The Blooming Season

Master Dane

The party is supposed to end at midnight, but it's well after one in the morning by the time we shoo the last of the guests out and lock the door. We had a good turn out. We haven't even begun to clean up the mess yet and there's already eager hushed talk about hosting another event in the summer.

The club definitely is in no danger of going bankrupt anytime soon. Even after we paid the catering service and deducted the money we spent on pamphlets, wristbands, and other various supplies. There's still plenty left to deposit into the club's account. I always knew there were people like us hiding in the outside world. People who probably didn't even realize they were like us before tonight. People that need a safe place to play, to meet others without the fear of judgment, and simply to be whatever they truly are. I'm glad they've found their way here. I'm glad to have had the opportunity to show them that they're not alone.

Ginger's energy is simply exhausting. She thrusts a neat stack of completed membership applications in my hands and practically vibrates with the need to do something. If I were to approve every application our membership would triple overnight. I won't. I'll weed through them and pluck out the ones that don't meet my standards. I'm fastidious about obeying the rules, my rules, and if someone can't follow the simple instructions on the membership application, if one line is left incomplete, then that person doesn't belong here.

Out of the applications that do pass my initial inspection. There will be more that are rejected for one reason or another. I have very strict guidelines and absolute and final say about who gets in and who doesn't. Not everyone will submit to a quarterly health exam and STD screening. Others won't agree with mandatory condom use for anyone not in a long-term monogamous relationship. Some won't want to be interviewed by me and upon satisfying my scrutiny, the members of the club.

There have been a few, rare few, bold enough to challenge the rules. Those people that must push everything to its absolute limit, for them sex is no exception. What the members of the club do in their own bedrooms is not my concern. But, what they do within the walls of this building are. Other than a few simple and easily followed rules implemented for the safety of everyone. Rules anyone with a sense of basic responsibility would happily agree to. There aren't many limits that can't be tested. RISK play is acceptable within the club. But edge play has no place here.

This is a place for dominants and submissives, not a place for sadists and masochists. I can be a harsh and cruel master and I have been with the right submissive. But, there are boundaries that even I won't cross. I'll leave a submissive bruised and a little tender in very sensitive places. That's to be expected given the kinds of games I play. But, I won't leave them battered and I won't allow anyone else to batter someone either.

Ginger is so efficient and eager to please that she makes my molars ache. She took the time to snap and print digital photos of the applicants and neatly staple them to each application. I like a face to go along with a name. I really don't care what a person looks like. Each person's differences are what make them attractive. I don't choose members based on appearance alone. But, I can get a basic sense of a person's character from a picture. Sometimes, it's in the eyes or the set of someone's mouth. Sometimes, I either like a person or I don't, no matter how pretty or pleasing an exterior seems.

I thumb through the stack of prospective candidates. The members of the club aren't going to like that I'm planning to turn so many people down. But, I have to be choosy. I drop the applications that are incomplete onto the floor and Ginger scrambles at my feet to pick them up.

I stop and finger one application. I'm not surprised that the little blonde I spotted in the front row has applied for membership. I turn her form sideways in the stack. I won't use her to find out any information about Wallflower. I don't use people. But, I got the sense that she has Wallflower's interests at heart and I think if I verbalize any interest. She'll happily supply the things I want to know of her own volition.

I'll consider Cassandra's application and my thoughts about Wallflower in more detail after I've dealt with what's in front of me. The main room of the club is a disaster. The ones who know me best have already begun to tackle the mess.

I despise disorder. The floor is sticky in places from spilled drinks. There are abandoned plastic cups, bits of paper, discarded programs, and the things in general messiness that follows on the heels of a crowd of people scattered everywhere. Chairs need folded, bathrooms need scrubbed, floors need swept and mopped, display tables need packed away, and all of it must be taken care of before we call it a night.

I can't get Wallflower out of my head. I order people to do my bidding, as if setting the club back to its usual pristine condition will exorcise the demon of our encounter. The smart thing to do would be to continue on as I always have and never think of her again. But, I know how I am and once I've got my mind set on something I won't let it go.

