A/N: WHEEEEEEEEE MERRY CHRISTMAS HAPPY HANUKKAH HAPPY NEW YEAR.

. . . Oops?

Um, I'll try not to take a year again? Yeah. I'll try not to take a year again. Whoops.

This chapter actually kind of ran away with me, became a bit of a rant, and then went in a direction I totally wasn't expecting, but that's just what happens, I guess.

You can all thank sasukepunk, bechloeorbhloe, xcombixgirlx, DeJee, and lots of lil' anons for pestering me for a legit year because that's how long it took for my brain and hands to get up off their asses and write this. I've actually had the first little Staubrey bit written for ages, probably since right after the last chapter went up, and they got me around to doing the rest. Lots of love for all of you guys!

Loves!

Teddie


"Sweetheart, he'll be fine; it's just for the night, and CR and Denise know how to handle him. Besides, he's already sound asleep; if he wakes up and needs something, they're just a phone call away. Relax," Aubrey soothes, for once taking on the role of the calm one in their relationship. Both of them know that while she's the anxious one and Stacie more laid-back in every other situation, when it comes to their son, their roles reverse. Stacie frets over Robbie every minute with Aubrey at her shoulder trying to get her to cast away a bit of the stress.

It's especially apparent now, having just said goodbye to their son for the night, holding him between them, against their chests — their traditional goodbye gesture. They've always done it, always held him while his chubby little toddler hands slip under the collars of their shirts and press against their skin until he can feel both of their heartbeats echoing into his body. The first time he did it, it was to Stacie as she left the house for the night in the days before she moved in. She cried, scarcely past her twentieth birthday, when he stood before her on his wobbly one-year-old legs and looked purposefully at her with his hands splayed across the spot above her heart, his eyes knowing and solemn, as though silently conveying that though it wasn't the same pulse he had known before his birth, the sound that reassured him that her blood was still flowing was just as important to him as Aubrey's.

Stacie's jade eyes find her girlfriend's and search them anxiously, her teeth worrying her lower lip.

"Does this make me a bad mother?" is her whispered query, so quiet that Aubrey knows she probably didn't even intend to ask it. Immediately, the blonde shakes her head, pulling her taller girlfriend in with firm hands on her upper arms to steady her.

"No," she declines vehemently. "You need to let go of that thought. No one is a bad parent for needing some time alone with the person they love. Everyone needs that kind of time; you don't stop being a person when you become a parent; you're just a person with a kid. You still need time without them just as you need time to yourself." Stacie is still frowning, apparently not entirely convinced.

"But he's needy," she protests. "It has to make me a bad parent if he needs me and I'm not there." Aubrey looks a little angry upon hearing that admission; she actually glares at Stacie as she moves in, backing her girlfriend up against the wall of their front hallway and pinning her there gently, releasing her arms to cradle her neck with one hand and trace the other up and down her ribs.

"Jesus Christ, babe." Her voice is a murmur contrasting with her unsettled expression. "There isn't a parent in the world who hasn't been absent at some point, and there isn't a thing any of us can do about it. We can't smother him no matter how much we want to; we just need to be there whenever we can be, and love him, and that's all that we can do. But I swear to God, if I hear you call yourself a bad parent one more time . . . sweetheart, you have no idea how lucky he is that he has you at all," she emphasizes.

"But I — " Stacie begins to protest again, but Aubrey cuts her off with a quick and sudden kiss.

"Babe, Jesus, stop," she says when she pulls away after a moment. "You're the best damn parent I've ever met. You didn't even sign up for it; you came to me expecting a girlfriend and got a kid thrown into the picture, and you didn't run screaming for the hills. Christ, babe, you were nineteen; you could've had anyone or anything you wanted, anyone in the world with less baggage, but you chose this. From the moment you met him you treated him like your own son until he became that to you, to me, and to everyone else around us, but most importantly, to him. You give him so much, sweetheart, and I know you're not always okay with giving yourself the same, but that's what tonight is about. You need a break from everything; I know you need me to take the reins for a little while. It's okay to need that; you know I love taking care of you like that. It's something that I need too, okay? That's why we work so well like this." Ducking her head, Stacie nods quickly. Instantly, Aubrey tips her head up with gentle fingers wrapped around a graceful jaw and runs a finger up her lover's slender neck, coaxing her gaze upwards.

Meeting Aubrey's eyes, Stacie inhales sharply at the pure love and pride shimmering in them. It never fails to astound her, after all the time they've been together, that they can still share a love like this: a love so fierce, so passionate, and so powerful that it literally brings both of them to their knees.

Speaking of, it's then that Stacie notices how another layer has been added to Aubrey's gaze, one that she's intimately familiar with. It's a look of dominance, without a doubt, but it's always interested Stacie how different that look is from her own, for example, or Beca's, which she has witnessed on occasion. Aubrey's dominant eyes hold something powerful and possessive; that part is undeniable, but they're also reverent.

Stacie never feels more treasured than when she gives herself to Aubrey and submits. Even after all their years together, the beauty of their connection hasn't faded. If anything, it's grown stronger. Stacie's been at this a long time, longer than she'd maybe care to admit, but every time Aubrey touches her or looks at her like she's hung up the moon, she feels the love spread through her just as warmly as it did the first time they were together. It sounds cliché, and maybe it is a little, but with Aubrey, every touch feels like the very first one. It's as though they're sharing a new love.

