by Brynley Bush
“They don’t encourage drinking here to keep things safe and consensual—in fact there’s a two drink limit—but you look like you might need one,” he says, sitting on a barstool and drawing me back so I’m situated between his legs, his hands resting possessively on my hips.
“Good idea,” I agree breathlessly, hyper aware of his hands on my body. I could definitely use a drink to calm the butterflies that have been let loose in my stomach. I have never been to a sex club before, and the fact that I’m here with Griffin, the promise of unknown and forbidden pleasure between us, has me a little on edge.
Griffin orders for both of us, and while we wait for our drinks I ask, “What was Dominic saying about my bottom?”
Griffin throws his head back and laughs. “He wasn’t talking about your bottom specifically, sweetheart, although it is quite tantalizing.” His hand squeezes one of my butt cheeks, which is bare under my dress since Emma insisted I wear a thong. His teeth capture my ear lobe as he growls in my ear, “I plan to take full advantage of that tantalizing ass later tonight.”
My breath hitches.
The bartender sets our drinks down and I take a bolstering sip as Griffin explains. “A bottom is another name for a sub, and a top is a Dom. If you’re not with me, another Dom can ask you to play. But that’s not going to happen because I’m not going to leave your side tonight.”
“Good,” I say with a sigh of relief.
“Apparently you have to wear cuffs though,” he says, digging through the black leather satchel he has brought into the club with him and pulling out a pair of black leather wrist cuffs.
He places his hands on my waist and turns me so that I’m facing him.
“Give me your wrists,” he says softly. There’s an unspoken challenge behind the command, and I realize he is asking for more than my wrists.
I hesitate for only a fraction of a second before lifting my wrists and holding them out to him like an offering. Smiling his approval, he wraps a cuff around each one, securing them with the attached Velcro closures. I notice that one of the cuffs has a metal clip attached to it and the other has a metal D ring, presumably for fastening my wrists together.
My breath comes a little faster at the thought. “Why didn’t you talk to Dominic about Gavin?” I ask curiously, trying to distract myself from the very real sensation of the leather cuffs against my skin, not to mention the significance that wearing them conveys here in the club.
“I don’t know, exactly,” Griffin says thoughtfully. “Intuition. It just didn’t feel like the right time.” He stands and hooks a finger through the D-ring on my left wrist cuff, pulling me with him. “Why don’t we walk around for a while?” He lowers his voice and adds, “Let’s see what turns you on.”
“Okay,” I agree nervously.
The warmth of Griffin’s hand sears through the thin material of my dress as he places it on the small of my back again as we slowly wend our way through the club. The dance floor is crowded and groups of people are talking and laughing. Other than the surprisingly artistic black and white erotic photographs that line the walls like a gallery exhibit, there is nothing X-rated about the place. Well, aside from a few women who are literally wearing nothing but gold paint and one whose unique interpretation of the character Pussy Galore has me giggling.
“I kind of expected there to be people tied up and stuff,” I say to Griffin in a low voice.
He chuckles. “Believe me, sweetheart, there are. Just not here in the main social area. Upstairs there are twelve private rooms outfitted with everything you need for bondage and role play. Dungeon monitors, the guys with the orange armbands, check in on those scenes to make sure everything is safe and consensual, but otherwise, what goes on in those rooms is private. The basement is another story. That’s where people publicly engage in scenes, and there are stations with everything from St. Andrews crosses to spanking benches.”
I nod, trying to absorb it all. This is strange and new, both titillating and terrifying.
“The Pinnacle is a private club, which means there are less state restrictions, but from what I’ve heard, Dominic is quite insistent about making sure it’s as upscale as possible.”
I notice a tuxedo-clad man on a stage in the back of the main room with a woman who is completely naked save for a tiny thong. He is binding the woman with an intricate and almost artistic arrangement of rope and knots.
“What’s that?” I whisper, nodding to the stage.
