After signing in at the desk, Ghost studied the security guard, assessing him with the skill forged by over twenty years in the military—and nearly as long in the lifestyle.
The man was six-two, maybe two-twenty. Bouncer-sized, but his muscles were flabby, his gut big. His mandatory dark pants and button-up shirt were rumpled. The two-day-old stubble, bloodshot eyes, and the stink of a previous night’s bender completed the picture.
Z hadn’t hired the man. Wrecker, the club’s new manager, had.
In Europe, on New Year’s Eve of all things, Z’s mother had broken her leg. Z took his family overseas to help, planning to return in two to three weeks, but then Madeline had caught pneumonia. Realizing there’d be no quick return, Z had done a long-distance hiring of a manager for the Shadowlands.
Meanwhile, all through January, the Masters had been at the club constantly, trying to cover for Z’s absence.
But a couple weeks after being hired, the manager had seemed to have gotten the hang of things. Near the end of January, he’d hired dungeon monitors.
Good thing, since all of the Masters were burned out at that point.
Ghost rubbed his jaw. It would be interesting to see how the club was doing without Z’s supervision. Had to say, when he first met Wrecker, he hadn’t been particularly impressed.
“The club is open to guests tonight.” Ghost eyed the guard. “Do you know how to process them?”
The guard straightened from his slouch. “Yeah, I’ve been told. Get names, check IDs, have them sign the paperwork.”
“Very good.” Ghost started to leave and stopped. No, he couldn’t ignore this idiot’s appearance. “In the restroom, there’s a locker labeled VISITOR with disposable razors. Use one and get cleaned up and presentable. You’re the first person people see when they enter. I’ll watch the desk until you’re back.”
“Jesus, are you serious?”
Ghost gave him a hard stare, one that worked as well on civilians as it had in the military.
Flushing, the guard rose. “Right. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
With a sigh, Ghost rested a hip on the desk and prepared to greet visitors as they arrived.
From the number of cars in the lot, the club members who’d volunteered for demonstrations had already arrived. Thanks to a batch of homework to grade, Ghost was running late. The perils of being a professor.
As the door opened, Ghost smiled at the wide-eyed couple. “Welcome to the Shadowlands.”
Ghost had turned the desk back over to the adequately presentable guard and set up his demo area.
For the next two hours, visitors trickled in and out. It seemed Wrecker hadn’t done any advertising, since there weren’t as many people as normally attended an open house. But the ones who came were enthusiastic. They watched the demonstrations, asked questions, and participated.
In half an hour, the visitors would be escorted out. It did seem strange to be here on a Sunday, didn’t it?
Rising from his chair, Ghost shook his head at the hopefuls grouped outside the roped-off scene area. After answering nonstop questions in the noisy room, his voice was rasping worse than normal. “Sorry, but I need to take a break and get some water to keep my voice from disappearing.”
As the group gave him sympathetic nods, he smiled at the two probable Doms who had stopped to watch the spankings. “Never forget to hydrate yourself and your submissive.” Turning, he spoke to the handful who appeared to be submissive. “If your Top doesn’t make sure you get fluids, find a better Top.”
Such wide eyes.
Innocence could be deadly in the lifestyle. “When you’re under orders, whether for a scene or a lifetime, if your health isn’t important to your Dom, then you’re with the wrong person. Don’t take up with a slacker.”
Slightly puckered brows indicated they’d heard and were considering what he’d said.
As a professor, as a commanding officer, as a Dom, he was pleased.
Stepping over the rope, he turned the signpost “SPANKINGS” to face the wall, then headed for the food and drink tables.
Around the perimeter of the room, the scene areas were busy. Like Ghost, the Masters and Mistresses who’d signed up last fall to help hadn’t forgotten.
It was good to see them again.
Silver-haired Sam was treating people to a taste of a black snake whip—and the sadist undoubtedly savored the occasional yelp.
Anne was using a cane on a young man. Ben, her submissive, handed her various sized canes as ordered. Ghost was glad his buddy had caught his Domme—although Mistress Anne probably thought it was