"Say it out loud, sweetheart," Aubrey coaxes in response to her timid nod. It's also a command.

Stacie finds herself breathless as she automatically obeys.

"It's okay for me to need this," she repeats. Aubrey's eyes darken.

"Don't be vague, sweetheart," she reprimands lightly, and Stacie swallows.

"It's okay for me to need a break," she exhales with a shudder breath. "It's okay for me to need to lose control. It's okay for me to need to be taken care of." And Aubrey smiles brightly in response to that, because she knows; submissive Aubrey likes pain, likes it rough and fierce and passionate, and having Stacie stand over her and give her that is wonderful, but there's something incredibly special about the way that Stacie gives herself to her when their roles are reversed. A calm night always comes along with Stacie's submission, though by no means a quiet one.

The brunette is one hell of a domme, but as a submissive, Aubrey truly sees her. She sees the raw need and devotion and adoration, the love and vulnerability and the pleasure, because they're different as submissives; Aubrey likes it rough, but Stacie needs something different. She revels in being cherished, in having the weight of her thoughts and emotions lifted, and in knowing that she will be cared for. She accepts the state of mind it prompts, needing the less complicated way of being that comes with the simple knowledge that she is deeply, profoundly loved. Aubrey loves her, treasures her, and for Stacie, that's more than she could ever ask for.

With Stacie, it's slow and sensual, erotic but intimate; she needs to be laid bare, to give herself to Aubrey, her heart open. And while she's fiery and demonstrative at other times, Aubrey adores her like this, sweet and demure and obedient, naive and trusting. Rather than the thrill of power that comes with dominance, Aubrey loves the knowledge that she gets to see this rare side of her lover. She revels in being able to give Stacie what she needs in ways that no one else can.

"Come, darling," she summons after a long moment, smiling at the way Stacie's eyes light up with joy and anticipation. Tenderly, she trails the back of her hand down her girlfriend's cheek; closing her eyes with a quiet hum of pleasure, Stacie leans into the touch before accepting the hand that Aubrey has offered and setting off with her down the hall.

Beca may be a fantastic domme in her own rite, but this is how they work: with them, there are few formalities, the atmosphere already set by years of familiarity. They're not like Beca, who doesn't often sustain long relationships; they've been sharing a life like this for years. They walk together, hand in hand. No formal titles fall from their lips — no "Mistress" or "kitten" or "slave" — only names born of love: baby girl and sweetheart, names that fall naturally from their lips and are imbued with care and devotion. There are no collars in the privacy of their own home.

They don't have a playroom, either; not really. There's a room set aside in which they store their things, a room that's always locked to keep Robbie from stumbling across some unpleasantly inappropriate surprises, but they don't use it in the way that Beca uses hers. Often, the separation of bedroom and playroom is important in order to designate a safe space in case of negative feelings following play, but they prefer to keep their life as a single unit and not separate it into two ways of living. It's only need, after all, and lust; love. Sometimes it just takes different, non-vanilla forms.

Some people enjoy the formalities of titles and collars and walking a step behind with the eyes cast demurely down, and that way of life has its merits, of course. It's only that for them, it isn't necessary, not when they love each other so much, know each other so deeply. They've grown together in a way that allows them to give each other what they need without assuming the roles of intimate strangers; they're just Bree and Stacie, unguarded, sharing their love in a different form.

She doesn't require it of her, but a quick, warm sense of wonder never fails to engulf Aubrey when Stacie honors her by kneeling the moment the door clicks softly shut behind them. She always does it, even if only for a moment, sinking to her knees and bowing her head respectfully. She's a little surprised now, therefore, when Stacie falls into the familiar pose and doesn't quickly shift out of it, moving instead to sink into a kneeling bow with her hands curled on the floor in front of her and her head resting on her forearms.

Aubrey's breath catches; this is rare for them. She's seen Stacie do this only twice before in the hundreds of times they've been like this together. Both were times of extreme vulnerability, but more importantly, of submission. Such a gesture is not only rare; it is the most profound physical act of surrender with which a submissive can offer themselves to their domme.

It makes Aubrey's heart feel like it's going to overflow with love.

"Baby." The whisper is all she can manage as she sinks to the floor in an echo of her lover's movement, kneeling upright before her. Lightly, she trails her fingertips down Stacie's neck, tracing over her spine and marveling at the beauty beneath her fingertips. Despite her height, Stacie is small like this, all soft skin and delicate bone structure, and it makes Aubrey want to simultaneously curl around her to shelter her and see how much her body can take before it collapses in exhaustion.

She decides that tonight, she will go with a version of both.

With a gentle nudge to her shoulders, she draws her submissive back into kneeling upright. With both of them on their knees, they're the same height, with Aubrey perhaps even sitting the slightest bit taller.

With both hands, she cradles her submissive's face, palm to cheek. Stacie's hands rise up and grip her elbows lightly but firmly, holding her there. Her eyes are shimmering.

"You're so good," Aubrey murmurs, and when a small but joyful smile spreads over Stacie's lips at the compliment, Aubrey feels a flutter in her belly because she put that smile there. She makes Stacie happy, and really, in the end, that's all she ever dares to hope for.

