“Absolutely.” His hand on my knee slid back to my thigh, under my skirt, and squeezed.
The club was located in the basement of a historic building near the site of the Bastille, a nice touch for a dungeon, in my opinion. We entered the sumptuous foyer by sliding a blank red card through a reader outside the door. Neil had given the same card to the driver to swipe at the gated courtyard entrance.
“This is some seriously Eyes Wide Shut shit,” I whispered giddily, looking around at the red brocade walls. To one side of the stylishly decorated room, with its red and black furnishings and white marble floor, were two black-framed glass doors with a wrought-iron black gate closed over them. On the other side was an elevator with another card reader.
“The owner of the club also owns the building. I believe the apartments upstairs are used to house foreign diplomats,” Neil said, sliding his card and hitting the elevator button.
“He lives dangerously, then, huh? If an American politician owned a secret sex dungeon, it would be found out before the ink dried on the check he bought it with.” I stayed close to Neil’s side as we stepped into the elevator and the doors closed behind us.
He put an arm around my waist and drew me close. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. We’re here to relax, have some fun and get turned on. If more happens, then more happens. But don’t feel you need to fulfill any expectations on my part.”
The elevator doors opened, and we stepped into another foyer, decorated similarly to the upstairs, but with lower lighting and a reception desk and coat check. Neil helped me with my coat and checked it with his; the coat check guy scoped me out, discretely, and I smirked to myself. I knew I looked awesome.
At the reception desk, a beautiful, dark-skinned woman with shorn hair and metallic black eye shadow greeted us with professional warmth. She said something to Neil, and he pulled out the red card again. She passed it over a scanner. As the computer screen faced away from us, I assumed they swiped the card for identification. Confirming my guess, Neil said, “Leif Arden, avec un invité.”
Leif, huh? I forced myself to take deep, slow breaths. I was so nervous, my knees shook. I had no idea what he planned to do here tonight. Our conversation in the car had caused my imagination to run wild. Nothing was off the table? What had I been thinking? Neil was pretty creative on his own; in an environment where he was allowed to run wild, he might be more than I could handle.
I kind of hoped I was right.
The woman asked Neil something. He looked to me. “She’s going to tell you the rules. I’ll translate for you.”
I smiled to let her know I understood. “Oui.”
Neil told me the rules of the club, listening patiently as the woman recited them from memory. No touching anyone without his or her enthusiastic consent. The safe word was, quite literally, “safe” in french, but the woman assured me that the dungeon staff would recognize it in English, as well.
“And no blood or fluids play except in the designated wet areas,” he finished, and when I paled, he hurriedly added, “That’s not my kink, and I know it’s not yours.”
“You’ll be with me the whole time, right?” I asked him uncertainly.
“I will not leave your side,” he promised. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Do you want to use your real name inside?”
“Do you, Leif?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He smirked down at me. “Don’t be saucy, Chloe.”
“At least it’s not some Icelandic monstrosity.” That one earned me a swat on the butt.
The woman hit the buzzer on the door. Neil guided me toward it with his hand at the small of my back.
I think I’ve seen too many movies or something, because the club didn’t look anything like what I’d expected. I’d thought there would be loud industrial music and strobe lights, like a nightclub party. It was actually quite well lit, a diffuse golden glow that felt more like a classy restaurant than a stereotypical sex club. There was a bar, all in black with a huge mirror behind it, and two handsome men in black shirts, ties, and aprons working to serve the patrons relaxing on the padded, high-backed stools.
All of the people inside were well-dressed, and of varying ages. We passed a seating area where several young men with dark hair and olive skin sat talking in a language I didn’t understand. They seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that in the center of the main room, a slender man was tied to a huge St. Andrew’s cross as a woman in black PVC smacked a bamboo cane on his thighs.
“Canes, huh?” I said to Neil in a low voice. “You’re never doing that to me.”
“I wouldn’t want to,” he said, guiding me across the floor. “I’m not experienced with them. She’s a professional, though,” he said, with something akin to vocational appreciation as he watched her. “Notice how she moves her strikes around; she’s never overdoing it in one place.”
The man shouted as another blow landed, and his heavy breathing hissed through his teeth.
“There’s a fine line between skirting the edge and going entirely over it,” Neil observed.
“And she looks way good doing it,” I said, noting that even though not an inch of her body was bare under the high-collared PVC suit and thigh-high boots, her figure was rockin’. Her stick-straight black hair was scraped back into the tightest ponytail I’d ever seen, and her lips were glossy, fire engine red. If I hadn’t already known she was a professional dominatrix, I would have guessed just because she looked the part.
“That she does,” Neil agreed, seemingly transfixed by the sight of her. Then he turned to me and smiled. “We could talk to her when she’s finished, see if she would be interested.”
I shook my head. “I’m not into girls. But let’s keep our options open.”
“Leif,” a man at the bar called out, and Neil’s expression turned to one of friendly warmth. I had to remember to give him shit about the name later— Leif had been the fake name he’d given me when we’d first met six years ago.
