by Mrs. Darling
I hear an “Excuse me” gently from behind and turn around to see Kitty holding out a water bottle. I accept the drink and return her smile. She is in her mid-forties, a buxom lady, more plainly put together than I look all painted up. She is prepossessing in her simplicity though and an air of confidence wafts off of her.
The slave is in a corset that accentuates her large shelf of a chest; on the bottom is a petticoat of a skirt reminiscent of the Wild West. I pick up on her genuinely good vibes and feel welcomed and comforted in her presence.
Cracking open the water and trying to hide my nerves I ask, “You’re a slave? How is that different than being a submissive? If it’s ok to ask... I am sorry if I am speaking out of place...” I flush red and hope I haven’t offended her.
Kitty thankfully puts a hand up to stop my stammering.
“It’s oh-kay, Chloe. Most of us in the community are always happy to talk about our lifestyle so long as the questions are posed politely. In the way Master Vohn and I see it, as a submissive, I continuously consented. Now as a slave I have consented to his will once and with finality to live under his guidance. I’ve completed his training, like service training and position training. We live together and work together; I am always at his beckon call, his servant. There are no more negotiations in our relationship. I am owned by him. A possession. But this is also only how we define it. Living Master and slave will look different to every M/s couple. Just like D/s looks different too. Does that make any sense?”
I nod, taking in the information and feeling a yearning building inside of me. What she just described is my actual fantasy. Not necessarily being chained to an unfamiliar dungeon and used by strange Masters. But to have one Master take all control. To be stripped of my options and allowed to live under his caring hand. I look to Leo, wondering if we could be that one day. Could I sign myself over forever?
Smiling wide across the room the mister says, “C’mon darlin. Vohn’s giving us a tour.”
I turn to say good-bye to Kitty but she is missing from the room, surely gone from one of the four doors in the foyer, only one of which I have been through. Leo and I sign the paperwork and show ID’s, pay the door fee, and are briefed on the rules we’ve already read.
Master Vohn leads us behind the counter and pushes the solid door, hand ushering us in. The heavyset, gentle-faced stranger says ominously:
“Sir Leo, Chloe, welcome to The Rooms.”
There’s a gym locker lined hallway where we lock up our unnecessary stuff like my bag and our cell phones. The room is brightly lit and clean smelling and Master Vohn waits for us to finish before pulling back a heavy fabric divider. When we walk through at last we enter into the first real room of The Rooms.
It’s a dimly lit social area and there a few semi-nude to nude people mingling. On the left side of the room is a pool table and kitchenette. Vohn begins the tour.
“Ok. So. Anything in the kitchen is for your use and there are sodas, waters, and snacks available.”
A cross-dresser in six inch heels and sequined cocktail dress is shooting pool with a short, bronze man. They halt the game as we enter, give a friendly smile, and return to their playing and chatter. Across the room are a large television and several pieces of standard living room furniture. Porn is playing, showing a tiny brunette with obvious fake tits sucking on a man who looks a little like a Ken doll.
The thought makes me giggle uncomfortably and the two Dominant men stare at me like they’re waiting to be let in on the secret. I shake my head and drop my eyes, feeling like a complete goof, and I follow Vohn through the back of the first room, Leo behind me.
We go through a hallway and up a narrow set of dark winding stairs leading us to the second floor. All the while Vohn talks through his walking tour.
“Ok. So. You can have sex or play anywhere on this side of the first curtain by the lockers. Any form of sex is acceptable as long as it is consensual. Please, if it’s on upholstered furniture use a towel to catch any fluids. Stacks of towels are everywhere. Many of the rooms have a bed, or chairs, or sex swings, and most of those can be cleaned. If you mess up the sheets, no biggie, just pull up a corner and that will notify the staff to clean the room. Each room has antibacterial wipes. Each room has condoms and lubricants too. Ok. So. Here is the first of the rooms.”
But how can I notice anything with the show in this common area? A vivacious black woman is lying on her back on a leather ottoman in the middle of the open room. She is being fucked by two men, one penetrating her in the anus and the other plowing into her throat. Their moans and smell of strange sex fill the room and I am instantly horny. From being a voyeur, from the thought of having two men inside me, from her bravery.
