by Jen Katemi
“Go home, Mia.” I appeal to her friend, too, just for good measure. “You’re … Sara? Take her out of here, Sara. This isn’t a place for nice girls. For once Madame was wrong.”
I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Madame is never wrong.
For a moment we all look around guiltily, even though I know Masha is not here tonight. She never is on a Friday. It’s as if the faint sense of remorse I feel at criticizing the woman who saved my life has communicated itself to these young people standing in front of me.
I observe what’s going on around us as if I’m seeing it through a stranger’s eyes, and though I don’t think I’ve ever been as innocent as someone like Mia, I can’t help but wonder what she thinks. Is she shocked? Disappointed? Aroused?
Masha and I have spent a fortune over the years fitting out Plaisir to luxury specifications. If our clientele is wealthy enough to pay our admittedly exorbitant membership fees, then they should receive a commensurate level of indulgence when they come through our doors.
There are a series of raised platforms in each corner of the space, where talented pole dancers are working hard to provide entertainment both skilled and provocative. A neon-lit bar runs down one side of the room, with wait staff moving back and forth to service a number of grouped seating areas. The perfect place to meet, unwind, and gather courage before heading out back to play.
The dance floor is small but crowded, sensual music pulsing over and around a sea of writhing bodies. Some are clothed; some are not. Those who are regulars tend to be more blasé about nudity, whereas those who are new to the scene sport differing levels of upmarket street clothing or sexy underwear. Many of the men wear only short black towels as a superficial nod to modesty. We have a changing room near the entrance, with lockers where members can leave whatever of their personal effects they wish. Despite popular belief, nakedness is not compulsory, nor are leather, corsets, or collars. Out here in the lounge area it’s really rather tame, to be honest. Most action happens beyond the rear door, either in the viewing and playrooms, upstairs in the private suites, or down below in the dungeons where those with darker desires can act out their consensual scenes. That’s where I usually work. Tame or not, though, even the lounge area of a sex club is no place for the faint-hearted.
“You need to leave.” I turn away in dismissal, intending to let them make their own way out. A small hand on my arm halts my departure. Her touch is light, so light as to be almost not there at all, but it feels as if a handprint-shaped brand has just burned itself into my bare forearm. I can’t help it. I jerk a little under her touch, and now it’s Mia’s turn to snatch away her hand. She rubs her palm briefly, as if she, too, felt that unexpected jolt of heat.
What is this thing between us? There’s a connection of some kind, that’s for sure, but it’s one that I won’t allow to progress any further.
“Please. You don’t understand, Alexei.” Hearing my name on her lips is strangely enticing. She stumbles a little over the pronunciation, and perversely I want her to say it again. “I have a rather … unique problem, and I’ve tried everything. Everything!” The desperation in her last word halts my intended rebuttal.
“Okay.” I shrug, aiming for nonchalance when what I really feel is a whole lot more complicated than that. Everything about this woman is arousing my interest, whether I want it that way or not. And that same everything is screaming at me to get away before she fully crawls under my skin. Masha used my name to give her hope.
“You have two minutes.” I glance at my Rolex to mark the time and show her I mean what I say. “What is your problem, and why has Madame insisted I’m the only one who can help?”
She lets out a tiny sigh, as if relieved she finally has my proper consideration. “Believe me, I don’t particularly want to be here, but I’m desperate enough to give anything a go. It’s my last resort.” She wrinkles her nose a little as she speaks, and I’m both affronted at the subtle insult to Plaisir and fascinated by the movement of those freckles on her nose. Such a tiny nose. So delicate and sweet.
I blink, trying to bring my attention back to what Mia is saying. “I’ve always been sensitive to touch,” she says, and once again her arms wrap around her middle. An instinctive pose, perhaps, whenever she feels nervous? “Ever since I was little. My earliest memory is standing in the middle of my bedroom crying because it hurt so much while my mother was trying to brush my hair. The poor woman had to keep cutting all the tags off my clothing because they scratched way too much. And lace? Yeah, forget ever being able to wear lace.” A tiny laugh follows, but there’s no joy in the sound.