“I have to say hello, do you mind?” he asked apologetically. “I hate to do this to you. Five minutes, I promise.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not there isn’t anything interesting for me to watch.” I walked with him toward the bar, his arm possessive around my waist as we approached a tall, slender man with thinning black hair. He was dressed more casually than Neil was, in a brown turtleneck with leather patches at the elbows and what looked like Dacron trousers. Beside him, a thin, angular woman with golden hair and mannequin pale skin lounged, looking bored. Her lips glistened with pale gloss, and she toyed absently with a lock of her hair. Her printed wrap dress completed the startling illusion that they had just wandered in from the early 1980’s. They were both insanely cool looking.
Neil chatted a bit, introducing me to the man in French, but I couldn’t understand anything they discussed. Every now and then, Neil’s hand would tighten at my waist, and I shifted on my heels, which were a little too strappy and delicate for long-term standing.
“I’m sorry, let’s have a seat,” Neil apologized, pulling out a stool for me. I hopped up and crossed my legs.
I swiveled away from the bar to view the room. The caning couple had finished, and a few people clapped politely, as though it had been an act in a show. And I guess it was; Neil had said the purpose was to hang out with like-minded people and get turned on, and this was for sure the right environment to do it in. Everyone in this place had arrived with sex on their minds. That was usually true of most non-BDSM clubs I’d been to in New York, but here it was in the open. Nothing was taboo. That potent sexual freedom went to my head faster than any shot of Tequila ever had.
As Neil conferred with the man at the bar, I people watched. Two of the men in the group I’d noticed before stood up and left. The two who stayed behind were talking, and I found myself fascinated by one of them, a dark-haired man in a black suit. He could have been a singer in a music video, slumped casually in his expensive clothes on the
stylish furniture. When he spoke, he made the occasional gesture with his big hands, and when he laughed, he showed straight white teeth that practically twinkled like he was a prince in a particularly self-aware Disney movie.
I knew I should look away. I had one of those heavy stares people felt the weight of. But it was too late; he looked up, pausing mid-sentence to his friend, who followed his eye line over to me. His friend looked me over before turning back to the conversation.
My eyes shifted to my lap for just a moment, but when I lifted my gaze again, the first man was still watching me, a slight smile bending his mouth. I held his gaze boldly, just for a minute, until Neil captured my attention.
“For you,” Neil said, pushing a stemmed glass toward me. “Unless you weren’t drinking tonight?”
“I won’t be drinking much,” I said with a sweet smile to him. But my nerves were crackling with excitement, so a little something to take the edge off was welcome and needed.
After their short conversation, Neil’s friends left. He bid them goodbye, and turned back to me. “I see you’ve caught someone’s eye.”
My face flushed. The guy on the couch was still watching me. Would Neil get mad? I didn’t want him to think I was trolling for dudes when I was with him.
“We’ve been... eye flirting,” I admitted with a nervous giggle. I took a sip of my wine. It was not helping the heat in my face at all.
“You’ve been eye fucking,” Neil amended for me. “I don’t blame him, the way you look in that dress.”
A claiming hand fell on my knee. My heart pounded. Neil had never proven to be a jealous guy. He’d told me he’d be fine watching me have sex with another man, but I wondered what, exactly he would get out of the experience.
“Can I ask... What’s the appeal for you? In the thought of seeing another man fuck me?” Just in case he was worried I was talking about that specific guy on the couch, I added, “You mentioned it before, but now there’s a guy checking me out. I’m just curious, is it because you get off on jealousy or something?”
“That’s a bit of it,” he admitted. “There is a part of me that gets off on seeing other people enjoy and covet what’s mine. Not that you belong to me, but when we’re like this...”
“When it comes to our sexual relationship. I knew what you meant, Sir.” I loved that he made that distinction. On this trip, I was his full-time sub. I did belong to him. But when we returned to England, I wouldn’t. I would be Sophie Scaife again, with all the personal autonomy I’d had before. That made it easier to submit totally; I don’t think I could have let him do half the things he did to me if I couldn’t trust that he thought of me as his equal and not his possession.
But right now, in the middle of the game, it felt so, so good to be possessed.
“Do you like him?” Neil asked making eye contact with the man, who nodded back and raised his drink.
“I don’t know if I like him or not, but I’m sure attracted to him.” I smiled at the stranger as he let his gaze slowly trail down my body.
“Would you like to meet him?” Neil’s hand on my knee slid up my thigh, under my skirt.
“Um... not for full sex,” I whispered, leaning up so my lips grazed his jaw. “But I’m down for other stuff.”
I felt a shiver go through him.
“There might be nothing at all,” he reminded me. “Not everyone comes here looking for sex. Some just like the atmosphere.”
I considered the handsome stranger. He didn’t look like he was interested in atmosphere, at the moment.
“Let’s see what happens,” I said with a shrug.
Had I really just admitted to my boyfriend that I wanted to let a stranger do sexual things to me? And he wasn’t furious? He was actually excited?
Oh, Neil and I were meant for each other.
His hand crept up my thigh under my skirt, to the black lace of my panties. I looked over at the man, who was still watching us with amused interest. His gaze dropped pointedly to my exposed thigh.
“Take this off,” Neil commanded, snapping the band. I looked up at him, then around us. But I hopped off the stool and obeyed him, and nobody batted an eye. It must have been a fairly common sight, then?
