Page 2 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 1

Clandestine Daddy (A Club Rouge: Louisiana Daddies Prequel) by Linzi Basset

Chapter One

Club Rouge, Baton Rouge, Louisiana…

“Since it’s your first time with us, please pay attention to the orientation. You don’t want to be banned on your maiden visit, now, do you?”

Good Lord, this is a sex club, but the woman sounds like a drill instructor at an FBI boot camp.

Sage Lewis kept her thoughts from showing. She was already struggling to hold on to her patience. Her uncle neglected to mention the rigmarole to get inside the club. Time wasters, she preferred to call them. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t already spent an hour on the online application just to be approved as Master Z’s guest.

Master Z? I would love to know the story behind that moniker. She smirked quietly, picturing Slade Lewis in her mind. Tall, well-built for his age—not that he was old, she quickly reminded herself. He was her father’s youngest brother, born twelve years after him, which made him forty-seven, thirteen years Sage’s senior.

More than that, why would he bother to come all the way to Louisiana for his kinky pleasures when there was an abundance of such clubs in Washington D.C.? Was he hiding his lifestyle from prying eyes? As the Deputy Director of the CIA, of course, he had to keep his slate clean, but as far as she was concerned, what a man did in his own bedroom was no one else’s business.

Yeah right, which is why you’re here, at this club, looking for dirt on none other than Congressman Beats.

Oh, shut up. We’re discussing my uncle, not the case.

Same difference, just the names set them apart.

Sage felt like bitchslapping her conscience into silence, but she couldn’t deny the truth. If Beats’ kinky lifestyle was leaked, so potentially could her uncle’s be, which was the one thing she would regret for the rest of her life if it happened because of her uncle assisting her.

Except there was one major difference between Slade Lewis and Congressman Beats. Beats was completely corrupt. She already had enough dirt to bury him, but instinct warned her that she had missed a key link—one she believed would be found here.

If the owners of Club Rouge allowed in characters like Beats, it stood to reason that the bastard involved in the financial banking scandal with the congressman was here as well. Another one who used the power of their position to screw the American People. That was who she was after. Beats was nothing but a big fish in a small pond.

Sage loved her job as an FBI Special Agent in Criminal Investigation. She took very seriously the responsibility of ensuring that the civil rights of citizens were protected by fighting public corruption and investigating criminal acts by politicians and law enforcement. Going undercover and following the money and paper trails was part and parcel of the job.

Glancing around, she acknowledged that this was anything but a shady establishment. Stylish and elegant, the black, red, and silver foyer, portrayed a vision of indulgence, which she had no doubt was reflected behind the wide carved door leading to the entertainment area and the dungeon. The club was exclusive to members only, and the selection process was stringent. Since she couldn’t approach the FBI for financial assistance until she had something concrete to justify the case she was investigating, she had to dig into her own pocket to pay for the entrance fee.

Lord, I hope they refund me once I crack this case! She cringed just thinking of the phenomenal amount she had to part with just to obtain entrance for one night. One single night, and a big chunk of her savings was gone. Membership would probably take half of her annual salary!

Luckily, I have no desire to become a regular at this sort of club.

Due to her ignorance of the lifestyle, Sage had done extensive research and was comfortable she would blend in as a submissive who knew the ropes… pun intended. She smirked at the vision.

Good luck to any man attempting to tie me up!

“And you, Miss? What name did you choose?”

Sage might be ignorant about BDSM, but one look at the stern expression on the woman’s face warned her she was in the presence of a formidable Dominatrix, or Domme, as her research indicated they were called.

Digging deep into her subconscious, she searched for specks of the discussion that had been going on while her mind had wandered. Getting caught not paying attention wouldn’t look good for someone claiming to be an experienced submissive.

Sub names! She wants a name I want to use while at the club. Shit!

“Patty Cakes.”

Grasping at straws at this moment wasn’t ideal. Spurting out the first name that crossed her mind, even worse—if Mistress Winter’s response was anything to go by.

“Well, I do believe there’ll be a number of Doms here tonight who are going to enjoy you.”

Since it was the only pet name anyone had ever called her, bless your heart, Grandma, it was only natural to latch onto it. Now, she wished she’d paid attention to the orientation and picked something more subtle. Her research had shown all these kinds of clubs had one thing in common—their protocols had to be followed. Of course, since her mind had been on the case, she had missed the discussion about all the rules and requirements.

“Not a very good start to the night, Sage,” she berated herself sotto voce.

On the other hand, she wasn’t too concerned. Participating or meeting a dashing Dominant wasn’t the purpose of being there. Her only intention was to pretend to be watching scenes while instead, actively gathering dirt on Beats, in one way, by trying to get inside his head.

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