Blue Desire Read online

  BLUE DESIRE

  Sindra van Yssel

  www.loose-id.com

  Blue Desire

  Copyright © March 2013 by Sindra van Yssel

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  eISBN 9781623002206

  Editor: Jana Armstrong

  Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs

  Published in the United States of America

  Loose Id LLC

  PO Box 809

  San Francisco CA 94104-0809

  www.loose-id.com

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

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  DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.

  Chapter One

  Katrina Razetti sauntered into Le Petit Mort like she owned the place, even though she’d never been there before. Years of copping an attitude onstage made it easy for her to feign confidence. Feigning was definitely what she was doing, strolling into a BDSM club three thousand miles from home. Still, she’d rather look like a predator than prey, at least until she found a dom who would give her what she wanted.

  There was a curvy redhead sitting behind the front desk, her boobs pushed up and almost over her tight emerald-green corset. Since it was a hot summer night, Kat didn’t have a coat to check, so she breezed on by. The only way forward was through a couple of black curtains, so Kat headed for them, hoping her nervousness didn’t show.

  “Um, ma’am?” said the redhead.

  Kat was halfway through the curtains before she decided whether to stop or not. “Huh?” Oh, very smooth.

  “You need to pay the cover.”

  Yeah, of course. Kat knew a BDSM club didn’t pay for itself, and it couldn’t make that much money off drinks. Even if there was alcohol served, the serious players rarely drank much, nor would they play with anyone who did. It had been over a year since she’d been in a place like this, but the economic realities weren’t likely to change. If she hadn’t been so concerned about appearing not to be nervous, she would have stopped and asked. She walked back.

  “How much?”

  “Twenty.”

  Kat fished in the pocket of her black jeans and pulled out her wallet. She’d given up on purses long ago. Her mother thought she should carry one. That had been reason enough not to, once upon a time. Her mother thought her auburn hair was lovely long, so she’d cut it and bleached it the platinum that had become her trademark. Her mother thought Angus was trouble, so they’d formed a punk rock band together and made enough to travel the country, playing at sold-out clubs. Kat had done pretty well for herself, flouting her mother. Although her mom been right about Angus in the end.

  Her hair wasn’t platinum now. It was dyed black—all part of her disguise—not that she was famous, but every so often, someone recognized her on the street. Actually, dyed hair pretty much was her disguise, that and a less garish shade of lipstick and a cream-colored silk blouse she’d normally not be caught dead in. It felt soft, feminine. She wasn’t sure she liked that. She liked being a woman, but she’d grown addicted to her hard edge. Soft was certainly an interesting feeling, and her mother would approve. That thought didn’t bother her as much as it used to.

  Her mother definitely wouldn’t approve of her going into a BDSM club. But after three days in a hotel, she needed to get out. She’d never been a quiet person. She’d been going to clubs, usually places where the music was played loud and fast and the dancing was entirely free-form, with a fake ID since she was sixteen. Now and then, when she ventured into a fetish place. After she and Angus weren’t a couple anymore, she’d gone once a month to a bondage club on Santa Monica Boulevard when she was tired of having no sex life. When Angus had found out, he’d made such a scene that neither of them were welcome anymore. She’d thought of finding a new place to go for kink, but even if Angus wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, he had still been her guitarist, and she’d wanted to keep the band together more than she had wanted her fun. In the end, she’d accomplished neither.

  The name of this club had amused her. She’d written a song called “My Little Death,” which some of her fans probably thought was horribly violent. She liked to think most of them figured out she was talking about an orgasm. Either way, they got what they wanted out of the song.

  Now her days with Kradle were over. It was her band, dammit. The name of it was a pun on her own name. But they’d kicked her out over a miscommunication about where to show up for a gig. It wasn’t her fault. She suspected Angus had deliberately given her the wrong information after she’d turned down yet another of his sexual advances. They hadn’t been lovers for years. Kat had thought they could still be bandmates. Obviously, she was wrong, and somehow Angus had twisted it around so that Clyde and Devious Dave thought she was trying to show them all up.

  “Ma’am?” prompted the redhead.

  Kat handed her a twenty.

  “Do you want to check your blouse?”

  Kat chuckled. That would certainly be a look more suited to her Kradle persona. Bra and black jeans. Take that, prudes. Breasts were not just soft and squishy; they could also be a weapon. But taking her shirt off would make her look more like Kat, the punk rocker, and that would increase the chance someone might recognize her. She didn’t want to deal with that. Besides, she didn’t know this place. It was one thing to wear an outfit like that onstage while she screamed the hard-edged lyrics she’d written, but another to wander around a strange club in a strange town half naked. “Not this time,” she said.

  “Okay,” said the redhead.

