Chapter 13 #3
“Stuff it, asshole.” Scruffy-Beard turned far enough for everyone to see his food-stained black t-shirt, pudgy muscles, and pale complexion.
Not an enticing sight. A while back, Marisol termed a man with a similar appearance a neckbeard—and had to explain. Poor social skills, poor hygiene. Looked like he lived in his mother’s basement, playing video games.
Around the room, the teacher was making the rounds and giving advice. The students would practice on the test dummies and then make way for the next person. Some went to the end of their lines for a second shot.
Reaching the teddy-bear area, the instructor watched the neckbeard for a few swings and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t the right class for you. Before trying the Florentine weave, you need to master basic flogging. There is a Flogging 101 class being offered later today.”
“Yeah, well, that’s bullshit. I’m here now, and I got a place to practice. Good enough for me.” The bearded idiot turned his back and kept swinging away.
The instructor stiffened, apparently searching for patience—and coming up empty. As his jaw tightened, Ray tensed. The teacher looked as if he was going rain down holy hell on the rude asscrack.
Not good, so not good. Master Drake would be really upset if there was a classroom brawl.
As Ray straightened up, her belt snagged on her pale blue-green shirt. And she started to grin. She was still wearing the stereotypical volunteer uniform of polo shirt and black jeans. She dug the volunteer badge out of her hip pocket and clipped it onto the lanyard. There—all official.
Donning a pompous attitude like an overcoat, she marched across the room and stepped right between the instructor and the neckbeard. Facing the dumbass. “Excuse me, please. The convention has rules—and does not tolerate disrespect to instructors.”
Neckbeard scowled. “I paid to attend these workshops.”
Not an argument she wanted to have. “Security has been called. When they arrive, you’ll either be thrown out or”—she paused to heighten the moment—“they’ll color your badge yellow as a first warning.”
She could see the fool relax as if a warning wasn’t so bad.
“A yellow badge shows everyone that you are a problem. No one will want to have anything to do with you. You sure won’t have anyone wanting to play with you in the dungeon.”
His mouth dropped open. Because a hot babe in a dungeon was what every young wanna-be Dom would dream about. “Uh… Yeah, okay.” He looked over her shoulder at the instructor. “Sorry, guess I’ll go to the other class.”
A second later, he was gone.
Ray blew out a breath. That could have gone a lot worse. Now to pacify the instructor. “Sir, I’m sorry—” When her gaze lifted to meet his, her voice died.
Like Drake, this Dom was utterly self-confident and radiating power. Rather than angry, he was…amused. “Very nicely done. Can you flog as well as you intervene?”
“Oh hell no. I was just watching. I’m not—”
“Not a Top.” His eyes narrowed. “No, you’re a very brave submissive.” He glanced at the blonde who’d joined him. “She’s much like you, lass.”
The woman had a warm, throaty voice. “Thank you for stepping in. The young man was close to getting a fist in the face.” She directed a reproving stare at the Dom. “And you already have enough damage to your hands. Bad Master.”
As he laughed, Ray backed away, waving the next student forward. “Go on, let’s keep the line moving.”
Her retreat continued right out the door. Obviously, the madness of Cthulhu had taken her over. Talk about jumping in before thinking.
And…she’d told more than one little fib.
Security hadn’t been called.
And coloring a badge yellow? She’d totally made it up.
Hopefully, no one would ever tell Drake.
She popped into another classroom, watching an intricate demonstration of shibari. It was like artwork—although it took forever. She’d probably be bouncing in the ropes before the poor Top could finish.
As the class finished, people flowed out of the room, discussing what they’d learned. Heading off to other classes or to the open area for drinks and snacks.
And Ray…sighed as loneliness hit. Drake was doing convention administration stuff. Honestly, the man’s super-power must be diplomacy. Everyone liked him and came to him when there were problems.
Mac and Hope were both busy. Faylee was still in the littles room.
I need more friends, obviously.
She wandered down the hallway, eyeing the classes. There was a panel discussion on funishment versus punishment. Interesting topic.
“Dammit, I hate lazy—”
Ray recognized the irate woman standing inside the door of a classroom. “Hey, Claudia, problem?”
“So many problems. Both volunteers who were to distribute papers and handle the mic for attendee questions didn’t show. I have to handle intros and facilitate the Q&A, so—”
“So you’re stuck in the front. Let me help.”
“Seriously? I mean…”
“Sure, I’m even wearing a volunteer uniform. Where are the papers and the mic?”
It was a great hour. The panel discussion had been lively, the ideas inventive—and a bit eye-opening at times.