Everyone is bone tired, but they do as I say. They know better than to do otherwise. Luckily, I've trained a few good dominants and there are plenty of submissives scrambling about so eager to please. Even the few members not into BDSM are busily working to tidy up the club. Everyone wants to go home, but works to set the club to rights despite their tiredness. This pleases me and my dominant side sparks to a wicked light in watching everyone obey so completely.

It seems I'm not capable of getting Wallflower out of my mind. But, I can push her back into its recesses and I know just how to do it. I won't fuck her out of my thoughts. I'll beat her out. I don't choose Ginger. I want someone for the night a little less eager to please. I want someone resistive in need of a firm hand for the games I have in mind.

Laura is new to the club. I haven't given her the attention or the training she deserves. She is unattached and has no master. She simply loves to play. She loves to fight against the bindings. That is her game, resisting and being forced to submit. And tonight, that's exactly the game I want to play. "Laura, come."

She glares at me in defiance extracting an evil grin from my lips. She takes her time lazily meandering over to me and stands in opposition, her eyes meeting mine. Submission is something she needs on some soul deep level, but it isn't necessarily in her nature to surrender herself to another without a fight. She may be a switch at heart. True switches are rare. I haven't begun to tap the wellspring of Laura's potential. Tonight I may.

I grab her by the nape of her neck and force her down onto hands and knees. Dragging her behind me by the thick length of her silky black hair, crawling hastily to keep up with my wide strides, I purposely guide her through a mound of trash swept up by another submissive, making one hell of a mess to be cleaned up.

I'm in master mode and I can see Laura sliding into her role as a reluctant submissive as well. I stop at the closed door of my private playroom. "Do I have your permission to do with you whatever I will? I won't go easy on you. Not tonight."

"Yes...master," she answers. I can see her reluctance to use the word master in the set of her full lips. This is her game. I want to see her humble, willing, and eager. That is my game. She wants pleasure. I can give it to her, but I won't until I have her compliance. I stand over her staring her down. I won't relent. She will meet my standards or this will go no further. She knows this. Lowering her eyes to the floor she mumbles, "I look forward to it, Master."

"Good girl," I say in a satisfied purr. Garnering a submissive's permission is a must and she has given me carte blanche. The only thing that can stop me now is a safeword. But, I know Laura. She will never use it. Yanking her through the open door, I close it firmly behind us and let the games begin.

Wallflower

It's a little after five in the morning when I give up and drag my tired ass out of bed. I had a bad night, sleepless and restless. I want to blame it on the two double shot mocha lattes I drank while waiting for Cassandra to finally leave the club, but there's more to it than that.

When I left Dane out in the cold and went back inside. I found Cassandra engrossed in a stage demonstration about corsets and waist training. The woman giving the lecture did have a tiny, tiny waist. Her figure was cinched tight and perfectly hourglass in shape. She was ample enough, to be sure. But, the corset transformed what could best be called a husky build into a smooth, sleek, curvy thing of beauty.

I tried to get past the medical implications of having your internal organs squished, cinched, and mercilessly bound. I tried to relax and forget about Dane and what happened between the two of us. I couldn't. Looking back, I don't know why I let him get to me the way he did. It isn't like in a city of eight hundred thousand people I'm likely to bump into him accidentally and I'm certainly not going to see him again on purpose.

Unlike me, Cassandra had no difficulty getting into the spirit of the evening. But, she enjoys meeting new people and trying new things. I don't. She is at that age where she's smart enough to know better and still young enough to get away with it. I passed that stage in my life a long time ago. Hell, considering I was chasing after two kids, working full time, and busting my ass to keep a reasonably happy home. I don't really think I ever got to that stage in my life at all.

