Unorthodox Chemistry

by Lilah E. Noir

  Allie had put my life back in order with her strict schedules. I didn't want to start a job in a new software company just yet, so I took as many freelance projects as possible to keep myself busy. I had regular meals and showers, started working out again, and I cut my hair and trimmed the beard from my months of isolation. Allie wouldn't stop mocking me about the beard but I ignored her.

  My temporary 'Mistress' required a lot more. She often forced me to go out, either with her or some of my former co-workers who I called with great reluctance.

  Those small steps weren't enough, so now she wanted to throw me in at the deep end.

  "It's not about what I want. I don't think I can handle the lifestyle right now." I got up and leaned against the spanking bench. My head had been fine that whole afternoon. The moment we started discussing the freaking party, the pounding pain in my temples came back full force.

  "Right now? You know there will never be a good enough moment, right?" Allie ran her fingers through her boy toy's hair.

  "Maybe that's for the best." I shrugged and rubbed my chin.

  "You'd rather miss Mistress Sheila's party and sulk at home?" Trixter laughed unpleasantly and looked at me mockingly. "What's wrong with you?"

  Allie grabbed a lock of his long hair and slapped his cheek.

  "Did I say you could speak, slave?"

  "No, Mistress." He batted his eyes at her in an attempt to be cute. "But you never said I couldn't."

  She chuckled and turned her attention to the insubordinate switch who got a heavy slap to his ass.

  "Smartass. You know my dungeon's rules. You never do anything unless I say so. You'll pay for your insolence later. Thirty minutes on the dildo chair and you're not allowed to cum."

  Was it worth attending the party after all? It'd be fun to watch Mistress Sheila in her element.

  "So, where were we? How is it for the best?" She took a riding crop from the wall and walked to me. Her high heels clicked on the floor like the tail of a rattlesnake. "You must take the first step at some point."

  "I'm not sure I want to. I question if I belong to that lifestyle." I shrugged and closed the laptop after saving my progress. "I'm sick of the expectations and anxiety. Maybe I should officially quit."

  "Then marry a nice, sweet vanilla girl who doesn't suspect your dark, nasty past?" Allie ran the crop down my chest. She drawled the word dark in an exaggerated, mocking way. "You'll sell the house so she won't run into your old dungeon. You'll be a perfect example of a good husband and father until you can't take it anymore. Then you'll call me so I can find you a pro sub."

  "Unlikely." I stared at the riding crop sliding down my chest. "I don't think I can top anymore. Maybe I was never that good and it was all an act."

  "Now, now..." Allie shook her head, swatted me with the crop and left a small red mark on my exposed collarbone. "I don't want to hear that bullshit. It's a huge insult to Lina."

  "How so?" I frowned.

  "I don't know her so well." Was it just me or did something flash in Allie's eyes? "But she seems like a tough and intelligent woman. I doubt she'd submit to someone who didn't have what it took to tame her."

  "Funny, she told me something similar." I pushed the memory away. "You know I love her. She's an amazing woman and insightful when it comes to business. She's not so smart about the men in her life. If I had to punish her for dating total losers and assholes, me included, I'd have to put her in hospital."

  "Mistress, may I speak?" Trixter chimed.

  Allie sighed and looked back at him with irritation.

  "Only if you can contribute to the discussion. If you just talk trash I'll add ten strokes to your punishment."

  "If Thomas can't top, perhaps I can persuade him to bottom for me?" He flashed her a perfect smile and fluttered his eyelashes. Very manly, dude, you swept me off my feet. "I'm in shortage right now and he'll make a great bitch boy after I train him."

  Something inside me snapped into place. My earlier irritation with Allie faded and left the space to an unnatural calm. I took the riding crop from her without saying a single word. She was watching me carefully but didn't resist and handed me the tool.

  When I got close to Trixter, he lost his bravado and licked his lips nervously. Fear and anxiety flashed for an instant in his mocking eyes. A slight smile crept onto my face but I stayed silent and put the edge of the crop beneath his chin. I lifted his face so he'd look at me. When the man began to squirm in his restraints and tried to avoid my gaze, I raised the riding crop in a swift movement and swatted his chest two times. It elicited a nice cry of pain from Trixter and he looked up at me with shock. His reaction was priceless, and if he had been a beautiful woman it would have made me hard.

