Safe and Sane

Rented home, sweet rented home, Danielle thought as they walked into the house they'd rented for the weekend. One of the club members, a customer of hers and realtor, had found it for them, and she put her bag down in the hall, held a hand out for Armand to pull him into a kiss.

"Let's have a look and settle down."

The club had been transformed. The main room was no longer recognizable as a lounge; it had been made over with mood lighting and subtle decorations. On one end there was a huge buffet, the bar was open and tended. There was even room for dancing on a small wooden floor that had been laid down on the opposite end of the room. Scattered about were bowls of candy of all kinds.

One of the smaller lounges hosted traditional party games -- bobbing for apples, donuts on a string, even a table set up for carving small gourds and pumpkins. A few of the private play rooms on the main level had also been opened, set up for groups or exhibitionism, but as in previous year that wasn't the focus of the night. And, in case anyone had forgotten a costume or hadn't been able to find one, the smallest public lounge was being used as sort of a large wardrobe.

A large poster in the hallway announced the categories for the costume contest: scariest, funniest, the most creative, best couple or group, and -- of course -- the sexiest.

Another Wednesday, another munch night. Evenings were beginning to draw in, with fall nipping at the air, temperatures beginning to drop as soon as the sun had sunk below the horizon. The cafe had responded with a range of spiced coffees, hot soup, and cookies and muffins still warm from the oven.

And, of course, the infamous chili spiced hot chocolate.

A patch of sunlight was beaming through the window onto the kitchen island. A practical, elegant home, all in straight lines and expensive design. A very masculine place, and the sole note of feminity Danielle, wearing one of Armand's shirts, biting unconsciously on the end of her pen as she studied one of the many papers spread out in front of her. She put the pen down to take a bite from a croissant, thoughtful, then looked up at Armand, sitting across from her in front of his laptop.

"Do you have any idea why the Boulder population would be less interested in suspension racks than that of Denver?" It was beyond her, and she had far too many of these sitting in the warehouse and never being sold. She hated miscalculating things.

Reminder e-mails had gone out earlier in the week and everything was ready. Peter had finally got there after getting stuck in traffic jams outside of Denver and Danielle and he were standing at the entrance of the warehouse, greeting the first guests.

The warehouse was divided into several sections which could be wandered in, each of them devoted to a different sort of BDSM toy, furniture, or even atmosphere. Here cuffs, there swings, here everything leather, and there everything metal. There was even a section of antique furniture at the back of the warehouse. On both sides, more or less private rooms could be used to test anything before buying it.

At the front of the warehouse, a table lined with hors d'oeuvres and different drinks, and a few waiters and waitresses to serve them. They'd gone all out, but the atmosphere was far from formal: warm, friendly, and accepting.

It was time. The cakes were laid out, the coffee machine was on, the tables were set out and clean. A few relatively discreet prints adorned the walls, and a small display cabinet in the corner showcased the sort of goods that would later be on sale downstairs.

Flyers described the plans for the store, the library and the gallery, and as a last minute remembrance that she wasn't in London and the weather would be terribly nice most of the time and some people would, after all, want to smoke, Beth had arranged a couple of tables in the tiny courtyard at the front of the store, with large, bright parasols shading the strength of the sun.

Now she simply had to cross her fingers and pray that people would turn up.

Another Wednesday, and for once, the cafe was relatively quiet. The manager was taking advantage of this to train up some rather wide-eyed looking new staff, who weren't entirely certain how the coffee machine worked, or the till, or where anything quite was.

Bobby stood in front of Armand's armchair for a moment, head cocked like a puppy before he put both of glasses of lemonade down on the side table, then climbed into Armand's lap. "I brought you juice." He said like he wasn't curled in Armand's lap.

Juneteenth was still a couple days away, but the cafe had embraced the notion wholeheartedly. A barbecue was running among the tables out front, the closest thing they had to a garden, and pitchers of non-alcoholic fruit cocktails available at the counter as an alternative to coffee. Bowls of fruit salad sat alongside the sandwiches in the chiller cabinet.

Memorial Day weekend meant that most people had three days off and intended to spend it either in sloth or trying to cross off as many things as they could from their "to do" list. The club was prepared for both cases.

They'd cleaned and restocked all the rooms, put up some new decorations and made sure everything was bright and shiny.