Vohn escorts us in the first room. It’s maybe 10’x10’ and I will discover it’s similar in size and makeup to about a dozen rooms all over the top floor.
Master Vohn, a man that must be on the plus side of 300 pounds with a reddish crew cut shining with sweat from the hike, continues.
“Ok. So. Each room has a different theme to fulfill whatever fantasy you can imagine. Each one has a window to the common room or hallway so people can see in. Each door has three options. One. Leave the door open and that’s an invitation for others to enter. Not necessarily join, they still need permission to touch you guys or anything you have with you. But the opportunity for them to come closer and get permission is there. Two. There is a velvet rope that reaches across allowing people to peek in closer but stay outside. Three. A closed door means you are seeking privacy but the window’s there so the DM’s can keep an eye on things, keep everybody safe. Ok. So. This room is obviously the Egyptian Room.”
The room is painted in pyramids by an average set designer and in the middle of the room is a “golden” throne fit for a king or queen. On a small shelf lining the back wall are two sizes of grape-leaf crowns, twisted and knotted. There’s a bowl of condoms and several bottles of lube as well as a stack of clean white towels as promised. A gold platter next to the chair holds grapes and a large golden chalice awaits something cool to be poured into it. The wall holds several palm branches fit for paying homage to whoever sits being served.
Leo and I clutch sweaty hands, hot in the cramped room with the sizable proprietor and I feel moisture all over my body. My Dominant is asking silently if I am doing well and I give him a big smile and a quick nod. He squeezes my hand and rubs his thumb against the back of it.
Master Vohn backs us out of the room and leads us around the back “L” of the open central area where the ebony woman is now flipped over on her knees, again taking the men from each end. Two men now sit on a couch masturbating in the most leisurely way, enjoying the real life porn.
I take a moment to pay close attention to the people and there is one thing everybody we have seen has in common: everybody is so normal. There are no models here, no body builders. I see stretch marks and scars, eyeglasses and crooked teeth. These could be nurses or cops or casino workers. Parents. Grandparents possibly, some of them. And they are all sexy. Sexy as hell. It’s in the way they command their sexuality; own up to being who they are despite what is the norm in society. I see them as sexual inspiration; a nod to continue to embrace my own desires. An alluring welcome to the lifestyle.
Vohn speaks and pauses at each room we pass.
“Ok. So. Here is the western room.”
Peering in to see hay bales and cowboy hats and the ceiling painted in a red hot sunset. In the middle of the room is a stockade!
“We opened this club about ten years ago and have done lots of work to appease both our swinging clients and our BDSM clients. We do our best to accommodate any fantasy one may have, as you’ll see here in the school room.”
A young man with a camcorder is filming while a graying “teacher” bends a twenty-something year old woman in a plaid skirt over his knee and he spanks her bare bottom with a ruler. Each swat prompts a moan from her lips that sounds convincingly real.
I look
at Leo and instead of watching the porn being filmed he’s watching me. I near in closer to his body. Our tour guide moves along, going on and on about his business, showing us the medical room, stirrups and all, the space age room where black light and neon rules, the jungle room, and the rest of the themes. Some rooms are being occupied and some aren’t.
Opposite a different set of stairs there is a door with no window. “Couple’s Room” is on a simple sign.
Vohn pauses and explains, “Couples only room. The only people allowed in are couples who arrived together which would include you guys so feel free to check it out. There is a DM in there all the time and all sorts of furniture and toys. Peek in later.”
He leads us down the other narrow, dark staircase and we walk into bright light. The light of the S&M dungeon.
This is what I have envisioned and it is as horrifyingly delightful as I had imagined. Men and women in collars; some leashed, some kneeling on the cold concrete floor. It’s brighter here and for good reason. Some serious sadistic and masochistic play is going down. Nobody is having sex unlike upstairs even though Master Vohn indicated earlier it would be allowed.
