Red Hot Obsessions (179 page)

Overheard in the Costume Closet

At seven-forty-five that evening, Rae parked her humble Taurus in The Devilhouse employee parking lot, which was half-full of shiny, proud cars and trucks.

As she shoved open her car’s squeaky door, the boiling plastic aroma of new car smell rose from the other cars in the warm night. She might have pitied her car, if she had anthropomorphized it so much that she believed that it would be ashamed of its dings and peeling blue paint, but instead she resolved to save every penny of her earnings for college and her clinic. This job was a means to an end. She was trading her pride for tuition and seed money, not selling her soul and her body to Mammon.

A streetlamp poured light down on Lizzy’s sports car that was parked in the second spot near the employee’s entrance. The license plate read WHIZZY.

Georgie’s Lexus occupied the first spot, which meant that Georgie had probably arrived before Lizzy. That was weird.

Rae had had hours to compose herself after seeing those terrible photos. She had read Ecclesiastes and had drunk hot herbal tea that Hester had made, but it wasn’t enough. Her eyes still burned with angry tears every time Rae thought about what had happened to Wulf.

She had tried to distract herself by studying and writing up five- and ten-year plans for her life. She planned to work at The Devilhouse for the money for her education, but she would leave Wulf alone because he and Lizzy were perfect for each other. As much as her heart bled for Wulf as a broken child, Rae knew that she was the wrong woman for him, and she had a purpose in life beyond him. She was going to build her autism clinic, even if she had to lay the bricks herself.

The problem was that she probably could lay bricks, but she couldn’t draw up the incorporation papers or negotiate a building lease.

Maybe she should take a couple business classes next year.

Because, contrary to what she had feared just a week and a half ago, there would be a next year of college for Rae. A smile grew on her face.

Rae swiped her new Devilhouse identification card, just a plain white card with a magnetized stripe, and the metal door clicked open.

After a stop in the ladies’ locker room/ high-end spa to shower and apply make-up to her puffy eyes and emotion-ruddy nose, Rae donned a fluffy pink bathrobe incongruously monogrammed with a flaming D and scouted the costume closet for something suitable for Saturday night at The Devilhouse. Overhead warehouse lighting bleached the glittery gowns. The unfinished cement floor scraped the bottoms of her bare feet, and the faint whiff of dry cleaning solution and leather cleaner tasted metallic on the back of her tongue.

As she was a Domme, anything subby wasn’t appropriate. The leather-and-studs leotard-things left too much of her skin bare, and she tended to get chilled.

While Rae was dithering, two other girls came in. Rae peeked over the loaded racks and waved to the Asian girl wearing glasses and the black girl with a fluffy, lemon-yellow weave, but she didn’t go over to talk.

The Asian girl waved back at Rae, then said, “And Sonya hasn’t been to work for, like, a week.”

“I saw her at school this mornin’. She’s fine. She ain’t coming back.”

Rae smiled. Wulf said that Sonya had reached The Hairy Arse Boundary and probably wouldn’t return.

“She can’t afford that.”

“That girl said that she saved her money, and she’s just going to finish her degree and leave town.”

Leaving the fetishwear rack, Rae examined the rows of formal gowns that shimmied when she brushed them with her fingertips. Several of them were her size and looked like the length might be appropriate, practically a miracle. Rae’s towering height made it hard to shop even for jeans, and having a whole selection of nine glamorous gowns to choose from nearly made her skip around the harshly lit wardrobe room.

“I’ll bet The Dom is going to go ballistic,” the Asian girl said.

“Nope. Sonya said he was calm as anything when he called her, and that man told Sonya that she should call him if she needed a reference after she graduated. Said he could hook her up with the grad program, too, if she wanted.”

“Speaking of The Dom, has he called on you lately?”

“Nope. He hasn’t called on anyone for two whole weeks.”

“That’s got to be some sort of record.”

Rae stopped rasping and clicking the hangers on the metal rack. Her fingers held a beaded dress, and she waited for them to say something else.

The black girl said, “I asked Sonya this morning because it was weird, and she confirmed that it was weird. She said that he never goes more than forty-eight hours without getting head or tapping some on his desk.”

Rae’s cheeks flushed. Evidently, word hadn’t gotten out that she had been screwing Wulf, which was good, because then word wouldn’t get back to Lizzy.

Something else wiggled in her head, something kind of smug and kind of glad, something that giggled and hid under a soft blanket. Rae wasn’t sure what-all was hiding in the back of her skull, so she didn’t look at it too closely.

