Fleur de Nuit: Bourbon Street Bondage, Book 1 (15 page)

Adrian reached into the cupboard again and pulled out two black masquerade masks and hooded cloaks.

Moira laughed. “Really?”

“Bien sûr, mon ange. The mystery is half the fun. Here we are, tucked inside the quaint and tranquille Garden District. Masked, we are mysterious, and everyone wishes they were part of our club. No one suspects the mild teachers and business owners of New Orleans are, in fact, les démons du aborder.”

He fitted a mask on her face, tucking it up under her hat, and draped the cloak around her, leaving the hood down. He then twirled on his own cloak and mask, grabbed his stick and took her arm. Moira bent down for her kit, and once she’d taken a deep breath, they left the room.

“Remember, mon ange noir. Tonight, you are all Domme. No hesitation, no question. You are la Maîtresse.”

Moira stood a little taller and shook her hair, letting her glossy black curls cascade down her back. Together, they stepped out the front door to be met by Kara. Moira was surprised to see it was almost dark out.

Other cloaked figures walked in front of and behind them as they crossed the street, giving a ghoulish yet poetic cast to their procession, with the backdrop of the cemetery and its rows upon rows of stone tombs. Moira smiled as they began to climb into the waiting black carriages. The lanterns on the corners even flickered with real flame, old-style flambeaus like the city used before electric lighting. Adrian handed them both up and shut the door, and then they were away.

“Do you guys go through this every time you go to the club?”

Adrian smiled. “Only twice a month. Fleur de Nuit is open most nights, but twice a month we have, well, call them
official nights
. They’re not mandatory, but most of the members come. If we have new members, or special announcements or occasions, that’s when we take care of them.”

Moira nodded. “That makes more sense. This is a little elaborate for every night.”

The ride wasn’t long, leaving Moira to suspect they were still in the Garden District. Her thoughts were confirmed when she stepped out of the carriage into an ornate drive, cloaked by oak trees and wrought iron fencing.

And then there was the house.

High white columns and wide porches framed an enormous Greek-revival style house. Tall black shutters flanked windows with Gothic arches. Adrian escorted her up the broad steps to where a pair of liveried footmen stood, stopping everyone. When their turn came, the footmen bowed to Adrian and then turned to Moira in silence.

She looked at Adrian, who smiled. “Your tattoo, mon ange noir.” He took her hand and pulled her arm through the false sleeves of the cloak until her tattooed shoulder showed. The footmen nodded and turned to Kara, who had followed behind them. Adrian gently bent her head forward and tugged the back of the cloak down until the tattoo on her neck showed.

The footmen stood aside and let them pass.

In a dim entryway, a pair of women took their cloaks and masks. Moira handed over her kit, but only after retrieving a black crop with blue leather inlay. Kara cleared her throat, and Adrian turned. Moira had never seen Kara dressed in white from head to toe before, but she wore a simple lace corset and stockings, with only the tiniest bit of purple stitching and ribbon to accent. Around her neck she wore a slim white gold chain with a matching fleur-de-lis pendant. White leather boots laced up to the top of her calves completed the outfit. From behind her back, Kara handed Adrian a black bowler hat.

“Merci, ma chère.”

Beyond the entry, everything changed.

The house boasted a wide-open floor that looked like every room in the downstairs had been combined into one long hall, almost like a grand ballroom. But instead of being light and airy, it was dark, barely lit. Everything was dark wood and wrought iron, dim lights and leather. Bodies massed together like at a dance club, but with whips and chains and leather. Music rumbled through the air, a trance backbeat overlaid with a surprising classic jazz sound.

Moira made a mental note to ask Adrian later who mixed their music.

With Kara still following behind, Adrian led them to the left and to a set of dark stairs lit only by small string lighting that was woven around the wrought iron railing. When they emerged, Moira realized a second tier ran along both sides of the room.

“The gallery is below, dungeons upstairs.” Adrian led her forward, pointing with his cane. “Salon at the end, complete with bar. Viens.”

She followed, letting her eyes rove across wrought iron and dark wood, and the writhing bodies below. The music wove a strange duet with the sounds of pain and pleasure, screams and moans and the slap of flesh being struck.

Moira looked around in awe. “I thought this was an exclusive club?”

