Free Dirty Bad Wrong by Jade West Page B

really that way inclined.”
    “And what about you?”
    “The avenue never really presented itself.”
    “Shame.” She waited a few more seconds, fastened up a studded collar. “Oh, by the way, Cara calls me Raven. Most people do.”
    “Raven... right.” I assigned it to memory.
    “You can be Cat. You have cat’s eyes.”
    “Can’t I just use my own name?” I said. “Is it some kind of special code or something? Is Cara’s name really Cara?”
    “No, it’s Penelope, but don’t tell her I told you. You’ll soon get into the name thing. Cat suits you anyway.”
    My stomach lurched as I recalled where I’d heard that before.
     
    ***
     
    Cara was pretty little creature, with gorgeous dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. She stood waiting in the doorway, knees tight together and head slightly bowed. She had stockings on under her black dress, high enough to see the lace tops. Her skin was goose-pimpled from the cold, arms wrapped tight together under her bolero. 
    “Cara, you can look up now. This is Cat. Cat, this is Cara.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Cat.” Cara pulled me in for a hug, delicate and light, as she was herself. I smiled at her, trying to think about anything other than her naked ass getting a spanking. I joined them on their way down the street. Rebecca took hold of Cara’s hand, a possessive gesture with rough twisting fingers. I couldn’t take my eyes off the way they moved together, Cara drifting along so meekly at her side.
    The Devonshire Arms was a teeming sea of black. We eased our way to the bar, and while Rebecca whispered not-so-sweet somethings in Cara’s ear I stared up at the mosaic of band posters on the ceiling, a mass of colour at odds with the rest of the place. I laughed at the idea of Steph and Stuart finding me in here. Straight-laced Lydia, workaholic, hanging out in a goth bar with two fetish-loving bi girls.
    “What’s so funny?” Rebecca asked, leaning in close over the music.
    “I can’t even imagine Stu’s face if he saw me now.”
    “Would you swap? Old life for new?” she asked, fluttering long fake lashes at me.
    I pictured myself back in my old apartment, curled up on the sofa in front of the TV, psyching myself up for the weekly, lights-off sex session.
    “You know what?” I said. “I’m not so sure I would.”
     
    ***
     
    I relaxed into the ambience of the pounding tunes and the theatrics. Hair and make-up I’d never seen before, Mohicans and back-combing, and crimping and undercuts. Piercings and extensions and white, white faces. Rebecca disappeared to the bar to catch up with friends and Cara sidled a little closer, pulling me to her by my elbow.
    “What do you think?”
    I nodded. “It’s pretty cool.”
    “We love it here,” she smiled. “Are you a sub, too?”
    I felt the first blooms of a flush. “No... well... I don’t know...”
    “Never tried?”
    “My ex wouldn’t have been up for it...”
    “You got stuck with vanilla, hey? SUCKS!”
    I turned to her, wine-confident and curious. “How long have you been into this stuff?”
    “About six months serious. I met Raven in here, and she took me to Explicit. She introduced me to the scene.”
    “Explicit?”
    “Our scene club in Soho. We go every week.” Her eyes shone full of enthusiasm, and mischief. “You should come! You HAVE to! You can see for yourself!”
    “I’m not so sure about that,” I laughed. “What is it? Some kind of sex club?”
    “A BDSM club, and yeah, people have sex, you know, but it’s not creepy or anything, I promise, nobody’s going to hit on you if you don’t want it. Come on! Say you’ll come!”
    I remained non-committal. “Why do you do it? The pain thing I mean.”
    “Endorphins... adrenaline... fear... trust... the pleasure in letting go... submitting totally to another person. There’s nothing else in the world... just you... and them. It’s hard to explain. The right dom will know you better than you know yourself, like a God,