There’s something embarrassing about a condom wrapper, don’t you think? The condom itself isn’t embarrassing, it’s vital and soon discarded after fulfilling its role. Condom wrappers though, strewn about on the carpet, emptied of their contents or, worse, hastily refilled after the act. There’s just something a little slapstick about the toothless, un-erotic evidence of sex in the near past. Something that seemed antithetical to the screaming orgasms that the room had just witnessed. Too mundane. Too ordinary.
Daniel moved fast. He gathered their rubbish and his holdall, putting a ‘needs cleaning’ sign on the door after he locked it. “Claude would rather we use the cleaners he provides and take care of our subbies after a scene. Can’t say I disagree with him there.”
Cleaners? Wow. They had to be in the lifestyle. It’d be too mortifying for everyone involved otherwise.
They went back to the main atrium, both a little bedraggled. Daniel steered Maisy to a large empty booth, “Put your feet up, sweetheart.”
She didn’t need telling twice. The club was in full swing, so the main bar room was buzzing with conversation and laughter. Maisy could hear sounds of pain and pleasure echoing faintly from the many tunnels. Scattered about the room were many people wrapped in blankets and sipping hot chocolate or something stronger. Maisy wasn’t the only one with her feet up on the substantial furniture. It was easy to feel at home here.
Dan returned from his expedition with a basket like the one Xavier had fetched for them the other night. “Budge up, then.”
She scooted along the seating and allowed Dan to drape a blanket around her shoulders. She was grateful for it this time. The club was definitely chilly tonight. Damn stone floors...
Before she got too settled a sparkly waitress came over with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. “Thanks,” Maisy called, recognising the spiteful lady Jenna from earlier and wanting to smooth things over.
She just nodded, but Maisy could tell those feathers were still very much ruffled.
Dan pulled Maisy into his side, “Forget her, sweetheart. She’s just one woman. I’ll introduce you to some of the others next time. I shouldn’t be keeping you all to myself.”
Maisy nodded and reached for her hot chocolate. Jenna was an unpleasant distraction she didn’t have the energy to think about at the moment. She sniffed her drink curiously - almonds! It must be spiked with amaretto. Dan had guessed well; she loved the stuff. It was like drinking cake.
Dan stroked her shoulder, content with her leaning into his side, “So...”
Ah. That obligatory debrief.
“So?” She said.
“How do you feel?”
“Good,” she said, honestly. Then, realising that probably wasn’t enough information, “Drained. Tiny bit sore, too. Peaceful.”
“Peaceful, hm? That’s good. Me too. What do you think about the limits list now?”
Maisy sipped the rich, creamy hot chocolate, buying time to think. “Honestly?”
“Always.”
“I’m even less certain than I was before.”
“How so?” He held her patiently while she drank her hot chocolate and mulled his question over.
Eventually she said, “I just love it all. Everything we’ve done so far has been amazing and I don’t know what to put on my checklist because I don’t know which things are more brilliant than they sound, you know?”
“I certainly do,” he grinned wickedly, “That’s no problem. We can carry on talking and working our way through things. We can try anything you like, skip anything that you don’t. And my limits, of course.”
Maisy realised she hadn’t even thought to ask Daniel about his limits. “I’m sorry, I was so busy thinking about me I didn’t even -”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a big mouth and I’ll speak up if I need to.”
“Still, I feel bad.”
He chuckled and hugged her closer, pulling the blanket further around them both, “You’re sweet as they come, little Maisy.”
She didn’t really know how to reply to that, so she finished her hot chocolate and replaced her mug on the booth table.
“You’ll have to tell me all about your limits, Sir.”
“I’ll be sure to,” he said, “But rest now.”
She snuggled into his side, cosy under the blanket and wearier than she’d expected. Resting here was a very nice prospect.
MAISY SHIFTED IN HER sleep. Why was she so uncomfortable? She rolled her shoulder and stiffened as the surface beneath her moved. Oh Christ. Had she fallen asleep on the train again?
Lowered voices rumbled around her. Some of them were familiar. That French one had to be - Claude! The club. How could she have fallen asleep at the club?
She screwed her eyes shut even tighter, not ready to find out who had witnessed her drooling, snoozing self. A hand stroked her shoulder firmly and she relaxed a little. She was still with Daniel. She must have fallen asleep in his lap when they were cuddling. Mortifying, but it could be worse.
A low female voice, possibly Matilda, piped up, “Why don’t you just hire a professional? This isn’t Dan’s speciality, sorry Dan, and he has enough on his plate.”
“Okay, okay, you are right.” Claude sounded like he was surrendering after a sustained campaign. “But who? I can’t just invite a stranger into our home.”
A rougher voice, William? “Yeah you can. Just get them in when we’re not here.”
Dan spoke from above her, his warm tones comforting even when they weren’t directed at her, “I’m not sure it works like that, won’t they want to be there during the event?”
“Depends,” Someone mumbled. In the silence that followed Maisy realised with some alarm that it was she who had spoken.
She opened her eyes to find Claude, William, Matilda, and a group of people who she presumed were other Drift Masters and Mistresses watching her intently.