  Oh, I loved it when someone didn't take me seriously.

  "Sorry, dude, you're not my type."

  Allie's face was glowing with triumph when I turned back to hand her the riding crop. She picked up the envelope she had placed on the spanking bench earlier and shoved it into my hand.

  "Eight pm, Saturday night, a week from now. Be sharply dressed. I'll take no ridiculous excuses."

  ***

  Allie was turning twenty-six, a year she referred to as her "neutral" year, right after the quarter of a century and straight before the dangerous period of Club 27. You'd think a person entering their neutral phase would take it easy and not throw over the top parties and social gatherings? You clearly don't know Allie. She was always the exception to the rule. Most of the time she was too busy to get involved in the BDSM club scene. She was working all the time in her two jobs. Even if she had free time you'd rarely see her at any of the San Francisco fetish party zones.

  She made up for the lack of activity over the rest of the year on her birthday. Allied loved setting up grandiose feasts of kink. They were an urban legend, even if she had been in the lifestyle for less than a decade. Most regular attendants at The Fortress, her one and only public playground, were dying for an invitation to see the mysterious Mistress Sheila. She was best friend of the club's owner so he gave her free reign to rule the place as she pleased on that particular night. No one knew their story and how Allie had gotten her place in his heart. That made these events even more alluring. He owned one of the biggest kink venues and yet he was a notorious recluse. I had heard all sorts of theories about Allie and The Dragon. Some thought she was his secret submissive, even 24/7 slave. That was why she only appeared at The Fortress on her birthday. According to another popular theory, she was his Domme who was blackmailing him and had him by the balls. The biggest conspiracy theorists were sure Allie was the real owner of the club and her pet, The Dragon, served as nothing but a proxy and a name on the door.

  Sometimes mystery worked better than the truth, especially when it was less scandalous than anyone would think.

  Either way, Mistress Sheila was the queen of The Fortress for one night, and her word was law. Last year, she'd had an artistic parade on the various club stages. Each one was set up like a miniature Roman arena. It started with a parade of pony boys and girls. That wasn't my usual fetish. Still, there were some fine fillies working together in perfect synchronicity with their wiggling buttocks and full obedience to the woman who ran the parade. There were lessons in whipping and impact play, beautiful Japanese rope bondage installation and several scenes in which dominatrices showed off their well-trained pets. Mistress Sheila herself took the stage for over an hour and set her audience on fire before she retired to her private playroom. Lots of wild rumors went around about what was she doing there but no one had ever confirmed them. Allie was careful in her choice of play partners. She swore the participants to absolute secrecy and they preferred not to risk losing her grace by being chatty.

  I was a private kind of Dom myself and would always choose a night at home with my willing pet, on my own terrain. There was something magical about The Fortress, though, especially when Allie was in charge. The first time I'd attended one of her birthdays I went there with Kat who was d
ying to come to The Fortress as a guest at least once. I wasn't sure how much I'd like it. She was my first sub and by that time I was playing exclusively with her, in private. That party had stirred all my insecurities, as I didn't want to be challenged or forced to prove my superiority to some dickhead who would start making passes at my girl.

  To my pleasant surprise, everyone was respectful and kept their distance as soon as they saw Kat had my collar on. She kept her eyes down like a proper pet should, even if she was dying to take a look around. I couldn't blame her. Ten minutes in that hypersexualized, openly kinky environment and I was painfully hard, slowly losing my inhibitions. Having a beautiful girl on my leash overwhelmed my senses even more, as if I were in some porn version of reality. In the end, I made it to one of the private rooms with Kat crawling after me. We spent the rest of the night with me happily flogging, whipping and fucking her until the poor girl could hardly stand on her feet. I remembered with sadness how I'd carried her out of The Fortress in my arms, cuddling against my body like a kitten, the term of endearment I used most often for her. My overflowing cum was staining her dress. Welts and bruises marred her skin. Still, she had an expression of such utter bliss and happiness it made me beam with pride. I brought her home, washed her and took care of her sore body. Kat thanked me and said it was the happiest night of her life.