The speakers and attendees ended up knowing her name since Claudia used it so often. “Ray, can you hand out these papers?” And she’d trot to the front, accept another panelist’s stack and hand them out. Or take a mic to someone in the audience with a question.
“Thanks for the help, Ray,” one Mistress said, echoed by the switch beside her.
“Claudia kept you moving.” The male Dominant panelist smiled at her. “And from your smile, you enjoyed it. Service submissive?”
“Um, sometimes?” Her smile was rueful. “I think it depends on who needs help. Some people—no way.”
“And for a special one or two, all the way?”
“Um.” She thought of Master Drake and laughed ruefully. “Yes, I guess so.”
Claudia hugged and thanked her. Spotting the other two members of her throuple in the back, she introduced Ray. One woman gave off Dominant vibes and had attended a predicament workshop. The other woman was all enthused over the class about switches.
Then they started talking about visiting the vendor area. “Want to come with us, Ray?” Claudia asked.
“Oh no, I promised Hope I’d wait for her. I’m sure I’ll run into you all again this weekend.” She headed off, checking the doors again. She could simply sit down with the schedule and pick out an interesting class…but right now, her body totally wanted to move.
Hadn’t there’d been a class about submission to start now? Like farther down this hall? Either this classroom or… The door was shut so she slowed to read the sign.
“You disgusting cunt. Piece of fuckmeat. Not worthy of—” The man’s voice blasting out, audible even through the door, was straight out of her nightmares.
Out of her memory of…that night.
The blood drained from her head. Her knees went weak.
No, no, don’t pass out. Get out of here!
Holding onto the wall for support, she staggered away, down the hallway, back to the pre-function lounge area. To the wide open area with lots and lots of people. Yes.
At an empty table, she almost fell into a chair. Planting her forehead against her knees, she panted…and shook.
Breathe slower, stupid. This is a public place. I’m not tied up and helpless. Not in a house.
One inhalation. Purse lips. Breathe out. Wiggle toes, wiggle fingers.
That man’s voice… It’d sounded like one of her assailants, but was it really? Her memory was…unreliable. Full of holes and crazy emotions from whatever drugs had been in her drink. It was why she hadn’t gone to the police. How could she when even she didn’t remember exactly what had happened?
Maybe it wasn’t the same voice. Only…the words were the same. Such ugly words.
Ray swallowed against the nausea. Pulled in a breath. Breathed out slowly. Swallowed again.
“You okay, girl?” The woman’s voice was…welcome. Another woman felt like safety.
Ray straightened. Tried to smile—and blinked at the tall, muscular, dark-haired Domme. The one who’d taught her how to paddle Casper. Her name was… “Mistress Jasira?”
“Very good.” The Domme sat in a chair next to Ray and glanced at Casper. “Minion, go fetch her a bottle of water.”
“Yes, Mistress.” The blond slave gave Ray a worried look and hurried to the beverage station.
Bending again, Ray used the bottom of her shirt to wipe the fear sweat from her face. Guess my panic attack is over if I can be embarrassed.
“Please tell me someone didn’t use you for a demo and leave you in this condition.” Jasira’s eyes narrowed as she glanced toward the hallway as if she’d beat up whoever it was.
A half-hysterical laugh burst from Ray. I want to be like Jasira when I grow up. “It wasn’t”—she sucked in another breath—“a demo. I had kind of a panic attack.” Talking was easier now her heart wasn’t clogging her throat. “It wasn’t something anyone did.”
The Domme studied her with serious brown eyes before leaning back. “All right. Heaven knows there are triggers to trip over in some of these classes.”
Ray wasn’t about to tell her she’d triggered on a voice rather than some BDSM activity. “I’m good now.” She huffed a laugh. “I just needed to shake for a while.”
Casper appeared, went down on his knees next to Jasira, and offered up a bottled water like a gift. “Mistress.”
“Thank you, my sweet,” Jasira murmured.
As Casper glowed, Jasira opened the water and handed it to Ray. “Drink up. Get yourself back in your body. Can I call someone for you?”
Ray started to feel forlorn, like there was no one, only…there actually was. Hope. MacKensie. Claudia and Faylee would undoubtedly come if she needed help. Wow, friends.
And…Drake. She didn’t doubt he’d show up. Not even a doubt. Huh. “I—Actually, I’m good.”
“And you’re smiling.”
Ray’s smile grew. “I realized there are people I could call if I needed them.”
“Ah. Always a good realization.” Jasira eyed her again in consideration, then nodded. “You look back to normal. The minion and I need to go get set up for a M/s roundtable.”
“Thank you both so much.”