I didn't have the heart to pull Cassandra away from the club. Let her enjoy herself and have fun. She was trying to guard the bags at her feet and still let her hair down. I didn't explore what she had bought. I really didn't want to know what kinds of things you could purchase at a fetish party. The bags were inconspicuous enough, just thick, opaque black plastic shopping bags. Utterly innocuous. But, the mom in me had me dutifully guarding the bags while I waited for her in the coffee shop across the street rather than risk having her purchases stolen.

It was past midnight before she emerged from the club, toting more bags and practically bursting with enthusiasm to show me what was inside of them. Of course, once the party ended many of the goers found their way across the street to the coffee shop before calling it a night. I had a table by the window and right there in plain view of the world and a crowd of strangers she began to show off the things she had bought. I expected the corset. The boxed vibrator was something I could handle, sort of. I didn't anticipate the handcuffs, a leather flogger, or her proclamation that she had applied for membership to the club.

Wound up on espresso and enthusiasm, Cassandra would have chattered all night. I truly didn't hear much of what she said. The church loomed in the window and the only thing I could think about was what was going on inside now that the public had been shooed out and the doors were locked. What was Dane doing? Who was he doing it to? Was he beating some porcelain skinned beauty with that black leather whip of his? Did I want it to be me he was beating instead?

I was not that kind of person. I seriously doubt I'd enjoy being tied up and flogged. I didn't appreciate the intrusiveness of Dane's questioning. What I think and feel is none of his concern. I resent Dane's assumptions about me. I was married for twenty-five years. I've had my share of good sex, normal sex, with my husband during those years. The sex was predictable, but of course, after that long of a time of making love to the same person, it would be. I always knew what to expect in the bedroom. There's nothing wrong with that.

Dane struck a raw nerve. He saw too much. Things I didn't want him or anybody else, especially not my kids, to see. I loved my ex. I thought we'd be together for the rest of our lives. I was content to do without mind blowing sex in exchange for the life we had built.

Dane was right though. I hate that he saw through me so easily. I hadn't felt with my ex what I felt with him. I want to blame the sudden spark he brought to life on a year of abstinence. I might have responded the same way to any man's touch as I did to Dane's. I can cling to that thought and I would if it weren't for the fact that I'd be lying to the one person I swore I'd never lie to. Myself.

It doesn't matter, not really. I'll never see Dane again. Cassandra was thoughtful enough to grab a membership application for me. I won't be filling it out. I am not that person. Not one to hurt anyone's feelings and out of that obligation I folded the application and stuffed it into my coat pocket.

It was after two in the morning before Cassandra finally dropped me off at home. A hot bath did nothing to soothe me. I paced the floors. Tried to snuggle under the covers, but the empty apartment and emptier bed did nothing but remind me of how lacking my life had become. I stared up at the ceiling and counted my blessings till the clock struck five. I had the kids, a career, and a few good friends. What more could I possibly need?

I don't hate my ex husband. We ended things as friends of a sort. I know I could call him and he'd come. The kids keep me updated on him, sometimes more than I'd like. He moved on. I moved away. He got the house. I got to keep my 401K. I grit my teeth at the thought of another woman in what was once my house and my bed. I want to hate him for loving someone else. But, in a way, an evil way, I can't help but chuckle in bitter vengeance. Let her clean up after him. Let her cook his meals and do his laundry. The underwear left on the bathroom floor is no longer my concern.

I am bitter. How could I not be? I chose to move away. I chose to leave everything behind. I wanted to start over. I am starting over, but I'm frustrated that a year later I'm still taking baby steps. A braver woman might jump at the chance to do the things Dane wants to do. In a way I wish I were that woman. I'm not brave enough to risk the floggers and the humiliation of groveling at a man's feet. More importantly, I'm not brave enough to let my guard down or to trust anyone to have that kind of power over me. Deep down inside I know that's what Dane wants. And it's the one thing I could never give him.

My thoughts are muddled and confusing. When it ended between my ex and I. I guess I failed to consider the possibility of putting myself out there again. In a world filled with second chances, I didn't think such hopes applied to me. I put too much of the blame on myself. I believed if anyone didn't deserve a second chance. I didn't. If I'd been a better wife, perhaps, or if I'd done this or that instead of the things I did, then maybe I'd still have my husband and the comfortable, predictable, positively ordinary life I had grown accustomed to.

