Chapter 13 #2
“That’s reassuring.” Ray watched Justine move across the room, confidently greeting other people. She really was beautiful with her long dark hair and brown eyes. Like a quiet version of the actress Marisa Abela. No wonder Drake had dated her.
“You know, she always reminds me of Ms. Wendell.” Hope put her short nose up in the air in a snooty manner. “Our English teacher in high school?”
Oh the memories. Ray laughed. “Like I’m cool and know everything, and you’re a moron?”
“Exactly. Remember how you blasted her for making Chaz cry.” Still standing, Hope put her hands on her hips and imitated Ray’s voice.
‘Miz Wendell. Seriously? Is crushing someone’s spirit really an appropriate method of instruction?
I don’t think so. If you keep it up, our class will be calling and mailing complaints to the school board about your abuse of a student.
’ Girl, the words are engraved in my head—and still rev me up. ”
“Huh, I barely remember what I said. I was just so…so angry. What I do remember is how I froze afterward, cuz I’d spoken for the whole class.
” Ray blew out a breath, feeling the sickness that’d risen in her gut back then.
“But when I looked around, every single student was nodding. And the guys were saying stuff like damn right.”
“It was epic.”
Ray had to force a smile. When Pa heard about it, he’d used other words—ones starting with stupid and ending with damn fool drama. “It could have ended badly. I swear, my brain turns right off when I see someone getting bullied. I have to jump in.”
Hope slung an arm around Ray’s shoulders. “Speaking as one of the victims, we all appreciated it. I was incredibly grateful for you back then.”
“It went both ways.” Her few friends had added the happiest moments to the hell known as teen years.
Especially since she’d lacked a mother at home after her mother had walked out. Only… Pa kept saying Ray was just like her mother, too emotional and all that. If Pa had been as critical of Mom as of Ray, maybe her mother had fled in hopes of salvaging whatever self-esteem she had left.
You could have taken me… Only Pa was always saying Mom had no skills, that she couldn’t survive without him. Of course she’d left Ray where she had a home and food.
A ding-ding-ding rang in Ray’s head, as if she’d scored a prize. Or figured something out. Mom didn’t leave because of me. She left because Pa was ripping her to pieces.
“Volunteers, your time is up,” a voice called.
A pretty, petite blonde and a redhead were holding hands as they approached.
“We’re the next shift,” the blonde said.
The redhead gave them a charming military salute. “Y’all are relieved from duty.”
“Free at last,” Hope crowed. “Ray, I have to hit our hotel room and prep handouts. Peter and I are part of a panel on informed consent. Want to come up to the room with me?”
Slinging on her mini-backpack, Ray shook her head. “I want to take a quick walk-about and check out the workshops and classes.”
“Save the vendor room for later. I want to visit it with you—it’ll be a blast.”
“You got it.”
As Hope headed toward the lobby and elevators, Ray went the other way. Tall screens restricted the convention section entrance and blocked people from seeing anything down the hallway.
Two burly guys in jeans and polo shirts blocked the way. “Badge?”
What? Oh, oops. She pulled her lanyard out from under the backpack strap and held it up.
And got smiles. “Welcome,” one said.
The other added, “If you’re dressing up later on, remember only streetwear is allowed outside of this area. So either change once you’re here or wear something to cover up. Same with toys. Bring them in a bag. We don’t want to freak out the vanilla hotel guests.”
Ray grinned, anticipation rising. “And inside?”
The man with the bushy beard laughed. “Anything goes.”
“Fun.” Ray almost danced through the narrow opening, then stopped in a lounge-type area. People milled here and there. Others relaxed in seating arrangements of couches and chairs or tables and chairs. Along the left wall, vendors at tables were selling water, sodas, and snacks.
The right wall had two doors, widely separated. The signs said: DUNGEON, 9 pm until 2 am.
She swallowed. Drake planned for them to visit—to play—in the dungeon, possibly tonight or tomorrow. And that was all he’d say.
The thought made her squirm.
On the far side of the lounge were the two hallways to the classrooms and workshops. “Follow the yellow-brick road,” she muttered.
Sitting at a nearby table, a woman in a black latex suit gave her a once over and smiled slowly. “Have fun, Dorothy. Come and see me when you’re ready for the wicked witch.”
Ray couldn’t help but grin back.
As she walked the hallway, many of the classroom doors were closed so she checked the signs for what was going on inside: Negotiation and consent. Fisting. Power Exchange. Shibari.
