Page 5 of The Dommes

I’m going to have to talk him down from this, aren’t I? As soon as we’re out of here, he’s going to launch into a tirade about what a mistake it was to trust your father. You’re too young. You’re too inexperienced. Your father should be handling this, or at least one of his trusted employees. Not his kid, who is only getting this job because of nepotism. Hey, it was true for me too, a few years ago. But I proved myself, like you have yet to do.

I would give you a hard time, Kathleen, because I love seeing you flustered and being reminded of how far you have to travel until you’re ready to play with the big boys. Yet I’m not going to. Not because I’m a better person or something, but because I can see in your baby blues that this is killing you inside. It doesn’t matter what I say. It doesn’t matter what my father says. We’ll only be reaffirming what you already know. You don’t need our punishment. Anything you do to yourself will be more than enough.

Because you’re a Domme, aren’t you, Kathleen? You know how in control you’re supposed to be. That’s one thing I can sympathize with when it comes to you. So I won’t mention this. I will, however, make your life absolutely hell in the days leading up to the presentation in two weeks.

Enjoy that. I will!

Chapter 3

Kathleen

Idon’t know what the hell happened. I swear to God, I had my shit together this morning when I left home. I double-checked my bag to make sure that the papers I needed were there. My father called to make sure I didn’t forget anything. Even Annie had doubles of everything, and she couldn’t find a damned thing!

I’m so embarrassed. In no way am I usually this disorganized. You should have felt my pulse when I realized I didn’t have those pictures. Those stupid pictures that I found on my dining table when I got home. Just lying there, mocking me, the woman who is supposed to be in control and on top of everything.

The moment I saw those blasted papers on my table, I started crying. Not full-on sobbing, but there were definitely tears of frustration that I haven’t felt since I finished my last degree and pulled sixteen-hour days to make sure I graduated as well as I did. Sleep? What sleep?

I can’t tell you how much of a failure I feel like right now. The Mathisons were counting on me. My father was counting on me to pull this off without a hitch. Not only did I botch it, but now I’ve been given a pity retry. Two weeks from now I will be presenting these images to the goddamn council to get their approval. I’m not sure we need it, legally. The Ace may be a historical cornerstone of the community, but the property is privately owned and the Anderssens can sell it to anyone they want. But I understand. The Mathisons understand. Everyone’s reputation with the community is on the line. Community members we want to continue to do business with.

Shit, will I even be able to do that?

I can’t think like this. It’s a Friday night, and I need to unwind. So after a glass of wine at home to get me started, I text my friend Eve and tell her to meet me at Midnight, the perfect place to unwind.

Get drunk and unwind.

I love Midnight. It’s not just a sex club. It’s a place to live your lifestyle without the fear of shame or retribution. There’s an unspoken rule – actually, you sign a paper swearing to follow it – that you don’t expose anybody there. So if I saw, say, Ira Mathison snorting blow and fucking a woman on a table, I’m not allowed to tell anyone about it. Like, you know, a reporter.

I mention that because a couple of years ago there was this gal who brought in blow and fucked someone. The blow got him in big trouble with the establishment. Sort of illegal, you know. The fucking? Oh, that’s common. From the moment you walk into the main room past a thousand bouncers and security guards, it’s a free-for-all.

Mostly, though, it’s a bunch of drinking with friends and business associates. Dominants and submissives hook up, but aside from the exhibitionists, things are taken home or into private rooms. The club provides implements in case you forgot yours at home. Isn’t that nice?

I like the club because I feel like I can be myself. I can relax here, especially with my friend Eve, who is a queer Domme like me.

“You need another one of these,” she says, holding up our empty shot glasses. She flags a server dressed in a tight leather skirt and a shiny tube top. Soon, Eve and I are taking another shot. I don’t know what it is, but it burns my esophagus and numbs my brain. I’ve already told her about what happened today, and holy shit am I glad I have someone to unload on right now… and someone to load me up with alcohol.

I don’t want to get drunk. What I want is sex. That’s the high I prefer.

Pretty sure that Eve is here to get plastered. She’s in grad school and taking it seriously so she can be like me and join her family’s business… and grad school is no joke. I don’t envy her. Like I said, the last time I cried like I did today was when I was in school. Eve doesn’t cry, though. She gets shitfaced.

“This is great.” I turn down one more shot, but she gets another, downing it in one gulp before relaxing in her chair with a cigar. All right, I admit it. She’s damn hot, especially when she’s throwing her weight around and acting like a bigger bigshot than me. Personality-wise, that’s how Eve Warner is. Butchy, commanding, and not afraid to get in someone’s face if they give her shit for who she is. I like her not because we’re similar in age, but because she’s hilarious and knows how to make a girl feel better after a shit day at work.

“The Anderssens will forget about it soon enough, Kat.” She’s the only one who can get away with calling me that. “They know you’re good for it. As long as you don’t blow the public presentation, they won’t give a shit. Everyone knows they wanna sell that place. Even my sister thought about buying it until she heard the Mathisons were lifting their legs on that hydrant.”

“Thanks for the visual.” I sigh. “You don’t get it, though. It was so embarrassing. I don’t know how I left those papers on my table like that. I must have taken them out when looking for something else.”

“Probably. When you get nervous, you can be forgetful.”

“Aren’t most people?”

Eve shrugs, lining up our empty shot glasses and counting them. Over half of them are hers because that woman can hold her liquor. Not me. I’m flushed after two shots and that glass of wine. Think I’ll order a martini to nurse for a while.”

“I know what you need.” Eve wags her finger. “You need a honey for tonight.”

Well, duh, why does she think we’re here? We could get a drink anywhere. I could’ve driven to her place if I wanted to shoot the breeze and drink. Instead, we’re at Midnight because this is where people like us come if we want to take out our problems the BDSM way.

The place is crawling with men and women. Most of them, whether they Dom or sub, aren’t bad to look at. The dominants wear their cut suits and slinky dresses made of fine Italian materials. You can smell their cologne from a mile away, and it smells amazing. Their hair is pristine. Some of them are here with their lovers. I can see Jem Mercier and her long-term girlfriend Gwenyth. They’re having dinner with another couple, but from my vantage point up on the balcony, I see Gwenyth’s hand making a run for Jem’s crotch beneath the table.

There are a few other people I recognize from the rich world of the elite I was born into. Stock traders, bankers, businessmen, politicians, movie stars, pretty much anyone with the pedigree or paychecks to qualify for a place like this. Midnight takes its safety and confidentiality seriously. You’re not getting in unless you have multiple zeros at the end of your bank account. Basically, not unless you’ve got some serious prestige to lose if word gets out. Collateral damage.

---