Adrian gave her an amused smile. “Mon ange, you saw for yourself. The footmen at the doors don’t allow anyone without a tattoo to enter. It is, indeed, very exclusive.”

Moira shook her head. “But there are easily two hundred people here. Maybe more.”

Adrian’s smile grew. “I never said we were a small club, ma chère. Only exclusive.” He stepped close again and leaned in. “And what do you think?”

She looked over the club and grinned. “I think I like it.”

“Bon.”

Adrian stepped away from her and onto a small balcony that extended over the gallery below, and slammed the silver-tipped butt of his cane down three times.

The room below immediately became silent.

“Mesdames et messieurs, Doms, Dommes, submissives and switches. Tonight is a very special night. Ce soir, I am so very proud. Proud as a new father, even. Some of you have heard a rumor that your Maître Lacroix has done again what I had sworn never again to do. I tell you now, it is true.

“Tonight, we have a new Maîtresse. Mon protégé, mon ange noir.” He turned and waved for Moira to join him. Without a second thought, she strode forward, head high, gripping her crop in both hands. “Members of Fleur de Nuit, it gives me such very great pleasure to introduce L’Ange Noir!”

The crowd below them erupted in cheering. Adrian smiled and led Moira back to where Kara waited to kiss her cheeks. “Congratulations, Mistress Moira.”

Moira shook her head. “I owe you both so much.”

“Ma chère, now is not the time for talk of debts.” He pulled them both away to the lounge area, where a man wearing nothing but dress pants and chains that ran from neck to hands took their drink orders. Adrian sat and motioned for them both to do the same. Moira settled into the most comfortable leather chair she’d ever sat in. Kara surprised her by curling up on the floor next to Adrian’s chair.

Adrian chuckled at the confused look she wore. “That is her proper place as a sub. The chairs are for Doms.”

Moira nodded her understanding as their drinks arrived. She sipped her bourbon, savoring the rich flavor. “God, it’s been forever since I had one of these.”

“Mais I do hope that’s gonna change. Not that I want to see you drunk all the time, but life is to be enjoyed.”

She took another sip, letting her eyes drift over the dark and mostly empty lounge. Another couple sat not far away, Domme in a chair, sub at her feet. In the far corner, a man sat completely in the darkness, the only light shining on his amber drink.

She turned back to where Kara sat next to Adrian. Both watched her with barely hidden smiles. “What?”

“Mon ange, you look perfectly at home.”

An excited grin spread across Moira’s face. She felt at home. Different. High on confidence and the club’s atmosphere. Like it was all a dream, or a movie, where real life held no sway, and here, tonight, she could be anyone she wanted.

And sitting there, with Adrian’s eyes on her, she felt every inch the Domme.

“Kara, ma fille, why don’t you give our lovely new Maîtresse le grand tour?”

“It would be my pleasure, Sir.” Kara looked at her through her eyelashes, a move that made Moira’s breath catch. It was odd seeing her friend so docile and demure, especially when she knew how wild Kara could be.

“Bon. I have things that need attending to. I expect you to enjoy yourself.”

He spoke the last with a very significant look at Moira, who knocked back the remains of her bourbon and stood. “Well then. I suppose I’ll have to. Kara?”

Kara stood, her eyes still mostly downcast, but with a grin. “If you’d care to follow me then, Mistress?”

Moira reached out and took her hand, winking at Adrian as Kara led her off. The second story walk wrapped three sides of the gallery, as Adrian had called it, with the salon in one of the corners. Kara led her the opposite way they’d come, away from the stairs, while Moira’s fingers intertwined tightly with hers, almost possessively. Everyone who they passed greeted her with a wink or a smile or a hello, but they were all much more familiar with Kara. Several of the Dominants had a lingering kiss or a touch, and each left Moira with a feeling she couldn’t quite name.

But Kara laughed them all off, even the ones who offered to scene with her, saying she was on Adrian’s business tonight.

“Is it always like this?”

Kara smiled and led her on. “Sometimes. It depends. There are a lot of unattached Dominants here tonight, more than usual. And sometimes even the attached ones want to play.” She shrugged. “It’s one of the things I like here. The rules are defined, but within them, anything goes, as long as it’s consensual.”

“That does seem nice.”

