by L. C. Davis
Jason's smile faded. His gaze lingered on my hand and he withheld the glass for a moment. I turned my hand over, wondering if I'd cut it or something. All I could see was the royal blue stamp the bouncer had placed on it.
Had Sebastian given me the wrong one? I couldn't imagine any context in which any kind of stamp would cause such a reaction. Then I remembered the receptionist's strange reaction and quickly withdrew my left hand. I took the glass with my right, flustered.
“Sorry,” he said, smiling again. It was like he'd flipped a switch and gone back to being the snarky, lascivious bartender. I'd caught a glimpse of the truth though, if only for a moment. The question was, why?
“I just realized I forgot to take inventory of the cups. It's gonna be a nightmare to sort out later. I should get back to the line,” he said, nodding to each of us. “Arthur, we need to have a session sometime soon now that you're back. Remus, it was great meeting you.”
It was an obvious lie, but I let him have it. I wasn't sure I wanted to know the truth. “You too,” I said, relieved when he turned to help the people who had come to the bar after us.
I was beginning to feel lightheaded. Against my better judgment, my solution was to take a huge gulp of wine. It went straight to my head, but I wasn't about to sit at the bar. Arthur led us over to one of the chairs the club employees had somehow managed to set up on the dance floor in the time it had taken us to wait in line and get drinks. The chairs faced the stage and, of course, Arthur only had to flash his red stamp to get us front row seats in a section marked by matching crimson chair covers.
A couple of guys in the row behind us were muttering about it being unfair, but I was too alarmed by the bartender's strange behavior to care. I fell into a seat and took another sip of wine, careful to keep my unusual stamp hidden from view. My thoughts were whirling with possibilities. One strange reaction was a fluke, but two from club employees who would surely know what the stamp meant? That was a warning.
The bouncer had seemed like kind of a jerk. He reminded me of the muscle heads who levied passive-aggressive taunts about my heritage all throughout high school. Was it some kind of label? I couldn't imagine a club as put together as this one tolerating that.
No, that was paranoia. It had to be something else. I was just getting worked up, being in such a strange place. Being surrounded by half-naked kinksters who were now drunk enough to be getting rowdy wasn't helping either.
I looked over to see Arthur going over a brochure entitled, “Alpha's Pet Contest.” “Hey, do you know why our stamps are different?”
“Huh?” He looked up, squinting when I showed him my hand. He wasn't wearing his glasses in an attempt to look sexier.
“No, that's not the usual guest pass,” he said, confirming my fears. He flashed me a closer look at his stamp and I realized that it even the design was different. “I'm not sure what that is. Looks cool, though. I want one.”
“Well, you can have it,” I muttered. “Every time someone sees it they look at me like they would if I was wearing a dog collar anywhere but here.”
“Oh, you're talking about Jason's meltdown? Yeah, that was a little weird.”
I frowned. “It wasn't just him. The receptionist did the same thing.”
“Well, Sebastian's kind of a lunkhead, so he probably just gave you the wrong stamp. I bet Clara noticed it but didn't want to get him in trouble and Jason, well... Jason's a flake. Or maybe your hand reminded him of the way his ex used to give handjobs, I dunno,” he laughed. “I'm sure it's nothing to worry about.”
The last one excluded, his theory made sense. I settled back in my seat, feeling like a loser for getting so worked up over what was probably a simple comedy of errors. Things like that happened all the time, didn't they?
“Yeah, you're right,” I murmured. Even our row was starting to fill out. I quickly realized that, if the present turnout was a good representation, Arthur was probably the youngest Red Club Member.
A few minutes later, the crowd began to buzz restlessly. I looked at my phone and saw that it had just turned 11. The competition would doubtlessly be starting soon. Some particularly good looking men began to stand up and head towards the stairway that led up to the stage and behind a heavy blue curtain. I recognized a handful of them from campus.
