Adventurous Me (4 page)

My mind snaps and I blurt out, “So if you don’t own this place, exactly what
is
your role here?”

Dave laughs and turns loose of my chin. “Little sub, I’m the dungeon master.”

The rest of the evening passes quickly, primarily because I’m in a state of shock. I see things I didn’t think I’d ever see, including a gorgeous guy licking the boots of one of the homeliest women I’ve ever seen while calling her his “supreme mistress.” That’s an eye-opener. And I notice something else very strange – well, strange to me anyway.

“Dave?”

“Yeah, little one?”

“There are lots of guys around here without women. Some of them keep looking at me, but none of them are coming over to talk to me. Are they gay?” I’m used to being hit on at bars, but I’m not extremely attractive, and these guys are. We’re talking really,
really
hot.

“Nope. They’re not gay. Well, a couple of them may be bi.” He stops for a second and my eyebrows shoot up. “But that’s not it. You’re new. They’re watching. They don’t want to offend you by being too forward. I’m sure the oldest ones in the bunch have figured out that you’re not in the lifestyle, and they don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. They’re not staring, are they?”

“Nope. They’re just sneaking glances.” It’s kind of funny.

“That’s what I thought. Plus you’re not collared.” Ah. Those funny necklaces with the padlocks. “They’re afraid you’re in here looking for a Dom, and most of them just want to play, not collar a sub.” I assume that collaring is some kind of relationship. That makes sense to me.

I decide to throw some furtive glances their way. One of the guys is tall and blond, Viking-like in his coloring and build. There are a couple of guys with medium-brown hair and nice tans, but they look like hard workers, not beach bums spending their days lying out in the sun for the hell of it. Maybe construction workers. Or cowboys. Just nice guys. And there’s another guy.

He didn’t stand out at first. When he glances my way, I look away. There’s something about his eyes, like they want to devour me. He’s good-looking enough, wavy chestnut brown hair and a nice build, not heavy or stocky, just muscular, probably barely over six feet tall. I’ll be fifty next year; he looks to be maybe forty? But there’s something about his face, his eyes actually, that just draws me in. I turn to Dave.

“Hey, who’s the guy over there alone? The one with the eyes.”

Dave looks at me like I’m nuts, then glances over my shoulder. “Oh, that’s Master Clint. He’s had a rough couple of years. I’m trying to get him to look for a sub to collar, but he’s resistant. Has his hands full.”

“Full of what?” Now I’m curious.

“You’d have to ask him,” Dave tells me, and I swear I see the corners of his mouth turn up just the tiniest bit. I feel like he’s just issued me a challenge and I’m trying to decide if I accept. “Think you’ll come back?” he asks, interrupting my reverie.

“I’d like to. Can I?”

“Sure! I’ll work out something with the membership fee. And I’ll volunteer to be your trainer if you want.” He’s not smiling, just looking at me like he’s waiting for me to decide.

Then it hits me. “Does that mean we’ll be having sex at some point?”

“I don’t know any other way to train a sub so, yes, I’m sure we will.”

There’s a second or two when I think I’m going to say no and then, to my surprise, I say, “Yeah. Sure. You can be my trainer.”
Where the hell did that come from?,
my vacationing brain screams. “What exactly does it mean to train me?”

“There’s really no training per se. It’s just a process of helping you understand the lifestyle before you come out here and start to get requests to scene, get some idea of what a Dom would expect from you both submissively and sexually, and to help you decide if you’d like to be collared at some point. Still interested?”

“Absolutely.” I can’t believe I’m saying this. But I was looking for adventure, right? I’m pretty sure I’ve found it.

“Okay. I’ll work up some kind of schedule for training and give it to you to look over. It’ll probably take me a few days. In the meantime, get yourself tested and bring in the results.” At first I think he means for drugs, and then I realize what he’s talking about.

“I haven’t been with anyone except my husb . . . ex in upwards of thirty years.”

“Yeah, but do you know where
he’s
been that entire time?” I see his point, and I shake my head. “So get tested just to be on the safe side. Then we can proceed. Until then, if sex comes up in your training, we’ve got plenty of condoms around here. Shouldn’t be a problem.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you’d think he fucks some new sub trainee every day.

Well, maybe he does. “Have very many subs you’re training?”

Dave laughs. He really looks sexy when he does that. “Nope, little one. I haven’t trained a sub in eight years. And I’m not sure I want to train you, but I am sure of one thing: I don’t want you getting hurt or scared. As long as I’m training you, I know you’re safe. So I’m willing to do it. Plus,” he says and winks, “you look like a good fuck.”

Have to admit, no one’s ever said
that
to me before, and I kind of like it.

A
fter I get home, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling and trying to digest everything I saw and heard. I also can’t get Master Clint’s face out of my mind. There’s something about those eyes, the intensity of his gaze and the sadness there, that I can’t shake. I’m wondering if I’ll ever meet him.

The next day, Sheila tries every ploy she can think of to get me to tell her where I went and what I did. I won’t. I think she’s mad. Too bad. She could’ve come along too, but she backed out – work, my ass.

So I start doing some thinking, and I work through lunch so I can take off an hour early. When I leave the office, I go straight to the place named on the front of the bag that Dave had handed me. And I’m not disappointed when I get there.