Leo and I exchange intrigued expressions and Vohn leads us through the lower half of the building speaking quieter this time around. Gone is the techno music that blares through the upstairs of the building, now drowned out to only a dull thumping through the ceiling, and in its place are strikes of tools and gasps of pain and orders from Dominants.
I feel like I need to scream or pee or come. Something, anything, to let out the electricity running through me. Master Vohn library-whispers as he moves us through the bizarre new world.
“Ok. So. We have about a half dozen spanking benches, four St. Andrew’s crosses, and two cages, one standing and one low to the ground. Over here is an A frame set up. Suspension rigs are in the back over there. Two tables for fire or wax play. Notify a DM if you will be doing any edge play in advance-”
“Um, excuse me Vohn, I mean... uh... Master Vohn-” I interrupt, embarrassed by what may seem as ill manners both in interrupting and not calling him “Master.”
He stops me and interrupts me.
“Chloe, it’s OK, I’m not your Master, you don’t gotta call me that.”
The sweaty man continues, “Just call me Vohn. You’re pretty safe calling people by their first name or by the name they introduce themselves to you as. And you’re... uh... kinda shaking.” Raising his eyebrow to me, “Are you ok?”
I take a deep inhale like I practice in yoga and conjure up every bit of cool in my being. With so much newness and the sadistic vibes exuding from Leo behind me it is a hard task to relax at all.
I smile my best smile and respond, “I’m good. Thank you. Just taking it all in.”
“Sooo... did you have a question?” Vohn asks expectantly.
“Oh, shit. Yeah.” I plow forward, “What’s ‘edge play?’”
Vohn responds with an ease and patience that shows his passion. I can imagine anybody could tell how knowledgeable he is about the BDSM Lifestyle but it’s also obvious that it isn’t just knowledge; it’s his life, his passion.
“Ok. So. Edge play is anything considered ‘edgy’ in the community. That will vary based on who you talk with but most people agree on things like gun or knife play, cutting or blood play, fire, sometimes wax, incest or age play. Consensual non-consent-”
I rush forward, interrupting again, “Consensual non-consent?”
“Rape fantasy, in a nutshell.”
As soon as Vohn says the words my nipples form stiff peaks under the tight bodice of my dress. I’m instantly transported into my fantasy of the slave woman being used without regard. He continues talking to both Leo and me about it, furthering his answer, and the whole while I feel my pussy lips get slick. There’s a strange feeling of excitement mixed with shame. I can’t really want that, right? How awful.
Right?
Vohn’s description: “It’s a form of dominant play where the bottom consents to give up consent during play. You have to really know your partner you are playing with but you’d be surprised at the number of people, particularly woman, who fantasize about not just giving up control but having it completely ripped away from them.”
Standing there with the fantasy of my mister ripping away all of my control without asking, the tour ends.
“Ok. So. This is it! Do you guys have any other questions?” Vohn says with a smile, his pause allowing the swat! swat! swat! swat! rhythm of something hitting somebody nearby followed by a man’s voice, “Fuuuck! Stop pleeeeease!”
Vohn whispers to us, leaning closer, “‘Yellow’ and ‘red’ are safe words here. ‘Stop’ is not a safe word.” He steps back and winks, waiting for any questions.
Out of my husband’s mouth I hear, “Do you have any tools for sale?”
“Sure! Glad you guys are gonna stay and play awhile. I’ll show you what we have Sir Leo.” Vohn replies cheerfully.
Boy is he nice. Somehow nothing as scary as I’d imagined before arriving.
Leo looks me in my eyes and instructs, “I’ll be right back darlin. Wait here.”
Before I can squeak out a response the two Dominants turn together and walk towards where we began the tour, chatting quietly, leave me standing alone in a skintight dress, naked underneath, horny as hell, in a dungeon.
I’m afraid to move an inch. In part because Leo gave me the order and I don’t want to disobey him. Not here, not with his tight collar around my neck. Also because I’m scared to death to talk to anybody. I stand statue still and watch a scene taking place nearby.