Aubrey doesn't necessarily believe in anything other than what's right in front of her, but the depth of the connection she shares with such a beautiful human being has her convinced that there's meaning out there somewhere. At a younger age, it used to concern her all the time — the thought of paradise, and how to manipulate this life in order to secure it for the unknown that would someday come. Now, whether because she's older and wiser or more connected and at ease, she understands that maybe what happens after this doesn't matter. She knows nothing of what will happen when she dies, whether her energy will live on or melt back into the air that others breathe, but she knows what she has right now. Maybe this right here is heaven; perhaps this is the paradise she gets — perhaps even her only chance.

If it is, it's a damn beautiful one.

Their lips find each other easily, instantly moving together and parting with movements born from instinct and familiarity. They cling together, arms tangling, as the kiss deepens and grows more passionate; as one hand smooths over trembling abs to knead supple breasts and the other dips lower, trailing through wetness for only the briefest of moments before pressing downwards and deeply in.

"Bree." Stacie's needy sigh is almost lost to the air, her head falling back momentarily as she absorbs the sensation of Aubrey's slender fingers curling within her, instantly finding that magical little spot and fluttering her fingertips against it in the way that she knows will eventually break her. When the blonde finds her clit, Stacie's body lurches with a familiar jolt, curling back into Aubrey's arms with a whine. Aubrey covers her lips with her own, instantly consuming every little sound as she strokes and twists and curls her fingers at a pace that's both perfect and torturous; agonizingly beautiful.

She plays her lover's body like a finely tuned instrument, bringing her higher and higher until it seems as though she can't take any more. Her nimble fingers and hot lips bring a sweet melody of whimpers and cries and pretty little gasps as she feels Stacie fall more and more to pieces, feeling each little shudder of the muscles and the heat radiating from her skin.

She drags her higher, higher than she thought it was possible for anyone to go, and surely one should be losing air at this height, running out of oxygen as they reach the edge of the atmosphere and falter in their momentum before pausing for the briefest of moments with a whimper, delicate fingers stroking long and hard and deep. Then Stacie's eyes grow impossibly bright, shimmering with awe and wonder and adoration, her body curving into a graceful bow as she reaches the crescendo, and she crashes down with a high, keening cry, clutching weakly, frantically at her lover, gazing deeply into her eyes as she finds paradise.


"I want to ask you something," Beca tells Chloe one night when they're in what has become their bedroom, both of them sprawled across the bed and each other after an energizing first round.

Trailing her fingers through dark hair, Chloe hums her reply. For a moment, she thinks that Beca doesn't hear her, for the brunette remains silent, but then she chances a glance upwards and sees her girlfriend watching her with sleepy eyes.

"You're making it hard for me to justify getting up, you know."

"I know," Chloe murmurs in response. She continues to card through silky locks, and Beca's eyes slip closed with a hum. For several more minutes they remain that way, ensconced in each other's easy presence, before Beca abruptly sits up in bed, reluctantly shaking off the touch.

"Okay, focus, Mitchell; focus," she scolds herself. Chloe's lips curve into a smile.

"Losing your train of thought there?" she teases playfully; her nails scratch lightly behind Beca's ears. Beca rolls her eyes back a little, leaning into the touch, and attempts to shoot a mock glare at her girlfriend.

"This is important," she almost whines, and immediately, Chloe stops her caresses, though she leaves her hand where it is. Beca pouts unfairly in disappointment at the ceased movement. "You — didn't have to stop. I wanted to ask you something."

Chloe hums, resuming her petting. "You said that."

"Do you want to help me with work tomorrow?" Chloe's hand falls still.

"What?" Struggling a little to move her arms, Beca extracts herself from their tangled embrace and rolls over to lie on her stomach, head on her arms resting on Chloe's stomach as she looks up at her with round puppy eyes.

"I teach a class on occasion over at our community's main headquarters, and I could use your help," she clarifies. "You wouldn't have to do much — just listen and try not to look bored while I talk for a bit, and then stay still while I tie you up." Chloe tries to ignore the sudden, strong pulse between her legs. Instead of twitching her torso to press against Beca's thigh, as her instinct is strong to do, she settles for raising a questioning eyebrow.

"In front of people?" she asks.

"Just as a demonstration," Beca reiterates, shaking her head so that her hair sweeps across Chloe's partially exposed stomach. It tickles; she goes to brush it away, but her hand ends up creeping up into Beca's hair to curl at the nape of her neck. "We wouldn't be having sex or anything; it's just to show the newbies how to safely tie up their submissives." Chloe shifts a little beneath her, pretending to consider. It's not like she actually has to make up her mind; she's always had a bit of an exhibitionist side to her, and she'll never argue with Beca's hands on her, anytime, anywhere.

"I'd consider it, but I suppose you'd have to . . . repay me," she says slowly, slipping her hands out of Beca's hair and up under the back of her shirt to draw firm patterns with her thumbs into her girlfriend's ribs. Beca groans blissfully and presses her face into Chloe's stomach.

"I guess." The sound comes out a little garbled; the tingling between Chloe's thighs is amped up at the feeling of Beca's lips moving against her bare skin.

"I suppose I'd consider . . . a bribe," Chloe murmurs. From where she's buried in porcelain skin, Beca can't see her grin. "Something other than . . . monetary payment." Now Beca's grinning, lips stretching against her skin. She raises her head after a moment, a cheeky little smirk stretching across her face.