“Crap,” she muttered.
Daniel leaned over to meet her gaze. “Something to contribute, sweetheart?”
Still half asleep and not entirely sure what she’d wandered into, Maisy wasn’t sure how to respond. “Kinda?”
Matt’s big laugh came from her left, “Don’t be scared, love. Let’s hear it.”
Claude and William sat side by side, heading up the informal meeting in the booth. In between William and Maisy was Matilda. Matt was looking down on her from the other side of Dan. She sat up and saw that there were two other women and a man she didn’t recognise. They all wore black armbands.
The Masters and Mistresses of Club Drift. And every pair of eyes was focused on her. She pulled herself upright, even though curling up in Dan’s lap and pretending she was still asleep was a much more appealing alternative.
“Sorry, everyone, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just saying that some event planners stay through an event to the end and some just orchestrate ahead of time. Most would prefer to stay though. Especially with a new client. You want to make sure everything is running smoothly, you know?”
She was babbling, wasn’t she? Definitely babbling. She clamped her mouth shut and glanced at Claude. His gaze had become...hungry. Like a cat spotting a plump and lazy bird.
“You are in the business, Maisy?”
No! Keep it all separate, Maisy. Come on, just tell him you’re guessing and go back to hiding in Dan’s lap.
However, lying in the face of Claude’s eager and commanding expression was much easier said than done. “Um, yes. It’s what I do.”
“You’re an event planner?” Matilda grinned at her, “That explains a lot.”
Before she could ask what, exactly, her profession explained Claude continued, “I wouldn’t like to pressure you, petite, but do you think you might...?”
He left the question hanging, as if he knew how big a jump it was for her to merge her professional life with the club.
“I can give you a business card? My boss never bothers turning up to the actual events unless there’s free booze, so
you should be safe with us.”
Did you actually just offer Claude your business card? For goodness sake, Maisy. Abort! Abort! Tactical withdrawal!
It was too late.
“Can I help you home, sweetheart?” Dan helped her to her feet. “You still seem a bit...”
Drowsy? Half-witted? Like my head’s off in the clouds with my screaming orgasms and there’s no chance of it coming back any time soon?
“Yeah, thank you.” she agreed, she wasn’t feeling 100% yet.
She held Dan’s arm as they approached London Bridge underground station. It was late, nothing but night buses and cabs around. Their journey was illuminated irregularly by passing vehicles and glaring streetlights. They could have been characters on a stage lit enthusiastically, if inexpertly, by a high school drama club.
They travelled down the escalator together, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. A subtly possessive gesture that looked like nothing at all to the passers-by, but to Maisy felt like a subtle leash tying her to him in that public place.
“I’m going East,” she said as they reached the bottom of the escalators and the underground crossroad. She was loathe to break the silence that’d kept them enveloped in the club’s comforting after-hours atmosphere even after they’d left.
“West,” he said briefly, as if he was also aware of the intimate bubble of silence dissipating more with every syllable.
Maisy almost asked the question automatically. ‘Would you like to come back for coffee?’ That old cliche that seemed almost obligatory when you’re this intimate with someone and you want to have them in your own bed.
He’d been inside her only hours before, but somehow she knew that this was a line she could not cross. Whatever this was between them, it wasn’t the sort of thing where you wake up next to each other the next morning.
She knew that this was intangible barrier she could not cross, so she said, “thank you for a great night,” instead.
Daniel kissed her sweetly, “See you soon, sweetheart.”
Chapter 19
Firecracker
Emails needed answering, florists needed booking, transport needed cancelling, but all Maisy could think about was the night before.
She pressed her hands tighter around her mug, absorbing the heat, holding on until it was too much. She released the mug and looked at her reddened palm. Pain. Visible pain that she’d chosen.
There’d been small bruises on her ribcage where one flogger stroke had strayed a little too low. They looked a lot like the finger print bruises she had just above each hip on her waist. She didn’t remember feeling those in the moment.
She ran a finger across the place where she knew the flogger bruises hid beneath her shirt. Properly covered up for her day at the office, but still so very present.
How does this work? She understood, in the most basic layman way, that pain and pleasure were both intense sensations. Mixing them to produce more intense results was logical, but to relish the marks left by passionate violence? Was that more of the same?
No, not quite. It wasn’t about the firecracker intensity, the crackling electric connection between the players and the pleasure and pain they alchemised, it was something quieter. More simple and rich. Like kneeling by his side absorbing the atmosphere, protected and looked after by him.
It was being marked by the experience that had changed you a little, because it does change you. The more Maisy walked in Drift’s world the more she realised that truth. It was a gentle sort of change, the kind that unpeels layers to reveal your core, the kind that leaves you more aware and sure of yourself. But it was a change.
Do people get addicted to this feeling? The sensual embrace of bondage. The intricate dance of power exchange. The rise and fall of pleasures and pains. When’s the last time the average person got pushed to their limits? Some people climb mountains. Some people learn new skills annually. Some people find partners to trust and expand every inch of their mental and physical limits together.
