Restraint (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (3 page)

Standing in line
, in front of a club I’ve never entered, I feel content, at home, as if I’ve finally arrived at the destination I’ve been traveling for thirty years.

The
handsome gentleman in the suit nods his head in recognition as if we are of one mind. He glances around at all the poseurs and shakes his head in amusement. He has a smile that weakens knees. Lush, full lips that tilt up at the corners, and once your eyes are drawn to their trap, the lips split into a Cheshire cat grin. It’s the smile the Devil uses when he seduces you into selling your soul- a little bit evil and a whole heluva lot naughty. This handsome man wearing a suit that costs more than my entire wardrobe is dirty sexy. When his hypnotic gunmetal gray eyes settle back on me, he huffs an infectious laugh that startles those nearest to him, and then he abruptly turns his back and disappears into the club.

Long minutes pass as I slowly move forward in the sea of clubbers, never pushing the devilish suit man from my mind. I can’t help but smile- years… and I
’ve never felt the hunger when I looked at a man. The terrifying and debilitating fear always overrode the craving. Today, of all days, two men captured my interests, made me feel alive, and the moments were all too fleeting: my boss and dirty sexy.

It doesn’t matter that I will never see that man again or
that my boss is off limits. It just feels freeing to know that I’m not numb- that I do hunger for something that I thought was stolen from me. It infuses my spirit and makes me feel sure of myself.

Eventually, only
the low-rent couple in front of me is keeping me from being at the front of the line. They are the only thing between me and the bouncer barring entrance to the club. The bouncer is a beefy six-foot tall mountain of a man. He has skullcut hair and is wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He calmly and quietly reasons with a smarmy male who is fronting as a Dom. His browbeaten girlfriend is bitching at the bouncer and trying to scratch his thick forearm.

The couple is
the epitome of the downside of this lifestyle. They don’t actually have the mind-set or the need to be here. He simply uses it as an excuse to rough up his girlfriend. He is weak, and he sickens me. My true nature rises to the fore and wants to play, wants to humiliate the little dick who needs to find another sandbox to play in. The bouncer’s eyes meet mine above the man’s head and they widen in surprise.

“Mistress, please step forward,” a voice filled with gravel announces. He doesn’t raise his voice, yet it carries over the din of the crowd. The couple doesn’t leave and tries to argue with the club’s security. He just pushes them to the side and motions for me to move forward.

“Is this your first time here, ma’am?” the beefcake cheerily asks. I look around wondering why he’s so happy all of the sudden. I mean, how could you be happy with a couple still shrieking at you while you tolerantly ignore them. But here is this huge mofo of a guy, happily smiling from ear-to-ear. He reminds me of a rowdy puppy.

“Yes, it is.” My voice doesn’t waver
, even though I’m nervous that he’ll say I can’t enter the club. I can’t hide the confusion in my tone, though. Nothing could cover that.

“If you can answer this question you may enter.” His blue eyes glow with
amusement and his mouth slides into a grin. “What’s your position?”

I cock my head to the side and squint at him. Surely he doesn’t mean what I think he means.
But I doubt we’re talking about baseball.

My mo
uth automatically blurts out, “Switch,” before I can stop it.

Happy c
huckles erupt from the burly man, as if what I said was unexpected. His infectious laughter shakes his muscular body. The movement draws my attention to his t-shirt. The name of the club spans the front. The font is created from chain,
RESTRAINT.

My face heats up
in a combination of embarrassment and mortification. I worry that I gave the wrong answer to the question as he laughs at me. My lips pull down in frown from the disappointment.

“I want to meet your
Dom sometime, then.” He continues to chuckle to himself as he raises his hand to his ear to tap his Bluetooth. He nods his head as if rocking out to a bass only he can hear.

“Umm… What’s your name, ma’am?” He hesitates
as if scared I will reprimand him. Well, I can see his confusion. He probably thinks I’m 100% Domme.

Before I can answer he is replying to the unknown caller. “Yeah,
has curly hair, short little gal. Says she’s a Switch, but by the look she gave this guy out here,” he hitches a finger in the direction of the pissed off couple. “I wouldn’t mess with her. I think she was imagining shoving his balls down his own throat.” He finally pauses in his conversation so I can offer my name.

“Katya Waters. Kat,” I answer on cue. Hi
s body jolts, as if he recognizes my name. If I wasn’t already confused by his perky happiness, that would do it.

He doesn’t relay what I said, so I assume that the person listening ove
rheard. His eyes pinch together creasing his forehead, and then they widen as he listens to the person on the other end of his Bluetooth.

“Yes, Sir
! Absolutely!” he excitedly says. “I’ll let the others know.” He taps his ear to end the one-sided conversation I was privy to. He brilliantly smiles, almost giddily.

“Boss says next time just bypass the line and come up here and we will let ya right in.” He says this in a way as if
he’s asking for my permission. I sigh loudly. This is why I hate it when people assume from my demeanor that I’m a dominant. I will never find a Dom at this rate.

“Thank you. Um… what’s your name?”
I imagine it’s something like Harley or Rex. His face is adorable. His demeanor is gentle. He’s a rough and tumble happy bastard, that’s for sure. But his body makes him look like he eats small children for breakfast. He reminds me of me- don’t judge a book by its cover. His body doesn’t match his personality, and my needs don’t match my demeanor.

“
It’s Aaron, ma’am,” he says while hesitantly motioning for my wrist.

I
gently place my hand into his big paw, and I ask, “Why did your boss want my name? There’s no way he’d know me. I just moved here last month.”

Aaron’s strange behavior was off-putting, but I didn’t like the alarms that blared in my mind when my name was asked. I haven’t survived this long by letting my guard down. I listen to my
instincts, and right now, they are on red alert.