"I suppose," she agrees, and scoots forward on her elbows and down.

Chloe leans up, eyes closing to meet her halfway.


"You're sure that you feel comfortable?" Beca asks for the fifth time that minute, her wide eyes uncharacteristically anxious. "If you don't, I can call Stacie and have her step in, no problem — you could watch, then; maybe get a feel for it — "

"I'm fine, Becs," Chloe interrupts her patiently. "I told you; I volunteered. I want to do this," she specifies when Beca opens her mouth again to argue. "Relax; just tell me what I need to do, and I'll be fine. I can handle it if you're guiding me through it." Though Beca's hands by her sides are still somewhat tense, displaying her lingering anxiety, the crease between her brows smoothes out enough so that Chloe knows the situation has diffused to a manageable point.

"You're not going to be collared." And just like that, Beca's back in business mode, voice brisk and leaving no room for misunderstanding. "I won't be doing anything hardcore — just giving them a little background information, teaching them how to tie knots or lace up wrist cuffs, and showing them where not to hit. It probably won't be enough to get you into subspace, but if you slip into it, that's okay — most of them have probably been doing their own version of pre-gaming unless they're newbies, so you'd be far from the only one if you did." Chloe hums her understanding.

She's in the middle of pulling on her outfit: a pair of plain leather leggings and a tight crop top that keeps her covered at the same time that it leaves nothing to the imagination. Beca has explained that anatomy is a necessary component of the training, but that for this situation, nothing overly provocative is warranted. This is, for all intents and purposes, a class, even though it's labeled as a social gathering.

They're at what Beca has informed her is a former dance studio on the Lower East Side, but what Chloe can only describe as a combination art gallery and nightclub. It's reportedly a hub for those interested in the scene, one that holds events of all kinds from masquerades galas to sensual hot yoga. With an herbal tea and smoothie bar in the lobby and erotic artwork lining the hallways, the aesthetic can't seem to decide between raunchy, hip, and sophisticated.

Chloe has decided she feels right at home.

"So, give me the low-down," she prompts Beca as she fights a snarl in her hair. Stepping behind her, Beca effortlessly tugs it back into a ponytail with a deft flick of her wrist.

"I thought we went over this at home," she comments after Chloe playfully smacks her hands away from straightening her shirt.

"We did," Chloe replies simply, "but I feel like, after setting foot in the place, using the phrase 'technical and theoretical aspects of dominance and submission demonstration and information session' is going just the tiniest bit overboard." She turns to shoot Beca a grin, but finds her girlfriend bent over in her tiny shorts tying her shoes and instead ends up getting a decent eyeful. Standing back up, Beca catches her eyeing her legs and returns the sentiment, her grin just a tad more lecherous.

"Maybe so," she grants once she's reigned in the naughty vibe that's threatening to escape. "Right, then — this is a private association; you have to be a member in order to attend any events. Because safety is a top priority, the association offers classes to dominants and subs so that they don't have a field day their first night on the scene and end up in any kind of trouble. The more intense classes are available to members only, but anyone needing a refresher or newbies we've scouted out at a munch and who are interested in memberships get to attend a specific series of introductory courses to test the waters, so to speak. The association fields long-time members to act as instructors for some of them, and I volunteered," she explains. Chloe nods slowly, taking it all in.

"It's a pretty complicated organization," she realizes aloud as she considers all of the responsibilities of even a low-level instructor. Beca cracks a grin at her revelation.

"You could say that," she agrees. "And even then, there's a hell of a lot more to it than it seems. We're the top organization in the city, so we cover a lot of official ground, which takes a ton of attention and manpower. Plus, we extend our reach to a few other community organizations, so we have delegates for them as well." Chloe stares as Beca straightens her headband — an uncharacteristically girlish accessory.

"Do you do any of this?" she wants to know. Beca hums her assent; Chloe narrows her gaze suspiciously. "How much?" she presses, and suddenly, she's got an evilly smirking domme all up in her face.

"We'll get there eventually, sweetcheeks," Beca purrs; she's trailing a single fingertip down the front of her girlfriend's shirt. Chloe swallows hard. "Patience — we're late in getting started, and I don't want to keep the anxious newbies waiting. Besides, there's some key information that you'll learn in the session, as well as some that is better reserved for . . . private affairs." And with that, she saunters from the room with a beckoning finger, leaving Chloe standing there with her mouth hanging open and her brain hurting from the whiplash of the sudden shift in persona.

She had two years with Mark to get accustomed to living in the presence of a dominant, but it was his constant manner of presentation. When the two of them aren't closeted away in the double-locked, sound-proofed back room of Beca's house, their relationship has actually proven fairly vanilla. Most often than not, really, it's Chloe who dictates the shift with a need to submit, but sometimes a word or glance or situation will prompt a little twitch in Beca's eyebrow. Chloe has learned by now that when that happens, she has about two seconds before she's confronted by Beca the Domme. She hasn't quite figured out how to handle that in the presence of others.

Actually, she's looking forward to seeing what Beca is like in front of a class — a domme for all intents and purposes, but not a Mistress. She'll be instructing the new dominants and their submissives on some lifestyle etiquette, and she's warned Chloe that she'll probably end up having to physically demonstrate some things, but she won't be dominating anyone in the class.