It can be an adrenaline fuelled experience. A touch of fear like bitterness at the end of a drink. Just the very slightest edge, but unavoidable and indeed sensible if you don’t know your companion.
It’s thrilling. Like throwing yourself off a building with a thin bungee cord for life assurance or like running screaming through an empty field. It’s baring every inch of yourself and giving yourself over to the unknown. A safe unknown, a negotiated unknown, but nevertheless a thrilling unknown.
You find yourself there, at the edge of trust and fear. At the edge of pain and pleasure and desire. Your limits shift and grow with time and experience, you might find addicts in the scene pushing further and further in search of more...something. But you’ll probably just find yourself growing.
Additionally, if you were Maisy, you might find yourself offering your meagre professional services to one of the most effortlessly stylish people you’ve ever met.
Putting her empty mug aside, Maisy pulled her notebook from where it’d been hiding under her keyboard. She didn’t know exactly what Claude was looking for yet, but she hadn’t been able to resist sketching out a few ideas.
Anyway, the more she could get done ahead of time the better. Michael had a habit of swooping in and stealing the credit for other people’s completed plans, but that was honestly better than him getting involved half way through. No, the best way to get Claude an event worth having would be to plan it all herself, tell Michael it was alcohol free, and let him take all the credit and hopefully leave Maisy to do all the work. Maybe she should cancel the whole thing.
No. This could work. The confidentiality required would be an extra challenge, but not an insurmountable one. Claude will have invited members already, so he might not even need invitations. Tables, chairs, any stage or set building they decided upon could be done well outside club hours.
The trainee subs were excellent waitstaff already and could probably be persuaded to step up for the evening. Hors d’oeuvres were easy enough to arrange and the trainees could also serve those. Their uniforms and the bar were already 1920s themed, maybe Claude would let her run with that.
They probably had refrigeration in the room behind the bar, right? She made a note to ask Dan what kitchen facilities they had, if any. However, If Claude was looking for a full sit-down meal, things could get complicated.
Her phone started ringing. Loudly. Club Drift. Claude. Crap. Why had she given him her card? Planning an event at the club was a terrible idea. She’d have to get work involved and Michael, the creepy sod, would figure out what kind of place it was and everything would go to pot.
Calm down, she tried to tell herself, you can manage Michael. Probably. Hopefully. Her phone was still ringing. It vibrated obnoxiously on the cheap pine-effect desk so she picked it up.
Still, answering it seemed a bit drastic.
Michael walked past, his eyebrow raised disapprovingly at whoever dared disturb the office peace. Well, it was more like a tense and uncomfortable office atmosphere as far as Maisy was concerned, but Michael insisted it was peace. She answered, affecting her extra-chirpy customer service voice.
“Good morning! Maisy speaking, how can I help you?”
On the other side of the phone Dan chuckled, “You are too cute for words, sweetheart.”
“Oh!” Maisy saw that Michael was still lurking nearby and bit down on the instinct to call Daniel ‘Sir’ or mention last night in any way. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Claude will be here in a minute. He wanted me to start the call so he could honestly say to the people he’s conference calling right now that he’s got someone waiting on the other line. Bless him, I’ve got no idea how he’s done so well in business with that soft heart of his.”
“That’s great. Can I run through some details with you?”
“Is someone listening?”
“That’s correct,” she replied, keeping Michael’s position in sight, as usual. She liked to know where he was so he couldn�
�t sneak up on her.
“So I probably shouldn’t start asking you for your thoughts on boutique hotels?”
Maisy felt her cheeks turn red, “No, no, that will not be necessary.”
Dan laughed, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I wouldn’t really. I’m Dan the business man today, anyway.”
“There’s a novelty,” she said, just about resisting the urge to ask when he became a poet. “What’s the deal with kitchen facilities at the club?”
“Non-existent. I mean, there’s a big refrigeration unit and a sink in the utility room behind the bar, but that’s as far as it goes.”
“No problem. Speaking of the bar, have you already ordered anything for the event drinks wise?”
“Yeah, I managed that bit,” he said, “I informally invited everyone who’s been a member since the beginning and the regulars too.”
“Good. Do you think Claude will want the formal invites?”
“That’s where you lose me, sweetheart. There’s a reason we need you. I think he wants to stick with the bar’s Art Deco theme, but apparently that doesn’t mean we can just do nothing for decoration.” His good-natured tone reassured Maisy. He sounded grateful to be passing responsibility on to someone who knew what they were doing.
“Okay, how about -”
“Hang on, sweetheart. Here he is.”
Maisy heard the men talking indistinctly for a moment before Claude spoke directly to her.
“Hello, dear Maisy! My apologies, I have had too many phone calls to make today before I got to this one, but this is the only one I wanted to make. Always the way, no? Has Daniel filled you in on his progress?”
“Um, yes, I suppose he has.”
Claude laughed lightly, “Don’t worry, I know it is not greatly advanced as of yet.”
Maisy felt herself relax, Claude was just another client who needed a little help turning his ideas into a plan. She could do this. “So I’m going to need some information from you so I can prepare some ideas. The next stage is me walking you through what I come up with and then we decide together how to move forward, okay?”
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