Dirty Little Deal

"A community?"

The sub nodded again, brushing a hand over her tattoo. "A very tight knit one. You are completely safe here," she repeated.

Cara Mia regarded the woman for a moment, considering her words. The "cardinal rules" got her, I knew. That and reputation. She liked discreet, too, and in her job, she was valued highly for her discretion.

She took a breath and let it out with a "hmmm" that said she was reasonably impressed, nodding at Master Rodrick's sub. "Well, then, Mr. Twist, in for a penny, in for a pound," she said, her voice low and throaty. "Lead on."

I tucked her hand around my elbow, patted it, and we followed a line of people dressed in all manner of jeans, vinyl, Catholic school girl skirts, denim kilts, leather pants, short skirts, and very fine corsets."

"I am a little over dressed, it seems," she said, leaning in to whisper in my ear.

I could smell her, a little sweaty with angst, a little sweet from the Grammercy Twilight cologne she used, and a little musky from her own excitement. My dick pressed against my pants and I wondered if she would notice.

"You are dressed the way I wished," I answered, listening to her hosiery whisper against the material of the dress, thinking of how smooth and soft they would feel as I pressed her against the wall and lifted her dress to run my hand down her thighs.

A man in wearing a T-Shirt emblazoned with "Security" checked our IDs and gestured us in. We stepped inside a small foyer made from modular walls designed to keep the sights inside hidden from outsiders. I pulled Cara Mia out of line and to the side so our eyes could adjust to the dim light. The air smelled of bleach, wax, lube, sweat, and sex.

It was so not sexy for me and I saw Cara Mia wrinkle her nose. I wondered what this combination of scents did for people who lived the lifestyle. Was it like an aphrodisiac? Did it excite them in some weird Pavlovian response? I wondered if I would get the chance to find out.

An industrial-techno rave beat made the room throb, punctuated by sudden loud cracks that split the air, followed by yelps and screams and moans.

Cara Mia's hand tightened on my arm. "So this is slumming."

"Just one of many kinds." I patted her hand and we began to walk. Master Black had described the dungeon and things that went on, but his words hadn't made an impression on me. This was...shocking. Men and women cuffed to frames, tied up and suspended from the scaffolding scattered around the room, laid out on examination tables.

But I hoped by comparison she would see that this made my plan look pedestrian at the least, quaint by any standard here. I steered her around the room taking in the spectacle.

"Is this what you intend for me?"

"Oh, no, Cara Mia." No, I intended something much more base, more primeval than a simple flogging or whipping, more ordinary than clothespins or needles or knives. She would open herself to me completely, ask me to pleasure her and accept my attentions with her eyes open, with nothing to hide her but that name tag and the mask.

Or. Well, I wasn't going to consider the alternative.

"Then why are we here?"

"We are here to take in the sights, see the spectacle. We are slumming, remember?, If you've seen enough we can leave this room."

"And go where?" Her hip brushed against mine. I could feel the smooth material caress my leg. I turned her and kissed her deeply.

"To rendezvous with the rest of our lives."

She shivered and pulled back against me. Was this so hard for her? I had gotten her this far, but perhaps she wouldn't be able to rise to my challenge. I dreaded the thought of taking her home, walking her to the door, and leaving, never to see her again.

I steeled myself against the despair and moved ahead.

"Remember that you trust me," I said brushing my hand over her cheek, resisting any imploring tone. "Remember I love you. Remember that tonight you are Cara Mia. Tomorrow is soon enough for Tasha to face whatever happens here tonight."

When I took her hand, it was cold under mine, and I enclosed her in a tight hug. She was still shivering and her mouth quivered.

"Are you afraid, Cara Mia?" I whispered in her ear.

"No, but Tasha is," she said.

I rubbed her back as I breathed in the mélange of scents that made up the woman I loved. "Then Cara Mia is brave and will enjoy the full range of the experience. Perhaps Tasha will learn something from the experience as well. Let's go."

She paused, staring up at me, her eyes full of fear and, what, irritation? Then she took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders. Her eyes regained some of the spark I admired.

"We can only hope. Lead on, Mr. Twist," she said.

Chapter 4

Master Black had described the layout of the convention. The dungeon took up the main ballroom, and the smaller meeting rooms were reserved for the classes and demonstrations they offered during the day.

I led her out of the ballroom and she breathed a little easier. I was afraid she had thought I was going to hurt her and, while she might still think so, she had no idea what I did intend.