One of the guys in our row stood up, his collar still attached to a leash held by the broad man behind him. His light brown hair partially covered his otherwise bare chest, accentuating his waifish build.
“Are you going to be a good boy, Maverick?” the burly man at his side demanded.
“Yes, master,” the younger man purred, leaning down for a kiss.
“Good,” the other man said, unclipping the leash from his collar so his submissive could trot off to join the others.
“Alright everyone, may I have your attention?” A familiar British accent rang out through the open dance floor. Clara took the stage, her prim and proper blue dress looking out of place in the crowd of mesh and leather.
“Get off the stage, bitch, we want the Wolves,” a lone dissenter bellowed from the back of the room.
Clara looked hurt. “I'm only here to facilitate the contest so everything can go as smoothly as possible. I'm still missing several entrants backstage,” she explained.
I had briefly wondered why a gay sex club would have hired a female receptionist, but I was already feeling a pang of guilt for thinking that way. The fact that anyone could be so rude to someone just trying to do their job was awful. The deed didn't go unpunished for long.
Before she had finished speaking, two huge men came from the back of the room and descended upon the heckler with intimidating speed. Sebastian was one of them. The other was significantly smaller, but still a force to be reckoned with. They both looked furious as they dragged the man away kicking and complaining out of the club.
A nonplussed Clara continued, “I need to have Chase Connors, Lou Johnson and John Baxter come backstage for registration and prep.” She turned the page on the clipboard she held. “I also need Henry Star, Chris Logan and...” She did a double take, squinting at the list. “Remus Black?”
My head snapped up at the sound of my own name. There was no way anyone else had the same name, that much was certain. My stomach sank as realization set in and I turned to Arthur to see what he had to say for his treachery.
“It wasn't me,” he mouthed. I wouldn't have believed him, but his pupils were so wide I could barely see the slivers of blue around them. He was every bit as shocked as I was.
I said nothing as I tried to figure out what to do. The other stragglers were filing backstage. I started to panic when I saw Clara flipping back through her clipboard.
“What do I do?” I hissed, still angry at Arthur even if I couldn't pin anything on him in the moment.
“I don't know,” he replied, glancing around. “You have to go backstage and explain the situation.”
“Me? You're the one who got me into this,” I reminded him.
“Remus Black,” Clara called, her eyes locking on me. Of course she remembered me. She had to have seen at least two-hundred people that night, but she remembered my weird name.
I stood up hesitantly. She seemed to show no signs of backing down from her task, and I didn't want to make her night any worse. “You're coming with me,” I whispered, grabbing Arthur's hand and pulling him with me.
“Alright then,” Clara said in a newly chipper tone. “It looks like we have all the contestants. I suggest you folks grab some drinks at the bar, enjoy the music and prepare for the show. Also, do take note of the emergency exits at the far end of the club and by the entrance.”
Once Arthur and I were too close to the stairs for him to run, I let go of his arm. I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that Sebastian wasn't the one guarding the stairs that led backstage. In his place was the other man who had dragged the heckler offstage. He wore a similar uniform of jeans and a black T-shirt, but he was blond and wore a black lea
ther jacket. He looked like he could have stepped off the screen of a James Dean film with his hair slicked back in a perfect coiffure.
“A little late to the show, huh kid?” he asked without smiling.
I pulled Arthur to my side. “Tell him what you did.”
Arthur groaned. “Yeah, uh, Clarence, I don't know what happened but my friend wasn't supposed to be entered in the contest. There's been a mistake, so if we could just go backstage and talk to --”
He was cut off by a dismissive laugh. “No way, no one besides the contestants gets backstage. Not even you, Arthur,” he said, ushering me up the stairs before I could even protest. “You can pick your boy toy up after the show, we gotta get this thing movin'.”
“Huh? No, you don't understand,” I protested, tripping my way up the stairs. Boy toy? I had always known I was a doormat, but not such an obvious one.