“We were
told to call him when someone fitting your description arrived,” Aaron readily answers. “Somehow the boss knows who you are.” He stamps my hand leaving a mark on the front. A circle created out of the word
Restraint,
inside is an object that looks like a piece of cane.

“Let me guess,
a switch,” I say in amusement. I pop an eyebrow at Aaron as I pull my hand from his. 

“Yup, the
Doms have a paddle- the subs a gag.” He pulls two more stamps from his apron to show me. “The members have a bracelet. They don’t get hand stamps. Boss will find ya later and give you one.” He happily grins down at me.

“How do you become a member? And I may not even like it in ther
e,” I obstinately say. I fold my arms over my chest and glare Aaron down. He’s hiding something, I just know it.

More deep chuckles rumble up
from his chest. “Yeah, sure ya won’t. You have to apply and pay a fee. Boss has already taken care of it for you. Boss knows ya will love it in there, and he’s never wrong.”

Who the fuck is
this
Boss?
My eyes squint as I try to flesh that out. I rub my temples from the strain. Forget it, one thing at a time. I’ll figure it out later.

“How much is
the cover?” I ask Aaron of the happy persuasion.

“It’s a
lready taken care of. Go on in. Welcome to the Restraint. Your future awaits you inside,” he ominously sings.

Aaron steps to the side and motions me towards the steel door.

My body is overcome with nerves and I begin to shake from anticipation or is it apprehension, who knows.

Chapter Three

Sensations engulf me as I open the large, heavy door. Like a blast furnace to the face, all my senses get hit at once. The suffocating pressure of the music and the thrill of the adrenaline making my pulse race leave me feeling breathless.

Another burly man
who is wearing the clubs standard t-shirt greets me with a stiff nod as I unsurely shuffle into the club. I take a few gulps of air, trying to acclimate to my surroundings.

The door clanks shut
, sounding like a gunshot. Embarrassingly, girly meep exits my mouth when the sound ricochets. Thank God, it’s so loud in here no one heard it. My eyes lock on the bouncer and I know he heard my sound of cowardice. I pull up my big girl panties and walk into the main room.

Awe- shock and awe
are the only ways to explain it- shock, awe, and Holy Shit!

The Hand That Feeds
pours from the speakers. Its bass is keeping time with my heartbeat, or maybe my heart is speeding to match its pace. It’s a discombobulating sensation, not being able to control your own body’s reactions.

I close my eyes and allow the music to
wash over me and seep into my skin, to bury itself into my soul. I gain courage from the music to move forward- to progress.

I breathe deep to slow my ragged breath th
at had accelerated to match the music’s drumbeats. Scents, some not so pleasant, mingle with beyond pleasurable smells, creating an intoxicating combination that thrums inside my veins. Sweat, sex, and perfume are a given. But I can almost smell pain, arousal, excitement, lust, and need blending in the air. All of this and I’ve yet to open my eyes.

My green eyes fly
open at the thought and widen immediately.

Yeah, definitely Holy Shit!

I stand just inside the main door on a platform. Three steps beneath me is a dance floor crowded with several hundred undulating bodies. They blend into a wave of soul pumping rhythms, a group orgy of a mating dance. I’m sure this is exactly what natives considered dancing. In no way co
uld anyone get away with what is being exhibited in front of me in a regular club short of on stage in a strip bar- no, not even there.

The music changes
rhythm- the heartbeat thud of rock to the teeth-rattling thump of R&B. NIN to Beyoncé- odd. Normally, I’m annoyed as soon as I hear her voice, but this isn’t about the artist. It’s the beat and bass and the affect it has on your body. I feel my own heart rate change, along with everyone else in the club. We are of one heartbeat, a single organism controlled by the beat from the speakers.

A giant
smile breaches my face, a shit-eating grin. Yeah, Boss was right. I love it here.

I walk down the short, wide stairs to the floor and flow around the outside of the dancers. The lights strobe and flicker with the music adding to the infectious ambiance. 

I belly up to the crowded bar that is hidden behind the dance floor. I slide onto a stool. I need a drink, the stronger the better. I sit, waiting for the bartender as try to acclimate to my surroundings.

The female couple
sitting next to me lean into one another and passionately kiss. My mind immediately brings a memory to the fore, my first kiss with another female- her soft, supple lips yielding underneath mine. How afterwards I sang the cheesy song
I kissed a girl and I liked it,
and how she joined in with me and giggled. I sit on my stool smiling to myself, enjoying the environment that I belong in, and I like it.

“Hey,” a husky voice whispers
in my ear.

I glance up and I’m
rendered speechless. A true Dominatrix stands before me. Her six-foot tall body is encased in leather, a whip coils around her arm, and a leash is held in her hand. My gaze follows the leash to a soft beauty kneeling at her Master’s feet. I should be creeped out, but it feels natural and right.

“Hey, yourself.”
I grin and extend my hand to my fellow Domme. Her hand encloses my wrist and I suppress a shudder. Suppression or not, she feels it and grins. She gently flips my hand over to check out my stamp. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“Switch?” Her brow rises
in a silent question, undoubtedly wondering who I’d submit to or who would submit to me. Or perhaps her eyebrow is an invitation. I will assume nothing from this Domme. She could beat me senseless.

“May I buy you a drink?”
She softly asks. There is something about her that is inherently familiar. I feel a bond with her, and yet we’ve just met. 

“Yes, please, thanks,
” I shyly murmur.

S
he snaps her fingers like she owns the place, maybe she does, maybe she’s the
Boss
.

A wiry Latina immediately stops waiting on her customer and hurries over to us.
She smiles in adoration and asks, “What can I get for ya, Queen?”