Chapter Text
Miranda slipped into the club through the secluded VIP entrance in the back. She wore sunglasses and concealed her signature platinum pixie beneath the raised cowl of her jacket. It wasn’t often that she visited the club, but occasionally an irresistible urge seized her, an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. This particular business venture was one of her most lucrative, and only she, her accountant, and her close friend and co-owner, Calliope, were privy to its existence. While her ownership was concealed within a holding company to safeguard her privacy, it still stirred a sense of excitement within her to know that all of this was hers, even though Calliope handled the day-to-day operations.
She strode down the back hallway to the spiral staircase that led to a discreet room tucked into the rafters. A one-way glass wall allowed her to see down to the club and to the stage where Cassandra often booked shows or demonstrations. Though it had been far too long since Miranda felt free to actively participate in the life, she and Calliope made it a priority at the club to have workshops and demonstrations regarding safe play from simple bondage to impact play, breath play, health considerations and creating contracts, breaking contracts and consent. Their hope was to make the club welcoming for everyone, but especially for those new to the scene. After all, information was power and that was even more true in relationships built on power exchange.
Miranda heard her friend’s steps mount the spiral staircase, and pulled another glass out. She filled it with club soda and lime, tracing the rim to ensure Callie got a hint of it every time she sipped. She had been trained well, after all.
“Calliope, love. It’s so good to see you.” Miranda kissed each cheek the older woman proffered before waiting for her to sit. Once seated, Miranda brought her the drink she’d poured and sat opposite.
“Miranda, darling, we haven’t played in nearly two decades and still you display perfect manners, pet. Thank you. To what do I owe the pleasure this evening?”
The blush that rose up Miranda’s neck to pink her ears was nearly instant, though she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt a flush rise with quite the same intensity as this. Calliope might be in her mid-sixties, but she was still an incredibly beautiful woman. The time they’d spent together twenty years earlier had been formative to Miranda, and frankly, she still used many of Calliope’s best domme tricks to get what she wanted at work. When Miranda had finally decided that she needed to “go respectable” with Phillip, the twins’ father, she and Callie had parted amicably and their friendship had persisted over the decades since. Miranda had been happy to invest in Callie’s dream of running a club and Callie had been a shoulder to cry on when she had caught Phillip cheating. “It wasn’t the other woman, Callie, it was that he didn’t have the guts to ask me to open the relationship. I’d have considered it at least. Spineless asshole.”
She blinked out of her reverie and focused back on her friend. “I… I’m not sure Callie. I have been restless lately. More wound up than usual. I’m driving my staff half-mad. I was hoping if I watched the show tonight it would help me burn off some steam.”
Calliope’s eyebrow rose “You don’t fool me a jot, pet. I don’t know why you won’t find yourself a nice girl to top you until you drop. You’d feel so much better.” She grinned, “If we weren’t such good friends now, I’d spank you myself!”
“Calliope!” Miranda’s cheeks reddened, and she sucked down a long sip of her vodka and soda. “You and I had a mutually beneficial arrangement for years. You know I can’t risk having my… interests… leaked to the press, or god forbid, Irv. Besides…” The grin she shot Calliope was pure cheek “It takes quite a domme to top me, as you well know, and it isn’t like I’ve been tamed in twenty years. I’m twice the brat I am sure I ever was with you.”
Calliope sighed, regarding her friend. “I’m sure you’re right. Well, at least I think you’ll enjoy tonight’s demonstration. She’s new to Manhattan, but comes with excellent references out of Chicago. She’s just doing some basic restraint play safety, but I like her style. She’s got a sense of humor and a lot of spunk. Reminds me a little bit of me when I was her age. She’s got to be maybe twenty-five? She only plays with women, and if rumor holds true, she prefers them older. Her references have been impeccable. I could send her up after?”
Miranda stiffened with outrage, “Absolutely not. Calliope, I am nearly twenty years her senior!”
