With that, the conversation seems to be over, so I look out the window at the lights of the town rushing past us. We appear to be heading down towards Hampstead Heath. And when he slows, putting on the indicator, I still have qualms about the night ahead, but now it’s too late for second thoughts. We’ve arrived.
“We’re here.” Jon’s voice breaks into my thoughts as he turns the car into a long driveway, and reaching the end, pulls it into a paved car park to one side, ending up perfectly spaced between two already parked cars. One’s an expensive Jaguar; the other’s a Lotus. This is one place where the McClaren doesn’t look out of place. Then my attention is captured by the building we’ve arrived at, and my mouth drops open. This wasn’t what I expected at all! It’s a fucking mansion! It must be worth millions. A far cry from the basement club in the West End I had planned to visit. Even the size of the place is daunting. My mouth goes dry. I thought it would be more like a night club down a back street somewhere, maybe in Soho.
I’ve hesitated so long that Jon’s opening my door before I have a chance to get out by myself. Mindful of my lack of covering I carefully swing both legs out together, and take his hand as he helps me to stand up. I turn to look at the mansion again. “It’s amazing.” I croak out.
“Not bad, is it?” He sounds proud for some reason.
“Is it all the club, Jon?”
“It’s the whole building. The dungeon takes up most of the ground floor, the private and themed rooms are on the first and second floors. There are a couple of apartments for staff who live onsite on the top level, but the rest of it is all for play.” He turns me to face him, studying me briefly, “From here on in I’m Master Jonathan or Sir.” He waits for my nod, as he confirms what he’d told me earlier in the car. “Come on, let’s get inside.” He’s still got his hand in mine, and he tugs it a little. I need the encouragement to get moving.
Come on, Dexie; I need you tonight. Treat it like speaking at a writer’s conference. Trying to suppress the shy Mia, I summon up the confident author in me, forcing my alter ego to come to the fore. Straightening my shoulders, and deciding I’d be pulling up my big girl pants if I were wearing anything worthy of that description, I start moving towards the intimidating building. We walk up the path, my heels catching slightly in the gravel, making me grateful for his helping hand keeping me steady. I’m shaking, as we approach a large wooden door. Jon pushes it open, and stands behind me, his comforting touch on my back serving to settle me. Jon’s job is to keep me safe; nothing is going to happen to me here that I don’t agree to. That bolstering thought enables me to step forwards into a foyer, and my eyes widen as I get my first glimpse inside this exclusive club. Despite my knowledge of the sky-high membership fees, I’m still surprised. Even the reception area is more ornate and richly decorated than I expected.
There’s a desk to one side, and a burly looking guard standing on the other. Jon moves forward, taking me with him to greet the receptionist, who, I’m pleased to see, is dressed in fetwear, but she’s taken it to more extreme levels than I’d dare to. Like me, she’s dressed in a short almost non-existent skirt, but her top is simply a couple of black leather straps that leaves a fair amount of her breasts and her nipples blatantly on display. Swallowing rapidly, I’m disconcerted by the amount of flesh on show and that her semi-nakedness doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. Now I’m grateful Jon has given me something that seemingly, by comparison, is relatively conservative. While I’m trying not to stare at the receptionist’s ample bare boobs, he signs a book, and then passes it to me. Tearing my eyes away I see he’s already printed my name, Mia Fable, and I put my signature where he indicates. The guard steps forward, and after giving us his best wishes for a good evening, opens another door, allowing us entrance into the inner sanctum.
But we’re still not in the club proper. Looking around, I see we’re standing in an anteroom, with cloakrooms off to either side.
“The ladies’ locker room’s over there, just on the right. Go in, put your coat and other stuff in the locker, and wait outside for me. You can give me the locker key when you come out, and I’ll keep it safe for you.”
I glance in the direction he’s pointing. “What about my bag? I’ll need my purse.”
“Put it in your locker. You won’t need it; you don’t need to pay for anything here. Drinks are included in the membership. And no phones are allowed.” He pauses, and regards me intently, “Are you going to be alright? I’ll be waiting for you when I come out; I’m just popping to the men’s room to change. I won’t be very long.”