  Kat walked through the curtains. Inside was a big open area, a lot bigger than she had expected from the plain black door set in a row of industrial buildings. There were vendors, play stations, couches. The place looked like it had been a warehouse at one time with its tall ceilings. Her attention was drawn immediately to a bound woman suspended fifteen feet over the floor. The woman was in a leather harness, which crossed between her breasts and left them and her shaved pussy bare. Stout-looking ropes extended to the ceiling, which was so high up that she couldn’t make out the nature of the bolts the ropes must have been attached to. Or maybe they were on pulleys, because there was a big rope that dangled down behind her. That would explain how she’d been lifted up. If the object had been to give everyone a good view, it had certainly been met.

  Kat hoped whoever had rigged it knew what they were doing, but she wasn’t here to give anyone a safety lecture. She wondered what it was like to be that woman and realized she felt jealous. Which made no sense at all. She didn’t like heights, although she wasn’t too scared of them to ri
de a roller coaster now and then. She liked attracting a few lustful looks, but she never wanted to be that exposed. And nothing was happening to the suspended woman: no touching, no spanking, nothing. In fact, she was literally out of reach of her dom, wherever he was. Kat assumed a dom was involved somehow, someone the woman trusted deeply. She turned away, not at all comfortable with the yearning she felt and not wanting to examine it.

  The rules were posted in white-on-black script on a nearby wall, and she took a look. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, nothing she hadn’t seen in the BDSM clubs she’d been in before. She noted the club safe word. Red. Pretty common choice. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to use it, but there were jerks everywhere, as well as occasional misunderstandings.

  A number of people were gathered around a spanking horse. A brown-skinned girl Kat guessed was Latina knelt on the horse, her body over the saddle and her knees and hands on the padded black cushions on the sides. She had bright purple hair. It was a vibrant color, and for a few seconds, Kat admired the woman’s hair. If there had been such a thing as naturally purple hair, it would look like hers, with just the right amount of variation and highlight.

  With her was a tall man, shirtless, with an athletic body. Good-looking guy, although Kat liked ’em bigger, with rippling muscles. The woman was naked but unbound. The man was spanking her with his bare hand, and a pink glow was starting to show on her bottom.

  “I promise not to do that again,” the purple-haired woman said. Her face was turned away from her dom, but Kat could see it well enough. She was smirking. She’d probably wanted to provoke this exact response. Kat wondered if the man knew it. The things a woman has to do to get a spanking. Doms, like most men, were easy to manipulate.

  Not that she’d had any success lately; Angus had done all the manipulating. But maybe tonight her luck would change. One night was all she wanted. Then she’d try to face the mess she’d run away from, see if she could get a new band together, get on the path toward signing a new record contract. Challenge Angus and Kradle straight up and find out who the fans had been coming to see for the last four years. A little kinky fun at the hands of a man who thought he was in charge would take the edge off and help her get her groove back. She’d always gotten a good crowd reaction in DC. Most people didn’t think the city had much to offer musically, but go-go music had started here, and so had emocore. Okay, neither had exactly set the musical world on fire, but they’d spread from here, and people in DC were open to innovation. She’d make an album with some of the stuff Angus and the others had rejected, mostly because it hadn’t sounded enough like The Clash or Offspring. Washington was a good place for a new start.

  “Excuse me,” said a man behind her. She moved to the side and looked up at him. Now he was her kind of man. Broad shoulders. Close-cropped dark hair, a chiseled face. He had a scar on his cheek, but rather than marring his handsomeness, she thought it gave him character. Carrying a huge bag, probably full of toys, as if it were weightless. A bit rude if he just wanted a better view, especially since he could look right over Kat with ease. But the man kept going after he got to the edge of the circle and plunked the bag down next to the spanking bench. Nice ass too.

  “Got enough toys in there, Darren?” the big man asked the dom.

  “I think so,” said Darren. “This little wench has been pushing my buttons all evening, and so I think it’s time she got a serious punishment.”

  So he did figure it out. Although the “little wench” was grinning again, so maybe that was part of her plan too. Good for you, sister.

  “Lisa’s has been pushing your buttons for over a year,” the big man amended. “And she likes what she gets. Have fun, you two.”

  “Thanks, Brett,” Darren said as the other man turned around and walked back toward Kat.

  Maybe I can snag that one. Brett, huh?

  To her surprise, Brett stopped and looked at her. And offered his hand. “Hi. I’m Brett. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  She put his hand in his. “Katrina.” She was Kat in the band, always, so she’d be Katrina here. His hand swallowed hers up for a moment, and then released it. Big hands, firm handshake. “We haven’t. Met, that is. Nice to meet you.”

  “I’ve seen you around. Not sure why I haven’t introduced myself.”

  A pickup line.And bullshit. Ah well, it was easier to love ’em and leave ’em when she didn’t respect them. Still, she couldn’t resist throwing it back. “Don’t think so. I’ve never been here before.”

