This story takes place three years before The Siren.
âI can do it. Try it again.â Nora took a deep breath followed by a deeper drink of her vodka and tonic.
âMistress, this is the fourth time.â Simone gave her a pleading look. âAre you sure?â
âIâm sure. I got it this time. Iâm ready. Do it, sub. Go.â
âOkay, okay.â Simone ran a hand through her rainbow-colored hair and looked Nora in the eyes. âHow old are you?â
Nora stared at Simone without blinking. âI am...â
âYou can do it, Mistress.â
The ice in Noraâs glass rattled in her hand.
âThirty.â
âHoly shit!â Simone applauded. She threw her arms around Nora and gave her a kiss on the cheek. âGood job!â
âOh, my God, that was hard.â Nora rubbed her temples. âI hate being thirty. I swear I was in my twenties a week ago.â
âYou were in your twenties a week ago.â
âThat explains it. Thank you, Rainbow Slut. I needed a little help getting to stage five in the grieving process.â
âStage five?â
âAcceptance.â
âHappy to help you find acceptance anytime, Mistress.â Simone leaned against Noraâs shoulder, and Nora kissed her on top of her multicolored hair. With or without rainbow-striped hair, Simone would have been attractive, but no one could miss that mass of soft, flowing hair that fell down her back in an array of five different bright colors.
âWhat the hell do you use on your hair, anyway? Kool-Aid?â
Simone giggled and Nora decided she had probably earned a beating tonight. Simone looked up at her with eager eyes and the Mistress pressed a long kiss onto her carmine-colored lips. Maybe the rainbow-hued sub had earned more than a beating.
âIf you ask nicely, I might beat you and fuck you,â Nora said against Simoneâs lips. Simone groaned, but not in an erotic way.
âI canât, Mistress. Iâm booked.â Simone looked heartbroken, devastated and miserable. And utterly adorable.
âWho booked you? Iâll kill him.â
Simone shrugged and shook her head. âI donât know. Mr. King told me I was needed in the bar at ten, which isââ
âNow,â came a familiar voice from behind Nora. She didnât turn around. She didnât need to. Sheâd know that cold, pretentious, overeducated voice anywhere. âSimone, shall we?â
âYes, Mr. S.,â Simone said, and Nora could tell she was trying not to smileânot in front of the Mistress anyway. The only person Simone enjoyed subbing for more than Nora was Søren, and Søren was her ten oâclock. Well, wasnât that just peachy.
âEleanor...â Søren said and Nora refused to turn around and look at him.
âSøren. Have a lovely evening.â
âI certainly plan to. Excuse us.â
Simone shot Nora a final apologetic glance as she took Sørenâs proffered arm like a lady with her squire. No one could play the part of the gentleman better than Søren, but it was all an act. She and Simone knew that from personal experience. When he shut the dungeon door behind him, the gentleman turned into a sadist and all pretense of chivalry died. Thank God. Søren was no gentleman and she was no lady. And thatâs how it should be down here.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Simone disappear from The 8TH Circleâs VIP bar. She kept her eyes lowered respectfully, her posture submissive, but Nora saw the pleasure of anticipation gleaming in her eyes. By day, Simone worked on her Ph.D. in International Relations. She paid for that expensive education with money earned on the floor and in the dungeons of Kingsleyâs S&M clubs. But Simone never charged Søren a penny for his hour with her. With Søren it was always pleasure, never business. Nora knew that Simone and almost every other submissive at the Circle would pay him for the privilege of a beating. And to think once upon a time, Nora belonged to himâheart, body and soul. And sheâd given it up for this. For freedom.
And it was worth it. At least thatâs what Nora told herself.