Dangerously Bound by Eden Bradley

few moments, then gave it back to her.
    “Enjoy your evening. Cell phones off, dears.”
    “Of course, Pixie,” Mick said, pulling his out of his pocketand smiling at the tiny woman as he shut it off. “Allie, give me yours.”
    She handed it to him, and he powered it down before returning it to her.
    A small part of her mind was screaming at her that she wasn’t behaving normally, and
     another part was reminding her this was the way things happened when a Dom shows up
     at your house and practically brings you to your knees before taking you to a haven
     for kinky people who were just like you were, even in all the myriad variety of kinks
     and personalities. She breathed a long, sweet sigh of relief as Mick took her through
     a door and into the club.
    The lighting was dim, shades of red and purple, with a few spots of soft amber gleaming
     from the lamps set here and there at the cleaning stations, supplied with bottles
     of antibacterial spray and paper towels, small first-aid kits and bottled water. But
     she could see that inside The Bastille looked like anything but a warehouse. The walls
     were finished in a highly lacquered black, with heavy wooden posts polished to a high
     sheen every few feet. She could see the eyebolts, some with the occasional lengths
     of chain attached, set into the wood. Placed around the edges of the room were couches
     and chairs and ottomans upholstered in red velvet, large tables in carved wood, everything
     oversized and luxurious and slightly ornate in what she thought of as Bohemian gypsy
     style. Here and there, high on the walls, were paintings of naked women in seductive
     and often wanton poses, some bound in rope or chains or leather straps, corseted or
     cuffed. There were people in the room in the same state of undress, many bound, corseted.
     Wanton.
    She immediately felt a sense of home.
    Beside her Mick whispered in her ear, “What do you think of our little club?”
    “It’s beautiful. And it’s not little at all.”
    “There are private and semiprivate rooms, the themed rooms. The school room. The Victorian
     boudoir. The medieval torture chamber. The medical room. Do you see the curtained
     areas off to the sides? Those are aftercare rooms, full of pillows. And in the back
     there’s the kitchen and an outdoor patio. But I’ll give you the tour another time.
     I don’t want to break this space inside your head too much. I like where you’re at.”
    She turned to him. “Do you?”
    He stroked the underside of her chin with his finger. “I do. I think we’re going to
     play very well together. Come.”
    He took her hand and led her across the floor of the main room. The music was a low
     throb of ambient tones as they passed a row of spanking benches: two floating, padded
     tables suspended from the ceiling by heavy chains. They moved past an enormous wooden
     frame in the middle of the room. A woman was bound in heavy leather cuffs, her arms
     stretched over her head and attached to the frame by carabiners clipped to hooks set
     into the wood. She wondered vaguely where he might be taking her, but that sinking
     sensation was beginning to ground her in the moment, in her body, and she was content
     for now to simply follow him.
    They reached the back of the room, where long couches and a few overstuffed chairs
     made cozy conversation areas. He stopped in front of one of the couches, set his play
     bag down on a table, nodded at her, a sharp lift of his chin that made her focus on
     the chiseled edges of his features, all pure masculine man.
    “Down on the floor, Allie. On your knees. And wait for me.” He turned away to unzip
     his bag.
    “I . . . what?”
    He turned back to her, his gaze narrowing. “This is standarddrill, Allie. I thought you were an experienced submissive,” he said, doubt lacing
     his tone.
    “I am.”
    “Then what’s going on?”
    “I just . . .” She had to pause, catch her breath. “It’s because it’s
you
. Well,