"What did you expect?" Tara whispered to herself as she looked around the club. Other than the huge St. Andrews Cross that stood in the center of the room and the spanking bench that was just to its left, it could be any night club, any place in the world. Of course, the walls were painted a dark red with black accents but the lamps scattered about provided a warm glow without being too bright. There were couches and benches arranged in the corners of the room with a couple dozen people already arrayed upon them, chatting away as if it were any Saturday night, in any club, any place. A song that she recognized as one of her favorite 80's hits played softly in the background. There was even a disco ball suspended from the ceiling although it was not turned on.
What truly set this room apart from any other club that Tara had been in before were the people. She had never seen such a diverse and eclectic group. In one corner sat a group of women, some in short leather skirts, but most in full flowing gowns with sequins and feathers. The women chatted amongst themselves as two young men, naked except for the studded leather collars about their necks, knelt at their feet. In another corner, an older man in a diaper was in deep conversation with a woman, who was quietly tapping a crop against the couch as if warming up for her turn at bat. A tall woman that was obviously a man in drag sat next to them. In the corner nearest her, a half dozen people in leather pants and corsets were talking. She caught snippets of the conversation and was surprised to realize that it had nothing to do with the kink that brought her to Rainbows. The topics as mundane as work and family.
"What do you think so far?" the deep voice from behind drew her attention. She turned towards the sound to discover the leather clad gentleman that had been at the reception desk when she checked in. He was not the young or studly Doms that filled the pages of the erotic romances she had been reading for years, but there was something about him that commanded respect. Something markedly different than the couple of fakers that she had met through the social networking sites. There was no doubt; this man was a real Dom. And even though she was not sexually attracted to him, he did something funny to her tummy.
Tara shook her head, "I don't know. I don't know what I expected really," she whispered nervously.
He laughed and the sound washed over her like cool waves against hot sand. "We're just normal people," his mouth turned up just enough at the corners to relax the tightness in her stomach. "With a couple of kinks. I'm Peter by the way," he said as he held out his hand. "I am one of Dungeon Monitors here. So if you have any questions or need anything, just find me."
Tara shook his hand, wondering if he could tell how nervous she was. "I'm Tara. I suppose you can tell I'm sort of new," she stammered as the woman with the crop stood and held out her hand to man in the diaper. "To all of this."
That chuckle once more sang in her ear like a comfortable chorus, "New? No way," he teased as another couple moved past them. The woman dressed in a pink chiffon dress that reminded Tara of Shirley Temple, complete with white knee socks and black patent leather Mary Janes. "So what is your fetish?"
It was the question that Tara had been asking herself for almost two years since her divorce. And she still did not have the answer, but admitting that to this stranger seemed too intimate somehow. "I'm a sub, I think," the answer as close to the truth as she had come.
"You think? You either are or you are not," he replied with a confidence that had Tara's head spinning like a naughty girl called to the principal's office.
"It's just that I have not done much really," she knew that she sounded like that little girl making excuses, but her brain did not seem to be working at the moment.
"A virgin," he smiled. It had been over a quarter of a century since Tara had given her virginity to the boy that would become her husband. The experience had been almost laughably typical: the back seat of his car after Homecoming nonetheless. But she had to admit that she was as nervous this night as she had been that one. The enormity of it all crashed into her then. What was she doing here?
As if reading her mind, or perhaps just experienced enough at his job to recognize the signs of newbie panic, the man firmly gripped her elbow and led her to the one empty corner in the room. "Breath deeply," he commanded and there was no doubt from the authority in his tone that it was a command. "In through your nose and out through your mouth. In, one, two, three, four. Out, one, two, three, four." The count seemed to go on and on for several minutes, the room blurring about her as people came and went.
She could hear something now, a loud cracking sounds that seemed in perfect time with his count. She looked up to see the woman with the crop. The man was chained to the St. Andrews Cross, the diaper about his ankles now and nasty red welts were beginning to rise on his hairy bottom. "I should go," she stammered as she tried to pull from the man's grasp.
