Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Hazel
They say those who face their fears conquer them.
I was very much counting on whoever “they” were to be very wise.
Because while I didn’t even feel an urge to run, if everyone around us couldn’t hear my knees knocking, it was because the music that filled the Dungeon disguised the sound.
Still, it didn’t take but a nanosecond for me to understand that I’d had absolutely no clue what a BDSM club should look like.
Not until I stood just inside the doors and looked around.
This wasn’t some stripped down warehouse filled with furniture from any thrift shop.
There were no blinking neon signs, with most of the letters missing that offered to drown your sorrows in a beer or some harder liquor that I was sure had been so far from being top shelf, the bottles most likely called the floor their home.
The lovely bar on one side of the space wasn’t the only difference.
I’d not been immediately smacked in the face with the sight of writhing naked flesh or people bent over spanking benches, restrained in a pillory, or straddling some wooden horse.
No one was hanging from chains or from the ceiling either.
In fact, I saw no evidence that anything sexual was happening at all.
Tables were scattered around the floor, high stools offering places for couples to talk.
And it took another look to see that while far more genteel than any club I’d been in, there was a difference setting this particular club off.
The people at the tables wore anything from street clothes to skin-tight cat suits with enough zippers that one’s fingers immediately twitched to start drawing the tab along all those shiny metallic silver tracks.
In addition to the tables, there were leather loveseats and club chairs set in small groupings where several people could meet and enjoy a drink or perhaps enter into negotiations for the play that I was sure had to be going on somewhere.
There was no emerald green in sight. Instead a soft purple glow of lighting surrounded us.
“Babygirl, we need to move out of the doorway,” Nigel said, after bending down to speak close to my ear.
“Oh, right,” I said, my arms still linked with Mira and Master Cedro’s.
“How about there?” Mira suggested, pointing to a group of chairs next to what appeared to be a railing.
I nodded and somehow found myself not only seated on a loveseat, I had my friends sitting around me and a tray of glasses had been placed on a circular table between us. I accepted the glass Nigel handed me, as well as the smile he offered.
“It’s just water.”
“It’s just what I want,” I assured him and immediately took a long drink. I suddenly had a feeling this was what someone who does live theater must feel like before she steps onto a stage. Praying she’d not forget her lines and that her audience didn’t jeer or just get up and walk away in disgust.
A press of a hand on my arm had me look over to see Mira smile. “Breathe.”
That was good advice as the tightness in my chest immediately lessened when I released the breath I’d held for who knew how long and drew in another.
I’d like to say I was surprised to look around again and see that Master Derek had appeared, but I wasn’t really.
The man had this uncanny way of appearing whenever a Little or submissive seemed to need to feel anchored.
What did surprise me was to see Sadie at his side.
She smiled. “I know, I often get that reaction when I show up here, but I’m not just a Little to a Daddy. I’m a wife to a Dom. A Daddy-Dom, the best of both worlds if you ask me. If you don’t mind us joining you, that is?”
I smiled. “You’re not just a Little and a wife. You’re a friend. Besides, from what Nigel told me, you’re also quite the actress.”
Sadie giggled. “He’s being generous. I’m sure he thought I was pretty much the court jester, but I’m just glad he got the message and now, well, now you’re here!” Her hand waved to include the area around us.
I was and it was time. I tuned out the music and the clink of glasses.
I let the murmurs of the conversations around us fade out of my consciousness as I breathed steadily and met the gaze of all those who’d gathered around me, people who offered not only their ears, but their hearts.
My eyes lingered on those of a rich chocolate-brown and when he gave the slightest smile and nod, I took that step, unlocked that iron box, let its contents spill out and told them my story.
I think I’ve always known that I wasn’t like all my friends growing up.
I grew up in a family that was about as vanilla as the wafers Mom would put in the banana pudding she made.
We did all the family things, gathered at the dinner table every night.
Talked about school and such, but mostly about football.
Like a lot of small towns, mine thrived on all things sports and the week’s entertainment was always played out every Friday night on the football field.
