Perverts R Us, Michelle thought as she got in line behind a couple signing the liability waiver at the door. “Coat check, two dollars,” the guy told them. He was standing behind a half-door, the upper part open, and to Michelle he looked like a middle-aged biker, in his leather vest with gray in his beard. He was slightly stooped. The couple handed over cash and their coats and he hung them on pegs in the alcove behind them. “Main door’s there. Code’s one six one six.” They thanked him and moved farther down the hallway to a door with a keypad handle, and Michelle took their place in front of the doorman.
“Name?” He looked her up and down with a suspicious expression on his face.
“It’s my first time here,” she hurried to say. “Michelle. No, wait, I should be under the name Misha.” She’d nearly forgotten the whole business about using a scene name instead of her real name. There was an entire chapter in the how-to book on that. Did this work like a nightclub door with a bouncer? Did she have to prove her cred to get past this guy? “I was referred by Felice and Richard.”
Their names worked like a magic word, and the man opened right up. “Two of our faves from north of the border!” His grin was wide.
“I, yeah, met them in New Orleans and they recommended I come here.”
“Well, pleased to meet you, Misha. I’m Sirius.”
“Oh!” The owner of the club. Somehow Michelle had been expecting someone more imperious. “Pleased to meet you, too.”
“Sign here.” He handed her a clipboard with the waiver form on it. She’d already read it online, but she eyeballed it quickly to check that it was the same. Good enough. She doubted a form like this actually had the legal clout to stand up in court, but at least no one could say they hadn’t been informed of the house rules. She’d pretty much memorized the main ones. No drugs. No photos. No touching anyone without their explicit permission. The house safeword was red, as in red means stop, green means go. She didn’t find the rules off-putting at all. If anything, the relentless concern for safety in the books she had read and in the waiver itself were endlessly fascinating. It was so intense and pervasive, she wondered if safety itself was a fetish.
“Bar is to the left, playrooms to the right,” Sirius said as he took the form back from her. “And for two bucks I’ll hold your coat in here.”
“Oh, right. Good idea.” She was wearing a long raincoat over her outfit not because it was going to rain but because it kept the Lyft driver from ogling her. She passed it to Sirius and then took two bucks out of her purse.
He looked her up and down again with a much more approving look than before. “You’re gonna fit right in, Misha. You have any trouble, though, you come right to me, okay? Have a good time.” He directed her to the entrance and told her the code.
The lock was just like the ones on the bathrooms at Starbucks. She pressed one-six-one-six and turned the handle. The door opened into the middle of a narrow, crowded hallway, bumping a tall blond man in a long black leather coat in the arm as she tried to squeeze in. Oh, God, I just hit Thor with the door! Eek. “Excuse me, sorry!”
“’Tsallright,” he said, barely looking at her as he moved past toward the playrooms.
Whew. He was a specimen of fine manhood, that was for sure. She watched him go and thought about following him, but she wasn’t quite ready to wade into the play area yet. The sounds of spanking and near-orgasmic yelping were loud from that direction. She turned left instead.
The “bar” was a makeshift setup in one corner of a room. Pitchers of ice water with cups were set at one end of a folding table for people to take as needed, while a man with an assortment of bottles stood behind the table acting as bartender.
In front of the table was a rolled-up carpet. No, wait, it was a man rolled up inside a carpet. There was a handwritten sign taped next to a small hole cut out for his face. STEP ON ME. He was blindfolded.
A man came up to the bar, asked for ginger ale, and put one booted foot onto the carpet-man as if he were a footrest. She heard a grunt from below.
She spoke to the bartender next. “Um, I could use a ginger ale, too.”
“Coming right up.” He hadn’t even put the cap back on the two-liter bottle he was pouring out of yet.
“Is it really okay to step on him?”
The bartender leaned over to look at her boots. “Oh, he’ll love those heels. You look like you don’t weigh much. You can get right up on him with both feet.”
