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Chapter 10, Shade
.: Publication date 07-Jul-2003 :: Reads: 1034 :: Review :: Print current page :: Print all:.

Chapter 10

"What is going on here?" I stared at Bettie, the dismay and confusion must have been obvious on my face, but she opted to take a much simpler approach.

"Quite simply, we're trying to make the world a better place for everyone who lives on it, and have as much fun as possible while doing so."

"You know that's not what I mean." I snarled. I was a trapped and wounded animal in a cage. Savage Dreamer's face still swam in front of my eyes, illuminated by a solitary moonbeam, vulnerable and needing just a few moments of solace from the stranger who instead walked out her door. Superimposed over that was my memory of our messages and e-mails, all the support she gave me while I was trying to find something hidden deep within myself. I remembered her face as I had seen it at the diner, and now I could remember her expressions clearly, hope, fear, and just momentarily, crestfallen regret as she realized that I did not recognize her from our shared past. Then in the blink of an eye her face had rearranged itself into the most welcoming smile I had ever seen, and I had fallen into her eyes like a dying man in the desert going for water. Now, I was suspicious.

Bettie just looked at me, her expression unreadable and her eyes hooded. I lit a cigarette and tried to stare her down, but I broke first. "I met Dream a couple of years ago, we met, had sex, it meant something to her-" I paused and let myself remember the way I had felt the next morning, alone in my bed. "It meant something to both of us, but I walked out when we were done and never spoke to her again. I thought she was like the rest of the women I had slept with, in it for the sex. And then, when it was all over, when it was just down to wet spots and bandages, she asked me to stay. I got scared and ran, but the next morning I knew what she had been talking about. I didn't even know her name and I missed her. I had no idea what to do about it so I pushed everything about the encounter deep into the pits of my mind and forgot about her, it, us, everything about the night until just a minute ago when you poked me. So I'm asking again. Is this, all of this some elaborate scheme to get even with me?" I waved my hands through the smoke filled air and encompassed the club and everyone in it with my quick angry gesture.

Bettie just gave me that "do you really mean that?" look that only people who ask ridiculous questions get.

"OK, maybe not the whole club, but are you guys all in on this? Is it some revenge thing?" Inspiration dawned. "Is it some kind of plot to get me back?" I dragged on my cigarette and scowled at the filter. Now I was back to confusion.

"Xeno," She sighed. "This is not some intricate plot to get you back, it's not some intensely involved revenge plot, and for your information, I'm offended that you would think I would involve myself in something so petty."

"Dream was required to disclose any past involvement with you before her recommendation that you be invited was accepted. Devon decided that your past involvement was acceptable, and I was told because there was a very good chance that at this point in the process, you would remember her. What you did is not some crime we're holding against you, it's just your past. We all have one. I left enough bleeding hearts behind in my life that when I got to this point, I seriously freaked out. I thought I was in the clutches of some creepy revenge cult and they were going to sacrifice me on the altar of some vengeance god. Thankfully, you can see I'm alive and well, and no one is sacrificing anyone. That's not to say I wouldn't love to get my hands on one of those cool daggers all the Hollywood cults seem to find in the cornfield or wherever they get them, but that's just because I like knives." Her smile was a pun waiting to happen, I let it pass and asked another question.

"So, if this isn't some kind of plot; what am I supposed to do about my past with Dream?"

"Whatever seems right to you. If you want to be mature about it, try whatever seems right to both of you; once you've asked her." Bettie flagged down the shadows and a waiter appeared and brought us two ginger ales. I scowled at mine, but it didn't turn into real ale. Bettie said a clear head would be better for this discussion than the alternative. And coffee, she said would make us both too jittery to concentrate. She went on.

"You need to understand something Xeno; we're not here to make you do anything. We're here for our own edification. We invited you to join us because after listening to the things Dream told us about you, and after meeting with you in the first two days of your invitation; you seem to be the type of person who would add to our family. I know a lot of the words I'm using sound cultish and conspiracy, but that's because cults draw the language of their initiation from a long history of learning the words that work. We on the other hand say them for the reasons that make them work. We mean them. You are, so far, a welcome addition to our family and to the club in general."

"But what about Dream?" I interjected.