A white, strapless gown on the rack looked too bridal, so she flipped past that one. The silver-spangled mermaid dress that Georgie and Lizzy had liberated for Rae to wear to the party, that first time she had met Wulf and screwed him against a wall in a back bedroom, hung innocently on a padded hanger. Rae checked the hem in back. She had imprinted a gray footprint on the inside while peeling it off after the party. The footprint had been laundered away, thank goodness. Rae had felt guilty about it, though Lizzy and Georgie had laughed at her dismay.

Seven gowns remained for her to consider, an embarrassment of riches, a giddiness of beauty.

Ruby red, gold, blue, teal, copper, navy, and black.

Rae wanted to try them all on, but the clock on her phone showed that it was almost nine o’clock, so she closed her eyes and plunged her hand into the line of dresses, hoping that she would have many more Saturday nights at The Devilhouse to wear the other ones.

~~~~~

Lizzy and The Dom

Rae paused, holding the handles to the Devilhouse’s main club room and gathering herself before she went in. The borrowed beaded dress hung heavily on her shoulders, and the structured bodice constricted her ribs and back.

The steel double doors loomed above her. Heavy dance music pounded the metal like a demon horde trying to escape.

“Don’t be shy,” Glenda said. “You look fabulous. Every eye in there will be on you.” Glenda was wearing a shockingly micro-short silver skirt and teensy silver pasties that shone on her dark breasts like double moons in the night sky. A silver collar around her neck matched her shimmering clothes. Her emerald contact lenses glowed.

Rae said, “I think everybody’s going to be looking at you.”

Rae would rather have slipped in unnoticed and clung to the walls, but she screwed her courage to the sticking place one more time, lifted her chin, and summoned the character of Lady Macbeth, Domme of The Devilhouse.

The Lady Macbeth character didn’t manifest itself very well, so Rae faked some confidence and swept open the doors.

A wave of music blared out the open doors, and Rae blinked, trying to focus in the dim cavern. The huge room had been converted from a warehouse and was at least three tall stories high. She stood on a balcony in the middle of the space, looking down on the main floor. Smoke filmed the air, and Rae caught an acrid whiff that reminded her of the Manzanita college dorm.

Below them, the dancing crowd writhed on the main floor. The whole population bounced and bopped to the beat played by the DJ in the booth set against one wall. Most of the people down below wore fetishwear to some degree, bare chests or leather vests for the guys, serving-wench corsets or tiny bikinis and miniskirts for the girls. They surged around raised stages, where dancers dressed in scarlet unitards flung themselves around.

Glenda leaned on the railing beside Rae, surveying the packed dance floor. They had entered onto one of the dining balconies. White-covered tables were staggered on the wide catwalk around them. Silverware and stemmed glasses glittered in the candlelight.

“Have you eaten?” Glenda asked.

A shirtless white man with dozens of tribal tattoos scrolling over his burly arms and chest pushed past Rae and glanced at her without really seeing her. His pants, driving gloves, and ski mask were black leather.

Rae said, “I don’t feel like eating.”

“The food is really good. The guests pay through the nose, but we eat free.”

“I’m fine.”

“Just mingle tonight, honey. You can watch me, if you want. My Dom is performing on the main stage at eleven.” She pointed to a large stage by the DJ booth.

“He isn’t going to whip you again, is he?” In the brightly lit hallway, Rae had seen that faint bruises still marred Glenda’s bare back.

“No. My Dom wouldn’t do that two weeks in a row. He gives me time to heal up before he puts his marks on me again.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

“I’m going to watch while he whips his other sub, Jalinda.”

“Oh, well, okay then.” Rae stood her ground and refused to allow herself to sprint out, not that she could sprint in her strappy high heels, anyway. A brown woman barely wearing a gold lamé bikini twirled by them. The guy following her was thoroughly clad in tight black leather from his high collar to his motorcycle boots and gloves.

Glenda pointed across the empty air. “Oh, there’s The Dom. You know, the manager guy. That term gets a little fuzzy on Saturday nights. Lots of Doms around here tonight.”