“I was twenty years your senior, pet, and you didn’t seem to have any complaints.” Calliope shot Miranda an exaggerated wink before sipping her drink, not bothering to hide her smirk.
Miranda scoffed, “That’s not the point. Now go. Entertain the masses. I’ll just watch the show and slip out after. And thank you for listening Callie. I feel better already.”
Calliope stood and leaned over Miranda, brushing her forehead with a chaste kiss. “Enjoy the show, sweet girl. If you change your mind, you have my cell number. It’ll be tucked into the stocking of my dear Daniel who will be serving me this evening. I’ll let him know to send you right through.”
Miranda watched the striking woman strut out of the room and silently prayed she’d look that good in another twenty years. Calliope swore that vice kept her young, but as far as Miranda knew, her only vice was a small cadre of devoted subs who doted upon her every whim.
She slipped out of her pumps and pulled an overstuffed armchair nearer to the window where she saw Calliope speaking with someone just offstage. She watched as Calliope motioned to the otherwise unobtrusive wall behind which Miranda watches and rolled her eyes. That woman never could leave well enough alone.
A scant few minutes later and Miranda was mesmerized. She wished she’d asked Calliope the woman’s name. She’s brunette with golden-brown eyes made up in a smokey hue. Her long hair was braided back beautifully, accentuating perfect cheekbones and full lips. She wasn’t wearing what Miranda has come to think of as “Domme standard” apparel in leather or vinyl, but instead stood in high waisted wool pants with a slight pinstripe and a stark white silk shirt, sleeves rolled and buttons open to the center of her chest. Depending on how she moved, a delicate lacy white bra peeked out just so- La Perla, if Miranda wasn’t mistaken, and she wasn’t. The young woman’s smile was infectious, and Miranda watched the crowd laugh with her while she explained something about how to release a knot.
When she asked for a few volunteers from the audience, Miranda was not the least bit surprised to see a large number of hands raise. The woman selected three people and spoke to them quietly before demonstrating different restraint and release techniques. After each demonstration, though there was an audience watching and no single demonstration took particularly long nor was particularly difficult, the woman stood close to the volunteer and spoke to them privately, a hand on their shoulder. Miranda was impressed by how the woman effectively modeled good consent and aftercare even in a brief demonstration.
After the three volunteers exited the stage, she asked a question of the audience, and a domme raised her hand and motioned to her sub. Both women took to the stage and, after a short conversation, they demonstrated a few more strenuous positions, the brunette allowing the domme and her sub to play through a scene without interruption while she appeared to be narrating and pointing out safety checks showing alternatives to knots or bindings.
All in all, it was an impressive performance, marrying a sense of humor with sexy competence. Miranda was just about to stand and refill her beverage when the woman lifted her chin and looked up to where she sat as though she could see Miranda, though she knew the one-way glass wouldn’t give her presence away. The domme on stage gestured behind the curtain where Calliope had apparently been standing and the older woman takes the stage to raucous applause. Daniel obediently knelt stage left, and Miranda saw that he did indeed have Calliope’s cell phone tucked into his thigh-highs. With a snap of Calliope’s fingers, Daniel hopped up and pulled a velvet ottoman from behind the curtain before resuming his place.
Miranda stood then, not to get a drink, but to get closer to the glass as she watched Calliope kneel on the ottoman and roll her shoulders backwards, positioning her hands behind her back. This was unprecedented. Calliope did NOT bottom to anyone, not even for a demonstration, and yet, there she was, kneeling, (though, not on the ground, there were limits of course) for this young domme who, in a matter of moments finished her work and straightened. She once again glanced up at the one-way glass as she bade Calliope to stand and turn, revealing an absolutely beautiful shibari arm binding in turquoise and silver. Calliope strode to the edge of the stage to let the audience get a good look at the art that the younger woman created before turning back to have the bonds removed.
Before Miranda could think, she texted Calliope. “Send her up. Please.”