Mistresses didn’t do what Jenna did.
Regardless, he’d let her have him half a dozen times because she didn’t suck, just got overly excited. She got better, but the experience wasn’t what he’d hoped it would be.
When Olly didn’t go back to Jenna, and couldn’t find anyone in that club that interested him (not to mention, hanging around there he felt uncomfortable around all the leather and nurses outfits and spiked collars), Barclay had asked him out for a beer and told him about the Honey.
When the man gave him the intel, Olly told him he was interested, but not interested in the training period, which would mean he wouldn’t be able to choose anyone he wanted to work him, but had a much smaller pool that Barclay admitted, if rumor was true, were mostly guys.
To be fair, at that juncture, Barclay had strongly advised against him trying to con Aryas Weathers, the Bee’s Honey’s owner, into believing he wasn’t a rookie.
When they’d chatted about it in the club, Jenna, who knew the Honey (everyone in that scene did), advised strongly against it too.
Jenna liked him and wanted another go (or a hundred) so she wasn’t hard to convince to write a reference that said he had what was required: a D/s relationship with her that lasted six months or longer (she’d said in her letter it was eight, which he thought was nice).
Whitney did it for her own reasons and her letter gave the bare minimum.
Before he jumped in on Olly’s plan, Barclay, a switch-hitter (he could go both ways, Dom and sub), had demanded they meet so he could give Olly what he needed not to be found out and not to get his ass in a sling if he got in. This was because Barclay would have to substantiate Jenna’s and Whitney’s claims and give false information about the length of his membership at Barclay’s club.
“You do not wanna get on the bad side of Aryas Weathers, man,” he’d said. “And serious as shit, take that in. But more serious as shit, do not throw my ass under the bus with this because I don’t wanna be on that man’s bad side either.”
They’d met. Barclay shared a shitload. He’d also told him what magazines to read, what sex shops to go to, what books to download, so he could learn more. Study up. Not only to be successful at the con but so he didn’t do what he eventually did, get in over his head.
Olly went to the shops but didn’t do the magazines or books.
This was the only reason he knew how to put on the harness Amélie gave him. He’d never worn one. It wasn’t hard to figure out but if he’d had to fiddle with it, that could have led to uncomfortable questions.
And now that she’d done him with it, in his weaker moments, he was considering going to a shop so he could buy one of his own. One that fit.
In the end, he’d learned enough that he’d conned Weathers, but his approval as a member had been a surprise because, in the hour-long interview they’d had, he got the impression the guy saw right through him.
So he’d learned enough.
But he hadn’t learned enough.
And it was clear practice made perfect.
He’d fucked up at the get-go, thinking all that “yes, Mistress,” “no, Mistress,” no eye contact, following-like-a-dog bullshit was a certain type of sub’s kink.
But the way Amélie talked about it, it was expected.
This was something he did not know and something he figured Barclay, Jenna, and Whitney (the latter two had told him to call them Mistress, he’d done it enough not to trip their triggers, but he was his own man in the common sections of the club) thought anyone with any experience would know and this was why they didn’t share it with him.
Time and again, he thought Amélie had made him and he had no idea what she would do if she did. She wouldn’t work him, that was a given. Not that she wasn’t into him, she so was. She made no bones about that. Just that it was clear she expected her subs to know how to serve, to take what she had to give, and she was impatient when he fucked up on the basics.
She got off on his struggle, though. Seriously got off on it. It tore him apart inside but she also made no bones about it being a turn-on for her.
Something that was totally fucked up.
And a big reason why he was not going back on Saturday, or ever.
He was in over his head. He was going to get found out. He’d be ousted, or something in that crazy-ass, long contract he’d signed meant Aryas Weathers would own his house.
“Bro, you gettin’ a suntan or what?”
With a guilty start, like Chad could read his mind, Olly turned to his best bud and brother firefighter.
“Yo,” he greeted.
Chad stopped close and gave him a look.
“Dude, you’re in a mood,” he stated.
“Standin’ at the bay, lookin’ outside,” Olly pointed out. “This does not say mood. So what the fuck?”
“Plebes are fuckin’ terrified, sure you’re gonna make them wash the rigs with a toothbrush, their toothbrush, you been bein’ such a dick all day.”
This was why he’d moved to the bay. Not a lot of sleep but a lot of shit cluttering up his head, making him act like a dick. He didn’t like assholes so it didn’t need to be said he didn’t like to be one.
He stilled.
Jesus.
Fuck.
He felt his lips slightly part as Chad went out of focus.
That was it.
By the time Amélie had made her round of inspection, his mind was clear.
Clear of everything.