Wulf stood on the balcony across the room from them with one foot braced on the railing, scanning the dancing crowd below through the swirling specks of light. As always, he wore a dark suit with a white shirt and—his one variable—a gray tie. Flickers from the spinning disco ball glinted on his bright blond hair, so clean-cut that Rae still couldn’t believe that he was the head sadist in a sex club. Anywhere else, his meticulous grooming might lead people to think he was an FBI agent or an Air Force officer. His cheekbones and jawline cut ruler-straight planes on his face that looked like he had never lost a fist fight in his life.

No, he hadn’t lost a fist fight. Wulf had been on the wrong end of a rifle.

Wulf glanced up and saw Rae standing beyond the pit of the writhing dancers. He smiled.

Half the crowd turned with him, gawking at what Wulf was looking at, like his attention was magnetic.

Glenda said, “We should go over and say hello.”

Rae didn’t want to talk to him. Between that photo of him as a screaming child flashing in her head and Lizzy’s confession of her feelings, Rae couldn’t think of anything that she should say to him. “Is that what everyone does?”

“Oh, yeah. I suggested once that he should get a throne so people can pay homage more efficiently, and he actually sputtered. It was the funniest thing!”

They shimmied through the spectators ogling from the balcony at the wriggling crowd below. People shouted to each other, and their hollers mixed into the thumping music blaring from the speakers hanging from the ceiling and bolted under the balconies. The floor under Rae’s feet vibrated through her shoes.

It took them a while to squirm their way through the crowd, and Wulf was talking to another man when they arrived.

The other man, a buff blond guy, was also wearing a suit, but Rae was pretty sure that he was neither Lancaster nor Jock, the two burly security guys who had watched Wulf smack around her cousin. Rae heard only isolated snatches of their conversation over the stomping dance music and shouting crowd, but she wondered just how big The Devilhouse security department was.

Wulf said, “But there isn’t any direct evidence.”

“No,” the security guy said.

Rae held her breath and tried to look normal.

“See what you can find. Call me if you need to.”

“Yes, sir.” The man clicked his heels, turned sharply, and strode away.

Had he actually clicked his heels together? Rae wasn’t sure that she saw that right. Only Nazis and science fiction stormtroopers did that, right?

Wulf turned back to the railing, then caught sight of Rae and Glenda waiting beside him.

“Ladies.” Wulf looked Rae up and down, taking in her long dress and wide neckline that bared her throat all the way to the points of her shoulders and curved down to her cleavage. “Such a bold choice for your first night here. You look beautiful in red.”

Rae flushed nearly as ruby red as the dress. At least The Devilhouse lighting was dim enough to hide it. “Thanks.”

Glenda giggled. “Just saying hi, Sir. I’ve got to go find my Dom.”

Wulf stepped toward Glenda and glared down at her. Glenda’s emerald eyes widened.

Wulf asked, “I trust he’s not going to mark you up this week?”

“No, sir. I’m just assisting tonight.” Glenda inched backward.

“Good. I’ll be watching.” He turned away from Glenda, dismissing her.

Glenda scurried into the crowd, and Rae noticed that half the people around them were eyeing her and Wulf.

Wulf turned to Rae. “You look every inch a Domme.”

They were all still watching her. Their eyes took in her dress and her hair, judging her.

Wulf captured her hand. His soft lips brushed her knuckles, and he looked down and into her eyes. His bright blue eyes were crinkled in amusement, mocking himself for kissing her hand. He tugged her fingers toward him, and she stepped forward reflexively. His arms went around her, and he held her in his arms as if they were going to waltz, his thighs pressing hers, just like that first night when they had met. “I’m glad you came tonight.”

She couldn’t tell him that she had seen those pictures. “What about Lizzy?” she asked.

“Lizbeth?” One of his blond eyebrows dipped in question. “What about her?”

“Didn’t she talk to you?”

“Yes. We spoke.” He smiled a tight, calm smile, as if that were the end of the conversation. “If you have any questions about what you see here tonight—”

Rae interrupted, “But she had something important to say to you.”

Wulf told Rae, “We spoke privately.”

“You two belong together!”

“That refers to a private conversation.” Wulf’s firm tone admonished Rae.

Rae looked over the balcony, trying to spot tiny Lizzy in the crowd below. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine.”

Lizzy must be frantic with grief if Wulf had treated her so cavalierly. “Where is she?”

“In a private session.”

Which meant that she was in one of the playrooms, probably crying her eyes out over his rejection. Rae shook off Wulf’s arms with every intention of going to her friend. “Where?”