Convincing myself, it’s only a locker room – probably similar to the one at the gym where I’m a member, but very seldom visit – I tell him I’ll be okay. Then I stride off, hopefully looking more confident than I feel, to the room clearly designated for the female sex.
It’s not like the gym at all. This lady’s changing room is decorated with gold gilt and has colourful erotic images painted on the walls. The lockers are made of polished and engraved wood, not the flimsy metal type I was expecting. I find an empty one, take a deep breath and slowly unbutton my coat, hesitating before taking it off. There are a couple of women talking and getting changed right in front of me, and I watch them out of the corner of my eye, interested in what they’ll be wearing. But I look away as I find they’re stripping down, removing their street clothes until they are completely naked, continuing to chat to each other the whole time with no modesty at all. Now I’m so glad Jon made me change at home; I would have died if I had to uncover myself in front of others. Their casual disregard for their state of undress makes me feel embarrassed for keeping my coat so tightly wrapped around me. Without giving myself a chance to have second thoughts, I throw it off, instantly feeling like I’m baring everything, though the women take no notice.
I want to get back to Jon and the security of his care, but seeing the usual loos are here decide to take advantage of the facilities before going out to meet him. The extra time will ensure he’ll have had time to change; I wouldn’t want to wait for him with half-naked strangers walking past. Even the thought of someone I don’t know approaching me in a place like this when I’m dressed like a slut turns me to stone. I pull myself together with the reminder I’ve wanted to come to a proper BDSM club for so long, I can’t let my nerves ruin the experience for me. Freeing myself from my inertia I do the necessary, then look around and see there’s but also a row of well-equipped showers and take the opportunity to have a quick peep inside. All sorts of lavish toiletries have been provided, along with piles of luxurious looking towels. Well, I suppose considering the annual cost of membership, these extravagances should be expected.
Having no further excuse to linger, pulling down my skirt in a vain attempt to cover as much of myself as possible, I leave the locker room to find Jon, leaning against the wall, waiting for me just as he promised.
WOW in capital fucking letters. Just WOW! He evidently keeps his gear here, as I knew he didn’t bring anything with him. He’s put on tight black leather jeans that cling to every muscle. He’s not wearing a shirt, just a black leather waistcoat which hangs open, hiding nothing of his impressive upper torso. His chest, while covered in small scars, has just enough sufficient covering of hair without resembling a bear pelt. His impressive abs ripple under his skin as he moves, not a six pack but an eight pack, and I have to restrain myself from reaching out and touching. As he approaches me, and the waistcoat falls open further, a larger scar that looks like a gunshot wound comes into view. I quickly realise it’s evidence of the injury he obtained when protecting the sheikh. My fingers itch with the need to trace the disfigurements which mar his otherwise perfect looking skin, and I have to curl up my hands into fists to prevent myself from reaching out. His stomach is tight, a tantalising V disappearing into the top of his low-slung leathers. No man should be allowed to look this good! I swallow a couple of times. Just the sight of him proves he’s too much man for me. Some girl’s going to ge
t very lucky tonight.
There’s a slight look of amusement on his face as if he flipping well knows how he’s affecting me. But I also notice he’s checking me out in the same way. Then he frowns. “Shoes off!”
I start at his direct order and raise my eyebrows.
“You’re a sub. Take them back to the locker room.” My initial response is to disobey, knowing, for some reason, having naked feet will make me more feel even more vulnerable. But I know I have to abide by the rules, he had told me in the car, but it was one of the things that hadn’t sunk in. So I do as he says, returning only a minute later, now shaking and nervous. When he holds out his hand for the locker key, I give it to him with the odd feeling I’m handing myself over into his care. I won’t be able to leave without his say so unless I want to limp back home barefoot and wearing a corset and thong! Hmm. I glare slightly, and he catches my look. The bastard laughs. I’m sure he can read my mind.