“Really?” She looked down at the guy. His hand snaked up to his blindfold and he sneaked a peek at her, smiled, and gave her a thumbs-up. Then he pulled the blindfold back into place and went back to being a human carpet.
Okay. She took a coltish step onto his chest, then another. It was wobbly and she didn’t feel confident in these heels at all, but he seemed to like it. She hopped down quickly, then took the plastic cup of ginger ale. I guess I did my good deed for the day?
She stood there against the wall for a while, sipping the ginger ale slowly and watching people. The room was not very large, maybe fourteen feet on a side. In the corner opposite the bar was a metal frame, and a man directed his submissive to stand in the middle of it while he began to take colorful ropes out of a duffel bag. Meanwhile, a steady stream of people flowed in and out of the room, getting drinks or just standing and talking.
One of the things Michelle liked about New York was that New Yorkers would talk to anyone. She didn’t understand where the stereotype came from about New Yorkers being unfriendly. Strangers regularly struck up conversations with her at lunch counters, in stores, in the taxi line at Penn Station. Even if they weren’t “friendly,” New Yorkers could be downright nosy at times. That meant she didn’t stand there alone for long. A woman in a floor length, hip-hugging latex dress with rhinestone bracelets and sapphire earrings struck up a conversation while she ground one stiletto heel into the groin area of the human carpet. “New here?”
“Yes, my first time. I’m Misha.” There. I remembered.
“Fabulous. I’m Delilah.”
“Charmed. Your dress is fantastic.”
“Glad you like it! I designed it myself.” Delilah pulled a business card out of her tiny latex purse. “Let me know if you ever need a custom piece done.”
“How fantastic.” Michelle looked at the outfit with new eyes. “Do you do it full time?”
“Goodness, no. I’m a hospital administrator. But I figured I’d put that degree from F.I.T. to use somehow. I thought about trying to grow it into a full-time business, but custom design and handcrafting a few pieces a year is much more satisfying. Are you here alone?”
“I am.” Michelle played the Richard and Felice card again, wondering if maybe she should have waited until next month, when they’d said they were going to be in town and would take her.
“This is a very safe crowd, but there’s one guy I’ll warn you about—woman to woman, you know. He’s not dangerous per se—if he were he wouldn’t be allowed in here—but he is a bit of a pain in the ass if you’re looking for a submissive male partner.”
“Oh, um, I’m not. I think I’m… well, I mean, I’m looking for a dom.” A dom like Richard, she thought, but didn’t say aloud.
“Then no worries. A single, submissive woman? You’ll have no shortage of dance partners at this hoedown, my dear.”
Another woman joined them, then, a short blonde fairly busting out of her Wonder Woman-themed corset. “Delilah! Who’s your new friend?”
“This is Misha.”
“Did you tell her about the dominant women’s meet-up?”
“She’s submissive.”
“Well, actually, I’m probably a switch?” Michelle piped up. “I mean, I’m still figuring it out.”
The two women gave each other a knowing look, and Michelle wanted to demand that they tell her what they were thinking. Delilah forged ahead with the introductions. “Misha, this is Mistress Buffy. She runs the local dommes group.”
“Every woman is welcome at our clas
ses and parties, though,” Mistress Buffy put in. “We do a munch every month. Give me your email and I’ll put you on the invite list.”
Delilah gave Mistress Buffy a peck on the cheek and went to greet another friend while Michelle wrote her email address on the back of one of Mistress Buffy’s cards.
Mistress Buffy grinned. “I know you probably don’t want to talk business when you’re here to have fun, but I’m having a small-world moment here.”
“You are?”
“I’m a literary agent. I have an appointment with you next week.”
Michelle had to laugh. “You’re kidding.”
Buffy spread her hands in a here-I-am gesture. “No, really. I used to pitch to your predecessor all the time. I’m the one with all the paranormal writers who are writing erotica now.”
Michelle couldn’t resist sliding into publishing talk. “Well, paranormal and erotic go hand in hand, don’t they?”