“Lately, though, it’s gotten even worse. So much worse than just not being able to wear scratchy clothing. It’s so bad now I can’t bear the touch of anything. Anyone… Oh Alexei, it’s been so long since anyone held me in their arms. Shared the joy of physical togetherness. Coming up to five years. I’ve tried, I really have, but it just doesn’t work. It’s not exactly painful… Well, it is, but I’d describe it more like extreme over-sensitivity, I guess. Sensory overload, to the point where I simply can’t bear it. It’s like my skin starts burning when people try to touch me. And I’m so lonely. So alone…”
Without warning, her baby blues flood with moisture and her bottom lip trembles. The urge to take her into my arms and hold her despite what she’s just admitted, fills me almost to the point of pain. What the actual fuck? I don’t do emotion. Ever. Alexei rule number two.
“So.” I clear my throat and try again. “Madame suggested you join Plaisir and seek me out? Do you know what I do? What I am? You must, surely?” I address that last to her friend, who nods with a touch of trepidation evident in her expression. Yes. The friend knows, and she’s worried for little Mia. Rightfully, too. Masha and I will be having words, later tonight.
“You’re a Dom.” Mia shrugs a little. “I suppose that means you tie people up and … whip them or something. Spank them. Hurt them. Give them pain, which ultimately leads to pleasure. I guess.”
My mouth drops open, and then a chuckle bubbles up and out. I simply can’t help it. “Or something. Sweetheart, this is just wrong.” I shake my head, more vehemently than intended. “So wrong. You need to—”
“I think we’re overdressed, Sara. This fabric is way too scratchy on my skin, even though it’s the softest fabric I could find.” Before I can draw breath to finish my sentence, she shucks the little black dress up and over her head. It lands in a pool of midnight at my feet. She’s not wearing a bra, and her breasts jut out. Small and perfectly in keeping with her slight build, their rosy tips are already puckered and hard. She’s wearing a see-through red G-string with a cut-out section at the front. A tiny landing strip proclaims the fact that Mia is, indeed, a natural blonde. Her scent wafts over me, subtle and clean, and I’m suddenly salivating at the thought of tasting that sweet place between her legs.
This is beyond ridiculous. Mia is the complete opposite of everything I stand for, everything I am. And I’m damn sure not the one to help her, despite what Masha has indicated. Mia obviously needs subtle. I don’t do subtle.
Her hands are clenching and unclenching by her side, and her whole body is trembling. She’s clearly out of her depth and trying to put on a brave front, and what I should do right this minute is hand her back her dress and shove her out the door. But then I catch a glimpse of that “other” once again in her eyes and I know I’m not going to be able to say no. Instead, I let out a frustrated groan and stare like an idiot at the expanse of beautiful skin on display in front of my eyes.
She’s watching my expression carefully, waiting for something more than a mere groan. Her lips lift in a tiny grin when she recognizes the resigned acceptance that is no doubt rolling across my face.
Oh Masha. I don’t want to corrupt an innocent. What the fuck are you trying to achieve with this stupid, stupid suggestion?
****
Mia
I can’t believe I just did that. What in tarnatio
n was I thinking? My first instinct is to cover my privates with my arms and hands, and yet no one seems to have reacted to my striptease act except Sara. Her mouth drops open and then snaps shut when I flick a quick be quiet glance her way. This whole scenario might be new to me, but I’m here for a damn good reason, and I don’t intend to take no for an answer.
Admittedly, Alexei does blink a few times, and lets out that tiny groan. When he follows up his groan with a look I can’t quite interpret, my heart rate speeds up and I wonder if he can see the pulse vibrating in my throat. I smile a little, so nervous my brain feels like it’s scrambled. My sex is damp with five plus years’ worth of pent-up need, and it hasn’t helped matters that this Dom I came here to meet is so much sexier than I expected.
Actually, forget sexy. That word doesn’t even begin to describe the man standing in front of me now. He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever met, without a doubt, his body all hard muscle and smooth, tanned skin. My fingers itch to reach out and explore the impressive terrain of his shirtless chest and sculpted abs, but I know better than to risk the pain.