“You look beautiful,” he tells me, his voice coming out on a long breath. “Stunning.” Before I summon up a suitable response to his comment, he holds out his hand. “Ready?” He indicates the door in front of us. I step up to it. Again he rests his other hand against the small of my back; I feel the heat through the material of my corset. Letting go briefly, he turns the door handle and pushes. I step inside, needing the gentle pressure from his touch to encourage me forwards.
This is Club Tiacapan!
I try to look everywhere at once, my eyes flicking right, left, straight in front of me as I compare the sight to the descriptions I’ve used in my books, pleased to see, to some extent at least, there’s a good match. Good enough to let me know that my imagination isn’t far off track. The room is huge, the inside of the mansion has been gutted, and steel supports are in place of what presumably were the original walls. At one end of the massive open area is a long bar, and in front of that a large seating area with groups of comfortable looking couches and chairs around small tables. The lighting over the centre is subdued, but not dark. Around the edges are large alcoves with well-lit stages. My wide open eyes take in a couple of St Andrew’s Crosses, spanking benches, suspension hooks but before I’m able to take a closer look, Jon urges me forwards again. He takes me across to the bar and slips two white bands onto my wrist. I look up at him questioningly.
“Two drinks maximum,” he explains. “You give in a band per drink. It’s all covered in the membership fee,” he reminds me again.
Quickly I’m concerned. I hadn’t given a thought to how much he had to pay to get me in here. “How much do I owe you for the entrance fee, Jon?” Rapidly calculating how much I have in my bank account and hoping it won’t be too much, especially since I’m also determined to pay for the spa day at some point. But knowing how prestigious this place is, it could run into hundreds, if not thousands. I’ll have to break out the credit card.
Smiling broadly and giving a little chuckle, he touches my arm. “It’s okay; it didn’t cost me anything. I know the owners.” It seems too good to be true, so I peer at him with narrowed eyes, but there’s nothing in his expression to suggest he isn’t telling me the truth, and he simply shrugs under my scrutiny. Okay, for now, I’ll take it at face value. I breathe an internal sigh of relief. The admission fee to a BDSM club isn’t something I’d want to declare on my tax return.
“Do you want a drink right away?” he asks, turning away to attract the attention of a bartender.
Something alcoholic might steady my nerves a little, so I nod, and watch as a man comes over to take our order. The barman looks at me keenly; his close examination making me uncomfortable, but almost as if he realises it, he quickly shifts his gaze to Jon and queries, “Who have we got here, Master Jonathan?”
“Mia,” Jon answers him succinctly, “She’s my guest tonight.” Then, addressing me, adds, “Mia, this is Master Ralph. If you get separated from me for any reason, Master Ralph will look after you.” Ralph’s eyes flick between us, and then he gives a chin lift and smiles, confirming he’s happy with the role Jon’s assigned to him.
My surprise that a Master is tending the bar must have shown on my face, and Jon answers my unspoken question, “Staff are members too. Now, what do you to want to drink?”
“Oh.” When Jon indicates, I take off one of the bands and hand it to the man behind the bar. His friendly expression brings a reciprocating smile to my face as I consider what to have. I prefer wine, but feel the need for something stronger tonight. “Vodka tonic?” It’s a shame I’m limited to two, more might have given me more courage.
As Master Ralph’s getting my drink, I turn and lean with my back to the bar, observing the room. We’ve arrived early, just after opening time on purpose. At ten o’clock the doors open, but Jon told me beforehand the club doesn’t start buzzing until around midnight. He’d felt arriving early would be less intimidating and allow me to get my bearings without being in the middle of a crowd, and now I can see he was right. A couple of the stages are already in use, but many others remain empty, set up for different types of play. Not too many people are around as yet, and most of those are milling around having drinks and talking. I notice a few pairs deep in discussion and suspect they’re pairing up for the night. Negotiating. That’s what they’re doing. The music is thumping heavy metal, but not at such a loud volume to make conversation is impossible.