There is a tall, scrawny middle-aged man strapped to a St. Andrews cross which is basically an eight foot tall letter X made out of wood. His arms are bound with rope above him, and his ankles are tied to the bottom of the X. He is only wearing navy boxer briefs and a heavy chain collar. His backside is being flogged by an older woman, likely in her sixties.
It’s entrancing to watch her flogger make what looks like the pattern of an infinity symbol across the man’s back. There’s another watcher: a collarless middle-aged woman stands silently directly across from me on the other side of the scene.
The submissive man’s gasps make me gasp. I begin to breathe heavily and can see his pain (pleasure?) building. I am envious of him; being used, being dominated.
Just when I crane my neck to look for him, the mister appears. Over his shoulder is a new black and blue flogger similar to the one being used in the scene I am watching. He comes up next to me and I can’t help but whisper my fear.
“Dammit, Leo. I can’t believe you left me alone.”
The relief of being safe floods over me. Leo smiles wide with his pink lips and his hazel eyes sparking with mischief, “You weren’t alone, my darling wife. We had the DM over there,” (he pauses to point to an incredibly built and incredibly dark man with a ‘DM’ armband waving a funny girlish wave at me) “keeping an eye on you. You’re safe with me Chloe. Trust that.”
In the flip of the wrist he reaches and unzips the top seven inches of my dress, spilling my breasts out for all to see. I gasp at the exposure and instinctively reach up to cover my chest. Leo quietly laughs that sadistic sounding laugh and pins my hands to my wide hips.
A man about our age passes by and glances our way, giving a casual, “Nice tits!” and an approving nod as if he was chatting about the weather.
My jaw drops, Leo laughs again and leans forward whispering into my ear, “My wife is the sexiest woman in this building. Maybe even in Vegas. Are you having a good time?”
His compliment makes me glow in pleasure.
“I’m having a great time, Sir.” I answer and before I can calculate what he’s doing, Leo reaches out, pinches my left nipple tight, and attaches a metal nipple clamp he must’ve just bought. The clamp feels like somebody is biting down with sharp teeth constantly on my breast.
Gasp. Again, jaw dropped, I watch Leo as he takes my other nipple and gives it the same treat
ment. Why does nipple pain feel like clitoral pleasure? Makes no sense. New clamps biting down as the fire roars in my body, Leo pulls me by my hands forward to hug me tight. In doing so the clamps press against me harder, more painfully, but then he kisses me deep and all thoughts of pain fade.
His taste is so familiar. It is the taste of the man that finally gets me. Our tongues meet and he presses tighter to me; I can feel him growing hard. I start to grind against him, aware that there are people, strangers, maybe that exotic looking DM, staring at us. I don’t care. In fact, I want to be seen. Want to be desired. I imagine being the future fantasy of the people watching and when I moan inside of Leo’s moving mouth it’s from sheer stimulation, not for show.
He breaks away from the kiss (no red lipstick in sight on him) and faces me back towards the scene that seems to be wrapping up. Leo backs behind me and holds my body close to his, staff hardened from the kiss hitting my tailbone. His left arm wraps around my stomach and clutches me tight. My clamped breasts are out and on display, nipples pointed out painfully swollen and I do my best to channel the hurt into sexual excitement. Does this make me a masochist?
I am wondering this to myself when I feel Leo shift and take his hand under the short hemline of my dress and palm my entire region. His palm lays on my central opening, fingers on my clit, and rests his thumb in the crack of my ass. I immediately begin to grind against him and in my ear I hear: “Stop. Now.” It takes me all of my willpower to do so.
The thin man gets untied limb by limb, the elder Domme taking time and care, whispering to him, stopping to massage each rope mark as they appear.
“Umph, damn Chloe, you are already so wet. Why?” Leo whispers in my back earlobe, holding me still, hand cupping my parts.
I respond in an instant, “You.”
“Stop stop stop. Specifically, darlin. It isn’t just me. No more fibbin'. What. Got. You. Wet?”
I gulp in air and spew out the answer feeling exposed in so many ways: “This. This Leo, everything down here. The dungeon. The slaves. Being watched. Being wanted. Being accepted.”