Well, except for Chloe, that is.

Following Beca, Chloe exits the small changing room and emerges into the main studio — a large room with an aesthetic clearly geared more towards the community than the more neutral hot yoga rooms. Whoever converted it has left it as a regular dance studio space, complete with hardwood and mirrors. A series of small cabinets, however, now lines the back wall of the room, the contents of which Chloe has a sneaky suspicion are not unlike the items in their closet at home. Even more blatantly obvious is the actual floor-to-ceiling rack of . . . devices in the back corner. The other main wall not covered with mirrors is emblazoned with a massive painting of the BDSM symbol.

The fifteen or so people posed comfortably on the floor, oddly enough, don't add much to the general aesthetic. In fact, Chloe decides, there isn't much about this room that could be called dungeon-like. She hasn't interacted much with other people in the lifestyle other than a few of Mark's friends, Stacie and Aubrey, and those at their brief excursion to the holiday party. Between Mark and the fact that she's dating a highly-valued member of the community, she doesn't know much about the everyday participants of the lifestyle. Actually, these people all look . . . startlingly normal. With the exception of one short guy in the back who's donning a pretty serious fedora, everyone is dressed in work-out clothes and running shoes and has their hair tied out of the way. Any of them could be on their way home from the gym.

Looking at the entirely unremarkable people curled up on the floor of a renovated dance studio, Chloe is reminded once again that she has a lot to learn.

"Morning everybody," Beca's voice breaks cheerfully into Chloe's thoughts, and she blinks a little when she realizes that she's forgotten Beca's here, too. It seems that her domme has slipped fully into teacher mode; she's standing in front of them all with her shoulders back and head held high, commanding attention. She's even got her hands folded in front of her, which reminds Chloe, with a jolt of amusement, of her high school math teacher.

"Good morning," the group greets in chorus. Beca graces them all with a little grin before composing herself and letting her gaze travel around the room.

"I'm glad you've all decided that this class is worth your time," she begins, "because an introduction to the lifestyle is essential for those wishing to fully embrace it. My inauguration was a little unorthodox, and while I was aware of some crucial aspects of relationship dynamics from the start, I lacked a good deal of important information. I eventually built my understanding through experience, trial, and error, and as I'm sure you can see, I came through it just fine." She pauses, taking a moment to fasten her eyes on each of them in turn, before continuing.

"That may be an isolated case." A serious note has entered her tone; instinctively, Chloe straightens up attentively, sensing that the impending information is something that will prove important to absorb. Seeing the subtle shift in the rest of the group's body language in her periphery, she finds that the others are in agreement. Beca continues. "While trial and error is inevitable, especially in a relationship so deeply dictated by personal preference, the sort of experimentation you involve yourself in walks a thin line. It's a very close nudge from an innocent exploration of preference to a physical boundary getting pushed too far and someone getting seriously hurt. There were countless occasions when I or the person I was with could have sustained a serious injury, and over the years, I've had a few very, very close calls. An occasional mishap is probable, but it's in everybody's best interest to make sure that if an accident does occur, it incurs the smallest possible amount of damage.

"Later on, we'll talk in more detail about how to avoid physical damage," Beca adds. Chloe notes relieved expressions on some of the newer-looking member's faces. "For now," she continues, "I'm going to talk a little about what it means to be a dominant and a submissive. Who here," she says a little louder, startling them all when they realize she's seeking their participation, "is brand-new to the lifestyle and considering taking on a submissive role?"

For a moment, no one moves, and then a small girl in the back with honey-colored hair tentatively raises her hand. Chloe chuckles a little to herself at the realization that of course this is the submissives' response; if Beca had requested this information of the dominants in the group, they would have all immediately and concisely replied.

"What's your name there, little one?" Beca asks of the new submissive. A faint blush has risen on the girl's cheeks, but she replies confidently.

"I'm Laura."

"Laura," Beca repeats. "Do you have a dominant with you this morning?" The blush grows brighter, spreading down Laura's neck; still, she keeps her head held high.

"She's . . . I want her to be my domme," she explains, "but I'm new to the scene and Carm's been part of it for a while, so I wanted to learn a little more about it before approaching her about it." Beca nods understandingly.

"And do the two of you have an established relationship?" she asks. Laura has ceased to blush, a shy sort of smile overtaking her expression.

"I — yes," she amends, perhaps sensing the threat of Beca's impending eyebrow raise. "We're together, and she's said she's fine with having a vanilla relationship, but I know she wants more. She'd never push me, but I realized recently that I want to do this for her, and I thought that I should at least have some idea of what she's talking about if she decides to . . . show me the ropes." A light snigger breaks out from Fedora Guy at the particularly appropriate word choice; despite herself, it seems, Laura grins, and even Beca cracks a smile.

"You're worried that she won't want you as her submissive, aren't you?" she says keenly once the amusement has died down. Laura ducks her head shyly, clearly a little embarrassed by all of the attention and her relationship being brought to the spotlight.

