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  Recipe for Submission

  Sindra van Yssel

  When Kyra decides to research the villain for her latest thriller by going to a BDSM club, she doesn’t expect to be shown the ropes by sexy Dom Andrew Ryan. He awakens in her yearnings she didn’t know she had, and leads her to question everything she thinks she knows about bondage and sex, pain and pleasure. And he cooks too!

  Drew never wanted a regular steady relationship. Catch and release, that’s the best way to be with subs, especially novice subs like Kyra, who have a tendency to get attached. Teach them and move on. But Kyra has so much to learn. Teaching her what her body wants is immensely satisfying, and so is having her in his bed and at his dinner table. Together they just might cook up the perfect recipe for submission.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Recipe for Submission

  ISBN 9781419936197

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Recipe for Submission Copyright © 2011 Sindra van Yssel

  Edited by Jillian Bell

  Photography and cover design by Syneca

  Models: Alex & Lisa

  Electronic book publication December 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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  Recipe for Submission

  Sindra van Yssel

  Chapter One

  Kyra Mallory punched the power button on the monitor, pushed back her chair and stalked away from her computer. There was something that wasn’t coming together, and the book was due at her publisher in just two months.

  What she needed was inspiration, and the only way she knew to get that was research. For her last book it had been easy. She took a plane to London and lived out of a hotel for a month, soaking in the atmosphere until at last she had all the little details that added verisimilitude to a novel. Expensive, but easy. But her current work took place right in her own backyard, in Washington DC. Going to London wouldn’t help. She considered the places in the story. A warehouse—I’ve been in a few of those. Congress—well, I’ve been about as close as I’m likely to get. Lawyers’ offices—I used to work as a paralegal before my books started selling. BDSM club. I’ve never been inside a BDSM club. And it’s the villain that isn’t really clicking with me. Perfect. I’ll just hang out with the perverts and find out what makes them tick.

  She’d read about a place where whips and chains were all part of the “fun” in an article in the local alternative newspaper a year ago. That had been part of what inspired her to make the murderer a sadist who preyed on young women. But she didn’t really know much about that scene. Heck, she wasn’t sure it was safe to know very much about it. But the article had tried, in addition to the titillation factor, to portray the people who went to the club as fairly sane.

  There was no way she’d be able to dig up that article again. The paper was long since recycled, and the archives on the web were junk. Did BDSM clubs list themselves in the yellow pages? She doubted it. But she remembered finding escort ads on the web and being able to talk to a couple of working girls to research a book a few years past. Maybe a web search would be just the ticket. She remembered it had some sort of Latin name—she was sure she’d know it if she saw it.

  Carpe Noctem. Bingo. Seize the night. The pictures showed the inside of a large warehouse, very clean and neat. A few showed smiling people in leather outfits, but nothing indecent; most showed strange pieces of furniture. I’ve got a lot to learn. Admission was steep, about the price of dinner in the sort of restaurant she went to only when she had a new book to celebrate. That money bought a one-week membership. Since the place was only open once a week, and it sounded as if they’d sell the memberships to almost anyone who showed up, it looked as though membership was some kind of legal fiction.

  “Washington’s premier bondage nightclub.” Premier compared to what? Still, it made the place seem as if it made an attempt to be elegant, and therefore safe. “Fetish wear preferred.” Preferred means “optional”, right? It was Friday night, seven-thirty. If she was going to go, she’d best start moving. It would be a whole week until she got another chance, and she wasn’t about to spend a whole week staring blankly at the screen as she had for the last two days.

  She hesitated at the door. Blue jeans and a University of Maryland T-Shirt would probably make her stick out more than she wanted. Black. Everyone was in black in the pictures. She hunted through her dresser for a black V-neck girl-cut tee, which she hadn’t worn for a while. It was a little tight. Maybe that’s not a bad thing, she thought, and then she checked herself. She was going for research, and to the last place in the world she would go if she wanted a date. Besides, the tightness of it made her feel more extra pudgy than sexy. She sighed.

  “To research,” she said, raising her hand in mock salute. She marched toward the door and out.

  Kyra double-checked the address. There was no sign, just a number on the door of what looked as if it might be a warehouse. She’d had to park a couple of blocks away, and the neighborhood wasn’t great. A tall, gangly man had offered to “watch her car” for five bucks, and she’d figured she’d better pay. He might see to it that her car got broken into if she didn’t.

  She opened the nondescript door and walked in, not sure what to expect. What she saw was a small room. A young bleached blonde was perched on a stool behind a bar-like desk with a cash register, her legs demurely crossed but uncovered by her short, black vinyl skirt, and her breasts barely contained by a black bustier with contrasting white stitching. Big chrome rings dangled from cuffs on her wrists. She must be a masochist. But while Kyra would have expected a worn, beaten-down expression, the girl was smiling perkily. Sure, bondage websites always seemed to show some well-adjusted people, but she didn’t quite buy it.

