The Tourney
Prologue - A court of three jesters
"... was watching you the whole time," Ren is telling her, leaning up against the bar table and swirling her mocktail in her hand. "I've never seen a noob take a paddling with that much gusto. You had this... this glow on your face after each strike."
"What can I say?" Liz grins, leaning forward and letting her own glass rest in her lap. The cool condensation on the glass might leave an embarrassing puddle on her skirt, but she mischievously wonders if anyone might mistake it for something more exciting, "... I live to please."
Ren laughs, throwing down another large gulp. Despite it being alcohol-free, standard for the event, the habit of drinking leaves her with a placebo buzz. After her third ultra-sugary mocktail, Ren looks just as tipsy as though they were real.
Liz adjusts her posture on the bar stool, trying to stick her ass out a little more. Just because Ren was with her now didn't mean she had to ignore any offers, and Liz is eager to receive them.
Ren's cute. A short, swooping wave of black-and-red hair pulls back onto a round face with shaved sides. She has a boyish charm, with twinkling dark brown eyes and a flat nose that hangs just above a sweet mouth that always wears a partial smirk, skin smooth, pale, and a little shiny. She wears a leather jacket with the sleeves cuffed just below the elbow, accenting her toned arms and strong hands. She sits with her arm propped up on the table and a boot hooked onto a rung of Liz's stool, other foot dangling nonchalantly. Liz doubts Ren is even capable of sitting normally in a chair.
"So..." Ren moves closer, her boot on Liz's stool pulling her a little nearer as well. "Tell me about your bands."
Liz looks down at her wrist, adorned with a small handful of colorful, stretchy rubber bands. It was the standard code for the Marion Street Brigade, and Liz is proud to finally be allowed to wear them in the club.
"First band," Liz says, tucking a finger around the band closest to her palm. It's a thick band with three colors, red and blue with a thinner stripe of purple through the middle. "Bisexual," she explains.
"Experienced?" Ren asks, an eyebrow arching tentatively.
Liz nods. She'd only ever been with one girl before, but it at least counted for something. She suspects Ren probably's done considerably more than her, but with one act of pussy eating and one act of fingering under her belt, Liz is happy to move solidly out of the category of "bi-curious."
"Lesbian," Ren answers back, dangling her own top band.
"You don't need a band for that one," Liz giggles. "Not with that haircut."
Ren's face splits with a wide grin. "That's for flagging outside the club." She lifts her dangling foot up onto the stool, resting her elbow on her knee and leaning in close enough to whisper. "That attitude will earn you extra strokes if you stick with me."
Liz blushes, taking a sip of her drink to fawn hiding it. Her cheeks pucker slightly at the sour lemon syrup and fake cherry liquor, teeth slightly resenting the sugar crushing through. Ren's easy to provoke, and Liz notes it happily.
"Second band," Liz raises her hand again, twirling the stretchy material. She doubts she has to explain this one, the flag's colors are hard to mistake for anything else. If Ren didn't notice it after sitting for twenty minutes, that was on her. "Trans."
"Cis," Ren answers back. She has no band to signal it; the absence of the blue-pink-white-pink-blue was the default.
"Experienced...?" Liz asks timidly. This was the question she'd learned to be slightly careful about. "Or... trying something new?"
"Noob," Ren replies happily, taking another gulp of her drink. She wipes away the dribble of liquid that doesn't make it into her mouth, collecting just above her chin. "But not a weirdo about it. Girls are girls."
Liz lets out the breath she'd been holding in. She'd learned the sweet spot was a fine line between the two - if a partner had been with one or two trans girls before, it was experience. If it was any more than that... the pattern didn't tend to lead towards Liz finishing with any self respect remaining.
"Final band," Liz moves on, flicking the thin orange band at the lowest spot. It's deliberately thinner than the rest, signaling it's not a confident announcement. "Open to trying most things... not necessarily anything."
"Define most things." Ren's brow lowers, trying to read her pause.
"Everything covered in basic classes - ropes, restraints, impact, chastity, role play, and temperature," Liz explains, feeling a little warmth build inside at stating it all out loud. Sure, no one in this room would dare judge her for any of it, but she's still getting used to being so open about it. "Other things aren't a 'no,' I just haven't necessarily tried them and reserve the right to hate them."
Ren nods, face washing with a cute flash of excitement. "Any hard limits?"
"The gross ones," Liz chokes out.