Maybe it was the fact I was the only daughter among four boys who constantly competed to claim the crown of the toughest cock on the walk, but believe me, that had nothing whatsoever to do with anything that even hinted at upsetting the apple cart.
Those subjects were reserved for the preacher to warn us girls about. Since we carried the genes of Eve, we were weak and drawn toward sin. We were supposed to listen to our betters, who, of course were all male, but if I’d so much as asked about sex, I would have sent my parents to an early grave.
So I dated the “good boy” from next door and had never felt anything other than a little disgust when his first kiss reminded me of the puppy I’d gotten one year for Christmas.
Every time he kissed me all I could think about was that puppy’s tongue slobbering all over me.
Not about to ask any member of my family what was wrong with me, I turned to books and the internet.
I confirmed that preachers don’t have all the answers, and that they contradict each other on almost everything.
I read studies on psychology and how the brain works and all sorts of other subjects.
But it wasn’t until I found stories about submission that I recognized myself.
They had my blood heating as did books about Doms who treasured the gift of their partner’s submission more than any gift of gold.
That was what I wanted. Not to be someone’s sinful mate, but to become someone’s chosen one, to be that gift.
Once I turned twenty-one, I began exploring a bit.
When I found nothing close to a sex club in my small town, I moved to a larger city and got a job as a waitress in a fancy restaurant.
I figured not only would the tips be better, the clientele would be older and more experienced than the boys I’d dated.
I didn’t want a boy. I wanted a man. And not just a man, I wanted a Dominant.
Over the next year, I was invited to a few parties, even a couple of what I learned were called munches.
Those provided confirmation that I wasn’t a freak, that other people, people who worked regular jobs, who looked like everyone else and yet were also drawn to kink were far more common that I’d thought.
They also became the source of information on where to begin exploring the actual play, clubs to try, what to expect, what to wear, that sort of thing.
I supposed they also gave advice on who to play with, but I was so excited to have found that what I’d come to believe were places only existing in fairytales were real that I just didn’t pay attention.
To be honest, it comes down to the fact I just ignored anything I didn’t want to consider.
After a few months, I was ready to stop watching from the sidelines and get into the game.
I scened with a few Doms, spankings over a bench, a bit of bondage, some humiliation which I learned is definitely not on my kink list. I suppose all of that is why I wound up bound to that cross by a man I only knew as Sir.
I paused and lifted my glass only to discover that I’d emptied it.
“Here, babygirl,” Nigel said, taking the empty glass from me and handing me another. “Take your time. You’re doing great.”
“Am I?” I whispered wondering why I was spilling secrets that most likely made me sound like some woman who’d not had the sense of a slug.
“You are,” Mira confirmed. “Don’t let that box close. You’re going to smash it completely.”
I met her eyes and then those of her husband whose gaze was unwavering and could have caused me to shudder except for the fact it was filled with both compassion and resolve. A shift to Cedro’s eyes reflected the same.
“When you’re ready, I’ll take over,” he said softly. “But Mira’s right. Scratch and claw your way through if you need, but you’ve got this.”
I was pretty sure I didn’t until Nigel simply scooped me up and resettled me on his lap. His arm came around me, not tightly, but a solid weight that I knew wasn’t offering capture, but support.
“I’ve got you,” he said softly.
I nodded, took several sips of the water, and began again.
It was loud. Too loud and too dark. When I agreed to scene with him, he told me he’d blindfold me and wrapped something around my head.
When I moved to lift it, he barked at me to be still.
It not only cut off my vision, it was hampering my breathing—more a hood than a blindfold.
When he reprimanded me so sharply, I froze, not wishing to call any more attention to myself.
I was grateful he’d let me keep my underwear on so didn’t want to push it, I suppose.
Anyway, the hood wasn’t cloth, it was latex, and his fingers adjusted it so that my nose popped free, allowing me to draw in a breath.
I could feel my lips pushing out of the mouth hole of the mask, but that turned out to be only a momentary freedom.