  Kyra glanced around. It could have been a club anywhere. The girl had a bunch of cardboard circles with numbers on them in front of her, some on strings and some not. Behind her, garments were hung up with the numbers dangling from the hangers. A black curtain separated the room from the rest of the club. Through it came a pounding, danceable beat, although Kyra didn’t recognize the tune.

  Perfectly normal. It was a hot summer night and she was sweating in the T-shirt, so she didn’t have a coat, and therefore didn’t need to talk to the coat-check girl. Except she had to pay for a membership. She hes
itated. She could turn back now and still have all her money, except for the fiver, but she knew the money wasn’t really what was holding her back.

  “Hey,” said the girl. “Are you new? Haven’t seen you around here before.”

  Kyra blinked. “Um, yes. New.”

  “It can be intimidating your first time, especially if you’re alone.” The young woman flashed her a grin. “But don’t worry, no one inside bites. Unless you ask them nicely, of course.” She giggled.

  Nicely. Yeah, right. But the conversation had spurred her on. She didn’t think of herself as brave, but she was too stubborn to let someone see her turn tail and run. She pulled her wallet out of her back pocket. When she’d seen the address she’d decided against a purse, and the five-dollar protection racket had made her happy she had. She’d freshened her lipstick in the car, and that would have to do for the evening.

  The redhead took her money and smiled at her as she rang it up in the register. “Sub, right? Meeting someone you know?”

  Kyra shook her head. Submissive? Not me. “No.”

  “Here, take this.” The girl handed her a small ticket. “Take it to Ken—he’s the guy with a big silver star on his leather vest. Tell him Rose sent you. He’ll know what Doms are looking for people to play with. There’s a few that just love to break in someone new.”

  Kyra felt the color drain from her face. “Break in”. That doesn’t sound good. To be helpless with a man wasn’t her. Sure, she liked it when her dates took the initiative, but that was different. And there was always something missing from those occasions. She ignored the way her nipples tightened at the redhead’s words. It was probably the air-conditioning, and the big fan standing in one corner that blew across the room and fluttered the drapes leading in to the club.

  “I’m not a sub.” She wasn’t sure why she needed to set Rose straight, but she did.

  “Really?” Rose raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “Is this a place where all the women are expected to be submissive to men or something?” One of the women pictured on the website had a whip in her hand, so she’d assumed it went both ways.

  “No, no. We have a number of femdom couples. And you’ll not have any problem finding a sub to play with, there’s always more guys looking for a Domme than there are Dommes to go around. Sorry, Ma’am. Something about you made me assume. I’m usually a pretty good guesser. Please forgive me.” The girl bowed her head.

  Kyra was taken aback. The girl had gone from perky to doormat in less than a minute. No, that wasn’t it. The request for forgiveness was uttered as if it were a formula, the bow much the same. Rose’s head popped back up and the smile was still there. Softer, perhaps, but still there. And at Kyra’s silence, she spoke again. “I assume Miss has nothing to check, so have fun in there.”

  “Fun. Yeah.” Kyra realized it sounded stupid. Who would have a coat to check on a night like this, anyway? She looked past Rose at the garments hanging up. A few coats, but there were also dresses, shirt, slacks and jeans. There was even a bra. No, she definitely wasn’t going to check her T-shirt, or anything else. “Nope, nothing to check.”

  So people are naked in there, or close. I should have expected that. Bodies were bodies, and nothing to be ashamed of as far she was concerned. But it did make her pause. Rose’s question about her being a sub had thrown her off stride. She was there to get information, and how people perceived her shouldn’t matter. “Rose, you’re a sub, right?”

  “Um, yeah. Yes, Miss.”

  Kyra thought she’d detected an unspoken “duh!” in there. She supposed it was a stupid question. “I’m just Kyra, you don’t have to call me ‘Miss’. It’s very nice to meet you, Rose. What do you get out of being a maso— A sub? I’m curious.”

  Rose gave her a searching look. “I find it’s the one time my attention is completely there, you know? Everything else gets pushed away, all the worries and tests and everything, and I’m completely transfixed by my Dom. At least, when it all goes well. Vanilla just doesn’t hold my attention. Are you a reporter?”

  Kyra blinked. Not quite right, but Rose wasn’t too far off the mark. The young woman was perceptive. “No, I’m not a reporter. I’m just—a curious person. And very new to all of this. What do you mean by ‘vanilla’?”

  “Wow! You are new. Vanilla is like, the opposite of kinky. Plain. Ordinary.”

