“That would be blue-er,” she muttered as they finished their stroll at the opposite door and stopped.
Sixx shifted back into a shadowy area between door to dancefloor and the last playroom, where there was a dark hall that led to something, probably a storage closet or cleaning cupboard.
She heard the grin in his voice and looked up and saw it on his tanned, rugged face when he replied, “Mm-hmm. But you want, I’ll go to the front, see if they got a station that we can take and put on a show for visiting Mistress Sixx, hopefully in a place you can keep an eye on that action.”
This was actually an excellent suggestion, providing a different kind of cover for her to be at the Bolt when she had no intention to play at the Bolt, and if she kept coming just to hang, something she’d never done, that might be noticed.
It also would open her sphere of observation, giving her an excuse to be where the action was happening so she could keep an eye on what was done to the girls, and as a Domme in attendance, since the DMs were obviously not doing it, stop it if it hit extremes.
However, thinking on it, that night, she might not have the time.
“I wouldn’t want to mess with your plans.”
He gave a truncated bow, head bent splendidly, and if he were her sub, she’d reward him for such a lovely show. “Be an honor to blow inside him for the viewing pleasure of Mistress Sixx.”
Although that would be fun to watch, only if Stellan was around.
How times had changed.
She drew in breath, stared unseeing at the scene and tried to figure out what time it was.
“How often do you kids come and play?” she asked.
“Mad’s not a big fan of waiting for payback, so he’ll be buried up my ass tomorrow night, among other things.”
She nodded and peered across the expanse but couldn’t see into station seven.
Tomorrow night.
That would have to work for her.
“So regardless of the DMs, shit goes down. It just gets more extreme when Barclay isn’t here but the gang of three are,” she remarked in order to confirm.
“Yup. Always a girl gettin’ herself used, not in a good way, and always one stationed between Pete’s legs, latched onto his junk. Serious as shit, Mistress, it’s a wonder he hasn’t shriveled up. He’s always shoved up in moist. But just to say, he doesn’t keep the whole stable available every night. In twos and threes. Probably easier for him not to get caught, he doesn’t have tons of action happening all over the joint.”
Sixx nodded again.
So Beardsley was a relatively smart motherfucker.
He was still a motherfucker.
“But, of course, the straight-up dealing happens nonstop,” D noted.
She focused more fully on him. “Straight-up dealing?”
He nodded but looked surprised. “You didn’t know?” When Sixx indicated she didn’t with a movement of her head, D continued, “The dude’s full-on a dealer. Smack. Crack. Blow. X. Meth. He’s all-purpose. The convenience store of narcotics.”
“Is he open about this?”
D shook his head. “When Mad and me started noticing shit going down, we started noticing other shit. Safe to say, he’s more out about sellin’ pussy than he is dope. Which is weird ’cause Clay’d get way more pissed about the pussy, though he would not be a fan of the dope. That said, if he’s nailed by law enforcement, right or wrong, it’s fact he’d be more fucked peddling drugs.”
This was bigger than she suspected.
Definitely her stroll with D was a worthwhile use of time. Molly told her they knew something was up and were not real happy about it, but she hadn’t shared this in depth.
Then again, Diesel or Maddox, depending on whose turn it was to be in charge, had more opportunity to keep an eye on things. Molly was probably mostly otherwise engaged.
“Back the way we came, big man,” she said. “Slow. I want another look at that girl. Then we walk up the platform by Beardsley. I want a closer look at him too. And if you’re up for it, we’ll start our show tonight, make it look like a tryout. But I’ll probably need to be leaving in half an hour. We’ll reconvene tomorrow, you tell me the time the girls start working.”
“Uh, at opening?” he asked in order to answer. “They service one after another and it doesn’t end ’til closing time.”
Lord God.
“More than one john a night in an intense BDSM scene?” she asked.
“Yup,” he answered. “Like, three or four.”
Damn.
“Like they have appointments?” she queried.
“Seen some recruiting on the dancefloor, but yeah. Like that.”
This was not good.
“So this is why you haven’t seen money exchange hands,” she guessed. “It happens before the johns get here.”
He shrugged massive shoulders. “Maybe. Probably. Maybe the shit on the dancefloor happens if there’s an open spot.”
“Fabulous,” she muttered.
She was going to have to watch Beardsley closer if the deals were struck off-premises.
Or hope for a fucking open slot.
Damn.
It was time to pull in Sylvie and/or Tucker.
D had been positioned hiding her from view, but he moved out, and they made their trek back, slower, with D walking closer, Mistress and player having come to an arrangement, intimacy being established.
The guy was good. Good enough, in her renewed self, she’d think of calling on him to partner up on jobs if she needed it. A little bit of training would undoubtedly be warranted, but he was proving he was a natural.
And obviously he’d be good at taking orders.
Out of the play area, D escorted her up the steps to the platform on Beardsley’s side, and since he was at the table at the very top, her eyes were on him before she made it there.
His attention was on the dancefloor, but sensing movement, it came to her and D, primarily her.
He wasn’t a big guy, but he wasn’t small. He took care of his body, which was a minus. She’d taken down men bigger than him, but they hadn’t been in shape. The in-shape ones, if the situation got physical, you had to be quick, smart, careful and have no problem punching throats, gouging eyes or torqueing the fuck out of gonads.
Though without a lot of effort, Diesel or Maddox could more than likely twist that cocksucker into a pretzel.
Yes.
She was going to keep those boys around.
Domme to Dom, it cost her, but as they passed Beardsley, she tipped her chin down in a show of respect, like she would catching the eye of any Master or Mistress.
His lip curled in a sneer that was supposed to be a smile, and he returned the gesture.
They were well on their way back to complete D’s tribe of three when she heard D mutter, “Need a shower?”
Oh yes.
She liked this guy.
So she let him hear her quiet laugh.
When they arrived back at his partners, he said gently, “Bag of tricks, baby,” and Molly immediately disengaged from Maddox’s engorged cock, eliciting a lovely sound that was half groan, half sigh of relief.
D made a show of getting a chair for Sixx and setting it so she had an unobstructed view of the club and the action they’d be enjoying on the shadowy platform.
Although the shadows were carefully constructed to offer enough lighting to see even when the club lights weren’t dancing their way, but plenty of dark to hide certain things; this was another difference between the Honey and the Bolt.
Subs might get played with in booths in the hunting ground at the Honey, but requisite to the club’s rules, whatever happened to them could not be open to any eyes. You might be able to tell by an expression on a sub’s face, but that was it.
Beardsley, the trio, and a couple of Masters watching their subs rub up against each other on the dancefloor from mid-platform opposite Beardsley were the only folks up on high. So it wasn’t very populated. But even though they probably did it to be stationed close to her, it was clear the comfortable way the trio settled into play there, and no staff came to intervene, that something like that wasn’t unusual.
After she was seated, while bent double to seat himself, D shot her a wolfish grin.
“Time to play,” he said.