One big room with an open door was labeled Want a Taste?
Oh, Hope had told her about this room where stations demonstrated various BDSM skills. Like violet wands or flogging or bondage. It would be going on for the entire convention.
I’ll be back, she promised herself.
She passed more classrooms, then paused at a large room where people sat at low tables with coloring books and crayons. Most wore short skirts or shorts with bright socks. Some had their hair in pigtails and braids. Giggling, throwing crayons at each other.
I found the littles room.
Farther in, pillows and vibrant plush rugs covered the hotel’s low-pile carpet. In the far corner, people wearing kitten and puppy ears and tails gamboled about with balls and happy barking.
The sheer energy and happiness in the room had her smiling.
A pitiful whine came from the littles table. “I wish we had cookies.” A couple of others at the table joined the whining.
Huh. Ray glanced around. Two obvious “grown-ups” were doing one-on-ones with their littles.
Across the room, a table had plates filled with cookies—and a pitcher with glasses.
Looking back at the littles group, she frowned.
One with her short brown hair in stubby pigtails noticed. And recognized her.
Faylee squealed, “Ray-Ray, hi. Hi!”
After giving her a wave and a laugh, Ray gestured toward the cookies and drink.
Faylee’s smile blazed. “Yes, pleeeze, Auntie Ray!”
Okay then, I’m the helpful auntie today. She fetched the cookies, setting them on the table with an admonishing, “Good children get one cookie. Just one.”
The high-pitched giggles, even from the two dressed as boys, made her grin. She poured them drinks—laughing under her breath as she poured one for herself. Cherry Kool-Aid. How long had it been?
As the group ate and drank, bouncing and coloring, Ray headed out, grinning at the chorus of thank yous and bye-bye, Auntie. They were all having so much fun.
I might have to get a coloring book.
She continued on past more classrooms.
At the far end of the U-shaped hallway, the vendor’s room was huge, filled with tables and booths. Looked as if they sold everything from books to BDSM equipment to sex toys to fetish wear. There were racks of corsets. Hmm.
Yes, visiting with Hope would be great.
She continued down the other side of hallway. More classrooms.
A rhythmic smacking sound made her stop at an open door labeled ADVANCED FLOGGING, FLORENTINE STYLE.
People sat at tables in the center. Roped-off areas were on the sides and front with what were probably demonstration equipment.
A big pillow attached to a tall stool was in one area.
Another, a clothes rack with a heavy coat.
A mannequin with sandbags holding down the base.
Her favorite was the giant teddy bear restrained across a tall stool.
At the front, a man was wielding not one, but two floggers on a woman’s bare back and buttocks. The way each set of strands spun and hit, perfectly placed, was mesmerizing.
As Ray leaned against the back wall to watch, the instructor stepped back and lay the floggers on a table. He talked about safety, using the woman’s body to show where to avoid the kidneys and spine. What areas were best to target.
Finished, he handed the woman a long wrap-around dress. With her back still to the class, she put it on, tying it closed. Reaching up, she released a cascade of dark-blonde hair from the bun on top of her head before turning around. She was a mature woman, and the dress showcased her curvy body.
The instructor smiled at the class and motioned to the roped-off areas.
“Take turns practicing on the demonstration models. I’ll be wandering between sections to give advice.
Use only light flogging on our inanimate victims, please.
” His voice deepened. “If you rip a pillow, you’ll pick up the feathers until the room is clean. ”
Holy kraken, the Dom looked as if he could easily enforce his threat. He was, maybe, in his forties, about six feet tall, and solidly built. No beer gut on this man. With silver-flecked black hair and eyes as dark as Drake’s, he looked as if he should be modeling.
Pulling floggers from bags, the learners lined up at the various areas.
As the floggings started, Ray put a hand over her mouth to smother her snickers.
Bad Ray. But damn. The two-handed style wasn’t easy.
Some picked it up right away; others could manage one flogger but had trouble getting into the flow of two.
Or couldn’t aim at all with their non-dominant arm.
She winced when the mannequin got strands whipping around her sides to lash her breasts.
Thank goodness they weren’t using real people.
Over at the poor teddy bear, a scruffy-bearded Top couldn’t get the two floggers going in sync at all. Even worse, he missed the target areas. A lot.
One watcher raised his voice. “Yer recipient’s gonna be pissing blood, dude. You gotta avoid the kidney area.”