The crack of a whip on flesh makes me jump. I spin to look, but the recipient of the lash seems to be writhing in pleasure, not agony if her screams of satisfaction are anything to go by. My heart, which felt like it stopped for a moment, starts beating again as I remind myself, this isn’t a place for torture and abuse, everything here is consensual. And this is what I came for; to experience everything I’ve read and written about. Well, to watch others; I’m certainly not taking part in anything myself.
There are stools in front of the bar, so I carefully hop on one, trying not to expose any more than I have to; hard with such a short skirt. But while I’m worrying about preserving my modesty, a girl comes up to us, catching my attention. She’s wearing a baby doll costume that’s completely transparent, revealing she’s got nothing else on at all. On reaching us, she elegantly folds and lowers her body until she’s kneeling in front of Jon. Her fluid movement and grace betraying she must have been practising the perfect submissive pose for years. Her knees fall open, and even from the angle I’m looking from she’s leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination and obviously doesn’t give a damn. Her hands settle on her thighs palm upwards. Head bowed, she addresses my companion.
“Permission to speak, Master Jonathan?”
“Speak.” Jon looks down at her as, having received his consent, she brings her head up. His face is stern, and my mouth goes dry, realising all at once he how much he sounds and looks like a Dom. A chill runs down my spine.
“Would Master Jonathan like to play with this sub tonight?”
The chill now turns to the burn of jealousy as I hold my breath, on tenterhooks wondering what he’s going to say when he reaches out his hand and touches her head.
“Sorry, Diamond. Not tonight.”
I try to quash a profound feeling of relief, as I watch Diamond effortlessly unfold her body and stand again. She bows her head in acknowledgement to the Master and then moves away. For me to be envious is completely wrong, and selfish. Of course, Jon will want to play with someone. Swallowing hard to suppress the green devil inside me, I realise she’s given me the opening I was after. But am I brave enough to go through with it? Glancing around the club I see nothing of concern; my earlier fears have been alleviated by the professional atmosphere and the knowledge that all I need to do is to stay close by the bar and with the kindly looking Master Ralph.
A deep breath to fortify myself, and then I touch Jon’s arm to get his attention, I start, “Master Jonathan,” and then pause, I didn’t think I’d be able to call him by that title, it seemed a bit silly when he’d said it in the car. But he’s taken on a different persona since en
tering the club; I’m in awe of him and well out of my depth knowing no matter what my attraction is to him, he’d want far more than I’d ever be able to give. Jon spins round to face me as he feels my hand on his arm, and arches an eyebrow, so I continue. “I don’t want to spoil your evening. I’m happy to stay here while you go and enjoy yourself.” I hate the thought of him touching a woman such as Diamond. I’ll die a little inside if I have to see him with anyone else, but I have no option. The way Diamond had moved, the way she knew how to approach him, it’s obvious she is an experienced submissive. Although I’ve researched and know the theory, I wouldn’t have a clue putting it into practice.
He doesn’t understand, and frowns, “I brought you here with me, Mia.”
“But I’m cramping your style, Jon.” I pick up my drink and take a sip; my mouth still dry. “You came here to play.” I sound far more nonchalant than I feel.
“So have you,” he tells me.
I give a firm shake of dismissal. “I’m fine staying here by the bar where I can watch what’s going on. And you said Master Ralph would keep an eye on me. Go ahead, Jon, have fun.”
“That’s not what I came here for tonight. I brought you, and I’m staying with you.”
Guilt makes my voice waspish, “I don’t need a babysitter, Jon.”
He reels back, then after a short pause retorts, “What if someone propositions you?”
“You told me everything was consensual! I’ll just withhold my consent.” My eyes flash a look of challenge.
“I don’t want to leave you alone.” His expression is chilling. He seems disappointed, and I don’t understand why I’m giving him the opportunity to go and enjoy himself. That’s what he’s here for, after all.
“You’re not. Master Ralph is here. You go do what you want to do.”
“I’m not happy leaving you, Mia. What if you have a flashback or something?”
Close Protection (Blood Brothers #2) Page 18