Page 583 of Hell Hath No Fury
I completely forget the phone, the text most likely from my ex, and my blind date when I hear one woman say, “I’m not so sure about this corset I just ordered. Do you prefer the ones with plastic boning or steel?”
“Honestly, the stronger the better, in my opinion, so mine are all made with steel.”
“Well, I ordered one of each, so I guess we’ll see. I’ll wear it the next time I go to the club and let you see.”
“You better. Corsets are a fetish of mine.” The woman’s laughter is warm and throaty. She and her companion are passing by the bar toward a secluded room in the back where more people have gathered.
I imagine wearing a leather corset, maybe the one I wore underneath my costume for my last period performance. Except this time, I don’t have anything on over top of it. All eyes are on me. My skin prickles as I picture the scene and get to my feet. I down the rest of my wine in a couple gulps to cool the rising heat in my body. If anything, the alcohol is kindling to flame, making me burn brighter.
I shift from foot to foot, feeling more anxious, elated and apprehensive than I did at my first stage performance. I’d heardof people who were into fetish things—you can’t really live in New York and not meet some characters, but aside from porn and books, I’d never met someone who seemed so open about it.
And in Nassau of all places.
I should sit down, order another glass, and wait for my date’s arrival. I should, but even as I waver on the brink of indecision, my feet are already moving.
Leaving the empty glass on the bar, I follow the women down the shadowed hall on the pretense of finding the bathroom. At least that’s what my excuse will be if they catch me. My intense yearning for something I don’t quite understand doesn’t give a damn about propriety as I tilt an ear to listen to the rest of their low conversation.
“Did you try the new knotted flogger they have atRisky Business?” The woman who laughed shivers now as if recalling the pleasurable act. My heart starts to race.
“No, girl. I stick to the deerskin. I haven’t quite graduated to the rougher stuff yet.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Well, maybe next time.”
They reach the entrance to the room and the first woman turns to the other, then notices me in the background. “Sorry,” she says as she holds the door open for her companion. “Didn’t see you there. Are you here for the munch?” she asks. At my confused stare, she adds, “Ah. You must be a first timer. Don’t worry, we don’t bite. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.” She widens the door and holds open a hand. “C’mon, don’t be shy.”
Laughter explodes from inside the room and I catch phrases that cause my stomach muscles to tense. Master. Slave. Beg. Come. Need. Take.
Teetering on the precipice of all the yearnings I’ve suppressed, I take her hand and enter the room.
CHAPTER TWO
The room narrows in the shadows, a roaring in my ears blots out the hushed conversation from the restaurant behind me. Thankful for the darkness that covers my blush, I say, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I was invited,” as I step through the threshold. “I’ll just go.”
She waves my hesitation away with one elegant hand. “Nonsense. I can tell a like-minded individual when I see one. Why don’t you stick around for the munch? No strings. If it’s not your thing you can leave, no hard feelings.”
“I don’t—” I take a deep breath, soothe my already jangled nerves, and paste on a confused smile. “Lunch? Bit late for that, isn’t it?”
“Aren’t you cute?” she says with a smile. “Munch.”
Even though I’ve spent the better part of my twenties in one of the trendiest cities in the world, I find myself grasping at memories, wondering if I missed some important social convention. Finally, I say, “I’m not sure what a munch is, exactly.”
“Nothing serious,” she assures me. “Just a gathering for folks in the lifestyle. Food. Wine. Conversation.”
“Lifestyle,” I say with a twinge, okay more than a twinge, of curiosity.
“BDSM,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “A much is just a get together for those in the lifestyle to socialize. They’re mostly meant for those who are curious about BDSM to talk with others, get comfortable. We meet here and a couple other local restaurants so those interested in joining can get their feet wet,learn about The Sanctum, and get comfortable. We share stories, gossip, and enjoy some great food and company.”
I nod, but she’s already flitting off to socialize with the rest of the people in the room. They don’t look particularly ‘different’, though there are some with a predilection for leather attire, but it’s subtle. Knee-high leather boots with kickass skinny jeans, genuine belts, vests. Chokers also seem to be a theme, again subtly. If the woman hadn’t pointed out it was a BDSM meeting, I wouldn’t have noticed. Then I remember the wordslaveI’d heard early and can’t help the blood that rushes to my cheeks.
“Are you new here?” comes a smooth voice.
Turning, I find a reasonably attractive, well-dressed man in his mid to late thirties. He doesn’t look like he’d be the type of man to frequent what I imagine to be a dungeon-esque club, wielding whips or belts or other whatever-the-hell. My flair for the dramatic leads me to imagine him surrounded by a wall of red velvet with black tools hanging on hooks.
My lips curve in a natural response to the attention. “I guess you can say that.”
“Are you a friend of Tally’s?” he says, nodding toward the woman I was speaking with. So that was her name.
