He was not a danger to Joelle. He
was definitely a Dom – Joelle was in for a wild ride – but he was not a pretender.
“Connor Barton, this is——”
Scarlett and Rissa turned in unison and side-stepped away, slipping out of sight behind a mammoth African-
American man wearing a sailor suit.
“Whew. Now I understand the crush,” Rissa said once they had escaped to the far side of the club and out
the back terrace doors. The duo saddled up to another bar located outside near a huge, crackling outdoor bonfire. It
was September and the night air was already getting chilly in The Windy City.
“Did you see who he had with him?” Scarlett asked referring to the tall woman standing behind Barton. She
was as tall as he was but she looked like his devoted little puppy dog.
“She was absolutely gorgeous.”
“Strikingly beautiful,” agreed Rissa. “I hope it’s not his girlfriend. Joelle would be crushed.”
“She’s not,” Scarlett assured her. “She’s a sub, but she’s not his.”
“A what?” asked Rissa. “A substitute? That’s nasty.”
“A submissive,” explained the tigress. “A person who agrees to do
everything
the other person says. No matter what. Anywhere, anytime, any way.”
“How do you know she’s not his girlfriend?”
“He’s a Dom, that’s for certain.” Scarlett said. “But she’s not his. He didn’t claim her.”
“What do you mean claim her?” Rissa laughed. “Brand her like a steer? Tattoo her forehead?”
“Some people
do
brand their partners,” Scarlett went on. A few sweet memories of lovers past flooded her
mind. “Others tattoo their mates, especially when the Dom/sub contract is a romantic relationship. Just like any other couple in love.”
Rissa listened.
“But that’s not what I meant,” she said. “A Dom will claim his sub with his eyes, with his hands, with his
body language. He will thoroughly possess her in the most subtle ways. ”
“It’s hot,” Rissa commented, nodding again.
“Hot as hell,” Scarlett agreed.
“Indeed, Dr. Parannella,” asserted another man’s voice. “It’s hot beyond your wildest imagination, my love.”
“I am
not
your love,” Rissa turned and faced the dark Latino man.
Another Dom, Scarlett thought. This was beginning to get interesting. Both of her friends had been
snatched up by very virile Doms within the first ten minutes of setting foot in the club. They were both in for the
night of their lives.
“But, Rissa, you are my love,
mi cariño,
” the man insisted.
Another hottie, Scarlett thought, although she, herself, had never been attracted to Doms. Although some
Dommes enjoyed switching rolls, alternating between playing the Dominant and the submissive partner from scene
to scene - or sometimes even within a scene - Scarlett had always felt repulsed by the idea of being someone’s sub.
She was a Domme, through and through.
“Do introduce me to your
beloved
, Rissa.” An amused smile danced around Scarlett’s mouth.
“Ferdinand Rodriguez,” the pediatrician seethed through clenched teeth, “meet my friend, Scarlett Eire.”
“Ferdinand Ignacio Rodriguez-Eleodoro.” He broke the stalemate with Rissa to shake Scarlett’s hand.
The Domme and the Dom sized one another up quickly.
This one was not dangerous either. Very masculine yes, but his intentions toward Rissa were good. That they
already knew each other from work was another good sign.
“
Mucho gusto Señor Rodriguez-Eleodoro
,” said Scarlett politely in perfect Spanish.
“Call me Rod.” He said, but his full attention had already returned to Rissa.
“Also known as Don Juan at the hospital,” Rissa spat. “He could sell ice to an Eskimo.”
“Talk the panties off a nun?” added Scarlett teasingly.
“I sure hope so,” he replied, nodding his head pointedly at Rissa.
“Good luck trying,” Scarlett chuckled.
“Oh, I will succeed,” he said darkly, his black eyes fixed on Rissa.
“Well then,” Scarlett excused herself. “If you two will excuse me, I will go powder my nose.....” She gathered
up her purse. “...for the next two hours.”
“Make it twelve hours,” Rodriguez threw after her. “Rissa won’t be home tonight.”
Cat and mouse, Scarlett thought.
Hold on tight, Rissa.
“I like to play with my victims before I devour them,” the man said.
Scarlett laughed. “I bet you do, Casanova.”
Good. Now she was on her own to pursue her own passions.
Scarlett went back inside and slipped past the bar where Joelle was still lost in rapt attention with her Dom. The club was nice enough - for people who wanted to dabble on ‘the dark side,’ but not actually take the plunge. It was a place
for amateurs and wanna-be’s.
She intended to find out where the
actual
BDSM club was located.
“Where’s the real club?” she asked the well-muscled bouncer back at the front door. The man was huge, well
over six foot six, and close to three-hundred pounds. He looked like a Navy Seal or an NFL defensive lineman. She
thought she recognized him from the Chicago Bears a few years back.
“Where are the Sore Horses?” she asked.
The big man shrugged.