Page 49 of To Catch a Sub

Rest and regular meals that had magically appeared outside her door went a long way towards restoring her both mentally and physically. The cut on her side was healing nicely. She’d refreshed the glue in two places, but it had knit in most spots.

Colette hadn’t been surprised it was Rolf, not Landon, who knocked on her door earlier. She hadn’t been surprised, but she had been disappointed.

He’d taken her to the small kitchenette tucked among the sleeping rooms, and when he only stood there, she got the hint and made lunch. It wasn’t her first time in the kitchenette—she’d explored a little bit, and had found the small room which was well-stocked for what it was.

She’d choked down some British bread, made palatable with good French jam, as Rolf explained what was expected of her.

There were no server positions at Club Alibi, at least not in the traditional sense. What the club did have were club subs.

And the club subs did anything and everything, “within reason.”

She’d asked Rolf to elaborate on “within reason” but he’d hadn’t directly answered the question. The duties he’d specifically listed were taking drink orders, fetching toys and tools, and alerting the Dom on duty if there were any problems. Club subs had the option of participating in scenes if needed, but should try to limit their participation to no more than thirty minutes.

Colette reassured herself that she had no reason to be worried. If a club member tried to pull her into a scene and she said no, they’d let her go. Consent was foundational to BDSM, plus Rolf was the Dom on duty this week, and he seemed like a stickler for rules and protocol.

She finished filling the rectangular black tissue holders with freshly opened packs of baby wipes, returning to the bar at the same time Kitten did.

“Kitten?” Colette asked.

“All right?”

Colette eyed the other woman and resisted the urge to tug at her own uniform. “I was wondering…is that a necklace collar, or a Master’s collar?”

Kitten touched the bright pink leather around her neck. Rather than a straight strap that formed a circle, the leather had been shaped and molded so it lay perfectly on her neck, dipping a little in the front. “Kitten” was spelled out in embossed black letters on the left side.

“It’s Master Rolf’s collar. Most of us club subs are his.” Kitten’s eyes unfocused, and a little shiver shook her bare shoulders.

Colette looked away, unexpectedly jealous. Not jealous that Kitten was Master Rolf’s sub—or more precisely one of his subs.

She was jealous that Kitten was in a position to submit and get her needs met.

Colette didn’t have that option, no matter how much she craved it. She would be the best club sub they had, but she wouldn’t scene.

She couldn’t afford to let herself be vulnerable.

Kitten looked Colette up and down, gaze lingering on her bare neck. “Master Rolf didn’t offer you a collar?” Kitten asked. “That right git, I’ll?—”

“No.” Colette was unexpectedly touched by the other woman’s outrage on her behalf. “I…I don’t know Master Rolf well enough to wear his collar.”

That was certainly true, but it wasn’t the full truth.

“Ah, that’s all right then. You’re wearing the uniform, so people will know who you are.” Kitten gestured back and forth between their bodies.

Colette wore a black corset with neon purple piping and laces. The matching purple underwear came up to her natural waist, so there was no gap of flesh between the bottom of the corset and the underwear. But the panties were also cut high in the back, exposing most of her butt cheeks.

Kitten was dressed in the same corset and underwear, but her accent color was a shocking pink. A headband with furry black and pink ears was perched on her head, and she had matching fuzzy cuffs on her wrists and ankles.

Unlike Kitten, Colette had opted to wear the third piece of the uniform Rolf had offered her—a ballet-style black wraparound skirt that tied on one side. It was sheer, and in bright light left nothing to the imagination. Once the house lights were off, the skirt would conceal more than it currently did.

They were both barefoot, and surprisingly, Colette’s feet weren’t dirty.

Kitten had explained that the club was fastidious about the floor. That showed a level of caring for the subs that Colette found unexpectedly touching. At the club she’d been trained in, she’d often ended the night with dirty hands, knees, and feet.

When members entered, they either had to wear shoe covers, change into clean shoes, or go barefoot.

“Baby, all right, yeah?” Kitten called out, jerking Colette’s attention away from her own bare toes.

A plump brunette with streaks of neon in her hair emerged through the playroom hallway door. She too wore the club-sub uniform of a corset and ass-showing underwear. Her accent color was neon green, which matched some of the streaks in her hair.