Dane puts it all out there. I know exactly what he wants and how he wants it. Oh, I don't know all the particulars, if he prefers flogging to whips or ropes of woven silk over cold steel chains. But, I have a basic understanding of what I'd be getting into with him. He isn't one to promise love or even fidelity. He is very up front about what he does promise; pain and pleasure, freedom and sweet release in bondage, his dominance over me and my complete surrender to his will.

It's a very dark world Dane invited me into. The thought of such things is terrifying and secretly enticing. I could strip off the last lingering remnants of my old self and slide into a new state of being. It is a tempting proposition, to just let go and lose myself in him and his world. I'm not so certain that I want to be lost or found.

I haven't even begun to consider dating again. But, Dane isn't exactly asking me out on a date. He has no romantic plans for me. I don't know if a man like him can do romance. He is honest to the point of the pain he promises at the end of his whip. I know exactly where I'd stand if I were to agree. He'd fuck me seven ways till Sunday. He'd use me till there was nothing more to be had. With him there'd be no deceit, no hearts and flowers, no manipulation, and no games except for the ones I agree to play. He doesn't want to win my heart. He wants to possess my very soul. The terms of my surrender are quite clear. With him it's all or nothing.

I fish the application out of my coat pocket with the intention of dropping it into the trash. I want no part of him or his world. Standing in the weak daylight filtering through the glass of my balcony door I skim the fine print. For all that the club is and isn't, there are plenty of rules to follow.

I'm impressed by the bylaws. Initial health exams, quarterly STD checks and HIV screening, condom use required, limited use of alcohol and no drug use on club property, respect of one another's limits, on and on the list goes. It all seems very up and above board, certainly better in terms of safety and concern for another's well-being than any random hook up in any bar in town. Cassandra could do worse. But, the club and its members, primarily Dane, isn't for me.

The morning coffee in my mug is good, warming me to my toes. The day is shaping up to be crisp, cold, and clear. Cassandra will probably call later on today. She isn't an early riser and after such a late night I don't expect to hear from her anytime soon. I have no particular plans. I could go to the mall and shop for things I don't really need. The idea has some appeal. I might see if Cassandra wants to meet up for a late lunch. I need something to distract my thoughts before I waste an entire day thinking about things I don't want to think about.

I toss the application is in the garbage where it belongs. I'm not a submissive. I'm not into whips and chains and not even someone as externally appealing as Dane is going to change my mind about it. If I want pain, I'll go have my eyebrows threaded. If I want humiliation, I'll balance my checkbook and review my 401K statements. And if I wanted pleasure, well, I've got that department covered too. My battery-operated boyfriend is in an old shoebox under the bed and he's about as uncomplicated as it gets.

My life is far from perfect. But, I like it the way it is. Stable. Predictable. More of the same old same old day after day. I get lonely, sure. I'd probably be going through this even if I had stayed married. I'd be an empty nester anyway. The kids are out on their own. It would have been just my ex and I finally getting acquainted again after two and a half decades of being too busy to be anything but familiar strangers. Perhaps, that's exactly what happened. Without the kids to distract us we found out that we really didn't know each other too well. Once we were faced with nothing but just the two of us. We liked one another well enough, but the love was gone. Liking each other just wasn't enough to keep us together anymore.

I love my little apartment with the balcony overlooking a placid man made pond. The entire complex is neat and orderly. Every cluster of apartments looks exactly like the other. Uniform. Orderly. My apartment is tidy as it gets. If there is a mess, it's because I made it and I am not a messy person. I haven't chased down a stray sock or picked up a forgotten pair of men's underwear off the floor in over a year. I haven't done the dishes and then turned right around to find another sink full of dirties waiting on me to do them in just as long either. For the first time in my adult life everything is exactly where I put it.