High cheekbones plus a shock of messy dark hair create interesting shadows and angles in a visage more intriguing than handsome. Overlaying the impression of heat and hardness is an air of brooding darkness. I can’t quite pinpoint it, but there’s a hint of something dangerous that flashes occasionally in the depths of his intriguing green eyes. Especially when he stares at me the way he’s doing right now. Serious and unsmiling, but with an occasional suggestion of inherent danger that proves both exciting and terrifying.
I am so out of my depth. What was I thinking, to come here at all?
Alexei doesn’t believe I should be here. He’s not hiding his reluctance when he glares down at me from his impressive six foot-plus height, nor the annoyance that draws those dark winged brows into a full-on scowl. He may have paid me a few minutes’ lip service because I revealed Madame deliberately arranged our meeting, but will he really put his heart and soul into helping a complete stranger when clearly, almost every bit of him is saying no?
Almost every bit. I’m super aware of what he can’t hide in those sexy leather trousers. And it’s all I can do to keep my eyes trained on his face and not drift down toward his noticeable package below. Surely it couldn’t be me that’s turned him on that much? Maybe he always walks around with an erection when he’s here. There’s plenty of exposed flesh on display in the room, that’s for sure. But I hope I’ve played a part. It’s a very impressive erection.
Oh, this is crazy. For the millionth time I wish I could turn tail and run. I mean, I’m a research assistant in a skin care development company. I crunch data for a living—not the most exciting of pastimes—and my idea of a normal Friday night is a drink or two after work followed by Chinese takeout and chilling in front of the TV at home. Usually alone.
Sara’s the party girl, not me. A date in a sex club with the most notorious bondage expert in Melbourne is the last thing I ever pictured myself doing. And yet here I am, almost completely naked in a room full of strangers, and staring up at the infamous Alexei from Club Plaisir.
I drop my gaze briefly to the pile of fabric at his feet, fighting the urge to gather up my dress and run from the room and his still unreadable gaze. I wish with all my heart that I could be a normal twenty-five-year-old and just go have sex with someone. Anyone. I consider Alexei and amend my thoughts. Anyone normal. Anyone other than this erotically charged man who seems to be able to turn my insides to mush with just one brooding glance.
I pray that Madame is right about her son. Like Alexei, she has a grace about her that is innately sexy, and it’s particularly noticeable when she moves. Even though she must be over fifty, I can imagine she’d still be incredibly attractive to the opposite sex. For some reason, though, I expected Alexei to be sleazy rather than attractive. No idea why, but now that I’m standing in front of him, my body is coming to life in a way it hasn’t done in far too long.
I know they’re not related, not really, but this man exudes some of the same magic appeal as Madame. From the moment I met her, I was filled with hope that maybe, just maybe, there might be a way to overcome my sensitivity issues. Staring up at Alexei, I’m both terrified and exhilarated, in equal measure. I hope he’ll agree to help me.
He’s nothing like the type of guy I would usually go for, but then, that hasn’t really worked out for me so far. Maybe Madame is correct, and a trained Dom with legendary control and an arsenal of sex tricks and toys up his sleeve really is the answer to my unusual predicament.
“You need someone who can reboot your system back to within normal limits, and I know just the Dom for the job.” Madame’s words are branded in my mind. No matter how this turns out, I will always be grateful for the spark of hope those words ignited in my hitherto dark despair.
Alexei isn’t happy. His jaw is set in a stubborn line, and his gaze is narrowed. But you know what? I can be stubborn, too. I’m a paying client of this club, so he can just suck it up and get on with things. On that thought, I decide to tease him a little. I can tell I’ve gotten under his skin, and I suspect that doesn’t happen very often to someone like Alexei Dubois.
“So, big boy.” I reach out and run the tip of my finger across the bulge in his pants. He feels hot and hard. Deliciously enticing, and it’s just enough contact to create an effect without overloading my system. “Shall we go get started?”
He jerks back and huffs in a shocked breath, and Sara gasps at my side. “Oh my God, Mia, you can’t do that. You should ask permission first, before you touch anyone here.”
“I … oh.” Heat floods my cheeks, and I wish I could sink through the floor. “I didn’t know. I thought, being a sex club and all—I’m so sorry.”