“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Clarence said, pushing me up the last step and behind the curtain. I cast one last forlorn-but-also-infuriated glance back at Arthur and saw him shrug helplessly before we disappeared down a hall. “You subs think the world is gonna end if you're away from your precious master for one second. Well, there's a reason we don't let them backstage anymore. Doms are like stage moms on crack.”
“He's not my dom,” I grumbled. “And I'm not a sub. I'm not part of this whole BDSM thing.”
He looked me up and down with refreshing disinterest. “You're sure dressed for the part,” he said. His hand was still on my back as we approached a room I was sure was the source of the growing chatter.
“I'm just here for my friend,” I said. “For whatever reason he decided to sign me up for this thing, but I didn't give permission.”
“Well, that's a bummer and I'd punch him in the face if I were you,” he said, pushing me into a room of the no less than two dozen guys who had gone up onstage. “Unfortunately, it's really not my problem. Getting you in here was. Bye,” he said, pulling the door shut behind him.
I clenched my fists to hold in my frustrations. It was a reminder to clip my nails.
“What's got you so worked up?” I turned to find the source of the rather catty voice and found myself the unwanted center of attention once again. Everyone was staring at me, appraising. The appreciative looks from earlier had been unwelcome, but I would have eagerly traded for them then.
“I bet he thought he'd get a private dressing room,” said another contestant. He gave me a derisive snort. “Probably thinks he's a shoe-in because he's so exotic.”
I crossed my arms to hide as much of myself as I could. “I don't think I'm going to win, I'm just trying to get myself pulled from the competition. I was entered as a joke.”
The first one to make a comment laughed in agreement. “Can't argue with that.”
A few of the others joined him in laughter.
I collapsed into an empty seat as far away from them as possible. As unbearable as this room was, I had a feeling I wouldn't fare much better with the harried staff members outside.
“Just ignore them,” said the guy next to me. I immediately recognized him as the sub from our row. “Before you came in, they were bitching about Marcus' shoes. They know they don't stand a chance, so they're just trying to run the competition off with their unbearable squawking,” he said loudly enough to earn a sneer from the obnoxious ones.
I couldn't help but smile. “Thanks, but I wish they could run me off.”
“You really got entered as a joke?” he asked, frowning. “That's a shame, I think you really stand a chance.”
“That's nice of you, but I don't even belong here,” I murmured. “Besides, I'm sure you're more what they're looking for.”
“They're looking for an offering to the Alpha,” he said. “It's anyone's guess what he's looking for.”
“You mean there really is an Alpha?” I asked, surprised. “II thought it was just a gimmick.”
“It might be a gimmick, but it's one that's taken seriously around here,” he replied. “The Alpha runs this entire club. Hardly anyone ever sees him, but he's friends with the mayor and everything. The Wolf Pack is like his family, they're the doms who keep the dungeon. You really are new to this, huh?”
I groaned, letting my head hit the wall as I leaned back. “I just came with a friend who's convinced this is a good way to forget my ex. I don't know a sub from a sandwich, and I can't get anyone to listen to me.”
“Well, yeah, unattended subs aren't really taken seriously around here,” he admitted.
“That's just it. I'm not a sub. Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Oh. That would be frustrating, I guess.”
“Do I really look like one?”
He hesitated. “There's not really a look. It's more about energy.”
I sighed. “And I have the energy?”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Sorry.”
“At least you're honest,” I smiled, holding out my hand. “I'm Remus.”
“Maverick,” he replied, shaking it. “And don't worry. People can say whatever they want, but you're not actually anyone's submissive until you decide to be.” He tilted his head. “What's on your hand?”
I groaned inwardly, holding my hand out for inspection.
“That's weird,” he muttered. “Subs are usually stamped on the palm, but it's still on the right hand. And I've never seen that design before.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “It's been causing quite the stir.”
“Well, I've only seen a clubber marked with something other than the usual stamp once before,” he explained. “It's nothing bad, if that's what you're thinking.”
“No?” I asked hopefully. “What does it mean, then?”