"Right now, like it or not, Dream has her own life to deal with. She has some serious promises to discharge and some serious baggage to shed. I don't envy her the situation she has found herself in, but she made a specific request to be allowed to handle this in her own way. She also asked Devon to make sure word got to you, if you remembered her, that she doesn't hold a grudge. And that she is interested in starting over with you. She wants to let that first meeting at the Diner be the way you two start your present, not some tryst clouded in the haze of the past." She waxed poetic for a moment and I was again reminded of the way the moonlight had glowed on Dream's skin. I remembered the way I had been unable or unwilling to scrub her scent off in the shower the next morning. I thought about what our next meeting would be like, if she was able to escape whatever trap her past had placed her in.

I sipped my ginger ale, suddenly glad of the way it cleared the cloying flavor of the scotch from my palate and at the same time cleared my head. "What now? I mean, Ok, I'm not supposed to freak out about Dream, I am supposed to make the world a better place, and now I'm sober in the bowels of a club like no other with some of the strangest and, at the same time, coolest people I have ever met. I don't know what to think or do."

Bettie settled back against the arm of her seat. "Now, we talk. I know you have questions, it's just a matter of freeing your mind to ask them." She spoke hurriedly when I looked askance at my soda. "No, not drugs, drugs are good for fun, or for medicine, or for meditation. But they are not that great for conversation that you will probably want to remember in the future. This time, we free your mind with concepts, with systems of knowing, with trust." She leaned back for a moment and gathered her thoughts.

I waited, processing the things she had already said. She wasn't trying to convert me to some religion, she wasn't trying to get me into some cult, and she just wanted to open my mind. I really wondered about what that meant. I looked around me, noticing the club for the first time in what felt like days but was probably only a few hours. The ever present shadows concealed everything within a few meters of our little circle of couches. I wondered how they had achieved that effect when it felt like we were in a huge open floor plan with no walls. The music was muted in our little corner of the world and I could make out the beat of "Color Blind" by TLC, but the words were lost in the darkness. The smells when I noticed them all at once threatened to overwhelm me in their brilliance. Compared to the muted sound and velvet shadows, the scent of a clove cigarette, someone's freshly poured gin and tonic, and the tang of arousal were all crystal clear in my nose and I felt as though I could get lost in them. I closed my eyes and listened to the music for a moment, and when it changed through "Enjoy the silence" by U2, and segued into "Stranger" by Beborn Beton; I opened my eyes and found myself staring into Bettie's twinkling eyes. All I could see was the twin pools of her irises circled by dazzling color, but I could tell she was smiling.

"Welcome back sleepy head." She giggled; I nearly fell off my chair, which is hard on an overstuffed thing like the specimen I was sitting on. Bettie giggled. I resolved to be more observant of the people around me. I had to stop letting myself in for these shocks.

"Um." So, I was back to that again was I? I kicked my torpid brain into motion, gulped at my semi-flat ginger ale, snorted as the bubbles went up my nose and then looked back at Bettie. Through all of my actions she had maintained her posture, leaned over and staring me right in the eyes. I mentally flipped through my entire collection of brilliant wake up lines, discarded them both as trite and responded again. "I was just listening to the club. It's amazing how the sound just avoids these couch circles like it knows we want to relax and talk. How do they do that?"

"Reverse wave formation with speakers under the couch. We're actually listening to the music on a two second delay since they have to cancel it out completely or not at all, then they pump a mixture of white noise and whatever is playing back at us at low volume. The white noise also helps blot out the noises you can't block as easily, like when we were screaming our way through a good time on the dance floor not so long ago. Naturally it won't block the human sounds entirely, but it makes them so much easier to ignore and it makes it a lot harder for our conversation to be listened in on, in case we want privacy. I think Devon described the philosophy of these floors as his wish to be able to wander around and see all the yummy flesh, but unless it was his problem or someone needed him to know about it; he didn't want to hear about our bills and what color our baby has puked this morning. That and it makes it so much easier to do this," Bettie waved down another waiter and got our sodas refreshed. "...if they can see us."

"About that," I knew I was stalling for time, trying to let my mind absorb everything I had already been told. I was also still reeling a bit from my realization that I had known Dream before we met online, and I needed time to deal with that. "I was wondering who makes up the wait staff, I mean how do you advertise for something like this?"