“That’s the demonstration stage,” Griffin answers. “He’s giving a demonstration of Shibari, the Japanese art of erotic bondage.”
“Is that what you did to me?” I ask, my nipples tightening at the memory of the rope he’d used to bring me to orgasm over and over again.
“Mine was a very simple version, but yes,” he says with a smile. “My knot tying expertise is pretty limited to boats, and I’m certainly not as accomplished as that Dom. But there’s something beautiful about the contrast of the rope with a woman’s smooth skin and curves that intrigues me,” he adds, trailing a finger intimately across the plane of my stomach, stopping just above my pelvic bone. My muscles tighten in response to both his words and his touch.
“When it’s done right, Shibari encompasses the perfect blend of visual beauty, power exchange, and helplessness,” he adds, his voice husky.
Oh god. I can feel the moisture against the tiny scrap of material that passes for my underwear.
We watch for a few more minutes before Griffin asks, “Do you want to go downstairs?”
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. I’m curious, but nervous.
We take the stairs down to what is apparently dubbed the Dungeon judging by the signs pointing the way, and as we step into the crowded room, I realize this is what I had expected but am still nonetheless somewhat unprepared for. To my right, a naked blond woman is bound to a tall wooden X as a tuxedoed man, his shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up, wields a whip. Her head is thrown back in ecstasy as he works the whip across her body. To my left, a young man is kneeling at the feet of an exotic looking woman clad in black, watching her with worshipful eyes.
It’s erotic, for sure, but so…public.
I don’t say a word, but Griffin’s arms wrap around me, pulling me back against his chest. “This isn’t your scene is it, sweetheart?” he murmurs in my ear. “To be honest, it isn’t mine either. But I would do just about anything to touch your naked body and feel your skin against my lips. Let’s go upstairs to one of the private rooms.”
My pulse leaps as we climb the stairs, stopping to grab two bottles of water at the bar.
“I have to use the ladies room,” I say as we move away from the bar. I need a moment to work up my courage. Am I ready for bondage play? Of course I’ve done things I never could have imagined in my wildest dreams with Griffin already, but this seems different somehow.
“I’ll wait for you right here,” Griffin promises, leaning casually against the rich wood paneled wall outside the ladies room.
I go inside and take care of my business, stopping to perfect my Bond Girl red lips at the mirror. I’m pressing my lips together when I see a slight girl, her hair streaked a shocking pink, walk behind me and into a stall. I’m almost certain this is the girl at the front desk Gavin had talked to. Unlike the other women I’ve seen so far at the club, she’s dressed in Gothic black with numerous piercings and doesn’t look remotely like anyone from a Bond movie, so I deduce she must work here. I pretend to fix my hair while I wait for her to come out. It doesn’t take long, and as she’s washing her hands I say nonchalantly, “You’re Shelly right?”
She looks up at me in surprise. “Have we met?” she asks.
“No, I’m sorry,” I say. “My name’s Mila. I’m a friend of Gavin’s.” I mentally ask forgiveness for the lie. “I’m visiting from out of town and this is my first time at the Pinnacle. He told me to look for you if I needed anything.”
“Really?” she says, a smile lighting up
her face. “You’ve seen him?”
“I saw him this morning,” I say honestly.
“I miss Gavin,” she says sadly. “He was so fun to be with. It’s not the same here without him. It’s just so hard to believe. He just doesn’t seem to be the type of person to do what they said he did.”
“I know,” I agree. “He definitely doesn’t. He told me he just kind of lost his mind after what you told him just before he left the club that night.”
I hold my breath, hoping she’ll take the bait.
“About Camille and Dominic?” she says with surprise.
Ka-ching! I nod and wait a moment to see if she’ll say more.
Horrified, she covers her mouth with her hand. “He didn’t know about them?” she asks in a whisper.
“Apparently not,” I say, my mind racing. What about Camille and Dominic? Was Dominic working with Camille and Gavin didn’t know about it? Did Gavin think they were cutting him out of the loop?
