My Tye Page 2

She didn’t answer him. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t just yet. Instead, she glanced around the office. The deep-tinted paint they’d chosen for the room reminded her of the extravagance of her favorite red wine, while the cherry desk and matching credenza only added to the opulence of the small area. But it was the decorations on the walls that made her heart skip more than a few beats.

  Riding crops, manacles, leather gloves dotted with prickly spikes along the fingers, metal anal hooks, wooden paddles, collars, hoods—each item stood out on a background of red velvet, protected behind a piece of glass within a shadowbox frame. The esoteric grouping sent a buzz through her body once again, yet freaked her out as well.

  He followed her gaze, then came back at her with an inquisitive look of his own.

  “It’s a lot to take in all at once,” she said by way of explanation.

  “It can be. But I want you to know two things. One, we’ve all been there. Every person inside this building has been the newbie.”

  He had a point there. “And the second thing?”

  “The second is that there’s no rush. We can take things as slow or as fast as you like.”

  She drew in a deep breath and leaned back a little more into her chair. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Good,” he said. “In the meantime, let me go over a few other things, like the rules and regs and such. We’re fairly strict here at Euphoria, more for safety reasons than anything else.”

  “Understandable,” she said, thankful they moved on to an easier-to-broach subject, and even more thankful said subject was one that spoke to her inner legal eagle. “I wouldn’t want to visit a place where that wasn’t top priority.”

  “Which it is here, but I also don’t want you to confuse our safety rules with limitations. Once you get inside, pretty much anything goes.”

  And that, right there, was the kicker for Laine. Deep down, it was the anything goes idea that brought all of her doubts to life and made answering Jack’s questions rather difficult.

  It wasn’t as if she was uninformed. She’d performed countless online searches, using simple, inane criteria such as “bondage” or “BDSM” or “Domination”. But holy hell… Some of the images that popped up? More than a few of them disturbed her. Especially the pictures depicting the more sadomasochistic fetishes. Needle and blood play? Whoa, baby.

  Although she understood the psychological aspects—the endorphin spike, the anticipation of the trance-like euphoria called subspace that many experienced during those types of sessions—she knew the more intense aspects such as those were not for her. Quite frankly, the more extreme the fetishes got, in particular those based more on physical pain than mental sensations, the more skittish she became.

  For her, it was the sexier, almost romantic photos that intrigued her most. The caring yet strict Dom binding his partner with black silk ties. The woman secured to a dais with her head tossed back in ecstasy, the man handcuffed to a four-poster bed…

  Call her naïve or sheltered or even a hopeless romantic, but those images were the ones that always got her going, the ones that revved her engine so much she could no longer sit idly by and not seek out the same form of pleasure for herself.

  It was those images that brought her to Club Euphoria.

  Jack spread his palms on the top of his desk as he continued. “That being said, we insist on a few things. First, respect of others is an absolute must, whether they’re in a scene or not. If they are, remember, no talking to them, no disrupting or getting in their way. They have first right to the set space. Then, if and when it’s your turn, you’ll be shown the same courtesy.

  “Here’s a list of our rules and etiquette,” he went on, sliding a piece of paper across the desk. “Read them over. Most are self-explanatory, like the no alcohol or drug rule. We want you clean and sober while you’re here. It makes for less trouble and a lot more enjoyment. Besides,” he smiled, “sensations are always more intense when you have your wits about you.”

  The sexy way the words rolled off his tongue made Laine shiver all over again. She didn’t miss his insinuation, or the quick once-over he gave her as he delivered it. The rush that gave her… God, was it normal to be so turned-on but so hesitant at the same time? Yes, she was anxious to get started, impatient to explore this lifestyle and all it had to offer, yet cursed the leeriness that was never very far away.

  Regardless, she listened to the rest of his spiel before reading the form and the attached waiver. Agreeing to the terms, she signed her required real name on the dotted line and pushed the paper back in his direction.