  I felt the same way--happy and liberated.

  That evening five years later, I envied my younger self's confidence and enthusiasm. Things used to be so much simpler. That night, I'd be alone and burdened with even more anxieties. I'd most likely go back to my house in the morning with blue balls and feeling down. Allie would kill me if I didn't show up, though. I also wanted to make it up to her for all her motherly care and not losing faith in me. If that meant I had to endure a night in the kinkiest club in town, so be it.

  The cab stopped in front of the massive building in the heart of the city. I paid the driver and walked out onto the pavement. The huge stone facade always intimidated me, especially in that moment. It was a cold night and it had just stopped raining. The shiver that ran through my body had nothing to do with the chill in the air. It would be a difficult night.

  I felt tempted to call Allie and excuse myself. I'd tell her I had caught some awful last minute virus and couldn't get up. As if she wouldn't catch on to the fact it was the 'cold feet' virus.

  So I straightened my back, pulled the invitation out of my coat pocket and rubbed the silver stamp of The Fortress.

  The club's black privacy glass doors stood out against the stone walls of the building. It was reflective glass and I took a moment for one last look at them. It was hard to recognize the man staring back at me. Allie had insisted on a specific dress code so I'd bought a new suit for her birthday. It was weird to wear a tie instead of my usual open collar shirt. I had to admit it didn't look half bad on me. The black suit and coat and the red tie made the green of my eyes pop, just as much as the dark hollows under them. My new, trimmed beard was still difficult to get used to but I was keeping it for the time being.

  There was something different about me and it wasn't the clothes or the facial hair. The stranger in the glass wasn't a sadistic psychopath, a twin of Seth Anderson. It wasn't the previous Thomas either, that starry-eyed fool full of dreams and zeal.

  Who was he? A more mature, down to earth version of myself? A jaded cynic who'd spend the rest of his life in relationships of convenience, unable to let go of the only woman he'd ever loved?

  Only time would tell.

  I briefly thought of Lina and wondered what she might be doing at that very moment. Was she lonely or had she moved on?

  Maybe I'd call her someday when the pain had faded.

  I walked into the reception area, a small lounge with a tiled floor and dark red couches. Gorgeous framed photographs of men and women in shibari bondage lined the walls. That room was usually empty. The only guests you would find there were those who had left a scene prematurely and were waiting for their partner to come back, or newbies waiting to be introduced. A wooden door with medieval decorations and a metal lion head led into the club. The bouncer sat behind a small table next to the door with masks of different colors all over it. When he stood up, his bald head reached the top of the tall gate. I handed him my invitation without a word. He checked my name on the list, did a less than pleasant body search and handed me a status mask.

  The purpose of the masks was for easy identification of the club goers. Mine was black, which meant I was a top or I had chosen to play as a top. The bottoms had scarlet ones, probably to represent their blushing bodies after a good whipping or spanking. Visitors and voyeurs were given different creamy shades to show they were not to be bothered. There were various colors for sadists, masochists, public property slaves and many others whose meaning I had never learned. The three main colors were enough to remember. Some club goers didn't care about etiquette and enjoyed messing with the creamy masked crowd. Allie said such a behavior wasn't encouraged. Repeat offenders were kicked out of The Fortress for good. Rumor on the street said the 'naughty' members of the club were disciplined and punished by The Dragon himself. His corrective approach wasn't one even the most hardcore brats enjoyed.

  The man explained the rules on the alcoholic limit. The guests were not allowed more than one drink. He emphasized how crucial consent was. He warned me with a stern voice that there were monitors all over the place so I'd better be on my best behavior. After I'd heard his entire lecture, the bouncer cracked a devilish grin.

  "Mistress Sheila expects you in the Eye room. She said you shouldn't hurry and encouraged you to take the scenic route. Have fun!"