Did I really use the term “big boy”? He must think me an imbecile. When he bends down and picks up my dress, I expect him to shove it back in my arms and demand that I leave immediately. I wouldn’t blame him at all. Instead, he bunches the fabric in front of his groin and lets out a strangled guffaw.
“I must be nuts.” He raises a hand and runs it through his already messy hair. It flops straight back down across his forehead, making him look even sexier than before.
“Pardon?”
He sighs, but it’s not an angry one this time. “Come on then, tiny girl.”
Ouch! Not much I can say about that one. Touché, Alexei. His mouth lifts briefly at one corner as he studies my no doubt crimson face.
“If Madame has willed it this way, then so be it. I’ll introduce you to my world and see how long you last.”
He must have made some kind of surreptitious movement, because a mostly naked man materializes out of the crowd and takes my dress from Alexei. “Harris, please store Mia’s belongings in one of the lockers. And look after her friend, Sara. They are here at the invitation of Madame. Treat Sara well while I play with Mia.” He nods at my friend, who still seems unconvinced this will work. Sara and I have known each other for years and she sure as heck didn’t want to bring me here tonight, but she could hardly stop me once the membership approval came through. Especially when she’s a long-standing club member herself.
“Pot. Kettle,” I told her this morning, and after some to-ing and fro-ing she finally agreed to accompany me. It’s one thing to apply for membership at a club like Plaisir. It’s quite another to actually get up the courage to walk through the front door, and I’m grateful she decided in the end to be supportive. Right now, though, Sara is frowning reflectively, but I see she’s also sizing up the aforementioned Harris and enjoying the attractive view.
I hide a grin. “I’ll be fine, Sara. You’ve always enjoyed your time here, and Madame wouldn’t suggest her top Dom—her own son—if she didn’t completely trust him with the clients.” I flick a glance up at Alexei and feel a strange sense of gratification when he briefly purses his lips. His very presence winds me up, and if I can do the same in return, well, it’s only fair, right?
He turns b
riefly to Sara. “I won’t take her further than she can cope with.” He waits for her reluctant nod, and then turns to lead the way toward the rear of the club.
As I follow I have to fight the urge to cover my privates. It feels utterly ridiculous to walk through a public space practically naked, and to be honest it feels like a walk of shame, despite the fact that I’m not the only partially dressed person in the room. Not by a long shot. With my G-string and heels, I’m still sporting more clothing items than some of these patrons. An elderly man just ahead of us bends forward suddenly to stroke the hair of a woman kneeling on all fours at his feet, and I can’t avoid the flash of dangling parts between his legs that look like they’ve seen better days. Oh my!
I blink hard and try to focus only on the muscled contours of Alexei’s tanned back and the neat curve of his ass encased in those skin-tight pants. Yowza. The man knows how to rock a set of leathers. Every inch of Alexei, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, screams erotic. This man, unlike most of the others in the place, is definitely in his prime.
Eventually, we reach a large set of double doors that slide open soundlessly as he pushes a button set discreetly in the wall. Everything here gives off the appearance of upmarket luxury, even the goddamn doors. What is beyond this point? Am I going to see things I can’t unsee? Am I going to be changed forever if I step over this threshold and discover a whole new world of sex and debauchery?
The ache of longing in my clit wars with a raft of messages in my brain about morality and wrongness. I meant what I said, though. I am desperate. And I will try anything, even if it means giving myself up to someone who embraces a completely different way of life from mine. Someone like Alexei.
I hesitate for just a second too long, and surprisingly, he reaches back to clasp my fingers in his and gently urge me forward. It’s the gentleness that’s surprising. I don’t think it’s his natural go-to state of being. I flinch a little at his touch, anticipating the usual over-sensitivity that always turns to irritation, but his hold is so light it’s almost non-existent, and instead of pain there’s a sensation of warmth and comfort that radiates up my arm. It reminds me of Madame reaching out that first day when I was sitting by the river, when she gently laid a hand on my shoulder. Instead of irritation and over-sensitivity, all I felt was warmth, and the blossoming of hope.