Brat and Master

BRAT AND MASTER

Sindra van Yssel

www.loose-id.com

Brat and Master

Copyright © August 2013 by Sindra van Yssel

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

eISBN 9781623004835

Editor: Jana Armstrong

Cover Artist: Anne Cain

Published in the United States of America

Loose Id LLC

PO Box 809

San Francisco CA 94104-0809

www.loose-id.com

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

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Chapter One

Jeremy stepped out of his black sedan and walked toward the big, isolated building. He understood there was usually a bouncer outside Excess, checking to make sure everyone who entered was a member or the guest of one. Today there was a kid—well, he was probably in his twenties—with tousled hair, who was standing outside smiling, cracking jokes, and carding the people who looked as if they might be underage.
What the hell am I doing here?
It wasn’t the first time Jeremy had the thought, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Tonight was newbie night at Excess. The first newbie night, as far as Jeremy could tell. No membership required. Questions answered for the curious. Demonstrations. There were a half-dozen people filing in who looked like college students. BDSM was trendy all of a sudden, thanks to the popularity of a certain recent trilogy. A few would find a home in the scene, he expected. Others would have a memory of a daring evening and a knowledge that it wasn’t for them.

Jeremy didn’t belong. He was too old for one thing—pushing fifty. And he wasn’t a newbie, although plenty of people discovered the scene late in life, even if they always knew they were kinky. It could take time to develop the courage to act on that knowledge, and more time to find a safe way to do so. He’d once thought he’d carry the secret with him to his grave, and then he’d met Cheri. His wife. His slave. She’d died three years ago, and for a while he’d wished he’d died with her. He found some solace in his music and had thrown himself into his job playing piano for a small orchestra even more than he had before. Performance and practice, exercise and food. That had been his life. He thought he’d never darken the doors of a BDSM club ever again. The memories of Cheri were strong, wonderful, and painful. But he had a rare weekend off because the orchestra was doing entirely chamber music that didn’t require a piano, so here he was.

The kid at the door waved him in without bothering to check ID.

He looked around. It was a far cry from the converted warehouse that housed the club he and Cheri had gone to when they were first dating. That place had been a gay men’s club six days a week, with techno dancing on the big broad floor, but for all that, it still looked like a warehouse. Everything related to BDSM had to come down at the end of the night. Excess, on the other hand, was clearly designed to be a nightclub. The club itself was hexagonal, but there was a circular rail that separated a gallery from the area in the middle. A few steps led downward. There were tables scattered around the gallery, which oddly had no chairs next to them. Doors and windows led to other rooms. Jeremy looked inside one and saw a blackboard, a school desk, and a worn larger desk with a ruler sitting on top of it. Clearly, that stuff sat there, waiting to be used. Cheri would have loved to do a scene in that room, even though for the last ten years of her life they hadn’t gone clubbing. Cheri preferred being at home, and Jeremy was happiest when Cheri was comfortable.

He turned away.

People were milling about. He scanned over the crowd. Mostly, they were younger people, lots of them in their twenties, experiencing all this for the first time. That, after all, was what the night was for. Many came as couples. A few stood around, looking lost. He admired their courage. The BDSM ethos of safe, sane, and consensual kept bondage clubs mostly safe, but it could still be frightening alone. Cheri’s presence haunted him, but he knew he was not alone and never would be. He wanted to reach out and took a step toward a young woman, then stopped. His gesture would probably be taken as flirting. He couldn’t deny the twentysomethings were cute, but they weren’t what he wanted. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t here as an old hand, full of knowledge. He wanted to experience it all afresh. He wondered briefly if experienced doms ever came to newbie events, figuring the inexperienced were fresh meat. He wasn’t going to be that guy. And if he did end up starting a conversation, he would prefer it not be with someone who thought Led Zeppelin was old folks’ music.

Downstairs there were chairs lined up in rows. The announcement he’d read online said there would be a presentation and then exploration of various kinds of play. Obviously, the presentation was happening down there. The smart move would be to wait until he saw some nice single woman not too far from his own age sit down, and then sit next to her. Or maybe even to mingle and find someone before he sat down. Instead, he walked over, found a seat next to a lone young man in a black suit and red tie, and parked himself.

“Hi,” he said. At least if a guy took a simple greeting as an attempted pickup, he could truthfully state that he was terminally straight.

“Hey,” said the man. “First time here for me.”

“Of course.” That was what the night was there for, so he wasn’t sure why the kid looked abashed about it. If anything, it was Jeremy who should be embarrassed by his level of experience.

The man shifted in his seat, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“I understand they don’t bite unless you ask,” Jeremy said. “I’m Jeremy, by the way.” He reached out a hand.

His neighbor laughed. “Tom,” said the young man, and shook.

“What brings you here?”