"That's a really good question, not so much in the question itself, but in the observance it shows. Actually the answer is pretty simple, most of them are submissives who need a job, a few are tops who like the anonymity, and there are always a couple of them who are Devon's private security staff. You never know who they are, just tops Devon has tapped to keep an eye on the place and make sure nothing gets out of hand. The slaves love it because it lets them serve while they are between masters, and it's a safe environment for them, we love it because they are the greatest waiters and waitresses you can find. And the enforcers are great because while we have picked everyone in the club carefully, every once in a while things can get out of hand. Little stuff like someone getting too overexcited and trying to join in where they aren't wanted, and very rarely something major like a top going too far or two tops disputing a claim; those things can really bring down the vibe of the club. The enforcers have special dispensation to speak to anyone in the club, so it allows them to resolve most disputes quickly by just asking the slave what is going on. They are all really good at asking direct yes or no questions so the slaves don't have to think too clearly while they are at the height of arousal and deep in sub-space."

"Which leads me to another good topic, I know we have been giving you most of your education in vague words and generalizations, that's done on purpose to make you think, but on the topic of a sub in sub-space I think you need to hear it clearly. While a sub is being topped they can often go into a near hypnotic state, we call it sub-space. Tops have it as well, we rather unimaginatively call it top-space, but they are forced by the nature of the game to keep their minds more alert. A sub can slip into this head space easily with a master they trust, and they will often go so deep that they will do anything you tell them, withstand anything you throw at them, and enjoy every minute of it, as long as you tell them to. A sub can be pulled out of sub-space too quickly if they run up against something that causes them too much confusion or the need to think too hard and that can be very traumatic. You have to remember they have given over their trust and the control of their actions to their master. If the top makes them suddenly think and make independent decisions, well they have every reason at that point to believe their trust has been misplaced. It's often the case that they will make excuses for their master, and those excuses are often correct, but it's not kind, it's not a sign of your skill, and it's not a good thing to make your slave hurt in a way that's not intentional." Bettie smiled and sipped her ginger ale.

"As far as hurting them intentionally, that's a whole different ball game, and in this case, I think we can better advance your education by playing show and tell." I felt my eyes grow wide. I knew I wasn't a masochist, but I was still her slave for the rest of the night. She quickly saw my dismay and was even quicker to remedy my fears.

"No no, it's ok." Her voice was soft and reassuring. "I'm not going to demonstrate on your flesh unless you are ready for it. Right now I'm taking you to see what is happening elsewhere." And with that, she tugged my chain and I slipped to the floor. I realized as I did that I was slipping into that same hazy state of submission that I had felt before. I was slipping into sub-space. I rolled the term around in my mind and wondered why, if I was such an obvious top, why was I able to slip into this soft comforting head space so easily?

As though she was reading my mind, Bettie began to speak as she led me, on hands and knees, through the shadows and back into the crowded floor. "I remember the first time someone told me about sub-space and they explained to me that everyone could get there, not just slaves. They told me that dominant personalities could get there as well because they were just as in touch with their emotions and thoughts as a slave. A lot of people that aren't in the scene can get there but they need a non-entity to follow, a god or a politician. They reach out and give their trust blindly to an ideal so that no human can hurt them. Giving their trust and submission to a politician is no different to these people than giving it to a god, there is no way they will ever have to directly interact with their congress person, hell, for most people they will never even meet their mayor. So it's an easy out for them. They get the satisfaction of submitting to a charismatic leader without the risk that that master will ever tell them to do something they don't want to or are uncomfortable doing. These people make it up as they go along." Bettie snorted in derision and I looked up. "Those kinds of people don't know what they are missing. And I suspect they are all subs. Now this on the other hand is a perfect example of a healthy group of people with all their wits about them." She gestured and my eyes followed her hand.

At first I wasn't sure what I was seeing, then the image resolved and I gasped. A large leather bag hung from the ceiling and through inset panels of fine mesh I could see two naked bodies moving. I couldn't make out gender through the small gaps, but the rhythmic pulsing of the bag indicated either dance or sex. A third person, a tall pale man stripped to the waist and dressed from there down in skin tight calfskin leather pants was gently whipping the bag with a flog made of thousands of strands of elastic. With each flick of his muscular wrist the strands would wrap nearly around the bag, caressing which ever band of bodies it encountered, swing tightly around until it kissed it's final destination with a resounding snap, and then pull itself back to true, swinging the bag in a circle as the elastic retracted. He was alternating his strokes so that the motion of the whip kept the bag, on average, motionless. I could hear nearly constant moans from within the bag; punctuated by gasps as the whip bit into one of them for the briefest moment.

