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than she could stand. Tired of walking around the small shop, she needed to know if she was in the right place, and if not, she needed to find a ride home — stat.
    “Excuse me, I’m supposed to be meeting someone, but I don’t see anyone else here. Was there someone here earlier? Or is there posssibly a bar nearby or something?” Rissa’s breath hitched when the attendant caught a glimpse of the black satin and gold threading of her corset peeking over the top of her dress and smiled like the cat that ate the canary.
    “You’re right on time . And he was right — you are gorgeous.” The tall, leggy, busty blonde winked, and Rissa could have sworn there was a twinkle of mischief in the woman’s green eyes as she turned and beckoned her to follow along. Back past the dressing rooms and the racks and racks of black leather, she stopped at a door in the back of a storage room. She knocked three times, paused and knocked twice more. Rissa heard a series of locks from the other side before it opened and the blonde store clerk gestured for her to follow the winding staircase down.
    “Um, you do know this screams creeper with a dungeon… right?” Rissa said. The blonde just laughed and nodded. “Yes, I know. I thought the same thing
    the first time I stood here looking down. That was two years ago, and now I’m there every night. The club is called The Devil’s Boudoir. It’s invitation only, and the members list is beyond exclusive. You’ll be ok . If the black and gold scheme going on under your dress is any indication, you’ll be way more than fine, sweetie. The bar’s all the way down and to the left. Order a drink and wait there. Anybody asks, just flash them a glimpse of tha t corset you’re rocking , and they’ll understand. Now go, before you’re late.”
    One last chance to turn around and run, but her feet wouldn’t move backwards… only forwards and down the first step. The cool gold handrail offered an anchor as she descended the winding staircase to the bottom. BDSM and swinging clubs were not new to Rissa Trent — not by a long shot — but this was by far the most luxurious club she’d ever imagined. Sumptuous fabrics draped from the ceilings. Plush sofas and chaise lounges in leather, some upholstered in velvet, segmented the open space into intimate settings. The whole room was decorated in jewel tones and gold. Polished marble flooring seemed to shimmer from the flecks of gold imbedded in the finish. Low lights and candles, people milling about made the club seem like little more than a vanilla bar she’d find downtown, but if someone knew what to look for, they’ d see the BDSM influence. A saw horse here, a St. Andrew’s against the wall, a restraint table double d as a coffee table; all familiar and further calming to Rissa’s edginess.
    Walking over to the bar, she ordered a vodka and cranberry and looked past the end of the bar as the warm, smooth drink slid down her throat. A couple, obviously a committed Dom/sub, were beginning a scene in a room just through a glass window. In a traditionally submissive pose; on her slightly parted knees, head down, her hands behind her back, she looked calm, completely relaxed as her Dom walked in a circle around her, inspecting his bare submissive. The way the tall blonde man’s hand caressed the pale cheek of his partner, brushing her auburn hair from her cheek and over her shoulder, showed his approval of her gift. To Rissa, it was like watching a well-choreographed dance, each giving and taking, the Dom guiding his sub through the steps. Kneeling behind his woman, a length of crimson rope in his hand, Rissa watched, enraptured, as he threaded it between her arms behind her back, weaving and lacing the braided strands into an intricate latticework down both her arms from shoulder to wrist.
    Rissa’ s concentration was only broken by the now familiar scent of subtle cologne only a moment before she felt strong, firm hands slide up and down