“Um,” said Tom.

Jeremy waited, but Tom had a deer-in-the-headlights look that didn’t seem to be going away. “Everyone present is here to explore some kind of kink. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I guess not,” agreed Tom. “I’m hoping to understand a bit more of why I want to tie someone up, you know?” He blinked at Jeremy and then added hurriedly. “Well, not just someone. A woman. I mean, not a particular woman, not yet, but yeah, someone, and—why is that?”

Jeremy smiled. “I’m not interested in being tied up, so don’t worry.” He was tempted to tell Tom of his experiences, but again he held back. No one wanted a know-it-all at a newbie night. “Maybe you’ll get an answer, but I think it will be after you find someone to play with. Sometimes why isn’t as important as knowing who you are—and knowing that it can all be done safely.”

“Um, yeah.” Tom nodded and looked down. “Hey, do you mind moving over a seat? I’m kinda hoping that some hot young woman will end up sitting next to me.”

Jeremy moved. “Someone in particular?”

Tom shook his head. “No. Just… Well…”

“If you want to meet, I suggest you mingle. Or get up and sit next to someone who attracts you. Just waiting—”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” asked Tom.

Jeremy blinked. “Touché,” he replied. “But—”

Before he could launch into an explanation of how he wasn’t even hoping to meet anyone, a woman’s voice cut through. It was boosted by a microphone, but he wasn’t sure she needed it. Her voice was assured and carried authority. “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “Please find a seat so we can get started.”

The speaker was beautiful. She was bigger than the American movie-star ideal, but Jeremy didn’t mind that in a woman. She wore a tight leather bustier and a matching miniskirt with thigh-high boots, and looked every inch a domme.
This must be Mistress Elizabeth, the owner of the club.
She turned away, expecting to be obeyed, and went to talk to a big well-muscled man who stood to the side. They exchanged a few quiet words as everyone came down from the gallery and found seats. An obvious couple sat down to Jeremy’s left, totally into each other. To his right, between him and Tom, sat a rather large older man. He caught a glimpse of Tom’s disappointment.

You can’t fish by just waiting, kid.

The domme turned back to face the group. “Hi, and welcome! I’m Mistress Elizabeth, this is Excess, and I’m glad to see you all! If you can’t get a chair, please accept my apologies. This is our first time doing this, and we have a much bigger turnout than I expected, but I’m very pleased. Don’t be shy about filling in here. I see some empty seats between people. Try to scoot in if you can.”

Jeremy chuckled and got up. He gestured for the large man to take his seat, and then sidled through past Tom. Quickly, he found a young woman about Tom’s age who looked as if she needed a seat, and gestured her toward the seat Tom vacated as he too moved over. She sat down gratefully.

Jeremy moved toward the back.

The man Elizabeth had been talking to stepped forward. “If you don’t like standing, you can always kneel up front.” A young woman giggled and walked forward, as did a young man.
God, I feel old here.
But Jeremy didn’t want to be twenty again.

“That’s Master Gray, my husband,” said Elizabeth. There was pride in her voice.

“Right here in front of me,” Master Gray told the young woman, with a broad wink, and then Elizabeth grabbed his shirt and tugged him away. A few people laughed, and then, as if permission had been given, more joined in. Gray had a sheepish expression so hammed up it was clear he knew Elizabeth wasn’t truly upset with him. It was all an act, and Master and Mistress seemed utterly comfortable with each other.

“So,” said Elizabeth. “Here you are. You’ve decided to explore your interest in kink and have come to a BDSM club. Lightning has not come down from the sky to smite you. Which might be a shame, if that’s what you’re into.”

“That would fall under the category of unsafe play, I think,” said Gray.

“Ah, yes. That. How many people here have heard the phrase ‘safe, sane, and consensual.’ Hands?”

A good half of the group raised their hands, but Jeremy was surprised at how many didn’t. The presenters had their work cut out for them. He let his thoughts drift while Elizabeth and Gray explained the BDSM mantra and the importance of being safe, as well as the shades of gray involved in “sane.” There were, Elizabeth claimed, at least fifty.

“Which brings us to consent,” said Elizabeth, “and the way we get to consent is negotiation. Negotiation is especially important if you haven’t played with anyone before, and if it’s the only thing you get from our entire talk, I hope it’s an idea of how to negotiate. Now, Gray and I play together all the time, so we may not be the best model. Of course, I’m always on top.”

“Except when you aren’t,” said Gray, grabbing the neckline of her bustier and pulling her close.

“Okay, see that? That was
not
negotiation. But it’s okay, because we’ve negotiated that grabbing is okay before. If you do that to someone you don’t know, though, you’re going to get kicked out of this place. Ask first. Don’t touch without permission. If it’s not yours, don’t touch.”