Neil tucked the panties into his jacket pocket. “All right. Go over and ask him if he speaks English. If he does, I want you to ask him if he’d like to make you come.”
For a heart-stopping moment, I knew there was no way I was going to be able to say that to a stranger. Then, rational thought took over. Neil was here with me. The club was safe. Everyone here knew this was a sex club. And the worst that could happen would be that he could reject me, which didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like I was looking to even know his name. If he wanted to pass, it might prick my pride for a split second, but then I would go back to the hotel and fuck my hot boyfriend’s brains out. Either way, I was walking out a winner.
After that, the submissive mindset kicked in fully. My Sir had asked me to do this. It would please him to see me coming with another man’s hands on me. My pulse throbbed hard between my legs. I would never in my life have approached a stranger and so blatantly asked for sexual favors, but as Neil’s submissive, I didn’t have the burden of rational thought holding me back. I didn’t have to think at all. All I needed to do was enjoy the experience, no matter the outcome.
“What if he doesn’t speak English?” I asked Neil.
“Then raise your skirt, and I’ll come over and I’ll speak to him.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Like you do.”
“If there is anything you don’t like, say a strange vibe, or you feel unsafe and change your mind—”
“Safeword. Got it.” I tilted my head. “’Sécurité’, right?”
“Trés bon.”
I blew him a kiss and started toward the man, who unbuttoned his jacket and leaned back, his enigmatic expression darkening with a hint of desire.
I walked over, my heart racing, my thighs trembling. The guy was even more handsome up close. His neatly trimmed dark hair parted classically to the side. Beneath his jacket, his black shirt had silver pinstripes I hadn’t noticed from the bar, and the top two buttons were open. His eyes were a gorgeous, deep brown, rimmed by dark lashes. Silver rings winked on his big, square fingers, in sharp contrast to the dark hair on his knuckles.
He looked up at me expectantly, and I shook my hair back and hitched up my shoulders. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Would I get in trouble? I bunched my skirt in my fists, arms tight at my sides. “Anglais?” I asked, just as Neil had instructed me.
“Yes, of course,” he answered with a soft accent I couldn’t immediately place.
“My Sir...” I looked back to Neil, who was watching with cautious amusement. I gave him a confident smile, and turned back to the stranger. Slowly, I eased my skirt up my thighs. As my hem rose higher and my bare vulva was exposed, the man’s eyes widened. I continued, my voice almost too breathless to be heard over the music, “wants to know if you’d like to make me come.”
A slow smile spread over the stranger’s face. He looked young, probably in his early thirties, boyish but not innocent by any stretch of the imagination. He was wolfish, hungry, a bad boy dressed up in good boy clothing. He rose and nodded to Neil, gesturing him over.
And I stood there, my lower half exposed in a room full of people, trembling with need from the naughtiness of it all. Could I really let another man touch me? Get me off?
The stranger shook Neil’s hand. Neil seemed very pleased as he looked the man over. He wore a friendly grin as he introduced himself to the man, who called himself Emir.
I wondered if Neil was attracted to him, as well.
“You have excellent taste, Leif,” Emir complimented Neil, his eyes slowly raking up and down my body. “Shall we go to one of the private rooms?”
“I think that would be a lovely idea, don’t you, Chloe?” Neil asked me, laying one warm hand over the back of my neck. All I could do was follow on je
lly legs as Emir led us to through the club. At a padded black swinging door, Neil and Emir both greeted the bouncer cordially, and he nodded us in.
As we walked, Emir had slipped his arm around my waist, and his hand moved from my hip to my butt through the thin material of my skirt. I looked over my shoulder at Neil, who watched us with a smirk.
What would he do, I wondered. If he got off on the jealousy aspect, would he punish me later? I hoped that was where this was going.
Beyond the door, the walls were painted black. Black tile covered the floors. Silver sconces emitted clean white light, deepening the shadows around us. Along the hall, white doors with gleaming silver handles stood closed. Neil pointed to one that stood open, and we went inside.
The room wasn’t what I had expected. I guess I’d thought they would be bedrooms or really specific fetish rooms. It was just a small room with a wide, padded bench against one wall. Two chairs were positioned on the other side, a small, round table between them stocked with condoms and individual packets of different types of lubricant. Two large, ornate mirrors in silver frames hung opposite each other on the walls, and I saw myself in my tight black dress, my dark hair gleaming with burnished streaks under the light. I looked like a completely different person.
I had never in my life been in anything even closely resembling a three-way before. I was incredibly nervous, but I trusted Neil to know my comfort level and read my signals. Right now, I was all systems go, but I had no idea how far I’d be willing to go.
Luckily, Emir outlined how far he was willing to go. He went to the table and took two rubber gloves from the box provided. As he pulled one on, he said, “I would like to use only my hands.”
“By all means,” Neil said easily, settling into one of the chairs. He looked like he was sitting in on a business meeting, he was so cool and casual about the whole thing.
Meanwhile, my heart was absolutely pounding. Emir went to the bench and sat down, patting the seat beside him.
The Girlfriend (The Boss) Page 18