  Taking the consent form, Jack glanced at her signature before his gaze bounced up to hers. He didn’t say a word, but he really didn’t have to. He obviously knew her name, knew the position she held outside these walls. But thank God, he never alluded to it. Instead, he leaned sideways in his chair, dug a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the file drawer next to the desk.

  “Anonymity around here is a given too, and something the owners of Club Euphoria take a lot of steps to preserve,” he said, filing the paper away. “In the ten years we’ve been open, there’s never been a single leak to the public. And believe me, we’ve had our share of notoriety.” He slammed the drawer closed and twisted the key in the lock. “Your secrets, as well as every fantasy you entrust us with, will never be revealed outside those front doors.”

  She smiled through a dry-mouthed swallow. “That’s good to know. Thank you. Really.”

  He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “It’s our job. No thanks needed.” And with those words, that part of the conversation was over. “That’s it for the legal mumbo-jumbo,” he said, clearly teasing her now. “I’d be more than happy to take you on a tour. You know, to introduce you around and show you what we’re all about.” The devilish smile he gave her then riled her for a different reason. “Maybe by watching a few of the scenes, you’ll be better able to express your desires and put into words exactly what it is you want, what it is you need.”

  She couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Maybe,” she admitted.

  “Good. Ready, then?”

  Her heart skipped a beat at his question. Was she? On top of everything else swimming through her thoughts, his mention of the club having its share of notoriety pricked at her mind. Had she missed something in her searches?

  “I think so,” she eventually answered.

  He cocked his head at her. “You think so?”

  She studied his expression. His eyes… To say they sparkled with a rare genuineness might sound trite, but there was no other way to describe the sincerity within his stare. The look he gave her said she could trust him, and for the first time in forever she tossed away her uncertainty and listened, long and hard, to her intuition. Finally she decided to take him at his unspoken promise.

  “I am. Let’s do this.”

  “Perfect.”

  She stood when he did, and waited as he donned a black leather vest decorated with a cheesy Marshall’s badge. He followed her gaze and peered down at his chest. “Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s kind of a joke around here. The two or three nights a week I’m in charge, everyone’s on their best behavior. I don’t take any shit, and everyone around here knows that. A group of the regulars surprised me on my birthday a few years ago with this,” he said, polishing the badge with the heel of his hand. “That started everyone off on calling me Marshall Mac. Feel free to call me that as well.”

  She smiled again and nodded, suddenly realizing she’d been holding her breath the entire time she watched him get ready. She blew out the lungful with a nervous laugh. “I’ll do that. Thanks.”

  When he hooked a leather whip onto his belt, his answering grin to her repeated stare took on a whole new light. “Don’t worry about this,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “It’s only for the troublemakers. And you, sweet thing, look like anything but a troublemaker.”

  The sweet thing comment ordinarily would’ve irke
d her, but the way he said it didn’t upset her in the least. She knew he called her that out of flirtatiousness and to ease her anxiety, not due to any sort of creepy tendency on his part. And with him? It totally worked. His style… The similarities to Tye were undeniable. Maybe they were related somehow. Brothers or cousins. Something.

  Too bad she’d never find out since she never, ever, intended to mention to Tye where she’d spent tonight.

  Jack, or Marshall Mac as she now thought of him, came around the desk. “You can leave your purse here if you like. I’ll be locking the door.”

  She set her clutch on the chair and ran her hands down the front of her jeans to dry the sweat off them as she turned back to face him.

  Mac held his hand out once again. “After you.”

  Okay, this was it—her first glimpse into a real BDSM club. Nothing fake going on here, nothing staged. What she was about to see was as authentic as it got.

  “As you probably guessed, this outer atrium is for hanging out, getting together, setting up scenes, that kind of thing,” he said as they left the office and strolled along. “We like to keep a fairly chill atmosphere in here. Every now and then, though, you’ll see some aftercare going on from, you know, those more intense scenes. We ask you not to disturb any of the people involved in that, just like you wouldn’t bother them if they were still in a scene.”

  She nodded despite his measuring gaze, like she completely understood the need to have a cozy place to de-stress with a nice round of quiet, undisturbed aftercare.

