In Training

In Training

Abby stared at the carnival-like revelry, barely able to believe her eyes.

In the far corner of the warehouse-slash-dungeon, a pixyish girl bent over a chair. A line of folks singing the "Happy Birthday" song marched past her, slapping her bared buttocks with what looked like ping-pong paddles. Men dressed as French maids moved among the guests, each carrying a tray of drinks or chips. Women in thigh-high boots and carrying crops also mingled, cracking the leather against the bare thighs of the "waitresses" at will.

I'm not in Kansas anymore.

Fetish clothing adorned man and woman alike--rubber and latex, crippling footwear, teddy bear-adorned coveralls on adults. Some attendees wore animal-shaped masks on their faces and footies on their hands and feet. One of them barked.

"Hi, first time here?"

Abby turned toward the voice and came face-to-hirsute-chest with a six-foot-plus lumberjack man, who smiled down at her. She saw red hair, a red beard, red chest hair, and a pair of red peek-a-boo chaps that allowed red groin hair to fluff from beneath a red codpiece.

The vision seared into Abby's mind and she knew she'd never again see a red-haired man without being haunted by this memory. "Well, um..."

He chuckled and extended a ham-like hand, and when she did nothing but gape at him, he grabbed hers and pumped it.

"No need to be shy." His voice sounded like an underground gravel mine. "You've done the hard part by walking through the door. Welcome to Portland's quarterly Dungeon Romp, by the way. Are you alone?"

"She's looking for me, Muffin, but thank you."

Relief swamped her at the sound of Liz's voice. Liz appeared from behind the mountainous bulk of Muffin, who nodded and departed.

"Liz, thank God you're here. I was..." She fell silent, shocked as the other woman's clothing became clear. The sapphire blue teddy Liz wore looked like it had been mauled by a grizzly bear. Sure, it covered her body, at least all the parts that, if visible, would get her arrested, but it looked like it wouldn't survive a strong wind. A silver collar encircled her throat. Soft slippers protected her feet from the warehouse floor.

Liz smiled and hugged her. "It's so good to see you."

A trio of extraordinarily dressed people walked past them, calling out greetings as they entered the dungeon. Headbands sported cat-shaped ears, curling tails dangled from waistbands and belts, and furry snow boots gave the impression of mammalian paws. Trying not to stare like an overawed tourist--even if she did fit the description--Abby forced her attention away from the group.

The large doors opened and closed again as more revelers entered the dungeon, letting in the cool, moist spring air. A shiver worked its way down her spine and she again eyed Liz's skimpy outfit, just as she came to realize Liz carried a small stack of dessert plates and spoons. It dawned on her that a polite guest would offer to help.

She shook herself into awareness. "May I help you with those?"

"Lord, no, they're not heavy. But where are my manners? This way, sweetie...we're over here."

Liz led the way toward a quiet corner. Tables clustered in small groups and candles fluttered as centerpieces. Overhead lights gilded Liz's gorgeous hair and to-die-for figure. She moved like a dancer, navigating among the landscape of chairs and tables with a grace that Abby'd never be able to obtain, and she knew it. She blew out a sigh and tugged off her rain-drenched hood. Compared to Liz, she probably looked like a half-drowned rat.

Well, not everyone can be glamorous, Abby reminded herself.

They stopped beside a table, and Liz set the plates down beside what could only be the promised peaches-and-cream cheesecake. Smiling, she gestured for Abby to take an empty chair nearby before sliding into one beside a handsome, rugged-looking man. The other two chairs held personal paraphernalia--coats, purses, and the like. The sixth chair, on the other side of the table, held a man.

Abby hung her raincoat off the back of the offered chair, settled in and smiled at the man seated across from her. He watched her from the shadows, candlelight etching his cheekbones, but hiding his eyes. He nodded a return greeting.

Liz spoke to the table. "Please let me introduce you. This is Mike." She touched the shoulder of the man beside her, who smiled at Abby. "I've told you so much about him. And that" --she gestured to the other man-- "is Seth. I haven't told you
anything
about him."

"Good thing you didn't. She'd probably run from the building if you did," said Mike, drawing laughter from the others.

"This is my friend Abigail," Liz continued, seemingly unaware of the wince Abby gave at the pronouncement of her full name. "She's the one I've mentioned from time to time. You remember?" She paused, her eyes on Mike, who nodded. "She is interested in--"

Abby sucked in a breath.
She wouldn't...oh, God, no.

"--finding a master and slave relationship. She wants to explore the role of slave."

Dizziness slammed into Abby like a tidal wave. Suddenly, she felt light-headed. Sick to her stomach. Mortified. Humiliated. A freak. All of the above. All at once. "I...I...um..." she said, trying to be unobtrusive as she sought the nearest exit.

"Easy, li'l one," said the man from the other side of the table. "We're all here for the same thing and have the same interests as you. You're not alone in your wants, nor are your desires anything to be ashamed of."

The ripple of his voice caressed and soothed. Abby felt as though she'd been covered by a blanket of velvet and offered a place to hide. She offered a smile of thanks, conscious of her hands fisted in her lap. Whoever this Seth was, he had a touch of brogue to his voice that earned him the title of Sexiest Voice in the World. His was a voice that could persuade a girl to do anything.

A dangerous man.

Mike frowned at Liz, who looked beyond stricken. "Abby, I'm so sorry." She rushed the apology. "I'm so used to... I guess I'd forgotten how hard the first time..."