“It means a Wolf marked you,” he said. “Each one has his own seal, but it's usually a temporary tattoo or something. It's usually reserved for their personal submissives. Looks like one of them has his eye on you.”
I pressed my hand against my thigh to cover it. My heart skipped. “There was a big guy at the door, Sebastian. Is he one of the wolves?”
Maverick's pretty blue eyes widened. “Oh, yeah. His waiting list at the club is a year long. He's really selective about who he'll take.”
I swallowed hard. “Do you think he-. Would he have entered me? He carded me at the door so he knew my name.”
“It's definitely possible,” said Maverick. “He isn't exactly shy about taking what he wants, from what I've heard. But the winner doesn't go to any of the wolves. He goes to the Alpha.”
I had too many questions and too little understanding of this world, even if Maverick was being kind enough to answer all my questions. “I'm sorry,” I murmured. “I shouldn't take up any more of your time, you're probably focused on the competition.”
He smiled. “Don't worry about it. Now I'm curious. Anyway, I'm just doing this to please my master. I couldn't care less about the photoshoot, or the prize money.”
“He wants you to do this?” I asked, confused.
“Oh yeah. He doesn't care about those things either, but he's hoping I'll win so he can schmooze with the Alpha,” he laughed. “It's fun though. Honestly, I wouldn't sweat it. You might even have fun. Why are you trying so hard to get out anyway?”
I hesitated. I'd never thought about it, really. I was sitting there in a BDSM club half naked, so it wasn't like I could claim modesty as an excuse. And I'd once followed someone home and carried their groceries up the stairs just because I couldn't say no, so it wasn't the obligation.
The only answer that was left was one I truly didn't like. Jeff never would have let me do something like this and his conditioning was still strong.
“I don't know,” I lied. “I guess it just seemed like a weird thing to do.”
“What in life that's worth doing isn't weird?” he asked, grinning. “You're a college student, right?”
I nodded.
“So do it for the experience. One to embarrass the grandkids with a hundred years from now,” he teased. “You never k
now, you might enjoy it.”
“I guess I could just hang in a couple of rounds,” I murmured. “I mean, it's not like I'll last any longer than that.”
He gave me a wary look. “I wouldn't count on that.”
“Well, what would happen if I did win?” I asked. “I could refuse the dungeon thingy with the Alpha, right?”
Maverick's eyes widened. “Well, technically, I guess. They can't make you have a session with him. I just don't think anyone's ever turned it down before.”
I smiled as a plan started to fall into place. “But I'd still get the chance to tell him one of his employees is signing people up without their permission?”
He shook his head and gave me a wary look. “You're crazy. I like it, but you're completely crazy.”
I laughed a little. “I'm not going to win. It's just a nice revenge fantasy. But you're right, it could be an experience.”
“That's the spirit, I think,” he teased.
The door opened and Clara's head popped in with her eyes covered. “If you gentlemen are decent, we're ready for you to take your places on stage. Curtain call is in five minutes.”
She peeked through her fingers and scanned the room until her gaze landed on me. “I heard there was an issue with registration?”
“Uh, no,” I said with an apologetic smile. “Everything is fine now.”
“Ah, good,” she said, pushing the door open. She tucked the clipboard under her arm and clapped her hands together. “Let's get a move on gentlemen, chop chop.”
We filed out of the dressing room and were directed towards onstage pedestals. Maverick waved as one of the stage hands pulled him towards the other end of the stage. I had really hoped we would get to stick together, but it looked like I was on my own.
I did get placed on a pedestal beside one of the hecklers in the dressing room, but he wasn't as brazen without his ringleader. Everyone was primping and posing as Clara ran around the stage, calling for everyone to take their places.
Flood lights above us turned on, blinding me. I almost fell off the pedestal. When the curtains went up, the crowd began to cheer raucously. I struggled to find Arthur in the sea of people, but all I could make out were vague human shapes.