“Oh, that’s not why so many of them are switching over. It’s because most of the publishers I pitch to are convinced that paranormal’s moment is over. All they’re buying is contemporary erotica now.”
“The romance houses always chase the next big trend. In another year or two, they’ll be saying contemporary is dead. At Faraday we’ve always seen strong sales in urban fantasy and paranormal, and as a fantasy and science fiction publisher, we’re not pulling back from that at all.”
“Oh, good. You’re going to like what I have for you, then. I really believe BDSM is the new vampire.” She waved her hand. “But here we are at a sex party talking about work. Quick, stop me before I start pitching you a manuscript. You’re new here. What can I tell you? What do you want to know?”
Michelle smiled. Mistress Buffy had a warm and open personality, and it made her easy to talk to. “Okay. Tell me about carpet guy.”
“He’s a regular. Must be an old friend of Sirius’s or something because he’s always already in place when I get here, even when I try to get here early. In fact, I better go stand on him for a while or he’ll think I’m neglecting him. If you’ll excuse me a minute.”
Michelle watched Mistress Buffy balance deftly on carpet guy and then realized who was standing next to her. Thor. He and Buffy exchanged a brief greeting and then the man’s eyes fixated on Michelle.
A moment later he edged past the artistic rope bondage going on in the corner and approached. “Hello. I’m Charles.”
But that’s so normal-sounding, Michelle thought. “Misha.”
“Buffy tells me you’re new here and you’re looking to play?”
“Um, yes. New here, new to the whole scene, really.”
His eyes lit up. “I’m so pleased to hear that. A friend of mine and I were just arguing in the other room. He was saying there are no intelligent, beautiful, single submissive women in the scene anymore.”
She blushed at the implied compliment.
He continued. “How wonderful to be able to prove him wrong so quickly.” He held out his hand and she placed hers in it before she even realized what she was doing, and blushed deeper when she realized he meant to lift it to his lips.
He kissed the back of her hand with such gentleness, such sensitivity, that she felt the tingle spread across her entire skin. “I—I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance, too,” she said, almost managing to keep from stammering but not quite, as he looked up from the hand-kiss with hunger in his eyes.
“Would you be interested in playing tonight?” he asked. “Because I would be.”
“I… I believe I would,” Michelle said. “This is the negotiation part, right?”
His smile was indulgent, approving, and she felt a surge of something good all the way to her toes. “If you’d like to play, then yes.”
“Okay.” She tried to remember what she’d filled out on the practice questionnaire, but now that she was in the moment, she couldn’t remember a single thing she’d written down. I should have printed it out and brought it. Maybe it wasn’t accurate anyway, though. “Since I don’t have much experience, I’m not sure what I like or dislike. Or what my limits are.”
He had not let go of her hand. In fact, he had closed his other hand over it protectively. “I can work with that. There’s no specific kink that turns me on, so if it turns out you don’t like being spanked or flogged or pinched, just say so and we’ll move on to trying something else you might like better. Well, no specific kink other than…” He paused for dramatic effect and brought his mouth close to her ear to whisper. “Your submission.”
Michelle’s knees went weak and she nearly hit the floor right there. “Okay,” she heard herself say.
“Yes, Master. Try saying that instead.”
“Yes, Master.” She felt a frisson go through her at saying it, as if it were a taboo thing.
“Good. You will address me as ‘master’ or ‘sir’ until the scene is over.”
“When will that be?”
He chuckled indulgently. “You mean, ‘When will that be, sir?’”
Right. Got to start getting that right. “When will that be, sir?”
His smile widened, a feral edge to it. “When we’re finished, little slave. Now, follow me.” She shook her head as she followed him out of the “bar” and into the narrow hallway. They passed a room where the lights were dim but Michelle could make out various people chained up against the walls or on various torture platforms, then another that seemed to be a sea of mattresses with several couples putting them to good use.
The final room was the largest, with an X-shaped cross in one corner, a colonial-era looking pillory on a platform in the center, and a floor-to-ceiling spiderweb made of chain on one wall. Both the cross and pillory were occupied, and Charles directed her toward the spiderweb, politely asking a few people to step aside.