I looked at the master who was whipping the bag, he was beautiful in the extreme, full lips and dark eyelashes complimented sharp masculine cheekbones. His hair, a deep coppery red fell free past his shoulders and curled just slightly around his torso so that it looked like folded wings of flame. His muscled were lithe, he had a swimmers body, but each muscle stood out from his exertions and he gleamed with a light coating of sweat. His arousal was evident from the daunting tent in his pants, but he did nothing to relieve himself. The calm look on his face was one of confidence, delight, mischief and extreme pleasure. He looked as though he was getting away with something and was planned on doing so for a long time.

He looked up from his work for the briefest moment and noticed the crowd his exertions had drawn. A brief smile ignited his lips like a sunrise and he snapped his fingers. A slave came from the crowd to stand next to him. And he whispered something in her ear. While she stood on tiptoe to hear his orders I let my eyes fill with her, I was amazed at the range of, well, to be honest, eye candy in this club. I had been to dance clubs of every stripe in the past and I had become used to the standard formula, there were usually five beautiful women in the club and three beautiful men. Two of each sex was gay, two of the women were bisexual, the one man was usually bi or at least willing to go along for the ride, and the final woman was straight and always seemed to go home with the bartender, or the DJ. In this crowd, the entire populace was beautiful, and I knew they couldn't all be going home with the bartender.

I looked at the slave again while these thoughts were going through my head and a connection was made. She wasn't model pretty, she didn't even have that desperately haughty sexuality of the dance club diva, she was; however, absolutely confident in her skin. She was well rounded in all the places that mattered, and a few places that didn't, her stomach was soft and fell slightly over the edge of the only piece of clothing she wore, a plaid, and heavily pleated school-girl skirt. Her breasts were heavy and sagged from the weight. But she had her place in the world, she was confident in her body and it showed. Her hair was a fiery red that challenged her master's, it curled and swooped around her face and fell to brush her shoulders in a mass that surrounded her face which shone with joy and trust. Her lips were swollen with arousal. And her thighs, thicker than the waif like articles we were all raised to think of as sexy were soft and supple, and gleamed with the obvious proof of her lack of underwear. She was sex, wrapped up in a body and commanded to walk, and she was beautiful.

Seeing the girl clearly was an epiphany, I looked around me while the moans of the sack filled my ears. I saw a bony man, stooped and balding. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a tank top, but in his eyes shown the confidence of a god and it showed when you looked at him. He was amazing. I saw a girl who, had she been anything less than happy with her self would have been described as homely, but her personality shown through, and I felt my libido surge with desire for her. I was amazed by the realization of how little physical appearance mattered to these people, and I remembered with not a little embarrassment my earlier thoughts that they must have had a visual appeal requirement for the club. I resolved to be less shallow in the future and continued to look at the crowd, enjoying the sheer force of personality shining through in these people. I wasn't given very much time before Bettie tugged my leash and I again found myself crawling through the crowd.

I found myself watching more carefully as we moved through the forest of legs, first I noticed the legs themselves, from silky smooth and shaped like a sculptor's wet dream through the range of hirsute and rotund, some with thighs bigger than my head. I risked the occasional glance upwards to follow a particularly stunning set of legs to their natural conclusion, in a few cases my gaze continued to meet nothing but smooth shaven flesh until they stopped on the glistening folds of visibly aroused labia, or in the case of one particularly well shaped set of legs a flaccid, but dauntingly large penis.

As Bettie pulled me along, I saw other slaves, garbed in every variety of clothing, from an entire ski outfit complete with gloves and boots, to a few women and men who wore nothing but finely woven silver or gold chain mail bikini bottoms. I saw how the slaves all moved carefully through the crowd, careful not to jostle those who towered above them, and I saw how the slaves unnecessarily moved on fingers either tented so they walked on knee and finger tip, or curled so they were on their knuckles; unnecessary because I saw how all of those on foot walked carefully with a sort of shuffle step when they were unable to see their footing. These people were all so aware of their surroundings that I could have laid a cream filled donut on the floor here and at the end of the night picked it up, dusty as hell of course, but still intact.

Bettie paused in her meanderings, but did not signal me to rise, so I continued watching the crowd from the knee down. A thrill went through me when I watched two masters stop to converse, and their slaves, one male and one female began circling each other like dogs, indeed, these two wore nylon dog collars with tags and had their fists bound into padded mittens that looked very much like paws.

