Club Dishabille

Chapter 1

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CLUB DISHABILLE

A tale of Alex and Dahlia, of foolish love gone right.

Please don't try this at home.

Chapter 1

“Men have forgotten this truth,” said the fox. “But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose...”—Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Dahlia was two seconds from doing a runner. She sat perched on the edge of the bar stool, fiddling with the straw in her whiskey and Coke, wondering if she really had the nerve to continue on with this conversation. The woman across from her at the bar didn’t seem to judge her, but why should she? She owned the club.

“Well, normally we just get people in here who want to dabble. We surprisingly get more couples than individuals, but the individuals, like I said, are mainly just curious. Their curiosity for those types of games don’t last as far as I can tell, and they become curious about other things. They still come here, but they tend to look for other distractions.” The club owner, Miranda Marchand, took a sip of her ginger ale and glanced back at Dahlia. The woman could barely look her in the eye. “Have you tried looking at individual ads in the Chronicle?”

Dahlia looked up at her, brushing her wayward brown curls out of her face. “Yeah, um, meeting strange men in desolate places is all anyone would offer. I think they thought it would be a part of the appeal. That’s why I thought a club would be better. More people, you know?” She shrugged. “I don’t know what the norm is.”

“Most people don’t. Most think a little spanking and handcuffs for the evening and they’re suddenly experienced in the lifestyle–”

“But I don’t know if I’m really interested in everything about the lifestyle,” Dahlia cut in quickly. “The Internet would have you believe that it’s all latex and torture devices, but I’m interested in the intimacy of it, of pleasing someone with my submission. Of growing with someone. Could you imagine a want ad for that?” She laughed humorlessly.

“Maybe if you put your ad in a church bulletin.” Miranda smiled. “Wanted: Single male needed to discipline female who may or may not like pain. No latex or torture devices.”

That shocked a laugh out of Dahlia. “I may not mind a little latex or torture, but I think there would need to be some level of trust. Maybe it’s not what’s usually done, but I’d like to get to know a person a little first, talk, or exchange some emails. I just can’t imagine walking into something with my head down and allowing a perfect stranger to smack me around for my pleasure.” Dahlia paused and looked Miranda in the eye. “Maybe I’m high maintenance, but I’d like a strong verbal relationship. The talking bit is my real kink, I think. It’s the one that I think is the hardest to pull off. A man with a way with words and whom I trusted, could probably talk me into anything, latex and torture devices included.”

Miranda nodded. “You’re right. Men get on top of you and grunt nonsense in your ear, but it only takes a few phrases from them to change the tone of the whole experience.” Miranda studied Dahlia for a moment. She was pretty with her mess of shoulder length curls and short, black, jersey cotton dress. Miranda was also about a head taller, maybe a bit more, but Miranda had been blessed with her father’s height. Unlike her baby brother who was a few inches shorter. Speaking of Alex, she wondered if her brother would be interested. He was the only man that she knew personally that could have the patience and desire to try with Dahlia Warwick. He’d never been able to find a woman who was willing to allow him any of his needs for more than a night or two. He’d given up looking, Miranda thought to herself, so she wasn’t sure he’d agree, but she would ask anyway. He was the reason she'd called to arrange a meeting with Dahlia.