  From the look on his face, he was genuinely taken aback. “Hmm. Strange. I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before.” His eyes narrowed. For a moment Kat wondered if he recognized her from her career in music. Maybe it hadn’t been just a line. He shrugged. “Sorry for my mistake. Are you with someone?” As he asked the question, he looked her over. She felt his gaze on her neck, then her hands, not the usual place men looked. Maybe he was very good at disguising his interest in tits and legs. Then she realized it was related to his question. No collar. No ring.

  It depends, she’d been about to say. She usually liked to look around, scope a place out thoroughly. Play hard to get and pique their interest, and then decide which dom she was interested in. But she had a feeling that if she gave that answer, this one wouldn’t be interested in her ever again, and if nothing else he was the best eye candy she’d laid eyes on in a long time. “No, I’m not.”

  “You hesitate.”

  “I was deciding whether I liked you or not,” she said.

  “Wait to make up your mind after you get to know me. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  He moved past her without waiting for her response. The man called Darren had gotten out a paddle with a wooden handle and the rest flexible leather and had smacked the purple-haired girl with it. The look on her face made Kat wonder if maybe she’d gotten more than she bargained for. Either way, there wasn’t any reason to keep watching. Kat turned and followed Brett. She noticed he didn’t turn to see if she was following. He had confidence; she’d give him that. Or maybe it was arrogance. He’d be a hard one to bend to her will. She was looking forward to the challenge.

  What she wanted was a simple enough scene, not unlike several she’d experienced before. Some spanking or maybe a flogger. Oh no! She’d play up that she hated it, that she was enduring it for him. And then she’d get what she wanted. A nice tasty orgasm to reward her for being a good girl, at someone’s hands rather than her own for a change. Yeah, it was all an act, but she didn’t feel guilty. She gave a dom what he wanted—a willing but reluctant victim. They gave her what she wanted. They’d both have enough to build some fantasies around later when he was alone with his fist or she with her vibe. She wasn’t just a user of men. The using was mutual.

  Brett pointed to an older gentleman, whose leather vest had a star-shaped badge on it, like some old western sheriff. “There’s Marty over there. He runs the place. If you run into any trouble, he’s the one to go to. And if you yell out the club safe word, he’ll come running. You know what it is?”

  “Red,” she said, pleased to have the answer. She looked at Marty doubtfully, wondering what he could do against a man like Brett.

  Maybe I should have pretended ignorance. A lot of doms liked breaking in BDSM virgins. The way she was dressed, she thought she could pose as one tonight.

  “Good girl. Have you been in the scene long?”

  “No,” she lied. “I told you it was my first time.” Give him what he wants, and I’ll get what I want. A good deal all around.

  He fixed her with a stare that made her squirm. What about that wasn’t believable? Was he hung up about her knowing the safe word? “I read books,” she said. Didn’t everyone know what a safe word was these days, even if they weren’t involved?

  “I bet you do,” he said. He took her hand and started walking. She walked with him, two mincing steps to each of his long ones to create the illusion she was having trouble keeping up.

  “We�
��ve got a couple of St. Andrew’s crosses, some bondage frames, the spanking bench you saw earlier. And that’s Carlotta up there suspended from the ceiling. The ropes and pulleys are new.”

  “Is it safe?” It was an honest question. She didn’t want Carlotta to fall because some guy was more concerned about “hot” than safe. But she also wanted to see where Brett’s priorities lay.

  “It’s as safe as it can be. The ropes are checked by Marty every evening before he lets anyone on, and he replaces them once a month. They could hold someone who weighs up to seven hundred pounds, and the fixtures in the ceiling are rated even higher. You’d have to pretty much destroy the building to get them down.”

  “You seem to know a lot about it.”

  “I helped him put them in the pulleys.”

  Sounded like Brett had been around for a while. She decided to change the subject. How would a BDSM virgin put it? “Are you a Master?” she asked. She already knew he was a dom—there was no way he could be a sub. But most guys thought Master was a hotter word. She did too, actually, even though she knew no man would ever master her. It was safe to use a word like that just to be hot, if you knew you weren’t ever going to want it to be taken seriously.

  “I’m a dominant, yes. I suspect you knew that.” He walked toward where the vendors were, the four tables in two groups of two. “We’ve got a number of vendors too. Some evenings we have more. Malcolm makes some awesome floggers. Alex over there has mostly things he’s found in stores that he’s bent to more perverted uses. Glenda makes her own jewelry out of wire. She does beautiful collars.”

  Kat nodded and looked around. Malcolm was a heavy, balding man who nodded at her as she looked at the floggers. They were well made from what she knew. Her experience was almost all on the receiving end, and she’d never owned one for herself. Alex, as far as she could tell, had a collection of junk. Glenda was a big woman, quite a contrast to the delicately woven wire jewelry she made. Kat wistfully picked up a green-and-gold bracelet. Money was tight. Angus owed her money—or the band did, anyway. But it was going to be hell to get it out of him, and living in even a lousy hotel wasn’t cheap. Reluctantly, she set the bracelet down. She was here to forget about all that.