My heart beat a little harder.

We stopped at the elevator and I pushed the down button. Several other people waited with us. The men all eyed Cara Mia and one leered. His badge said he was Don Coil.

Cara Mia straightened, but she stepped in against me. I have never known her to back down from a man, but she was in unknown waters and I was the only flotsam she knew amongst the rest of the jetsam that surrounded her.

"A beautiful woman you have there," he said. "If you were lending her out, I'd be interested. She has beautiful bone structure. Perfect for bondage."

I heard Cara Mia's indrawn breath. It sounded less like indignation than thoughtful consideration. That was another good sign.

"No," I said, keeping my voice pleasant. "I have other plans for her tonight. But thank you for the compliment." I knew nothing of bondage save that the few pictures I had seen in college excited me in ways that I'd never explored. Until just now it had seemed too much to hope that I could ever work through those feelings with Tasha.

We got on the car and, luckily, people pushed several buttons so I could keep Cara Mia in the dark a little longer. As people got off on different floors, there were only a few of us left, including the man who had expressed interest in Cara Mia.

I wished he'd gotten off since he seemed to take such an interest in her and she might think he was following us.

She watched me, her brown eyes full of questions as we descended. I hoped that she would find answers to her liking because I would definitely not like leaving here and knowing we were finished as a couple.

When the door to the lowest floor of the garage opened, everyone who remained got out.

The first thing that hit me was the smell of sweat and damp, and a hint of bleach, which emphasized Master Black's insistence that every precaution was taken to keep the environment and the participants safe. As a message that everyone was serious about it, it was effective, but I couldn't imagine ever relating it to pleasure, the way he did.

Perhaps Cara Mia and Mr. Twist could come to appreciate what it represented.

As I hoped it was a little cool, not sweltering, with fresh air blowing in from the air conditioning duct overhead.

A loud splashing echoed off the concrete walls.

Cara Mia turned to me, arms akimbo, eyes flashing beneath the domino. "What is going on down here? Is there a swimming pool?" she asked in a voice my mother used when she caught me doing something I shouldn't have been doing.

I struggled to remember that I was a grown man with a plan to bring pleasure to the woman I loved, and cobble together an answer that I thought would pass muster, but not give my plans away.

A woman wearing a short leather skirt with torn hose, scuffed combat boots, and a halter top made of a silk scarf saved me the effort as she laughed and said, "The dirty play, the wet stuff. This is the grungy dungeon." She skipped off toward another young woman and they held hands as they ran around the corne

r.

Cara Mia stopped, pulling her hand from my elbow. "Slumming," she said, her chin lifted, trying for defiant and almost succeeding in hiding the fear that flickered in her eyes and fluttered her voice just the tiniest bit. "If I was overdressed for upstairs, I am completely inappropriate for down here. What do you intend, Mr. Twist?"

Should I tell her? She stood, perched precariously on those tall, tall heels, putting her hands on her hips, her hair fluttering around her face in the breeze from the ducts. Gawd, I wanted to rip the dress from her shoulders and push her to her knees and fuck her there.

"Yes, we are slumming, my dear. Mr. Twist intends to inimately explore every aspect of Cara Mia. Discover what she likes, how she works, what she needs. What gives her the most pleasure."

She shook her head. "I feel like I'm lying, pummeled and confused, in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall of words that come out your mouth."

I gestured around the garage. "Once you pull yourself out of that pool, you still find yourself here, where all the pretty coverings are stripped away, where everything is the bare necessity, where there is nowhere to hide."

"In a garage." Her mouth was flat and her body angled away from me. Rejecting the idea. She shook her head and took two steps backward, toward the elevator. I stood still, not rising to any false moves. Not wanting to spook her.

Then, from her expression, I saw she really heard my words, parsed the message below them, the truth out in the open.

"I can't do this," she whispered, her eyes desperate. But she didn't move again.

Stepping in, I held her lightly, feeling her heart pounding in her chest, her hands freezing, shaking, her legs quivering. I tapped the domino. "No, perhaps you can't," not yet, "But Cara Mia can. And I think she wants to know these things, feel them."

She raised a tentative finger to mine and rubbed the feathered edge of the mask lightly with a red-tipped finger, considering. "I leave it on?" I could feel her heart beating against my chest. Was it all fear or did I detect some excitment?