"A little," she admits. Suddenly, she appears nervous, and Chloe is struck by the sudden urge to reassure her of her worth. She suffered through two whole years of submissive to Mark, two years during which she wasn't at all sure that she was wanted. Finding her place with Beca has shown her how wrong she was to presume that no one could hold her in any position of esteem. Ironically, it's been her time as a submissive — with Beca, anyway — that has given her strength. Perhaps that's the truth of this sort of relationship — that a submissive, despite his or her position, holds the most power in the relationship, because they know that their dominant values them. Then again, they value their dominant equally in return.

It's all about give and take, Chloe realizes, and even though she's heard the words associated with their sort of relationship so many times before, it really hits her for the first time just how true it is.

A domme in the middle of the room is leaning back on her elbows to place a comforting hand on Laura's shoulder.

"Trust me, cutie," she says with a sweet smile. "She'll want you." Fedora Guy grins.

"Yeah, don't even doubt that, kid," he interjects. "She loves you, obviously, because there's no way she couldn't, even if you aren't submitting to her, and as a domme, the fact that you want to give her that will make her love you all the more." Beca's lips are twitching at the edges with a smile; Chloe can see her fingers fidgeting a little as though she, too, wishes to reach out and provide comfort.

"All right," she breaks through the murmur after a minute. "Let's not get too sidetracked. I want to talk to you all a little bit about the nuances of dominance and submission, so, please, can I get a show of hands — who in here considers themselves a dominant?" Chloe watches with interest, again containing a chuckle, as the dominants instantly respond — eight. Fedora Guy is among them. The submissives are a little slower on the uptake and act slightly more reserved, but after a little hesitance, all five have raised their hands. The remaining three in the room turn out to be switches like Aubrey and Stacie, though they, unlike Chloe's new friends, are new to the scene.

"Okay," Beca says once everyone's roles have been established. "First things first: I'm going to establish very clearly, right here and now, that this class is not a joke. If you're going to participate, I need you to be serious. That isn't intended to scare you off — I need to make sure that you understand what you're getting yourselves into. Anyone can goof off in their bedroom with handcuffs and Bellamione role-play and have a little rough sex, and that's fine. In fact, I encourage you to broaden your horizons." A few nervous titters break out, and Beca grants them a smirk. Fedora Guy guffaws a little louder than the others.

"That being said," Beca continues once the chuckles have died down, "if you're in this room right now, it means that you've decided to commit to becoming a more serious, active member of this community and want to be proactive in becoming well-versed in the essential knowledge. After your first few classes, we'll start charging you, and after you've all gone through your background checks and proved yourself to be an attentive, active participant by the end of the introductory, we'll extend the offer of conditional membership. A little bit longer, just to keep an eye on you and have you attend some additional classes, and if all goes well we'll invite you to join us officially — if you're still around, that is." The class has taken on a more sober, attentive air, and Chloe can sense that they're all listening very closely.

"What if we make it halfway through and decide that we don't want to continue?" a sub pipes up from over by the rack of toys. Several others nod in agreement. Beca fastens her eyes on the girl with an understanding expression.

"If you discover that you no longer wish to participate, you may leave at any time, including if you become a member," she answers easily, and Chloe sees several sets of shoulders relax. "We understand that this lifestyle can be overwhelming at the best of times, and it certainly isn't for everybody. We'll never hold you here if you don't want to stay — though if you do want to stay and don't show up or pay attention, we might not grant you the privilege," she adds sternly. "Joining us means that you want to become seriously engaged, so for as long as you stick around, we expect that you will comport yourself accordingly. That being the case, if any of you feel as of right now that you would rather stick to casual handcuffs and Bellamione, you should probably skedaddle. No judgment, no questions asked."

She waits, and Chloe waits, half expecting someone to stand up and leave, but no one does. Searching the group, Chloe finds all eyes intently focused on her girlfriend. In a way, she envies their freedom of choice — she knew for a long time before meeting Mark that she was interested in BDSM, but she never had a chance to be proactive about it; she was simply dragged into it. It's intriguing for her to be in this setting, something of a veteran, yet at the same time uninformed. Maybe she'll get more out of these sessions than she expected.

"All right then," Beca declares when it's clear no one is going to move. "Let's get to it: I want to talk to you a little bit about submission and what it means to be a sub.

"One thing you need to understand is that just because you're naturally passive doesn't mean that you should be an active submissive — in fact, it often means that you shouldn't," she informs them seriously. "Often, someone with the best grounds for submission is someone who is naturally aggressive and willful — in other words, a strong person looking for someone stronger. Part of the satisfaction of being the top dog is in fighting out everyone else for the spot; if there's no one higher up on the food chain, you get no satisfaction. You're likely to question why no one is challenging you; maybe even wondering if people think that you aren't worth the challenge. Submission provides that; dominants provide that. You both have strong personalities, but they emerge under different circumstances.

"Then again," she counters herself, "someone who feels an intense need to submit is just as valid as a submissive as someone who needs to feel the loss of their usual control. Much of the time, either strongly as a natural submissive or at the heart if they're typically more outgoing, a submissive has either one or both of two desires: to relinquish control, and to serve.

"Of course, not all submissives wish to be slaves. Just as is the case with gender and sexuality, submission and dominance lie on a spectrum. You may only wish to be restrained, or you may wish to be humiliated; you might want the reassurance that you're wanted; you might you might want a little pain or a lot. You might only desire aftercare. You might not desire any pain at all, and only cherish a deep desire to serve your partner domestically and cater to their needs. Obviously, you might want all of it, or any combination thereof; the possibilities are endless.

