"He's a top from the bottom ass, but he does it so well too many Mistresses let him get away with it. He's like overdoing the Jack Daniel's, where you have a huge good time that night, but you wake up with a what-the-fuck-did-I-do hangover the next day. He part-times as a cooler here. Ironically, he has an aptitude for defusing volatile situations. He also does wait staff, whatever handy stuff they need, since he gets no regular play because of how challenging he is. Come on. We'll find you someone fun in the Domme 101 category."
Lacing fingers with her, Lyda drew Gen toward another public gathering space, one with tables and chairs like a restaurant, rather than a living room furniture arrangement. Gen saw some submissives on their knees beside Dominants, but most of those here were informal socializing groups, regardless of the bracelets they wore. Yet there were a good number of submissive males, and she felt their eyes on her, causing her to draw closer to Lyda. They were probably looking more hopefully at her anyway. She couldn't help doing that herself.
Lyda wore a pair of ivory-colored riding breeches that zipped up the side, forming a tight, second skin fit over her ass and thighs. The pants tucked into polished riding boots. A translucent linen shirt limned her upper body, highlighting the lace bra beneath. The curves of her breasts were revealed by the open three buttons of the neckline. Lyda's flame-gold hair was pulled back in a french braid, and she wore a cameo pendant that highlighted the delicate lines of her throat. It was impossible for the woman to look anything but mesmerizing. Daunting, yes, but people would draw as close as they dared. And that daunting person was holding her hand, pulling her through the crowd as if she was hers alone.
Don't be stupid, Gen.
I'm not. It's okay to fantasize.
Lyda wasn't wearing a bracelet, but she didn't really need it. Why on earth did you have to put a "hot" sign over coffee? People that clueless wouldn't get it anyway.
"It's all right," Lyda said, sliding her arm around Gen's waist again, her fingers curving over her hip to give her a reassuring pat. "The Zone's rules are very strict, Gen. Even Marius, flirting so outrageously, wouldn't have approached you until you clearly invited him to do so. Or took off the no-play bracelet."
"Can you help me understand some things...before I do anything?"
"We can spend the whole night talking, if that's what you want to do." Lyda gestured to a table, and Gen took the chair across from her. Gen didn't detect any hedging in Lyda's tone, nothing but sincerity. To all appearances, she was respecting Gen's desire to be something different tonight. Which was even more distracting, in a perverse way.
"What do male submissives want from a Domme? Do they just want women to do everything, get them off?"
"There are some like that in both genders. A bottom might require only the loss of control and sexual release. For the Domme who wants the mirror of that, to take over and achieve sexual pleasure for both, that works. I've taken on some bottoms for one-night stands, but I've always preferred the nature of the true submissive. A true submissive, male or female, is hungering to serve at some level, even if it's just sexual."
"Like Noah?"
"Like Noah."
"Will he be here tonight?"
"Maybe. He's doing a shift at a pizza delivery place, but he gets off at nine."
"I know you've both tried to explain it to me, and maybe I should stop worrying about it, but I can't figure out you two. He said, when we went sailing..." She reddened, and Lyda's lips curved.
"You and he had sex. It was allowed."
"But don't you consider him yours?"
"Absolutely. I haven't put a collar on Noah, but we still have rules." The fiery glimmer in Lyda's gaze gave Gen thrill and reassurance both. "He has to get my permission for all of it, until I release him. Or he asks to be let go, which Noah will never do."
"Is that why you won't collar him? Because he doesn't choose?"
Lyda's expression closed down. "I'm sorry," Gen interjected. "I didn't mean..."
Lyda shook her head, waving her hand. "Let's leave that one alone for now. What other questions do you have?"
Gen remarshaled her thoughts. "Before Brendan, I thought a male sub would be...wimpy. Doormats. Not possessive at all."
Lyda snorted. "If they were only that pliable. See him?"
Gen followed Lyda's direction. The brickhouse male who'd first caught her attention was sitting at one of the tables, straddling a chair. Now that she could see his wrists, she saw he was wearing a pair of silver cuff-style bracelets that looked like overlapped angel wings. Holy crap, he was a submissive. And she realized why he looked familiar. "Mac."
"You know him?"
"Yes. He and his wife were guests at Marguerite and Tyler's wedding. I would never have guessed..."
"That he's a submissive? A lot of people react that way to him, but you have to look beyond the surface, see the cues. As far as a doormat..." Lyda looked amused. "If any man here put hands on Mac's Mistress, Tyler would have to install a floor drain to wash away all the blood. Mac belongs to Violet, but she's his as well. They're married, but more than that, there's a mutual soul possession. That's something different from just playing at Dom/sub games."
Gen's gaze shifted to Violet, sitting on Mac's right. Under the table, her booted foot rested on the top of his, a casually intimate pose. The woman was as petite as he was large, and even though they were talking to another woman at the table, the bond between them was obvious.
"Taking care of a baby MIT tonight, Lyda?"