Ren rolls her eyes, not quite impatient or upset but mildly annoyed. "I doubt everyone in this room would know which ones are the 'gross ones', babe."
Liz sighs, disappointed she'd have to spell it out. Ren was right, she of all people shouldn't shame like that. "If you'd do it in a porta-potty I don't want it involved."
"You should hear what Damien has done in a porta-potty," Ren smirks, flicking her head towards a lanky man across the room. "I get what you mean, though." She pulls at the other band on her wrist, a thick gray one. "Bondage, primarily."
Liz is about to crack a joke, but Ren speaks faster. She leans back, opening her legs wide and nonchalantly snapping and unsnapping one of the many clasp buttons that decorate her tight pants. "Girls are girls... and girls deserve to be tied up."
Liz flushes, unable to redirect her gaze from Ren's flexing forearms. Liz isn't particularly weak, she'd run cross country most of her time in high school and college, but she doubts she could really contest Ren's strength. Ensuring Ren sees it, she bites her lip quietly, hoping the woman could see the ideas flashing through her head.
"Oh, I'd absolutely do
that
to you," Ren boasts, head cocked slightly as she reads Liz's submissive and hungry smile. Her clit fights against her careful tuck, hidden by her skirt, but she doubts Ren needs to see a bulge to imagine the effect. "Whatever idea just crossed your mind, I'd do that until you begged me to stop."
Ren runs a palm back through her short hair, ensuring the back of her strong hand is fully on display. Liz especially notices the soft impression of the veins on her arm pop as she moves, hardly noticing her own body leaning forward to be closer.
"So whaddya' say?" Ren grins again. "Night's almost done. You going to be leavin' with me?" She winks, a gesture that would've looked ridiculous on anyone who didn't have her casual, boyish charisma.
Liz nods excitedly. She hadn't doubted Ren would offer, but it's still a delightful crush of ego-boost to hear the request out loud. With every dominant that proposes to her, Liz feels like her self-esteem jumps aboard a rocket.
A light chime sounds out over the speaker, interrupting the soft music that had previously filled the club. Liz laughed earlier that they were just playing a "Greatest R&B hits of the 00's," and when the chime interrupts the second playthrough of Rihanna's "Umbrella," she's sure her observation is correct.
"Good timing," Ren chirps. She throws back her drink, tapping her knuckles on the bar counter and lightly cupping Liz's chin between her thumb and index finger, flicking it lightly. "See you out there, hon."
"See you," Liz calls back as the woman strides away. She restrains a smirk, in disbelief that her plan was going so smoothly. Liz was so sure it wouldn't work, that someone would've suspected something was up, but Ren's confidence answered that concern. She leaves her unfinished drink on the counter, deciding the sugar isn't worth it, and takes her place in a row of folding chairs propped up on the tiny club stage.
Tonight was a tradition for the Marion Street Brigade club. They ran a series of classes simply titled "BDSM for Lovely Subbies," an introductory course to the basics of everything a newcomer might need to keep themselves safe. There was a counterpart course for dominants, but it was far more intense and carefully measured. While five or six subs would graduate in a given class, only one or two doms would. A passing grade in the course was required to cuff up in the club.
Liz was delighted to be a part of the graduating group of submissives. Moreover, she was equally thrilled to be dubbed this class', 'Diamond.' According to the club owner, a bombastic former drag star everyone just called "Queen Mama," Liz was the best catch of the bunch; "Top of her class and cute as a button." She'd only succeeded over four others, the fifth had to drop out because of a job offer out of state he couldn't refuse, but it still felt good.
The Diamond tradition was hardly a tradition; Liz was only the second sub to win the title. Apparently, watching Bridgerton was a spiritual experience for Queen Mama, and she fancied herself to already be as much of a queen as the one from the series. She'd even had the club decorated tonight to use Bridgerton as a theme, with the dark and slightly dingy black walls of the club being adored with golden streamers, fake flower bouquets, and a tower of cheap champagne glasses as the centerpiece.
Liz takes it all in from the stage as colorful spotlights shine down behind her, leaving the stage and dance floor brightly illuminated against the low light of the rest of the club. More chairs have been lined up on the dance floor as the rest of the patrons head over to the space just in front of the stage, around fifty people or so. Most of them were club regulars, a scattered crowd that came from all walks of life with their own pairings and established relationships. Beyond them, there were fifteen or so prospective doms, excited to snap up the graduating submissives.
