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She smiled, but then sobered. “I like watching a lot of this, Brick. But I worry that I won’t be as interested in doing what you want to do, and I’ll disappoint you. I know what you said about no expectations, but…” She spread out her hands. “You said it, I’m a submissive. I can already tell pleasing my Dom matters to me. A lot.”
“Which is why it’s his job to remind you that it will never please him to do something you don’t want to do. Even when a sub dreads what a Dom is going to do, there’s a stronger part of them that wants to do it. Their desires match.”
He nodded toward the Dom and sub at the forced orgasm dais. “All of us know it when we see it. Even if it’s a type of play that I’m not interested in doing myself, I’ll get turned on by watching it, because that common element is there. It’s the same one that makes it work for each of us.”
The words reassured her, his obvious sincerity. “I know I’m trying to micromanage something I’m just learning about,” she admitted.
“Control the outcome, manage expectations, make sure you aren’t letting me down.” He touched her face. “It’s your habit. Which is exactly why, if you decide to be my submissive, I foresee a lot of spankings in your future until you unlearn that trait with me. And yes, the more difficult it is for you to do that, the more those spankings will be punishments that hurt.”
Sometimes she forgot she hadn’t officially agreed to be his submissive. She suspected his occasional reminder of it was to let her know he wouldn’t take her too deep, too fast. He was looking out for her.
“Even as you know I won’t safeword, because some part of me really wants them. And gets turned on by the fact I’m surrendering that punishment decision to you.”
“You are a very fast learner.”
This extraordinary conversation felt so natural here. It made her curious to learn even more. “You said submissives seek you out for certain skills. What kind? The type of play, I mean. I don’t want…details.”
He played with her hoop earring. “Fireplay.”
She didn’t know exactly what that entailed in BDSM practices, but it surprised her. She wouldn’t have thought anything with fire would interest him, when he’d seen the terrible things it could do.
“Are they doing that here, tonight?”
“There’s an area in the back, because they have to control the air movement. Too many fans and vents in the main space. Want to check it out when you’re feeling steadier?”
“Yes. I’d love to see more of everything.”
“Then finish your juice box and your snack, doc, and we’ll get to it.”
Chapter Fourteen
He’d given her a lot to think about. But with the emotional overload in better balance, her body decided it was its turn to elude her control.
As they walked toward the back of the building, the sounds, scents and scenes possessed every nerve ending, her pulse, the heating of her blood. She was on a speedy track to wanting and needing Brick to take her over. It was as he’d said. That common undercurrent, the interplay between trust and surrender, a submissive offering herself to a Dom’s control, to his control, was what she was hungering for. And this environment was saturated with that element.
He was aware of her state, perhaps because it also fed into his own reaction to their surroundings, to being in it with her. His hand on her lower back descended to stroke the upper part of her buttock, often enough to prove the gesture had expanded from protective courtesy to blatant ownership. She was his to direct and command.
Even as she’d been aroused by all she’d witnessed tonight, Brick had anticipated her viewing each scene as a medical person. He’d pointed out how the suspension Doms monitored circulation issues with frequent checks of skin temperature and color, while also being careful of joint strain. The scenes involving full head masks or cocooning tactics required close attention to the subs’ ability to breathe. Those doing impact play avoided strikes over the kidneys or other vulnerable bone areas. First aid supplies were always close to hand.
When she witnessed DMs stepping in to courteously point out safety issues to less experienced Doms and tops, that advice was promptly followed, without backtalk or rancor. Mick did an excellent vetting job.
All that information, seeing it in practice, had released her from those concerns and let her fully experience her own reaction. Like now, as they passed a Dom and sub well into a caning scene.
She knew what the marks on the woman’s generous thighs and backside would look like tomorrow, the stages of healing. Yet she also knew other things, in that intuitive way Brick had noted. Marking was an act of possession by the Dom, of meeting a yearning need for pain and sacrifice by the sub, proving how much she wanted to bear for her Dom. It could even be considered a sacred act, intertwined with the intensely sexual.
The thought gave her a rueful inner smile. Put a Catholic in a kinky sex party, she’d still be Catholic, latching onto the significance of ritual.
The fireplay area was divided from the rest of the club by more heavy clear curtains. As they stepped through them, she detected the scent of isopropyl alcohol Brick had carried when she arrived at his townhouse. There was also the smell of smoke, scented candles and fragranced incense.
Over a half-dozen separate stations were widely spaced from one another. Brick directed her attention to the tape on the floor around the nearest one. “Those are the boundaries no observer is allowed to cross.”
There were also more DMs here. Every station had their own assigned person with a lanyard.
At the first one, a woman was stretched out on her stomach on a table covered with a folded blanket. A damp towel had been placed perpendicular under her torso so the long ends draped down either side. She was naked except for a gold bandanna covering her hair, and a dainty ring in her nostril. Her right arm bore a full sleeve tattoo of roses. The man standing over her looked unremarkable and pleasant. Brown eyes, curly brown hair. A thirty-something she might see anywhere, working in a Starbucks or Office Depot.
From the neck down, his story became more layered. Jeans fell low on his narrow hips, and he had a complementary tattoo sleeve on his left arm, a spiral of thorns ignited with fire. The edge of the flames overlapped the creases between his fingers.
He was rubbing another damp towel over her back.
