Home > The Deep End (Honey #1)(2)

The Deep End (Honey #1)(2)
Author: Kristen Ashley

She wasn’t finding who she needed.

At the Honey and not at the Honey, Amélie was Mistress Amélie. A Dominatrix. A very good one. A respected one. A coveted one. Even a craved one. Her affectionate style of play, coupled with her experience and skill, made her highly sought after.

As that, she could easily find toys to play with.

She’d done that.

And she felt very real fear that she was becoming bored with it.

It wasn’t the lifestyle that bored her, for Amélie didn’t consider it a lifestyle. A choice. Something she could have or lose. Something she could move on from. Something she could grow out of. A curiosity she could satisfy and leave behind.

It was what she considered a Lifestyle, capitalized with appropriate emphasis. As essential as oxygen. And if she were not to have it, she fancied it would feel like climbing nearly to the peak of Everest. Every next step a struggle. Every breath a blow, for you were doing what came naturally, but it didn’t fully provide the essential element that would allow you to continue existing. Every second a mental battle as to what level of insanity you’d breached that you’d even consider going on.

The problem was, Amélie had been born with champagne tastes. Tastes bred imperatively through her line for generations as to weave right through her DNA.

There were many ways she could find toys: other clubs, ads, parties, conferences, personally hosted weekends.

The Honey, however, was the only place that truly offered champagne. Aryas had a certain philosophy that even if an individual had the means to be a member, this didn’t mean they would be accepted. In fact, he gave “scholarships” to those in both membership classes who could in no way afford to be a member at regular rates, but who would provide services to the club that were invaluable.

It wasn’t about how someone looked. It was about how they played, their experience and training, their personalities. At the Honey, there were no boundaries, anything went as long as it was consensual.

That said, there were vagaries in their world, genuinely troubled souls who used the Lifestyle to work out issues that should be communicated in a certain kind of doctor’s office.

This, along with the majority’s resilient inclination to judge that which they didn’t understand, cast a shroud of depravity on her world.

This, with his lengthy and highly invasive application policy, Aryas kept out of his clubs. His members were safe in every aspect they could be.

The people there not only practiced the Lifestyle, they embraced it.

She lifted her gaze and instantly saw Bryan. It wasn’t difficult. He’d been around some time and she’d had him so he knew not to peacock. But he also knew to put himself directly in her line of sight.

Seeing Bryan, another realization came to her, hitting her with a cruel blow to the solar plexus that made her struggle with not appearing winded.

There were not many like Bryan.

When Bryan’s membership had been approved and he’d started moving through the viewing floor of the club (the large space in the middle that had some high, narrow bar tables with plushly upholstered stools, all this surrounded by booths Doms could sit in to evaluate and make their choices), Amélie had felt a powerful curl of excitement gather in the pit of her belly the likes of which she hadn’t experienced in years.

This was because Bryan’s type was not often found, not only in D/s clubs, but also out in the world.

Darkly handsome with the air of an alpha vibrating around him like a visible aura, he was a large man, tall, six foot four, and very well developed. Indeed, when she’d had him strip naked, Amélie had found he’d pushed it right to the edge where he could be considered unappealingly overdeveloped. Fortunately, the appearance of his genitalia did not support her quick assessment that he was aided in the endeavor of bulking out his frame with certain substances.

This, of course, made him all the more appealing.

Amélie was five foot ten. Not only in the club but out in the world she easily dominated nearly everyone in sheer size, both men and women obviously intimidated by her. This was not helped by the fact that she was curvy yet lean, exclusively wore heels, high ones, and she was filthy rich and looked it.

Therefore, with men whom she was eye-to-eye to, or looking down on, who were slighter or leaner than her, part of the challenge, the fun of the game, was removed at the starting gate.

Playing with a six-foot-four, 240-pound toy would be a challenge, even to Aryas (who did not do men but that didn’t negate the point), who was six foot six and not a small man by any means, and not simply because of his height.

However, Amélie had broken Bryan within fifteen minutes.

Not a true break. This was the heart of the disappointment in the loss of the promise of him.

But the façade of the alpha melted away to expose the pleaser, making him less of a challenge than many subs who read as recalcitrant and wanted (in other words, needed) a firm guiding hand to take them where they needed to be.

Nevertheless, as he physically was her type from the top of his dark head to the tips of his large feet, she’d tried him again.

It was not overexcitement during that first session that brought him to his knees.

It was the sub he was.

And that was not the kind of sub she needed.

Watching him sip his drink, though, doing his best to pretend he didn’t know she was looking at him, Amélie moved her study from Bryan to his drink.

Whisky.

Not whiskey.

Whisky. The pure kind that didn’t need another letter of the alphabet. Others had learned the art and mastered it, but there could only be one.

   
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