“I am, actually.”
Honesty is the best policy, right? I don’t know if that’s true in the club here, but I pride myself on being truthful to a fault. I might as well be honest and open with this woman now. Who knows? Maybe she’ll be able to help me find Mallory. Maybe she’ll be able to offer some advice or assistance.
“Anyone I might know?” She raises a perfectly waxed eyebrow. She’s quite put-together, which is completely expected for a dominant. She has to be in utter control at all times, after all. If she loses control in any way, it’ll affect her submissive’s experience and, depending on how they’re playing, the person’s safety, as well.
“Mallory?” I say.
The name comes out like a question.
I don’t know if she uses a fake name at the club. Chances are that she does, and this woman won’t know what her real name is, but I’m a little surprised when the Domme looks me up and down. Now I’m the one put on display: the one who has to prove that I’m worthy of receiving information.
I’m wearing leathers and a vest tonight. My abs are showing, which is perfectly fine with me. I work out hard enough for them. I’m not about to hide them away under something else. Besides, dressing the part of a Dom lets other peo
ple know that I’m serious about them, the club, and the lifestyle as a whole. Just as I wouldn’t show up to a job interview in jeans, I wasn’t about to show up to the club in anything less than the best.
I firmly believe that dressing my part when I go to a club is akin to wearing a uniform. In a place like a play setting, it’s important that everyone understands who the players are.
“You’re the Dom from the other night,” she says thoughtfully. “The one from last weekend. You ruined the end of a scene, if I remember correctly.” She raises an eyebrow, as though silently challenging me.
That’s fine.
I’m not afraid of the big, bad, Domme.
“I believe I only ruined the aftercare, which is to say, I demanded it be administered.”
I’m still a bit rankled at how it was handled, but I know it’s not really my place to say anything about it. Still, the guy was abrupt with Mallory, and he shouldn’t have been. She’s a sweet girl, a kind girl, and she needs the kind of Dom who is going to look after her when they finish a scene.
Then again, maybe that’s just my own perception. I do have my own...inclinations. This isn’t a surprise or a secret to anyone. I’m a bit of a Daddy when it comes to dominating my partners. I like to take care of them, pamper them. It’s important to me that my partners feel cared for, protected. I want them to feel like they are the most important thing in the world to me.
The woman seems to side with her friends, though, and she shakes her head at my comment.
“You’re new to the area. Maybe you aren’t new to the scene, but you aren’t from around here, so you don’t know the way people interact. You need to be more careful in a new place. It’s not going to serve you well if you waltz into a club and start stepping on toes.” She doesn’t seem angry or irritated with me. On the contrary, it seems as though she really wants me to understand that I can’t walk into Club Shadows with expectations. She’s right.
“Understood,” I say.
“She’s here, though,” the Domme smiles. I’m a little surprised that she’s telling me this, and I think the surprise must show on my face because she laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t look at me like that,” she says.
“Like what?”
“Like you can’t believe I’m actually being honest. Dominants are known for being honest, aren’t we?”
“I’m still a bit of a stranger here.” What I mean is that she doesn’t owe me her truth. It’s much appreciated, of course, but she doesn’t owe me anything.
“Hopefully not for long,” she smiles. “Our world could use more people like you.”
“People like me?”
“People who aren’t afraid to mix it up and keep things interesting,” she says with a wink.
“Is that how you view me?”
“I think so,” she says carefully. I’d love to ask her more and to find out exactly what impression I’m giving off at Shadows. Is that what the Doms think I’m trying to do? Shake things up? I’m not. I’m not interested in ruining or damaging or destroying their world.
I just want to find Mallory and talk to her.
I’m not going to say she owes me. She doesn’t owe me anything, but I hope that she’ll remember. I hope she’ll remember who I am, and why I can help her. It’s been a long time, but she shouldn’t have to burden the pain of her life on her own. She shouldn’t have to carry loss like that without ever getting to talk to someone.
The music is loud, and it’s hard to focus on anything except this conversation, but someone walks by, bumping into me, and the Domme turns harshly to the young man.