They'd also stocked up on burgers, dogs, and other picnic essentials and put grills and tables in the back parking lot. There was a threat of rain but if that happened, everything could be hauled indoors to one of the fire-safe play rooms. (Of course, that hadn't stopped some wit from putting an "in case of fire" sign on the inflatable kiddie pool.)

The main lounge had tables stocked with drinks and finger foods for those who didn't do meat or simply weren't the picnic type. Friday afternoon rolled around and everything was set.

The works were progressing very well. The smaller shop downtown should be ready by the end of next week, and the warehouse was on its way. Maybe one more month?

She deserved an evening off. She'd taken one for that munch a few weeks back, but she still hadn't taken Armand up on his offer to give her the tour of the club. Tonight, she was remedying this unfortunate situation.

She walked into the club and looked around curiously, until she spotted Armand in one of the armchairs and headed for him, smiling. "Am I late? I'm sorry."

He'd packed a whole bag since he planned to spend much of the weekend at the club. After he was settled in to the reserved room, he showered, changed into more casual clothes that he'd only wear here -- leather pants and a tight t-shirt -- and went about arranging the room to his liking. Once his preferred toys and the necessities were in easy reach, he went out to the main lounge to grab some waters and wait for Beth.

Armand had been golfing. Yes, it was only 61 degrees out, but his client had insisted he was not leaving the United States without playing one round. Armand wanted the deal, so he obliged.

When he walked into the club, he was still dressed in khakis, a long-sleeved polo and a light jacket. He made his way to the bar and got a cup of coffee, then, when he spotted Beth, a cup of tea. He walked over to her and offered her the cup.

"May I join you?"

Danielle didn't usually stare at people, other than when she was reading their lips. She certainly didn't stare at random men in the supermarket, not when she really ought to be picking the best zucchini for her dinner.

But this particular man looked awfully like a kid she knew in high school, and her head was tilted, vegetable forgotten in her hand as she, well, stared, and tried to puzzle out whether it was him or not. The fact that she was having trouble putting a name on the kid didn't help.

Wednesday again, and a happier Wednesday than the previous one. The weather seemed to have warmed up especially for the inauguration, and the evening was mild enough that the cafe had tables set outside for more than just the smokers. A general air of celebration lingered from the previous day, and the cafe owner had decided to celebrate by offering free upgrades to larger sizes of coffee, or free muffins with the smallest ones.

Sugar and caffeine highs all around.

Armand (and his employees) had the day to themselves. Of course, that didn't mean that he hadn't worked at all; he just hadn't done it at the office. By the time evening rolled around, he finally gave himself permission to quit and head for the club.

He sat on one of the couches, legs extended out in front of him and reached for a newspaper just as someone else did.

"Sorry. Which section ... Hello Beth."

Nathan settled on a chair on the far side from the door, watching everyone who entered curiously while he drank his coffee. He caught an eye and raised an eyebrow and smiled. He was just getting a feel for the lay of the land.

Beth had packed her bag before work, and the cake was stored securely in a tin, but she didn't go to Armand's directly. Instead, she went home, iced the cake, picked up her bag, and called a taxi to take her there. She didn't want anything to disturb the weekend, even thoughts of the drive home.

Therefore it was a still-suited, still-made-up, rather tired looking Beth who rang the bell and waited on Armand's doorstep, her bag over her arm, her hair still pinned up, a combination of nerves and relief warring inside her.

To: "Armand"
From: bethyjen.reynolds@googlemail.com
Subject: As requested

Darling,

I'm never quite sure of how to write this sort of thing without it seeming like a shopping list, and less so when I'm not quite sure of myself, but I am sure of this: I'd like to sub for you. Please. It's been rather a long time since I've wanted anything deeper than play, but if you're willing, I'd really like to be yours for the weekend. Orders, kneeling, restraints - I'm not really looking for pain, at least, not deep pain, but I'd like to wear your marks, and if I push back, and I probably will, I might need pain as reassurance.

We can talk on Friday, I suppose, when I arrive, but mostly I just wanted to say thank you. I'm baking tonight, and packing, and I'll see you tomorrow night.

yours,
Beth

Wednesday again, and Christmas shopping panic was beginning to seize the citizens of Boulder. Shopping bags were crammed under tables, lists were frantically being made, catalogs searched through, and the cafe had all their decorations up. The large tree in the corner, unfeasible numbers of lights, more tinsel than any building should house, banners, and the rather embarrassed looking staff dressed as Santa's elves.