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“Gotta go. Need to put on what Zaddy chose for me to wear!”
I click the End button just as her eyes go wide and she squawks something I don’t hear clearly. But she’s probably dying, now that she knows whoever I found on a dating site is a Dom, and not only that, but he’s a Dom I’ve given consent to, to send me orders.
Chapter Twelve
SIENNA
Just after midnight, Vi and I strut into Club Alias and strike a pose as if we expect paparazzi to start swarming. Really, it’s just her husband Corbin—Sarge, since we’re inside where we use our aliases—Seth, aka Seven, his wife Twyla, aka Doll, Brian, aka Knight, and Clarice, aka… well… I don’t know which of her two roles she is tonight. And now that I think about it, I don’t know what she prefers other people to call her at the club, because usually she and the big guy disappear into a playroom too quickly to worry about it. I know he calls her Mistress whenever she’s topping, but I’ve never actually heard what he refers to her as whenever she’s bottoming.
Weird.
Brian is Knight to me either way, since I’m a full-time submissive, and his role as a part-time Dom—plus the fact that he’s like ten feet tall and could squish me like a bug—automatically keeps him in that Dominant position when it comes to what I respectfully refer to him as.
Also, now that my mind is off on this tangent, us girls don’t really call each other by our given nicknames at all. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to Twyla here at Club Alias and been like, “Want a drink, Doll?” That would feel awkward for some reason. It’s like… that’s her husband’s special name for her, so no one else should call her that. No, I’d just ask her without a moniker. But falling deeper into this rabbit hole, if I needed to find her, I would ask someone, “Have you seen Seven’s Doll anywhere?”
Double weird.
Anyway, squirrel. No paparazzi, just the whole gang hanging out in one of the huge leather booths next to the dance floor. But Clarice doesn’t disappoint. Being the professional photographer she is, she pulls out her ever-present camera and snaps photos of Vi—who’s just “bestie” in my head no matter where we are—and me as we pose, then turn and strike another, and another, and we all burst out laughing when suddenly Madonna’s “Vogue” starts playing throughout the club. We turn to look over at the DJ booth, smiling and waving back when Dixie, one of the bartenders, and her husband Mikolas lift their hands to greet us with big grins.
Vi slides into the booth next to Sarge, bumping his hip to make him scoot enough I can sit on the end.
“How was the show? You two look great!” Twyla chirps across the table.
“Freaking awesome!” we yell in unison, laughing once again. I swear, sometimes, it’s like we’re the same person.
“That woman can sing her ass off,” Vi says, and I nod.
“And speaking of her ass, holy hell. She’s now my booty goals. I never noticed what a great one she has until it was displaying across all the big screens in the stadium in all her crazy costumes. I googled it on the way here, and it’s actually a thing. People ask her all the time in interviews what her booty workout routine is!” I say as I take out my phone, click on the picture I saved of Lady Gaga’s butt, and then spin it around to show everyone at the table.
“Daaamn,” Twyla and Clarice drawl, leaning in to take a closer look, but the guys pay no attention. Apparently they have no interest in another woman’s ass, even if it is just a photo of a celebrity’s.
That’s sweet, I think, a teensy spark of jealousy mixed in with the genuine happiness I feel for the other ladies.
I wish I had someone who was so completely happy with me that they didn’t feel the temptation to even glimpse at anyone else.
And more than that, I wish I wasn’t so insecure that I even give a shit if my man simply looks at another woman. That’s just being a human. I can see and appreciate the way a guy looks without feeling a single twinge of attraction, so why is it so hard for me to believe a man can do the same thing?
Or maybe I can, but just not when that man is mine.
I have no problem believing Corbin, Seth, and Brian can be surrounded by all these incredibly beautiful, erotically sexy, and literally freaking naked women, and not pop a boner once. But if it were a guy here with me? It’s impossible for me to think they’d even remember I’m in the building.
I’m suddenly jarred from my self-deprecating thoughts when Vi elbows me, and I click the button to put my cell to sleep as I turn my head to look at her.