All they have is – what do they call it? fetwear? – and it’s almost overwhelming. There’s a young girl with pink, spikey hair working, hanging up things that I can’t bring myself to call clothes. I guess she sees me looking around and she comes up to me quietly, so quietly that when she speaks, I jump about a foot. “Can I help . . . oh, gee, I didn’t mean to scare you! Can I help you find something?”

What should I say to her?
, I wonder. She doesn’t know me, so I decide to just jump right in. “Yeah, um, I’m joining a fetish club and I’m going to be going through sub training. And I’m not,” I look at her and smile, “your age. So what would you suggest for someone like me?”

“Honey, if you’re joining a fetclub, it doesn’t matter how old you are. Nobody in the club scene cares about age. So tell me, what’s the fetish? Is this a foot club? A tit club? An ass club? A BDSM club?”

“BDSM?”

“Yeah. Bondage-discipline-sadism-masochism-dominance-submission-slave-master.” She says it so easily that I’m pretty sure that’s what she’s up to in her free time.

“That’s it.” I make a mental note to look it up on the Internet and learn that term. If I’m going to do it, I should be fluent in it. “So I need to know what to wear, and I need to buy some things. I don’t want to wear the same thing every time I go.”

“Some people do. Fetwear is kind of expensive, so some people
have
to wear the same thing every time. One outfit will set you back a couple hundred dollars.” I think she sees the look of horror on my face because she’s quick to add, “But I think I can help you with some mix-and-match stuff that will work out nicely and be a little cheaper.”

We start to go through the racks. I find a black and red leather corset that I like a lot. She finds a black lace tank and a black, ruffled, short skirt to go with it. I have the leggings Dave gave me and that corset, plus the black lace tee. She finds me a pair of boots that I really like, mid-calf with buckles up the sides and four-inch heels. I pick through a rack and find a dark purple leather bra with an attached, sheer flounce that reaches down past my waist. That’s really, really cute. She comes up with some leather shorts, and then I find purple shoes. Bingo. She rings it all up and it’s two hundred and forty-some-odd dollars, but I think that’s a steal. I put it all on Ron’s credit card. He doesn’t know it, but he’s going to pay for it.

On my way out, I notice some jewelry. It’s beautiful. I mean, I know the stones aren’t real, and it’s just cheap metal, but it’s nice for the club scene. She’s showing me some pretty pieces that will work with what I’ve bought when I move down a case and see something that takes my breath away.

The case is full of collars. Some of them are plain wide leather, and some are chain. There are a couple of thin silver ones, a few thin leather, and there’s one or two made of brass. But right in the middle of the group is a piece that makes my heart almost stop.

It’s gold, gleaming gold, and about an inch wide. It has a row of stones along the top and bottom of the band, but right in the center, it has a cluster of stones that form a heart, and the heart is also filled in with stones. It’s gorgeous. It even has a stone-encrusted gold padlock, and the keys for it have a heart-shaped cutout for the key ring to run through. She sees me staring at it and takes it out of the case.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she sighs, and I can tell she’s wishing she had someone to give it to her.

“They’re not real, are they?”

“They absolutely are.” She turns the price tag over and I start to laugh.

“Might as well put that back. It won’t be on my neck anytime soon.”

“Yeah, but put it on and see how it looks! I haven’t had the balls to.” She pulls a mirror on a stand over to me, then takes the collar out of the case and hands it to me.

I’m afraid of bending it out of shape, but it’s hinged. It’s much lighter-weight than it looks. I put it on, push it together in the back, and lean over to the mirror.

I went the extra mile with my hair and makeup this morning because I wanted to look good this evening. When I look in the mirror, I can’t believe my eyes. I look . . .

Beautiful?

I look like a princess. It’s amazing. My eyes start to tear, and the girl says, “Oh my god, you look stunning in that! You’re kind of glowing!” I can’t help it; I start to cry outright. Would any man ever see what I just saw in that mirror? Or will they just see a middle-aged woman who’s boring, and tedious, and uninteresting?

I take the collar off, thank her, and hurry out of the store. I’m going home, and I’ll get ready and go to the club. Maybe one of the guys there will ask me to play.

“Well, don’t you look lovely?” Dave says in greeting when I get to the club. “Looks like you went shopping!”

“Yeah! Like it?” I twirl for him in the cute little skirt and the purple bra-thing. The purple shoes look nice with it.

“Yeah, just one problem.” He takes me by the elbow and leads me back to the locker room area, then points through the doorway. “Underwear.”

“I put on my best ones . . .”

“Not allowed. Take them off. Then come back out to the bar. I’ll be waiting.” He turns and walks away without another word.

I drag myself into the locker room and pull off my panties. Trying to figure out what to do with them, I stuff them in my purse and my purse in a locker, and use the combination lock I brought with me to secure it all. When I go back out to the bar, I feel like everyone in the place can tell I don’t have on any underwear. Then I realize that the other women most likely aren’t wearing any either. At the bar, Dave doesn’t say anything. He just motions for me to turn around backward. Once my back is to him, he reaches down and pulls up my skirt, right there at the bar. Before I can protest, he drops it and says, “Better. Now, we need to sit down and go over this training schedule.”