“So,” Naomi says, leaning back into the sofa. “Has Mariah mentioned what we’re planning for tonight?”
I swallow a sip of wine. “Planning? No, she hasn’t said anything.”
“Really? Hmm, I wonder why. Okay, well I’ll wait until she gets here to explain.”
“That sounds mysterious. What’s in the bag?” I gesture to a large silver shopping bag she’s parked at her feet.
“Weeeell,” she says, stretching out the syllable, “that’s part of what we’re doing tonight.”
“Okay, well, now the suspense is killing me. Spill your guts, Naomi.”
At that precise moment, the key turns in the door and in struts Mariah. When she sees Naomi, she drops her coat and bag and makes a beeline for the woman. “You made it! I was sure you’d bail on me yet again. I never get to see you anymore.”
“My job has taken over my life… but I’m all yours tonight and Ella here was just about to extort our plans for the evening out of me. How come you didn’t tell her?”
Mariah shrugs. “Nothing nefarious afoot; I just wanted it to be a fun surprise.”
My eyes volley back and forth, feeling as if I’m watching tennis. “What, damn it?”
“We’re going to my club tonight.”
“Your club? That’s the surprise?”
“It’s a very special club, Ella. Isn’t it, Mariah?”
“Oh, yes. Mucho special.”
“Really?” I ask. “What’s so special about it?”
The look on Naomi’s face has me worried. “Well, considering the racy book you wrote, you may not find it all that unusual, but it’s a private BDSM club and I’m taking you and Mariah as my very important guests.”
“You are?” I look helplessly at Mariah. “We are?”
Mariah nods slyly. “I thought it would be fun—and educational—to see a real club after reading your imaginative novel. C’mon, Ella, it will be epic.”
Naomi jumps in. “And trust me, there are hunky men always lurking about there—always. Beautiful men, both Dom and sub, whatever trips your trigger. What do you think, ladies? Are you all in?”
I take a big swig of wine, gulping it like water. “So what’s in the bag?”
Shrugging again, Naomi casually says, “Oh, some fetwear, and some plain but sexy clothes—things for you and Mariah to pick through and try on. I have mine on already.” She stands and removes the tunic-type sweater she’s wearing and underneath she has on a very short, very tight black latex dress that zips up in front from bottom to plunging neckline.
“Oh. Wow. Okay, let me think about this idea for a second.” I try to clear my head but the wine is already causing my brain to buzz. “Are we allowed to just sit at the bar and observe? I mean, we don’t have to do anything, right?”
“Noooo, but you very well might want to, once you get an eyeful of some of those men. Sometimes members even bring guests who aren’t into this particular thing so you can meet conventional people there every so often. You know, normal men.”
Mariah claps her hands. “Oh, no, I want to meet the abnormal ones! Normal is boring.”
I look at both of their eager faces and shrug my shoulders. “Oh, what the hell? What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Famous last words. Didn’t Napoleon say that ere he saw Elba? Or was it Anne Boleyn? General Custer?”
I laugh. “Okay, Mariah, I take back the fate-tempting words. Sorry.”
Mariah leaps to her feet and grabs my hand. “Come on, let’s go try on some bad-girl clothes.”
Two hours and two glasses of wine each later, we’re dressed for the night out. Mariah is wearing a black leather corset that makes her body look killer—she can’t breathe but it’s worth it. A short black leather skirt—so short it’s almost not there—completes the outfit. Her shiny reddish-blond hair is piled high on her head and she’s doubled down on the eyeliner.
I opt for a black leather bra that happens to fit me as if it were made for me personally. Over that I’m wearing a sheer white see-through long-sleeved top. It has a vee-neck that plunges down low enough to allow the top of the bra to peek out. Naomi wraps a pewter choker around my throat—slave chic, I suppose. Since I wasn’t about to wear the ridiculous skirts she brought for us (they looked like broccoli rubber bands), I slide into—and slide is the operative word—a pair of super tight Lycra jeans-style pants, and my black stiletto shoes. I leave my hair down and put on some extra make-up.
“Excellent!” Naomi exclaims when she sees us. “We all look so hot we’re gonna set the place on fire. It’s just about seven-thirty now. Should we grab a bite on the way there? The club usually doesn’t start hopping until about nine.”