"No," there was that tone again, the one that had her dropping her eyes and automatically nodding her head. "You want to know if you truly are submissive. You need to know if you belong here. You have come this far, now is not the time to run, my wounded dove." He pressed a bottle of cold water into her hand, "Drink this and I will show you around properly."
Tara watched the woman with the crop as she drank. She had the man dancing almost. Each blow caused him to jump and yelp. But after each blow, he counted and politely said, "Thank you, Mistress."
He saw where her eyes had landed, "That is Rachel, Mistress Havisham. She is an award winning Domme. Not that I have much respect for that lot, but as female doms go, she's the best. If you are curious about your pain thresholds, think you might be masochistic, then I can introduce you." He paused for a long moment and just watched her watching the other woman. "She is the other Dungeon Monitor here, so also a safe refuge if you get into trouble." He chuckled a moment, "Trouble! That's what I am going to call you."
Tara wanted to argue, to deny the man's words. But after two years of reading trashy romance novels about BDSM and fantasizing about something that was obviously way more than it seemed, she had the distinct feeling that trouble was exactly what she was in for.
He looked at the almost empty bottle and reached out, taking it from her hand. "Follow me. I'll introduce you around."
Tara fell into step easily behind the man as they passed through the main hall. "This is the kitchen. Lady Bella puts on nice spread. Partly that is because it is important to eat and especially drink while you are playing. It helps to minimize sub-drop. You have heard of sub-drop, right?" He studied her with the firm gaze of a high school guidance counselor.
She nodded, "Yeah, I have read about it."
"Read about it, humph," he poo-poed. "Virgins never are as much fun as you think they would be."
She slunk back against the wall a bit at his harsh appraisal. His laughter rang out breaking the tensions a bit. "Yeah, you're sub. And trouble. Anyway, the other thing about Bell's buffet is that it provides a nice gathering place. At some point during the night, everyone is going to come through here at least once. So if you want to meet people, in a non-threatening way, it is a good place to hang out."
Tara nodded her head and smiled. As a chef she above all people could appreciate the unifying effects of food. But she was not ready to share her secrets with this man. Yet.
He took her through a door and down a dank set of stairs. "This is the other good place to meet people. The smoking area. Do you smoke?" He did not wait for her answer as they approached another older man and the woman in the Shirley Temple dress.
"Hey, Bob, you got a light. This is Tara. She's a new sub, probably read about all this in that stupid book and wants to give it a try. Tara, this is Master Watts. The little is Beth. Beth, Tara. Tara, Beth."
Tara extended her hand first to the young woman. "Tut-tut. Such bad manners. You do need training," replied Peter. She dropped her hand to her side and dropped her eyes to the dirty cement floor.
The other man laughed, "Give the poor woman a break, Peter. You will scare her off. It's not like there is an excess of female subs around here. Hell, these Dommes and their boy toys are practically taking over. Not all of us are lucky bastards like you with a slave and a service sub." The man held out his hand. "Don't worry about the old man. He can be too full of himself sometimes. Welcome to Rainbows."
Tara smiled and took the man's hand. "Thank you," she mumbled uncertain what to say or make of any of it.
"Bob's specialty is electrical play, which is why he's called Master Watts. He usually has the only Violet Wand in the house...if you are curious to try that."
Tara shivered as she remembered the particularly nasty description of the thing in one of her books. It had been used to torture a young woman beyond her limits. The very idea of the thing caused shivers to run up her spine.
The other man noticed and chuckled, "Trust me, little lady, one taste of my pleasure/pain and you would be lining up just like all the rest. Isn't that right, kitten?" The man softly caressed the cheek of the woman child standing next to him. She nodded and simply replied, "Yes, Daddy."
Tara could not stop the quick intake of breath at the word. She felt a firm grip on her elbow and looked up. Peter had a grave face on; the one that reminded her once more of a guidance counselor. Without knowing exactly what, she knew that she had made a big mistake.
