This wasn't your ordinary 'gentlemen's club'. People in the area spoke of it in hushed tones. Rumors of what went on inside were whispered behind cupped hands. You certainly didn't talk about this club in mixed company; that was just…uncomfortable. There was no way that the older generation knew about it, they wouldn't behave that way. Would they? It was nearly impossible to find someone who openly admitted to working at the club. Finding someone who was a member? You'd have better luck finding a Yeti in the Sahara Desert throwing a birthday party for the Loch Ness Monster with a bevy of unicorns and dodo birds. It wasn't going to happen.

So why did Ms. Ruark admit that she worked at GMG? Was she a Goddess? The rumors that swirled about the things that the Goddesses did were… Oh, what he'd heard. Dean reached down to adjust his pants. If, and that was a BIG if considering everything he knew about the sweet and caring teacher, IF she was a Goddess, would…He couldn't even finish the thought he'd gotten so hard. The thought of the lady that he knew becoming a dominatrix was such a complete and totally foreign idea that he had to see it for himself. How far up did those black stiletto boots go, anyway?


Evelyn Ruark shut the door to her car. Glancing at the school she could see Dean Ambrose, the school's head custodian, standing in the doorway. Really not surprising, he'd walk anyone to their car at dusk. He's such a kind, good-hearted man. She smacked the steering wheel. What were you thinking, telling him about GMG? She smiled to herself. You know exactly what you were thinking. Admit it. She flickered her lights at the man in the doorway. "That's right. I'm thinking about you, you gorgeous man. If only you weren't such an innocent sweetheart, the things I would Do To You." The emphasis she put on the last three words would have been humorous if he had been able to hear them. Since he couldn't, she put the car into gear and drove out of the parking lot with a casual wave towards the building. She didn't look back.


Dean headed for the time clock. He could leave in five minutes. What would he do? Did he dare? He had done some risky things before but this…this was a whole new level of…Four minutes. Even if he did, wouldn't there be someone asking if he was a member? Was it really a dicey situation if there was a bouncer at the door to reject him? Three minutes. Supposing he got in, there had to be some kind of fee or cover charge. How much cash was in his wallet? Two minutes. If he saw her, she would see him. This would definitely change things at work. Would that be okay? One minute. Aw, hell. They'd figure it out. She trusted him enough to mention it in the first place. Maybe she wanted him to come. Or to come… Time. He swiped his time card and headed for his motorcycle. Time to ditch his uniform shirt and find out what was going on.


The parking lot was full of a variety of vehicles, none of which Dean thought he would be able to afford on his salary. Who are these people? What brings them to a place like this? He drove through the lot slowly until he saw Ms. Ruark's silver sedan. Realizing that he was probably being watched for driving so slow on his bike through the lot full of rather expensive vehicles, he parked close to what he assumed was the employee lot but not in that area. If I don't see her inside, she'll know I was here. I don't know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. He tucked his helmet into the saddlebag and checked himself in the mirror. Probably not the clientele that they expect, but it's worth a shot. Then he held his head high as his long strides carried him towards the door without a hint of doubt or confusion evident.

To his surprise, the bouncer let him walk in with a nod and a jerk of his thumb. At a traditional wooden stand, a hostess welcomed him with a smile. He wouldn't have thought there was anything different about this club compared to others he had seen if she her attire wasn't fur-trimmed skin-tight lycra that plunged to her navel. He squelched his desire to ask her the dozens of questions on the tip of his tongue, settling for a simple "Hello."

She raised one eyebrow and tapped an index finger on her stand, spreading her feet to shoulder-width as she seemed to silently appraise him. Dean stood still and met her gaze. Finally she spoke. Her voice seemed to have a rather haughty quality. "Are you a member?"

"Ah, no. Not exactly."

"Why are you here?"

"I, um, I want to be?" His voice rose as he answered. The corners of her mouth turned up as if she was smiling, knowing that he was in over his head and that he knew it.

"R-re-eal-ly." She pulled a clipboard from under the hostess stand and tapped it against her palm, staring at him as if she were making a decision. After 43 seconds (he counted them) she laid the clipboard on the stand and spun it to face him, slapping a pen on top of it. "You need to sign here, here initial here, and sign here. Put your thumb print here. Leave a blood sample here and a hair sample here. We will also need contact information for you and your next of kin." She took a step back and crossed her arms.

Dean picked up the pen and completed the form without hesitation. Looking the woman in the eye, he pulled out his switchblade and cut his thumb. Pressing the bloody digit to the form, he left several blotches. "That should meet both requirements." He tucked the knife back into its holder on his belt before reaching up and pulling two pieces of hair from his head. "Over achiever." he explained as he attached them and spun the form around to face her. He stepped away from the stand and waited for the hostess to speak.

She leaned over to look down her nose at the form and then glanced up at him. "Hmm. So you think that you can relinquish control to one of our Goddesses? This is not a game that we play, something to be toyed with. This is and becomes a way of life. Are you ready to experience this?" Her eyes were hard and brooked no wavering.

He met her stare and firmly stated, "I want this."