“What exactly did you tell him?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Just that Dominic and Camille were officially a thing. At the club and apparently in public too. Camille had just announced that she was Dominic’s sub and girlfriend.”
Chapter Seventeen
When I emerge from the ladies room, I can’t wait to tell Griffin what I’ve just learned. “I just talked to Shelly,” I whisper urgently to him.
“You can tell me when we get inside a private room,” he says brusquely, taking my elbow and leading me toward the stairs.
He has a point, but I’m not sure why he’s being so abrupt. Although I’ve seen him more than a little angry the day he showed up at my office and coldly furious when he’s talked about Camille, I realize I’ve never seen Griffin out of sorts before. I wonder what’s put him in a bad mood. I’m silent as he guides me smoothly up the stairs to the upper level where a long hallway, much like one in a hotel, bisects the stair landing. Numerous closed doors, each with a number on it, line the hallway. Griffin leads me to a room at the end of the hall, using a key card to unlock the door which has a small glass window inset at eye level. The door closes heavily behind us and I hear the snick of the lock clicking into place, but I’m so intent on studying the room that the sound barely registers.
In many ways, the room resembles the police station interrogation rooms I spent countless hours in during my days as a DA. It’s cold and austere, with exposed brick walls, two metal chairs, and a long utilitarian looking table. However, unlike most interrogation rooms, there are chains and shackles attached to the walls as well as to the arms and legs of the chairs and the table, and an old-fashioned stockade in the corner. In sharp contrast to the starkness of the rest of room, an opulent brass bed is situated in the middle of the room with a variety of straps attached to the head and footboards.
I don’t hear Griffin come up behind me until his hands are in my hair, roughly dragging me the short distance to the exposed brick wall. He presses me against it forcefully.
“I understand you have some information I want,” he says, his voice lethal.
It takes a minute for my mind to process what’s going on. Edgy anticipation swirls together with arousal as comprehension dawns.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say coldly, playing along. “And even if I did, what makes you think I will give it to you?”
He pins my arms roughly behind me with ease, reminding me just how strong he is. He abruptly yanks me away from the wall and back against his hard chest, his hand at my throat. He tightens his grip slightly, and I panic for half a second before I remember it’s Griffin. But my libido’s already in overdrive at his rough and primitive show of power.
“I have it on good authority that you’re a fugitive,” he says menacingly. “Do you know what happens to fugitives?”
My mind instantly goes back to the conversation we had that first night as we lay in his bed staring at the stars, when I’d jokingly told him I was a fugitive.
I shake my head mutely, although I know the answer.
“They get hunted down, hand-cuffed, and interrogated,” he says softly, his words echoing his playful response that night. I belatedly remember telling him that was a fantasy of mine, and my stomach makes a quick trajectory to my toes.
I feel desire slicken my thighs as he drags me to a chair and forces me into it, using the attached restraints to bind my wrists to the chair. He roughly nudges my legs apart, securing my ankles to the metal legs of the chair so that my legs are spread and my thighs parted, exposing my panties beneath the short dress and granting him easy access should he want it. And I have no doubt that he will. I feel helpless and exposed, excruciatingly aware of the compromising position I’m in.
“You have been accused of some very serious crimes,” he says calmly as he steps back and studies me. “However, if you give me the information I want, maybe I can bargain for some leniency for you.” He moves closer to me, leaning forward so his handsome face is next to mine.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” he asks softly.
I nod. Looking him straight in the eye, I say defiantly, “Go fuck yourself.”
He chuckles and I have to fight a smile. Who knew role playing could be so fun?
I’m rethinking that a few minutes later when he retrieves the black leather bag that had held the wrist cuffs and begins to unload the contents, arranging them methodically on the table in front of me. I squirm apprehensively as he sets out a long, black length of cloth; a slender, leather-tipped crop; a knife; a wooden paddle; a thin, black chain with what looks like rubber-tipped tweezers at either end; and a black, teardrop-shaped bullet with a flared base. I swallow hard.