  The next room I stepped into was the lounge, a classic jazz and piano bar and the main socializing area of the club. It didn't look any different to a stylish lobby bar at a five-star hotel. People were sitting next to the bar or in secluded seating areas, chatting over drinks under the soft chill out music. It could pass as a regular venue until you realized that most attendants were way too bold. A man with cold blue eyes and a dark leather trench coat was sitting in a secluded area. He was sprawled on some cushions, and a pair of cute nymphettes--no older than twenty--were cuddling against him. When I passed them by, I heard his quiet but distinctive order.

  "Make each other cum with a kiss. No hands, only lips. The one who lasts longer without cumming will get me to spank and fuck her first."

  The two babes didn't need a second invitation and tore at each other. They kissed passionately as if their lives depended on it. I'd be a liar if I said my cock didn't twitch at the sight. I wouldn't have minded switching places with him.

  When I moved past the dark wood counter, my gaze fell on a stunning mature woman, probably in her early fifties. She was wearing a business suit and high heels. I bet she could give the nymphettes a run for their money. A blushing young man sat next to her and stuttered while the lady groped his crotch with a mysterious, mocking smile.

  Would Lina look that way in fifteen years? I hurried to get to the lion's den before I had time to dwell on it.

  The scent of aroused bodies and raging hormones assaulted me as soon as I opened the doors. The club's party area was a giant hall with a rectangular stripper dance floor right at its center, surrounded by bar counters. The different stages with various public scenes and spectacles were lined up next to the walls and displayed a feast of all kinds of depravity. It could be overwhelming but as soon as my hearing and sense of smell grew adjusted, I felt at home. Strange, I hadn't even been there more than a few times.

  If D/s and power play were implied at the lounge, they were fully raging in here, without shame or restriction. Small crowds gathered in front of the platforms to watch the pony play. On another stage, they had set up an antique role-play at its climactic point. A Roman slave girl had her wrists and ankles bound to two realistic stone pillars. A man in a tunic was lashing a single tail whip across her ass and thighs. The central stage area at the far end of the hall still ha
d its curtains closed. It was still earl.

  The real, unscripted action all over the place was more attractive to me. A raven-haired vixen in a black harness with a matching collar and huge breasts crawled between the legs of a man in a leather suit and black mask. She looked up at him with an obedient yet naughty look and licked her lips. He didn't waste too much time and grabbed her leash. His thick cock impaled the girl's throat and choked her violently. A second man with the same mask and an open collar shirt whipped the girl's ass with a tightly wound single tail. He spread her legs and started fucking her from behind while probing her asshole. She was vibrating with pleasure between them as they used her.

  Their lack of qualms or shame made me painfully hard. I quickly moved away before I came in my pants at the sight of that gorgeous woman and her filthy submission.

  Apart from the official stages, The Fortress had play areas where the club members could try out its equipment. A redhead stretched on a St. Andrew cross caught my eye. Her pale flesh was slowly turning the same color as her hair. The girl looked young with a delicious innocence. Her whole being exuded agony, from the way she tilted her head back to how she clenched her fists and curled her toes. A pair of tops--a man and a woman--gave her their full attention. The tall platinum blonde in a gothic corset and fishnet stockings grabbed their helpless victim by the chin and forced her to look at them. I watched them as the redhead whimpered and tensed her body. The Mistress kissed the poor girl's lips with a well-measured tenderness. Her co-Dom, a towering man in clothes similar to mine, caressed the sub's breasts and pushed two gloved fingers into her pussy. Even from where I was standing, it was clear her thighs were glistening. He fucked her harder with his fingers and pinched her breasts. The blonde woman smiled cruelly and raised a pair of nipple clamps dangling from a sturdy chain. The Dom held the girl by the chin in a firm grasp and the Mistress attached the clamps to her pulsing nipples. The bound girl cried out and I heard the anguish in her voice. She was so beautiful in her suffering, so lost in the moment when she gave her arousal, pain and full obedience to the tops. The man took a few steps back, shared a word with the Mistress, raised his flogger and struck at the redhead's chest, straight across her chain.