It was, indeed.
She watched in fascination as something caught his attention, shifting the half-amused, half-bored expression from his face and pulling him away from the wall.
His eyes focused on something a beat, two, three, then dropped.
That small movement, the respect of a sub given to a Dom, barely discernible from the distance, still convulsed the walls of her pussy.
“Trey, find a member of staff.” Amélie heard Mirabelle order.
“At your pleasure, Mistress,” Trey muttered in return.
Amélie didn’t look away. Now not because she couldn’t, but because what captured his attention was Mistress Delia.
“Fuck,” Mirabelle hissed the word that flitted through Amélie’s mind.
Stunned still again, Amélie watched as, within five seconds, words were exchanged. Words that made Delia toss her head, lift her hand, snap, and stomp toward the door to the playrooms, Tiffany following.
But that male sub did not.
Crash and burn.
The beast didn’t even look over his shoulder to watch them leave. His expression settled into blankness again as his attention turned back to the gathering.
“You ladies wanted something?”
Before she was caught staring, feeling like a greenhorn Domme on her first prowl, Amélie tore her eyes from the beast and looked to Heather. She was a staff member of the club, none of whom had titles and all of whom were paid very handsomely because all of them had a variety of roles they could be called on to play—from server to someone who needed to mop a puddle of cum off the floor so a recently vacated room could be reused.
“That baby, against the wall, the one who looks in dire need of a lesson or seventy,” Mirabelle stated, not pointing even to jerk her head his way. “He’s new.”
“O.H.,” Heather stated, smiling big and giving them the code they needed. “He was approved two weeks ago. Not here every night, but as far as I know, he’s been in three times. A number of takers gave it a shot. So far he hasn’t felt up to playing. Think his profile is burned into the screens of pretty much every Dom who’s seen him.”
This was without a doubt, but even if it weren’t, Mirabelle digging in her purse would have proved it.
“Thanks, chérie,” Amélie kindly dismissed her.
Heather nodded, shot them another smile, and moved away.
Amélie attempted to unobtrusively deep breathe.
The system was set up as such that, if subs wanted to know about Doms, they went to the secure computer in the room behind the foyer. They could not access data anywhere else.
Hidden behind a site that you had to access through a username, a secure password with the requirement to change it monthly as well that it be twelve characters long, answering a security question and entering a captcha, Dominants could look up subs on their phones in the comfort of their booths.
These did not have full names or photos or anything of an identifying nature. In fact, the data provided was offered via code so if someone happened onto a hack, they wouldn’t know what they were seeing.
It wasn’t the enigma machine but it did offer another level of security.
What those profiles didn’t have were the notes a member of staff or another Dominant could add to a sub profile. All notes were approved by management, namely Aryas’s operating manager, Tina Marie, so catty, sulky or other inappropriate notes would not be communicated.
If there were notes, the profile would indicate this. And to get to this information, a Master or Mistress would have to go to another one of the computers on the premises (this in the Dom lounge) to read these notes that also weren’t networked, even locally.
These notes in most cases included such things as toys who were owned, either literally (life partners or husbands and wives), or the agreement had been noted that a sub would serve only one Dominant at the Honey, a circumstance which Mirabelle and Trey communicated that very evening.
They also could provide information essential to a Dominant that a submissive would need to relinquish prior to being approved for membership. This could be anything from the sub being in counseling for a reason that a Master or Mistress would have to understand and appreciate before selecting them for play. It could be the brief description of a tragedy that could affect the scene, the loss of a loved one in an extreme way, a history of domestic abuse, a survivor of rape.
“Here you go, Leigh.”
Mirabelle was extending her phone, which was good and bad.
Good because Amélie had not managed to unobtrusively deep breathe, her shallow breaths making her feel light-headed, and she needed something else to focus on.
Bad because what she was focusing on would be the profile of that beast.
She took Mirabelle’s phone and turned it her way.
O.H.
Security: Kitten
Hobbies: Everything
Limitations: Nothing
Notes: None
Translated, this meant:
INITIALS OR OTHER IDENTIFIER
Safe word: Kitten
Inclinations: Into anything
Boundaries, Rules, Unacceptable Play: None
Even with those few words, it was a surprising profile. Experienced subs, the only ones allowed on the floor, knew their boundaries and most had them. In this club, the vast majority were extreme, such as branding, marking, scarring, strangling, sensory deprivation, and so on.
But they had them.
She hadn’t seen a profile that open in a long time.
And the safe word “kitten” showed the beast had a sense of humor. He had the look that just uttering that cute word, which would bring images of the adorable creatures, would make him violently ill.