He looks at me, his eyes dark with passion.
“I can see that you don’t feel particularly inclined to talk right now. However, by the time I’ve finished using all of the…incentives available to me, I’m certain you will feel differently.”
Picking up the black cloth, he places it over my eyes, tying it securely behind my head.
“Let’s begin the interrogation, shall we?”
God, he is scarily good at this. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; he’s probably done this for real. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that we’re just playing. My mother always said I became a lawyer instead of an actress because it let me be on stage while still making a living, and I realize with a rush of adrenaline that I’m looking forward to playing the role of uncooperative prisoner. Of course I will eventually tell him what Shelly said, but I plan to fully enjoy his methods of getting me to talk first.
He roughly forces my dress up until I feel it bunch around my waist, and the cool air caresses my thighs and nearly bared sex, covered only by the sheer black silk of my thong. What feels like the blunt edge of a knife runs up the inside of my bare thigh and I bite my lip. Seconds later, he has grabbed the top of my dress and I can hear the rip of fabric as he wrenches it apart. I feel a slight tug and the cool air of the room caresses my bare breasts.
He grasps one breast roughly and I gasp.
“Have you spoken to anyone at the club besides me?” he demands, squeezing it.
I suck in my breath but don’t answer.
His fingers seize my nipple and twist slowly, increasing the pressure until I yelp. He releases my nipple and sighs heavily.
“Alright,” he says reluctantly. “I see you’re not going to make this easy. Let me see if I can help you remember.”
He grasps my tender nipple again and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger briefly before releasing it, replacing his fingers with his warm mouth. I arch my back as much as the restraints allow, eager for the sensual feel of his mouth on me. His teeth graze my nipple lightly and I moan with pleasure. He moves to the other breast and repeats the process, sucking and nipping until I’m squirming in the chair. He abruptly releases my nipple and I sigh in disappointment. However, no sooner has his mouth left my breast than I feel two pincers clamp around my left nipple.
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br /> He tightens them, and the pinch turns to a bite. I whimper softly.
Seemingly satisfied, he moves to my other breast and clamps that one as well. As he tightens the clamp I struggle to free my hands, desperate to pull the damned things off, but it’s useless.
“Breathe,” he says softly, and his voice centers me.
I breathe deeply, in and out, and the pain recedes, replaced by a pleasurable throb. I’m suddenly hyperaware of my sensitive nipples, which feel tight and huge.
My breath is coming fast and shallow and my clit is aching. He tugs sharply on one of the clamps and the shock of pain that sears through me makes me gasp. However, my panties are inexplicably wet and I want nothing more than to have him inside of me.
“Do you want to tell me who you talked to now?” he asks calmly.
I shake my head vehemently and he tightens each clamp a little more. I bite my lip harder as the sensation sears straight to my core. I’m determined to hold out as long as I can, but I don’t think it’s going to be much longer. Although the pull on my nipples is deliciously erotic and blissfully torturous, I don’t think I can take much more.
I’m surprised when his lips touch mine. His kiss is brutal, his tongue pushing its way into my mouth to ravage me. He abruptly pulls away and ruthlessly yanks the chain attached to the clamps. Only the fact that I’m securely strapped to the chair keeps me from leaping out of it. “Okay,” I say quickly. “I talked to Shelly, the girl from the front desk, in the bathroom.”
“There,” he says approvingly. “Was that so hard?”
He kisses me again, gently this time, until I’m aching for more.
“I’m going to release the clamps,” he says softly. “It may hurt a bit.”
A bit is the understatement of the year. As soon as he removes the clamps, the sensation as the blood rushes back into my nipples is far more painful than the bite of them going on. Griffin’s mouth is instantly on one nipple and then the other, his tongue soothing each one tenderly until the pain has dissipated. After a moment, he moves away and I wait, panting softly, wondering what devious plan he’s going to employ next to try and make me talk.