  “We keep the refreshments over there,” he said, pointing out a small bar surrounded by a half-dozen barstools tucked away in the far corner. “Again, there’s no alcohol, but help yourself to any of the juice, sodas or bottled water you may find.”

  As they continued to make their way toward the back of the room, he stopped every now and then to introduce her to other club-goers. Every person she met greeted her with a warm smile and a considerate handshake. One woman, a gorgeous blonde named Nicole who had legs that went on forever, actually hugged her.

  “She’s one of the original members,” he told her as they moved on.

  Laine glanced over her shoulder, catching the sway of Nicole’s hips and the flow of hair that reached halfway down her back. “She’s beautiful. Stunning, really.”

  Mac simply smiled and said, “Yes. Yes, she is.” Laine could’ve sworn he even blushed as he said it. “But don’t sell yourself short, Sara. You’re just as beautiful.”

  He was obviously diverting the focus off him, and she felt comfortable enough with her new friend to call him on it. Just as she was about to throw out a teasing remark, they rounded a corner and stopped short in front of a wall of black drapes. Any words she’d meant to say at that point disappeared before ever leaving her tongue.

  “Here we are,” he said, turning toward her. “All the action, so to speak, happens beyond these curtains.”

  He placed a gentle hand at the small of her back and steered her closer. The too-long material hung from a thick, red, metal curtain rod. The ends of the rod boasted silvered crystal finials that matched the front doorknobs. The heavy drapes themselves were dotted with red, silver and black beads, sequins and glitter. When she looked at them, it was as though she was gazing at a cloudless night sky through a pair of rose-colored glasses.

  As he held back one side of the drapes and ushered her through, Laine couldn’t keep from settling her hand over her stomach, as if holding herself there would control all the rambunctious butterflies flitting around inside her.

  Several dozen people—more than she envisioned being back here—stood grouped in front of different areas, each cordoned off by more of the black drapes. Music drifted through overhead speakers, but not loud enough she could blame the bass reverberating through her body as the cause of her thundering heart.

  Mac nudged her along, easing her further into the space. Each step she took felt more surreal than the last. The lighting back here was more subdued and much dimmer than in the gathering room out front, which, in turn, only served to enhance her other senses. The warm palm lingering at her back, the throb between her thighs. The aroma in the room, one of sex and sweat and spice, dancing under her nose. The tingle along her fingertips when she touched her own skin and the sticky-sweet taste of her lip gloss as she nibbled on her lower lip.

  “What would you like to see first?” Mac asked, guiding her closer to the first scene. “We have many to choose from tonight.”

  As her gaze bounced from space to space, trying to peek through hot bodies to get a better view, Mac moved in behind her. He stroked his hands up her arms and pushed her gently forward. Men and women stepped aside to make room for them, which would’ve been fine had they not all stared at first her and then Mac as if they might be the next ones performing for them.

  “Ah, I’d heard Dallas and Kim were doing this tonight.” Mac gripped Laine’s arms a little firmer and leaned in closer to her ear. “Fire play. Have you ever seen this?”

  Laine hadn’t, and shook her head to tell him so.

  “It can be fairly intense and should only be performed by someone who is experienced. Watch.”

  Kim, Laine assumed, lay face-down on a padded table, naked except for a matching set of wrist and ankle manacles. The manacles were tied to hooks embedded into the legs of the table with lengths of hot pink rope. Kim’s hair was brushed to the side and a look of pure serenity was on her face.

  Dallas, on the other hand, came off as intense, albeit with a raw sexiness swirling around him. He, too, was shirtless, as were most of the men and a handful of the women watching. He wore only latex gloves and tattered blue jeans, with the rips and tears in just the right places, and his feet were bare. Laine loved the stark sensuality of his appearance, along with the passionate way he looked at woman laid out before him.

  With a flair of rock-star-esque showmanship, Dallas whirled a long wand in his hand before skimming the tip across a pillar candle on a pedestal near the foot of the table. The candle ignited the end of the wand in an impressive burst of fire that settled down to a more manageable two-inch flame.