He turned to face her. “Don’t move.”
“Yes, Master,” she said eagerly, very pleased with herself for remembering this time. As he began to step away, though, she asked, “Where are you going? Um, sir?”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. Apparently doms had the eye contact thing going on. “Don’t move.”
He said that already.
“I’m not going anywhere, sir.”
“You moved your lips when you said that.”
“Oh.” She felt her cheeks flush.
God, I’m messing this up already.
She opened her mouth to apologize and then froze as she saw the look in his eye.
“There. That’s better. Not a muscle. Try not to even blink while I retrieve my toy bag.”
Her mortification morphed into excitement again as she began to wonder what toys he had brought. Paddles? Floggers? Nipple clamps? She had read about so many different kinds and she wanted to try them all.
He returned without his long jacket, shirtless, looking a little less Thor-like by dint of being a mere mortal and not a workout god like Chris Hemsworth. That didn’t bother Michelle at all. Charles was in better shape than Ted, anyway.
“You seem a little unsteady on your feet, slave,” he said. “Remove your boots.”
“Yes, Master.” Thank goodness they had a side zipper and she didn’t have to undo all the laces. People were gathering to watch, and she leaned over to unzip her boots and step out. Not her most graceful movement, but better than if she’d had to sit on the floor to yank them off. Michelle felt nervous at the idea that people would be watching, but she felt less nervous about the actual people, who seemed to be mostly couples. She looked up as she set her boots aside and one of the women smiled at her.
“Now the tights. Leave the skirt on, though, for now.”
“Yes, Master.”
It was kind of hot having him just stand there giving orders. Following his instructions, soon she was down to only her bra, panties, and skirt. The less she wore, the more attentively people watched, or so it felt.
“Reach up and grab the chain above your head.”
“Like thi
s?” She took hold of a strand of the chain web.
“Like this, sir,” he corrected, an edge of annoyance in his voice.
“I’m just trying to make sure I’m doing it right! Sir!” She cringed. Why was she arguing with him?
He patted her cheek. “There. Yes. You’re doing it right. Now tell me, slave, have you ever been flogged before?”
“No, sir.”
“Not ever?”
“Never, sir.”
“This will make it easier on you.” He took out something small and shiny and oval; at first Michelle thought it was a foil-wrapped chocolate Easter egg. Then he pressed a button on it and it started to hum. He lifted her skirt and slipped the vibrator into her panties, moving it around until it was nestled right against her clit.
Wow. She’d always assumed vibrators felt good, otherwise they wouldn’t be so popular. But no one had explained that they felt like instant arousal, like electricity pouring right into those nerve endings. Her breath caught.
“How does that feel?”
“It feels amazing,” she said, wide-eyed. “But how will it make things easier on me?”
“Sir,” he said.
“Right! I’m sorry! Sir! I’m just trying to understand.”
He unzipped his leather pants and let loose a prodigious member, half-erect. “Give me one of your hands.” He wrapped her fingers around his shaft and moved it up and down. “Because sexual pleasure makes pain and suffering easier to take.”
Oh. She felt him hardening under her fingers and kept stroking him as he tugged her bra down to expose her nipples.
“The hook’s in the back, sir,” she said.
“I’m not trying to remove it,” he said, in a voice like he was trying to explain something to a five-year-old. “It’s sexy to see your tits sticking out.”
“Oh.”
“The only problem with Asian girls. Teensy tits.” He took her nipples in his fingers then and tugged on them. “But it’s made up for by the fact you have equally teensy cunts.”
Michelle’s mouth hung open. Was that the sort of thing all doms said or was it only this one? That wasn’t sexy. Maybe to some people it was, obviously, but not to her. Well, this was supposed to be about figuring out what she liked and didn’t like, right? You can cross Asian fetishization right off the list.
Geek Actually Season 1 Omnibus Page 24