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At the end of a long concrete driveway, a modern house was lit up, all angles and large plate glass windows. The tops of palm trees were silhouetted against the pale gray sky. There was no loud music, just fifteen or so cars parked along the street. Somewhere in the darkness nearby, water tinkled, as if from a fountain.
Jodie seemed shell-shocked that the driver had spoken to her. With the bottom of her dress torn off like it was, the man had almost had his tongue on the floor when we got into his car.
She clutched at the cloth of her dress. Nervous?
Her eyes were dark, darker than even the night around us. Fear? Well, I had that too. I buried mine by taking hold of her hand. This was her fantasy I was doing. For her.
Wrong. Fool. Face it, this was more for me. For a whole month I’d let myself just be. Once I’d gotten my head around the idea that I could live my out my desires, I had. I’d done what I wanted to with Jodie, like a child running around with a new damn toy. I had avoided thinking about the end as much as I could. I’d been obscenely one-way, one-track, one everything. I’d dreamed this wouldn’t end. Now I was up shit creek without a paddle, in so deep I needed a snorkel, and a lot of other really bad analogies.
I shut my eyes and felt the soft lightness of her hand in mine. Despite it all, maybe she trusted me. Yeah? Why, though? That was the crux of it. I didn’t know why she should still trust me. I didn’t understand her, or me, or any goddamned thing. The end result was all I could comprehend. You are mine. Full stop.
I had a sudden urge to do like I had that day when I taught her how to rescue herself if she was upside down in a kayak – just before I deliberately flipped it over so she was underwater. Trust me, I’d asked her. When was I going to be brave enough to say that again?
I could see myself going down on one knee and asking that. Trust me.
No ring, no marriage proposal, just those words. Okay, maybe a collar. I liked her with my collar on. Putting a proper ownership one on her neck would be incredibly satisfying. I’d be ten feet tall with my eyes on fire.
But me, the one kneeling? After all I’d taught her? That would look bad. Total power exchange. TPE. I’d figured out that’s what I needed…wanted. Either that or something so illegal I’d be put away for a hundred years. Kneeling was not an option. Leastways it wasn’t in the rules I’d read.
Enough maudlin regrets. Enough fucking diddling about. Time to go.
After this, after I showed her she could trust me, then I’d make sure we had a talk. Bridge the gap between the fantasy of the last month and the reality. Then talk.
“Okay,” I muttered. “When the going gets tough the tough get kinky.”
She swung her head. “What?”
On the way over Moghul had sent another text. There was one couple interested, up there, inside that house.
“Come.” I hefted the overnight bag with my toys, then tugged, and led her up the driveway. For once, I figured I was as on edge as she was. This had to work, because if it failed I’d be lost.
Moghul met us at the door. Just inside was a small square timber table. This place was big enough for a two-story-high foyer. The low bass of music thumped from the living room beyond, where people sat on couches and chatted. From the quick check I made, my jeans and shirt would pass for a Dom, but Jodie was over-dressed. Black leather harnesses, collars, leashes, pretty corsets and even some kitty costumes were worn by the men and women who sat on the floor or in the laps of those I assumed were their dominants. A woman in a pink micro-mini was getting loudly spanked to everyone’s amusement.
Moghul, though…
I’d only seen the present-day Moghul from his Fetlife pics which didn’t show his face properly. Though he’d obviously done well for himself over the past five years, the man looked like a dressed-up Hells Angel biker – tattooed biceps, thick brown hair shorn in a ragged fashion, stubble, faded jeans and T-shirt.
“How’s it going, Klaus. Long time no see.” He smiled as he held out his hand but I could see him assessing me. “Good that you made it. This is Jodie?”
I glanced across at her. You wouldn’t know this was the feisty self-made woman from a month ago. She stood near my shoulder and seemed to be one second away from leaning into me. For comfort? I could see the worry radiating from her. On impulse, I put my arm around her shoulders, tucking her into my body. The surge of warmth I got from that pleased me. I liked holding her like this too. I’d forgotten, in a way, how important simple skin contact, just touching, could be.
“Yes, this is Jodie.” The scent of her hair a few inches away made me want to kiss her.
“Wait.” He ducked back a few feet, and put his head around the door as if searching for someone.
I’d seen the party rules weeks ago, and there they were taped on the small table.
Play at your own risk.
No street clothes once through the door. Submissives dressed as submissives. Kinky fetish shit is encouraged. No playing with others unless you have express permission. All extreme play – blood, scat, water sports, rape play and anything else you think could bother others MUST be cleared by the Dungeon Masters – Moghul or Steve. House safeword is red or safeword. Any transgressors will be most likely be asked to leave immediately.
No alcohol or drugs.
Have fun but play safe.
Moghul called out, “Steve, man the perimeter for a while, please. Good? Thanks.” On his return, he asked us to follow him and led us across the living room past the small crowd and into a study. He perched his hip on the corner of a steel-and-glass desk, wrapped his hand over the edge, and regarded us quietly.
“Okay. Even though I know you, Klaus, we have things to discuss. This is the first play party for both of you? Yes? And I need to talk to Jodie. Since she’s your submissive, I’m asking you first. So, is that okay?”