She walked around the podium and stood toe-to-toe with him. She pulled a flogger from behind her back and tapped it against his chin. "You may think you want this, but you have no comprehension of how to subjugate yourself to the will and dominance of another." She slid the flogger down his throat and tapped his chest as he swallowed hard. "Govern Me Goddess isn't a joke. What happens here is serious. You follow the commands given or you are punished." His hands hung limply at his sides. He stared past the hostess at the curtain that had just moved. With one glimpse, he was caught. He'd seen his fantasy woman in her Goddess role and he wanted more. This isn't a joke. Give me that Goddess and I'll do anything she wants. Any-thing. The flogger tapped his chest drawing his attention back to the hostess. "If you pass our background check, then you may be allowed to join. That has yet to be determined." His eyes darted to the stand, where he now noticed his form had disappeared. "Eyes on me, Sub." She walked around him, making observations as she went. "Nice strong arms…Seem to work with your hands…Thick thighs…Work boots?" She clucked her tongue and slapped his ass with the flogger. He bit his lip to muffle the wince at the unexpected strike. "No sound without permission. Training?"

"No, ma'am." He answered quietly.

"Intelligent." She dropped the flogger on his shoulder. "Don't try to anticipate what your Goddess wants. She will tell you." She looked at his back. "Straight back…Nicely shaped ass…Work pants are not appropriate." He braced himself for another blow. She waited until he unclenched and then delivered a hard smack with the flogger. "Take your punishment like a man. If you don't, it will get worse." She continued to circle around until she was in front of him. "You have passed the background check. You'll add a little spice to our mix." The smirk on her face was devilish and hot. The pit in his stomach grew. "Your attire is woefully inadequate for our club. For tonight, we will provide you with the bare necessities. That is a one-time only allowance because you won't be playing, only observing." He lowered his chin and raised his head slightly, letting her know that he understood. She turned and faced a door he hadn't noticed before slapping her thigh. Dean moved to stand behind her and to the side, understanding her non-verbal order. She led him into a locker-room type area and opened a grey door. "This is your assigned locker. Here is your combination. Learn it. You can store your personal effects here while you are in the club. If you need to leave anything here, you are free to do so. This is club property, so we are allowed to search it regardless of your knowledge or presence." She turned to face him. "Strip." She walked away and left him standing there alone. Knowing that it was a test, he didn't ask questions. He took everything off and hung them in the locker. He put his shoes in the bottom. His watch and phone sat on the shelf, after he turned the phone to 'silent'. He felt the flogger slide up his ass and back. "Good boy. As a reward, I will let you wear the leather jockstrap." She held it over his shoulder. It's been years since I've worn one of these and never in leather. I hope I remember how to put it on. He was thankful that he made quick work of the leather contraption. Then Dean followed her to the door. "I will lead you into the main room. You will see several scenes in progress. You are not allowed to talk or participate. The fact that you don't have a collar signals this to everyone. When you return you will receive your markings allowing one of the Goddesses to begin your training. She will be a trainer, not one of our hard-core dominatrix, of course. Fresh flesh does cause excitement around here." Her throaty laugh bordered on a cackle making his skin crawl.

Dean followed the hostess into a huge room, something that would look like a regular rowdy club scene if the patrons were clothed. He focused on making his trip to the "bar" area and sitting on a stool, trying not to concentrate on the fact that the bare flesh of his ass was resting on the vinyl covering of the bar stool. What else might be on this stool? Don't think about it. And don't visibly cringe. "Your hands need to stay behind your back at all times. They are to remain on this handle." The hostess showed him the metal bar on the stool. She watched to make sure he had taken the correct position before she walked away. Dean sat, feet on the bottom rung, knees side-by-side, back straight with his hands holding onto the handle as he looked around the room.

Along the wall to the left there were curtained areas that were difficult to see. Most of the curtains were drawn around the people inside. From the dim lighting and cracks in some of the curtains it looked like these areas contained futons for the enjoyment of the couple inside. A little closer there were tables. These tables had various hooks and clamps that could be used to hold a sub in the desired positon for a public activity. Right now there was a spanking that was taking place just a few tables away from him. To the right of that was a sub who was begging for his Goddess to discipline him and he was licking her boots while he begged. Turning even farther to the right, he saw more "rooms" set up and curtained. As he watched, one of these curtains opened to silhouette a Goddess he would recognize anywhere. His eyes followed her as she strutted confidently across the room with a leashed man at her heels. The black stiletto boots melded into a shiny black leather body suit with lace cut-outs along the sides, near her navel, and around her chest. She carried a whip in one hand and the expression on her face proclaimed that she knew how to use it. He clutched the handle as he watched her stride across the room as he realized he had a problem. How can I cope with this? The leather bag that held him was starting to rise. Anyone that walked past could see what was happening. Snow. Icebergs. Dead kittens. Grandma naked. Vomit. Dead battery on the motorcycle. Her naked on the motorcycle. SHIT! This isn't working! Her partner for the night was gone and she was walking right past him. As soon as her hand slid up his bare thigh he was done. The sticky, gooey mess covered his legs and thighs.

The "bartender" chuckled and handed him a towel. "Don't feel bad, dude. She can do that to just about anyone. I've seen the biggest and best crawl for her."


*credit to Siren's Call to the Dead for a help with a line from the Hostess - I need you to sign here, here, initial here, sign here, thumb print here, and a blood sample here.

Girl, you cracked me up!