  Plain. Ordinary. That definitely described her love life. “Ah, thank you.” Rose’s answer hadn’t been what she’d expected. She was ready to hear about the pleasures of pain, the supposed superiority of men, or—well, she wasn’t sure exactly what she was expecting. But wanting to be completely focused? That was different, and yet she could understand it. She’d found herself thinking about other things the last time she had made love, and that was three months ago now. It wasn’t as if she had a string of people lining up to be in her bed, and yet the actual act almost bored her. It was some fun. Just not the transporting bliss everyone else made sex out to be.

  Rose was smiling at her. “Everybody here is different, and no two people approach BDSM quite the same way. You’ll see all types inside, Kyra. Just remember different is okay and be respectful, and you’ll have no problems.”

  Kyra nodded. “Thank you, Rose. Should I, like, have a code name?”

  “A scene name? That’s up to you. Some of us use our real names, but some people have secrets to hide. A lot of us use online to communicate, and we don’t necessarily want our real name to be out on the internet. Pretty soon, everyone’s calling us by our screen name. Others find that the adoption of a scene name helps them get into their scenes better, like role-playing. It’s an expression of their identity when they’re here, which isn’t necessarily the way they are at work, or at home.”

  Kyra nodded. She was coming up blank. At least Kyra wasn’t the name she wrote under, but it wasn’t that common a name, either. But she couldn’t think of anything clever to call herself at the moment. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to do anything, anyway. Just going to ask people some questions. What I really need to do is talk to a Dom, someone like my villain.

  “Thank you,” she said to Rose.

  “Sure! Just obey the rules. If you don’t, Ken will kick you out, no refunds.”

  She hurried through the curtain. The little ticket Rose had given her would be the thing to get her introduced, but if the “Dom” was expecting a playmate, he’d be in for a rude surprise. Kyra Mallory didn’t submit to any man.

  She walked in and opened her mouth wide. It wasn’t that she expected anything different, really. She just didn’t think such a place could be real.

  A broad-chested man with leather pants was flogging a naked blonde on an X-shaped piece of furniture that held her wrists and ankles apart and left her helpless. A hairy man with nothing on but a pouch was crawling on all fours behind a willowy leather-clad Dominatrix, who had him on a leash. A woman wearing only a G-string and pasties was dancing on a perfectly ordinary table, to the amusement of several people, men and women, gathered around. Another woman was getting a spanking on a couch in the corner, and Kyra could hear each blow despite the other noises and the pounding music. A man dressed in a tux was standing next to a topless brunette lounging with her butt on one chair, her feet up in another. He was feeding her strawberries, one at a time.

  Who’s on top in that scene? She’s the one that’s half naked, but he’s the one serving the strawberries.

  She realized she’d been standing there with her mouth open but not really breathing when she suddenly felt lightheaded. She took several deep breaths. I’m an adult. I can handle this. Feeling more stable, she looked around for a man with a leather vest and a silver star. She found him off to the side, talking to a man and a woman intently. She took a step toward him and stopped. Ticket or no, it would be rude to interrupt, and she suspected that the ordinary rules of etiquette applied double here.

  Rose’s apology still bothered her. She didn’t know the rules of behavior
here, and she needed someone to teach her. It was, after all, part of what she came here to find out. But what were the consequences of getting it wrong? I don’t want to find out.

  A couple brushed by her, reminding her that she was blocking the entranceway. She moved off to the side, close enough that she could hear the man with the star. He was an older man, slightly overweight, with brown curly hair streaked with gray and a bald spot. Ken, Rose had called him. That didn’t sound like something a Dom would choose, although he was clearly in charge. So it was probably a real name.

  “Either you like it or you don’t, that’s up to you,” Ken was saying. “But you can’t do that in this club. Read the rules and obey the rules, or leave.”

  What was it that couldn’t be done in a place like this? Kyra blanched at the thought. Ken and the other man were standing toe to toe, and Ken was about six inches shorter. The woman was standing off to the side, looking helpless.

  “It’s a stupid rule.”

  “It keeps us legal.” The look on Ken’s face reminded her of her grandfather. Somehow, her grandpa never stopped answering her questions. Sometimes she liked to hear his explanations so much that she asked about things she already knew, and that was when he got that look on his face, the one that told her that he expected better. The difference was, Ken was doing it to a man who was towering over him.

  The woman put her hand on her man’s wrist. For a moment Kyra thought he’d shake it off and yell. But then his shoulders relaxed. “All right, Ken, we’ll be good from here on,” said the tall man.

  “I’ll be watching,” Ken warned. He turned toward Kyra, although she hadn’t been aware he had even noticed her. “Hi. I’m Ken. Welcome to the club.” He stuck out his hand and smiled.