Remember where you are and why you are here. This isn't a quilting circle, it's a BDSM venue, a munch, where folks hooked up to get their kinks on.
Her desire to be fully submitted to a dominant man certainly qualified.
Cowgirl up!
"No worries, sweets, I'm fine. Really. I suppose it had to be said."

Seth topped off his mug of coffee from a nearby silver pot. "And better honestly than not," he said

Abby eyed the dessert on the table, sitting there looking so delicious, waiting for attention, oozing cheesecake goodness, calling her name... How long was she expected to resist? "Is that the famous cheesecake? Are you going to tease me with it or can I have a piece?"

Liz bloomed. She rose to her feet and, after looking over her shoulder to Mike, as though seeking permission, she carved into the dessert. Plates moved from hand to hand. Abby dived in. One forkful and she knew she'd died and gone to heaven. The peach-kissed treat exploded in her mouth.

She closed her eyes and savored the taste, purring, "Mmmm" low in her throat. She had to swallow, but the loss opened up the opportunity for another bite. She didn't hesitate and set her fork into the lush, creamy cheesecake, only to pause as she realized Seth watched. Her cheeks warmed. That's just what she needed--an audience to her piggish delight over dessert.

Embarrassed by his regard, she turned to Liz and Mike, who'd also made inroads into their servings. "I'm in heaven," she said, with feeling. "This is superb. May I have the recipe?"

Liz pointed her spoon at Abby and winked. "Mom's recipe, but I'm sure she won't mind if I share."

The cozy atmosphere at their table was shattered by the arrival of a thin woman with ink black hair, an artificially whitened face, and an over-application of ebony eyeliner. Her outfit and collar resembled Liz's, but lacked any sense of artful presentation, giving the impression of a newly-risen zombie. She had a zombie's attitude as well as its looks, judging by the way she flounced to the table.

The short, balding man at her heels, his face red by either environment or temper, was no art form either. Engaged in a heated argument, the newcomers didn't appear as though they cared who heard. Spotting Abby, the woman narrowed her eyes, giving the impression she was about to leap across the table and rip into her. The evident dislike struck her like a slap and drained Abby's confidence. She couldn't imagine what she'd done to deserve such immediate dislike.

Had she taken the girl's chair?

"Oh, shut up." Goth Chick swept out an amazingly skinny arm and knocked the objects off a chair before sitting with a flounce.

"The hell I will," snapped the partially bald man following on her heels. His extensive forehead gleamed with droplets of sweat, his flushed face reddening further. He gathered up the items on the one remaining chair before dropping into it like a sack of wet sand. He spent a few moments picking up the items his companion had knocked onto the floor, setting them on the table as he struggled for dignity and control. Finally, he said, "You're my slave. You'll do what I say."

"Oh, please." Goth Chick rolled her eyes and gave a dismissive sniff.

"If you don't, I'll release you," Balding Guy blustered.

"You don't have the balls," said Goth Chick.

She gave him her shoulder and offered Seth a warm smile. Seth didn't glance her way. He ignored her, as did Mike and Liz. Abby shifted in her seat. Should she say something? Or would her peacekeeping efforts turn her into a target? She followed Liz's lead and focused on the plate in front of her instead of getting involved. She took another bite of the cheesecake, but the battle came to her anyway.

"Hello"--Balding Guy offered his hand--"I'm Jeremy."

Abby shook the offered hand with caution. "I'm pleased to meet--"

"What do you think of that?" He gestured to Goth Chick with a meaty thumb. "Isn't that a craptastic slave?"

"I...I'm not one to judge..."

"You're pretty," he said. "You're beautiful in both body and spirit; not like that piece of shit."

The incendiary glare from the heavily mascaraed woman should have ignited Jeremy, but he seemed not to notice. "How about you and me head out? I've a need for some good service."

He leered and reached for a lock of Abby's hair. She shrank from his advancing hand. He seemed not to notice. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor sliced into the drama. A low growl silenced the table. Abby glanced toward the sound, then up, since across the table Seth had come to his feet. Candle flame splashed his lean and hard frame with highlights of hellfire. A demonic light flared from his ice-blue eyes. Violent energy filled the air, causing Abby to gasp and contract deeper into her seat.

"You will not touch her." Seth's voice was a low growl.

Jeremy stared, slack-jawed for a moment before gathering his wits. "Shit, Seth, you're not our slave master anymore. Get over yourself."

Something dark and lethal shivered through the air. It came from Seth's direction, even though he hadn't moved. The hair on Abby's nape twitched a warning.

Mike spoke, his voice freighted with displeasure. "She's no slave. She's my guest."

Abby's gaze swiveled to him, feeling as wide-eyed and horror-struck as Liz appeared.

"Guest?" Jeremy echoed, seeming to struggle with the information. "I had no idea, Mike. I thought-- Shit."

"We know what you thought, you great ass," Goth Chick scorned. "Now, if Seth had made the approach, I'm sure the girl would've leaped at the chance, just like I would, anytime and anywhere."

Purring her promise, she leaned against Seth and wrapped her hands around one of his thighs before sighing up toward his face. He didn't spare her a glance, not even when he gave a deliberate sweep of his hand down his body that cast off her clinging touch. She fell back, an expression of stunned surprise on her face. Seth's attention remained fixed on Jeremy.