"You should never be afraid to embrace your submission in its various forms, and accept each nuance as it changes from day to day. Your feelings and preferences will change with your moods, especially depending on whether you're only a submissive during play or a full-time, collared slave. Depending on your dominant's responses, you may be cast into a different mood, which is why, dominants, it is important to remember that your actions always affect someone else.

"A good dominant should always have a purpose to their actions; one should keep a specific aim in mind, whether that be learning control or humility, establishing trust, eliminating a fear, or relieving stress — even if it is only for your shared pleasure. Actions are shallow without purpose, and their impact will weigh much heavier if they carry a deeper meaning. A submissive's punishment, for example, will sink in more effectively if it signifies more than just a whipping or forced abstinence; getting a submissive's psyche to turn towards what they need to learn will better get the message across. Of course, you might not wish for any hidden layers at all, and only desire to hurt and be hurt, or love and be loved, but that, too, is not without its hidden weight.

"Dominance can be akin to submission in its ability to free us, break us, and train us. It forces our temperance and our compliance to our own limits as well as those of our partner. It also allows us release in a controlled capacity, whether that's with care or with pain. Sometimes it's simple: we just want to make someone hurt. We want to destroy them, break them down to nothing and make certain that they know we're the only one who can build them back up, and that to do so or not to do so is our choice. If you have found the right partner to suit your needs, they will crave that destruction.

"Of course, sometimes we only want to provide, to give care and love and service, and in that way we are much like our submissives. It's in the destruction, however, and the desire to rebuild, that our dominance truly shows. There's something almost magical about ruining some sweet, compliant creature even as they protest, breaking them down to rubble and ragged pleas and then taking them into your arms and being the one to restore the vibrance that you love and ache to dismantle.

"Likewise, there's something incredibly special about kneeling at someone's feet and giving in, surrendering entirely your being to their will, to their hands and whips and words. That you grant that trust and faith makes you feel good, and that you provide them with that gives you power. They need you, you understand, in order to let go, and they are powerless to do it without you because their craving depends on your want and willingness to be destroyed. When you bare yourselves to them, they trust you to give them what they need just as you have faith in them to do the same, and so you see how beautifully you both give and receive. Your shared devotion to one another will be sustenance, energy, and if you're able to entrust that to each other, it will show.

"Whether you're interested in sadomasochism or simply wish to serve one another, it has been proven and is only reasonable to presume that such a dynamic will lend a great deal to a relationship. Your bond will be deeper, your trust in each other firmer; your devotion to each other will be profoundly increased, but only if you are the type of people who desire such a connection. People in the vanilla world may find other ways to achieve the same intimacy, but this is about what you want; what you need. It's about discovering the things that feed your desire and love and comfort with yourselves and with each other. It's about your connection to another person and how deep you can discover it can be."

Chloe is blown away.

She's witnessed, of course, Beca's occasional explanations of what it means to be dominant, but never before has she heard her speak of her role with such passion. As Beca goes on in her speech, Chloe feels her begin to loosen up, the fervor beginning to spill from her lips as she speaks on and on. The group is silent, unmoving, their eyes fastened on her with the same sort of awe and fascination Chloe's sure must be evident on her own face.

If this is how spellbound Beca can keep people while extorting the beauty of BDSM dynamics, how come she's never done more than teach one class at a time? Or is there still something Chloe doesn't know?

Resolving to ask her about it later, Chloe allows herself to sink back into the sway of Beca's voice and watch the way her lips move and her eyes shine as she continues to speak to them all.

"This class is meant to provide a temporary outlet for you, something to experiment with before you're quite experienced enough to try it out with an actual person. If you can become fully absorbed in it in here, then it's probably safe to say you at least want to attempt it in real life. Never make the mistake, though, of trying to be too idealistic with your real-life partner; fantasy can only take us so far, and while role-play is a perfectly effective alternative — " Beca's informative spiel is abruptly cut off when the door to the studio is flung open. Startled, every occupant of the room jumps.

In the doorway, feet planted and chest heaving with exertion, stands a young person with a shock of orange hair and a silver flannel jumpsuit. To Chloe's eyes, they present themselves as non-binary, though she supposes that they could simply be androgynous. The low alto, single-pitched voice that escapes them between heavy pants don't lend much of a clue, either.

"Mistress Beca — so sorry for interrupting — your class — but there's been a security breach. South — south entrance."

"What kind of breach, L?" Beca's voice is surprisingly calm, though Chloe notes that her shoulders have tensed up with concern. A submissive scoots closer to Fedora Guy for comfort; Laura's ears have perked up intently.

"She's back."

The emotions that flash through Beca's eyes are too rapid for Chloe to follow, and before she can even fully register that she's seen them, the domme is stalking from the room, barking out a quick stay here that snaps through the air behind her in a sharp, empty echo. Without question, though vibrating with curiosity, everyone obeys.

Well, almost everyone.


"What have I told you about coming back here?" Beca's voice is low when Chloe creeps to the end of the hallway, careful to remain silent in her approach. By poking her head carefully around the corner, she's just able to make out the figure of her girlfriend in the shadows cast by the dim wall-sconces; the rest of the building is lit by natural light, but in this lower corridor the windows are blocked off, most likely, she presumes, to protect the privacy of the occupants of the private rooms lining the hall. Some of the doors are open, but none are lit within, and Chloe can't hear anyone in the area. The ginger-haired security guard must have ordered everyone from the area.