“Play Room One. You shouldn’t interrupt her session. You may observe from the security booth.”

“Fine.” Rae would start there, then go to her friend to console her. She turned away from Wulf, the man of smoke and mirrors who hadn’t even shown a flicker of emotion that Lizzy had bared her soul to him, and bustled through the crowd to the exit.

The security booth was just down the hall, and Rae knocked quietly.

Jeff, The Devilhouse’s head of security, answered her knock, still seated in his rolling chair and linked with a headphone cord to the sound board and bank of monitors. He had pulled the headphones back from one of his ears, and the strap crossed the top of his bald, black head. “Yeah?”

“May I come in?”

“Sure thing.” Jeff left the door open and scooted across the tile to the main desk, which had so many controls and screens that it looked like he could launch a rocket into space. Lemon air freshener almost covered the smell of hot male in a closed space.

Rae pressed the door closed behind her.

Jeff flipped switches to rotate cameras, working while he asked her, “What’s up?”

“I’m worried about my friend Lizzy. Can I check up on her?”

“Right there.” He pointed one huge finger from his fist at the monitor labeled Play Room 1, one of the dungeon-style sex rooms. Most of the other monitors were trained on the dancing crowd or the dining balconies, where people sat at the tables and ate or drank.

On the monitor, a man stood over Lizzy, who was tied to a gothic-looking bench.

The man was naked above his black jeans, and his broad, muscled shoulders tapered to his trim waist. His shoulders and arms were rounded like he was smuggling volleyballs under his skin. Black tribal tattoos contrasted with his pale flesh.

The guy leaned over her, murmuring something. His tidy, black ponytail slipped over his shoulder and dangled above Lizzy’s face.

White nylon cord bound Lizzy like a sex fetish cocoon. She was immobilized, trussed up, except for her tits and pussy. She lay on a bench on her back, legs folded up and tied back to open her up, her arms bound above her head. Intricate knots knitted the ropes together and curved across her rib cage like a designer gown, albeit a crotchless gown with boob cut-outs. Her blonde pubes were groomed into a pale landing strip.

Rae looked straight at Jeff and shielded her eyes from the screen. “Can she breathe?”

“Yeah, it only looks like they’re doing breath play. I was keeping a close eye on them, but she was screaming like mad a little while ago, so she’s getting plenty of air.”

“Screaming? Good Lord!”

“Not in pain.”

“Then why?”

Rae cringed while Jeff laughed at her naïve question.

When Jeff finished laughing at her, he said, “He held her in orgasm denial for about an hour, then he let her have it.”

“What’s,” Rae stopped herself before she sounded like a dolt again. Instead, she asked, “Would you please turn on the sound?”

“Yeah, it looks quieter in there now. I didn’t want to blow out my eardrums.” He flicked a switch.

The man’s very deep bass voice said, “Don’t come.”

“I can’t help it,” said Lizzy. Her hoarse voice was exhausted.

“If you do, I’ll whip you.”

In the booth, Rae said to Jeff, “That’s diabolical.”

“Don’t you feel sorry for her. She’s had hers. Several of ‘em. That’s not orgasm denial. That’s a normal refractory period. He’s been holding back.”

Rae noted all the bulges and crevices of the man’s muscles and was afraid for tiny, delicate Lizzy. “He’s really ripped.”

“Yeah. He used to be a football player. Offensive linebacker. Now he’s just in business.”

The man positioned himself between Lizzy’s tied-back legs and unzipped his pants.

“I can’t watch,” Rae said. Yet, she didn’t look away from the man holding his cock at Lizzy’s pussy, just holding it there, not moving.

Jeff said, “Well, I have to watch, to make sure everyone’s safe. If you don’t want to, you better exit.”

Rae stood shock still, as still as the muscle-bound man and tiny, helpless Lizzy.

Jeff asked Rae, “Who was that guy that the Boss was talking to?”

“Pardon?” She couldn’t seem to breathe because the man was still touching the lips of Lizzy’s pussy with his cock. He opened her pussy, pressed himself against her opening, and stopped again.

Jeff said, “That guy. He looked like a security guy, but I’m the head of security here, and I’ve never seen him before. He’s not one of mine.”

“I don’t know,” Rae said.

On the screen, the man inched his cock into Lizzy. Her back arched as much as the ropes would allow.

Rae gripped the arms of the chair, watching the muscular man slowly fuck her friend.

On the monitor, Lizzy closed her eyes and moaned.

Even though Rae was still comparatively inexperienced, she could tell that Lizzy’s whimpers and abject pleading disguised her delight.

~~~~~