  Dallas’ next steps flew by in a fast-forward blur. He squirted liquid from a bottle into a circle on Kim’s lower back, and as he did, Laine could almost feel the chill of the liquid, as if it were on her own skin.

  “Alcohol. The rubbing form, made just for this,” Mac whispered to her.

  In one swift motion, Dallas ran the flaming tip of the wand over the liquid, lighting a ring of blue flame at the small of Kim’s back, before swiftly blowing out the flame and smoothing his hand over the area. He quickly repeated the steps, moving lower each time, setting fire to the rise of her ass, the backs of her thighs, all the way down to her calves.

  After the first few passes, Laine stopped watching Dallas’ show and started concentrating on Kim. The way she clenched her hands, curled her toes and opened and closed her mouth on moans and sighs… With Kim’s brows drawn together and her eyes closed, Laine couldn’t tell if she was in pain or on the verge of orgasming simply from being set on fire.

  Then again, maybe she was both. For so many living this lifestyle, pain was pleasure.

  For Laine, though, that was an odd and foreign notion. Pleasure was pleasure.

  “There’s more,” Mac said quietly. He guided her to the side, away from Dallas and Kim and toward the next viewing area.

  Now this scene was more along the lines of what she had in mind, and then some. There were four people, two women and two men. In the center of the space were two separate boards, each painted black and covered with splatters of silver paint. The boards were attached at the top so that they formed a teepee shape. On one side of the board was one of the men, on the other, one of the women. Both were secured at their wrists and ankles, flat-footed on the floor and spread-eagled with their arms wide. The man, who wore a blindfold and had a ball-gag in his mouth, was being stroked over his arms, shoulders and chest with the fringed end of a black
leather whip by the other woman, who was decked out in classic patent-leather Domme fashion. The woman on the flip side of the board wore a blindfold similar to her fellow sub, yet the Dom on her side had her gag pulled down to hang around her neck while he leaned in and kissed the hell out of her. The sight of the woman’s hips lifting off the board as the man ravaged her mouth had Laine wanting to mimic her too. She could feel the need growing between her thighs, deep in the center of her pussy. Her breath sped up, yet became shallower. It was all she could do to not cup herself, to not apply at least a little pressure over her clit to appease the ache building there.

  In perfect synchronicity, the Domme stepped back and expertly whipped her male sub across his thighs just as the Dom on the other side ended his kiss and clipped a pair of nipple clamps onto his sub’s nipples. The male sub clenched his jaw and fisted his hands, while the woman let loose a strangled cry.

  Laine’s entire body stiffened, but whether it was from seeing the pleasure bloom on the female sub’s face seconds afterward or from the very first show of sudden pain, she couldn’t be sure.

  With Mac standing behind Laine with his hands resting on her shoulders, he had to have felt the way she tensed up.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  Her instinct was to play off her telltale reaction as no big deal with a quick, if not casual, nod. Instead, she didn’t say or do anything. She just stood there, staring at the foursome while picturing herself up on that dais, wondering how she would react if the same thing had been done to her.

  Honestly, she didn’t know how she would’ve reacted.

  “The four of them, they live together. Have for about two years now. It’s a complicated relationship, but somehow they make it work.”

  This time Laine did nod, simply because she didn’t know what else to do.

  “It’s not for everybody, you know,” he whispered closer to her ear.

  She peered up and over her shoulder to meet his gaze. “I… It’s just that I’ve never…”

  “I know. But remember what I said before, about which road to travel on?” he went on, steering her toward the next area. This one was empty except for a padded table that had a single ceiling light hanging above it. He stepped closer to the table, under the wash of the light. “Not every road is for every person. We all pretty much know in our heads and hearts what we like. This,” he gestured back toward the foursome in the previous cubicle, “what they like may or may not be what you get into. But you reacted. I felt it. And you think that reaction was from a perceived notion of pain. Of her pain. What I want you to consider for a minute is that for her, those clips simply added another level of sensation to her already off-the-chart awareness.”