I watched them circle each other and then, with some unseen permission given by their masters, or perhaps it was an allowed behavior for these two, they began, not sniffing, but licking each others nether regions. The woman was facing me, and I saw her face brighten with pleasure. I watched her body begin to tremble lightly as the other slave ministered to her in some way I could not see. I watched her lick first his thighs, then his scrotum, and then work her way up until she was alternating between panting sobs of pleasure and flicking her tongue across the wrinkled ring of his sphincter. He came fully erect quickly and I wondered if he would be allowed by his master to reach orgasm, the woman was clearly close, but their position would not allow her to reach his penis in any part except for the swelling flesh that lay between his testicles. She switched her focus to this part of his body, but her tongue moved infrequently and she spent more time pressing her cheek against his outer thigh and moaning under her breath than returning any stimulation to his body.

Soon she was riding the curling edge of orgasm, seconds from release. Her lips were taut and her head thrown back. A high keening cry started somewhere deep in her throat and ended wrapped around my own desires, pulsing. I watched the shudders begin in her body as she rose to the tips of her mittened hands and her body sprung tight. Her bare back vibrated with stored energy and I watched as she strove for the last, necessary ounce of stimulation that would push her over the edge, and then it came. Her master broke off his conversation; he looked down at his slave and smiled a kindly smile. I saw him reach for his belt and pull out a silver handled riding crop. With a practiced flick of his wrist he sent the open ended leather flap at the other end of his crop hurtling towards her upraised buttocks. I winced as I heard the impact, but the reaction in her was amazing. Her body snapped, she curled and flailed. The keening turned into a deep throated moan and my body tightened with envy as the orgasm she had sought rushed from one end of her body to the other and back again. All stimuli had ceased, but she was pulsing with continued pleasure. I restrained the desire to rush to her and enter her just to ride her orgasm from within. And I realized that what I was feeling was the urge to own her pleasure; to control it, to be on top.

I never knew what became of the as yet unfulfilled male because at that moment Bettie tugged my leash and pulled us onward through the crowd. She paused a little further on to ask if I had enjoyed the show and I allowed that I had, immensely. She had giggled and reached under me to confirm my arousal before agreeing that yes, I apparently had. Then we were off again. This time we came to a circle of light and I stumbled on a slight step. The light was very dim, but after the near dark of the open floor my eyes hurt and I squinted against the relative glare, feeling with my fingers for the slight rise I had caught on. I felt a row of bumps, slightly curved as though we were stepping into a circle, and when my eyes adjusted, I realized that that was exactly what was happening. We were stepping over a double row of brass studs in the floor that held a large circle of brilliant multi-hued silk. The silk was soft and I could feel padding underneath when my fingers sunk in gratefully. I hadn't realized how hard the floor had been on my knees until we were on something softer that let me relax and breathe easily.

Bettie stopped, and I waited for her to tug me to a standing position, but she left me kneeling. I looked around me at the knee's eye view I had and saw that the circle was filling rapidly. I wondered what signal had been given, had I missed some key song or was there a change in the light that signaled so many people to gather? The circle itself was immense, but so far no tops had set foot inside. The masters stood shoulder to shoulder, not bunched up or piled two deep anywhere, and each had a single slave, some on foot, and some on knee. A few lay fully supine on the padded circle. I turned my head to ask Bettie what was happening, but she tugged my collar and hissed me to silence.

I watched the circle fill and wondered how they all managed to position themselves so perfectly, and how, when the circle filled with shoulder to shoulder masters, everyone knew that this was full. I wondered how they chose who would come here. And then I looked past the masters across the circle from me and saw through their legs, another circle, and looking around and beyond my little circle of light, I saw that there were many circles, all filling or filled. I blinked, and at that moment the light changed from soft yellow to an even softer blue, each circle shifted at the same time and in that way the entire club underwent a transformation from dawn to dusk. When I refocused my eyes inside the circle I saw someone standing in the center. I didn't recognize the newcomer, but he looked vaguely familiar in that, I'd seen him in the club somewhere, kind of way.

Despite Bettie's protestations, I again began to suspect that I was in the hands of some form of cult. Granted, I had the feeling I might enjoy this cult, but who else has some sort of hidden signal to call the faithful to, what? I watched the figure in the center of the circle, a few seconds passed and my attention began to wander. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the other circles had also gone still. The once teeming seething floor of the club was now a constellation of low light circles. Even the smells, it seemed, had dimmed to add to the hushed tones of the moment. I turned my head to look back across the circle and saw the man in the center had taken from somewhere a piece of paper. A moment later he spoke.

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