"Not to do it, I know, but oh, Mistress, I had to see you; I got the job at a photography gallery, like you told me to, but they didn't like me, so I left there last week and got a new job at a real-estate company, and I like it so much; I wanted to see you and tell you all about it." The new voice is also low, though painfully earnest and decidedly female. Chloe angles herself a little differently so as to lean slightly further into the hallway without detection, and discovers that the newcomer is is a brunette woman slightly under Beca's height, willowier than Chloe. From the way Chloe is angled, she can see the woman's eyes, which gaze up widely at Beca in a way that makes Chloe uncomfortable and is decidedly too adoring.

"Sheila, I told you before that you can't come back here. You can't see me. You need to leave." Beca's voice is firm, a little colder than Chloe has experienced it. Even when the two of them confronted Mark in his apartment, Beca was burning with rage. Now, she only sounds tired and resigned.

"But I miss you," Sheila whines; Chloe cringes at the tone. Beca hates whining, and in wanting to cater to her preferences, Chloe has developed a sympathetic pet peeve. Besides, she's always also nursed a strict aversion to desperate ex-lovers, and as much as she's loathe to admit it, that's exactly what this intruder is coming across as being. "You're always so busy, Mistress; I never get to see you anymore."

"I'm not your Mistress." Beca's tone grows suddenly sharp, and even Chloe winces despite knowing that the biting words aren't directed at her. There's something about an angry domme that make anybody cringe. "I haven't been for over a year, Sheila; it's high time you got over that. We haven't been together in over a year. Now get out of here before I call security."

"But they already saw me," Sheila purrs. She takes a cat-like step forward, running her finger lightly along the outside of Beca's arm and shoulder, and suddenly Chloe's having to work hard to restrain herself from throwing herself out of her hiding spot and ripping the girl's invasive hands off her girlfriend. "Couldn't have been much of a threat, could I, if you came down here to talk to me instead of telling them to send me off. I know you really wanted to see me, Mistress; it's okay to admit that you missed me."

"You're out of line, Sheila," Beca warns sharply as the girl's fingers tread closer to her hair, and Chloe really doesn't understand how the bitch isn't backing up; with that kind of tone aimed at her, she'd been running for the hills with her tail between her legs. She resolved to be reasonable about this and not interfere, since she wouldn't think to presume that Beca can't handle herself, but suddenly those touches are getting a lot harder to ignore.

When Sheila's hand tries to slip into Beca's hair, curling at the base of her neck, Sheila crooning a murmured I know you miss me, Mistress, Chloe's had more than enough.

She makes the decision in a split-second, hesitating for the space of a heartbeat to decide which persona to present before rounding the hallway corner at a brisk walk.

"There you are, babe!" she chirps brightly, smiling grimly inwardly when Sheila jumps back in surprise at her approach. She's still lingering a little too close for Chloe to be satisfied, nevertheless. "I was wondering where you'd gone off to. Remember we have to go get ready to pick up Robbie for babysitting at noon? — Oh!" she exclaims in mock surprise, pretending to only be noticing Sheila's presence for the first time. "Who's this?"

Beca is staring at her like she's not quite certain how she could possibly be doing this. There's a frown of disapproval wrinkling her forehead, but Chloe has had a while to learn to read her. There's definite amusement in her eyes, along with some vague reproach and more than a little awe.

"This is — ahem," Beca coughs to cover her growing laugh, "— this is Sheila. She was just going." The glare Sheila fastens on them would be enough to freeze Hell, but Chloe can't bring herself to care; the look on Beca's face is so far beyond worth it. Sheila stares between the two of them for a minute before she mutters an irritated yeah, I'll be back, and stalks off down the corridor. A moment later, they can hear the side door slam.

Beca is staring at her in utter disbelief.

"You're unbelievable," is all she says, but Chloe can hear that she doesn't really mean it. "Unbelievable. What happened to you staying up there? There was a reason you were all supposed to stay up there." Chloe merely shrugs, opening her arms to let Beca squeeze in, which she does without hesitation. "You're impossible."

"A girl can't always do as she's told," Chloe says nonchalantly. Beca's reply drifts up from her collarbone.

"That's what you think." Chloe ignores the shiver that runs through her at the subtle shift in tone. Now isn't the moment to let her submission run away with her, despite the sudden rise of possessiveness that prompted her to act a minute ago.

"Oh, is it?"

"You're impossible."

"You love me." She hiccups the moment that she says it in an odd catching of breath, and does her best not to tangibly freeze in Beca's embrace. Oh god, her words have run away with her again. Oh, god. It's way, way to early for any of this kind of talk, and now she's screwed things up, maybe, and she doesn't think that she can bear that.

Except Beca only lifts her head up, just enough to look her in the eye, and quirks an eyebrow mischievously with a superior little grin.

"We'll just see about that."

Another hiccup.

"We will?" She knows that her voice comes out high and squeaky. Beca hums, pulling her in a little closer and nuzzling the edge of her ear.

"Oh yes; I think we will."


Yes, yes, I threw in a Carmilla reference. Sorry not sorry. We'll probably be seeing more of them.