Kara glanced back at her and smiled. “I’m glad. So the salon and lounge area take up most of the back end of the club. These rooms over here, and the ones on the side we came up, are all private dungeons or playrooms.”

Moira looked at the row of rooms. Dim sconces lined the hall, placed at sparse intervals between dark wood doors with silver fleur-de-lis plates, each marked with a black number. “Private?”

“Private meaning that they belong to a specific Dominant. Adrian decides who gets them. Well, Adrian and Master Gideon.”

“Gideon?”

Kara shivered. “Gideon St. Sauveur. Adrian’s best friend and silent partner. Guy’s loaded, was a doctor or something, but old British money too. He’s scary as fuck and rarely shows up in public.”

“Okay then. Why’s he so scary?”

Kara shook her head. “He’s just that guy. The kind that could raise armies or destroy cities with a nod of his head or a flick of his finger. I mean, not really, but you know what I mean. He absolutely reeks of power. The ultimate Dom. Adrian’s an amazing Dom, but he has a light side. A sense of humor. He’ll occasionally let someone top him. Not Gideon. Everyone kneels to him; it’s instinct.”

“Have you ever? I mean, has he ever topped you?”

Kara blanched. “God, no. I’m no masochist. Well, not that much of one. You’d have to be one strong-as-fuck woman to bottom to Gideon St. Sauveur. He doesn’t only top. He owns. And you know me. I’m not looking to be owned.”

Moira nodded, still not really understanding. “I guess. I’ll have to hope I never meet him then.”

“Seriously. But I don’t think he likes Dommes anyway, so you’re safe.”

She laughed. “Doesn’t like them?”

“He’s a bit of a chauvinist. Doesn’t like women on top. At all. It’s probably the old British blood talking.”

Moira shook her head, and Kara shrugged before leading them to the stairs.

“Ready to go down?”

Moira looked over the wrought iron railing to the gallery floor, and her mouth went a little dry. “What do I need to know before we go down?”

Kara gave her a proud smile. “The gallery floor is kind of the public playroom. There are a handful of first come, first served dungeons on either side below the walk, for those who want to scene more than the gallery allows. But the floor is pretty much anything goes.” She pointed out crosses, wheels, leather couches and a few benches, some in use, and the raised stage at the end where the shadowed DJ stood next to a jazz band. “They might push you a little. Adrian hasn’t trained a new Domme since before my time, and they’ll want to know what you’re made of. Don’t be afraid to show them.”

“Show them?”

Kara pointed to the crop she still held. “You’re a Domme, Mistress. Don’t put up with anything less than respect.”

Moira took a deep breath, letting the music and the noise wash over her, and focused on the one word.
Mistress.
“You’re right. I am. How do you feel about a little dancing?”

Kara grinned, her eyes full of mischief. “Dancing?”

“I do see dancing going on down there. And there’s music. And you said anything goes. Don’t you want to show off your best friend, the new Domme?”

Kara laughed. “Are you sure dancing is all you want to do?”

Moira swatted her lightly with her crop. “Maybe. Maybe not. Come on, my lovely little sub.”

Kara ducked her head with a wink. “Yes, Mistress.”

“God, I love it when you say that.”

Kara smiled as Moira pulled her down the stairs and onto the gallery floor.

Moira could feel every eye in the gallery on her, but her eyes never left Kara as they danced. However Kara had thought the club’s occupants would test her, Moira never felt like it came. Occasionally someone would approach, more invitations for Kara to join them, or for both of them, even requests for Moira alone. Most she sent off with a look or a flick of her crop. Some she obliged, like the young sub who begged for a spanking from Adrian’s new Domme. The gallery had gone wild for the few minutes she’d spent bending the man over one of the convenient benches.

But Kara never left her side. They danced and kissed until they were out of breath, and Moira felt giddy with it all. The truth was, instead of making her nervous, all the attention was affecting her like a drug. She had more energy than she knew what to do with. She’d spotted Gavin earlier, and a few of the other subs Adrian had brought in for her to train with.

Part of her wanted to gather them all up and let them fuck her one—or two—at a time.

She smiled wide at the thought.

“That’s a dangerous smile, Mistress.” The laughing tone in Kara’s voice told her she probably knew what she was thinking.

Moira leaned into her and laughed as they ground together to the heavy backbeat. “This is a dangerous place. It inspires all kinds of dangerous thoughts.”