The girl said something and she had to ask her to repeat herself. If she paid attention, she could understand a lot of the time, but it was still work.
The girl repeated her question, which Sophie translated to whether or not she’d been here before and if she had a membership.
“No, it’s my first time,” she answered in English, both embarrassed she couldn’t carry on in Dutch and hoping the girl would continue in English. Most of the people she’d met here did speak English fluently or almost so. The feeling she got from this girl, however, was that she perhaps didn’t want to as she carried on in Dutch, asking for her identification.
She handed her driver’s license over, assuming she was checking for age, but when she began to enter the information into her computer, Sophie panicked. She hadn’t expected this. She just wanted to pay the admission price and walk inside undetected, slip into the shadows, and simply observe.
“Do you have to take my information? Can’t I just pay and go inside?” she asked.
“You can’t enter if you’re not a member,” the girl said in perfect, unfriendly English, never once taking her eyes off the keyboard as she continued to enter information. Sophie didn’t know what to do, but before she could do anything, the girl handed her license back and told her the amount. She put her license back inside her wallet and withdrew the funds, but the girl shook he head.
“Pin only,” she said.
The Dutch had a banking system where people used a pin card—essentially a debit card—for almost everything. Some stores didn’t even take cash, but Sophie had not thought about that for this place. It hadn’t even occurred to her. If she used the pin card, Michael would see where she’d been on their bank statement. There was no way he’d miss it.
“I don’t have a pin card yet. I’m new here and don’t have my BSN.” A BSN was the equivalent of a social security number. You needed that to do anything and as she said it, she realized the girl would know she was lying. She wouldn’t have been able to get her driver’s license without the BSN.
“You know what, I’m just going to go,” she said, flustered, at a loss for what to do.
The door behind the desk opened and a man stepped through. He looked at Sophie and she imagined her expression gave her away. “Is there a problem, Afke?” he asked the girl at the desk in English, breaking eye contact with Sophie.
The girl answered in Dutch, but it was too fast for Sophie to pick it up. The man said something back, looked at the screen, and turned to Sophie.
“American?” he asked, coming around the desk.
She nodded, unable to speak. He stood just inches from her and extended his hand.
“I’m Kyan van de Brink. I own the club,” he said.
She took his hand. It was large and warm in contrast to hers, which was clammy now from what had just happened. In fact, she could feel sweat under her arms and her face was flushed. She wondered what she looked like to him, feeling like a fool, an inexperienced, naïve fool.
“I’m Sophie,” she offered, leaving her last name out.
He accepted that and shook her hand once. “Welcome to L’Opera, Sophie.”
“I wanted to pay with cash. I’m sorry, I didn’t understand,” she offered, but he cut her off with a shake of his head.
“Not to worry, you’re my guest tonight. And I’m certain Afke will be more welcoming the next time,” he said, glancing at the girl who was now throwing daggers at Sophie. “Won’t you, Afke?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” she answered, again in English.
Without a word, he parted the curtains and guided her inside. His fingertips, although light, were still electric on her bare back. “Are you visiting Amsterdam?” he asked as he led the way to a small round table with a ‘Reserved’ sign on it.
“No, I live here. Moved just a few months ago.”
“For work?” he asked, offering her a seat.
She looked up at him. He was an attractive man, late thirties she’d say, with the typical Dutch blond hair and blue eyes. He looked to be just a little older than Michael.
Michael. God, what was she doing?
“Yes,” she answered his question, breaking eye contact. It wasn’t entirely a lie. They had moved for a job—it was just that it was for Michael’s job.
“How are you liking the Netherlands, Sophie?” he asked, just as a waitress came over.
“It takes some getting used to,” she said.
He smiled as if he understood. “Glass of wine?” he asked.
“No, just water. Thanks.”
“It will help you relax,” he said.
“Okay,” she nodded and he ordered. Sophie took this time to look around at the scene before her. The club was not large, but it was, as with a lot of buildings in the city, bigger than it looked from the street. If there had been any walls, they’d been removed and replaced by ultra-modern steel support beams—the only things modern in the space. The lighting was dramatic and romantic with plush, old-world furnishings and… other equipment. Tables were scattered here and there and there were bars at both ends of the room. At the farthest end from where they sat was a stage. Not a high one—it was more of a platform—and on it stood some equipment Sophie couldn’t identify, although she’d certainly seen things like it in her online searches of late.
As far as dress, she was definitely out of place. The women were either completely nude or wearing clothing she couldn’t even imagine owning, much less wearing. Some men were dressed in suits, some with shirts off, but all wore more clothing than the women. She caught the images of a few scenes that were playing out, but was too embarrassed to watch, even though there was nothing she wanted to do more.
“First time at a club like this, yes?” he asked as the waitress returned to put two glasses of wine down before them.
She turned to him. He was watching her intently, but there was only kindness in his eyes. She didn’t feel uncomfortable with him. Didn’t feel like he wanted something from her. Something she wouldn’t give.
“Yes,” she said.
He smiled and lifted his glass to her. “Well, here’s to the first time,” he said, taking a sip. “I still remember mine and wish it had been at a place like this one.”
“Why?” she asked, not sure how to behave, what to ask, what not to ask. “Sorry,” she began. “I shouldn’t… that was maybe too personal.”
He shook his head. “Nothing is too personal. If we don’t share our experiences and help each other, we’ll never be able to fully find and accept ourselves.” He smiled again.
“I’ve walked by here so many times I can tell you every nick, every pothole on the street!” she blurted out, exhaling, then taking a large sip of wine.
He smiled again, even as she was embarrassed by her simple comment. “You’re not alone, Sophie. Don’t be embarrassed.”
“Thanks.”
“I want to ask you a question and I want you to be completely honest when you answer me.”
Her face grew very serious and she nodded. With all the lies she’d told lately, would she even be able to tell the truth anymore if she tried?
“Why are you here? Do you know what you’re looking for?” he asked.
She searched his face, feeling her own crumple, wishing she was better at hiding her emotions. She picked up her glass and looked at her bare ring finger. She touched the place with her thumb, losing that little bit of confidence she’d mustered up to walk in the door in the first place.
“I’ve never done anything like this and…” Her eyes filled with tears, but she forced them back. What was she doing? How far was she willing to go? “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to answer you.”
He put a hand on hers and squeezed for a moment. “Look at me,” he said.
She smiled a nervous smile, but it faded quickly when she looked at him.
“No shame. I won’t judge you and I’ve stood in your shoes once,” he said. “You don’t have to do or say anything you’re not comfortable wit
h and you don’t have to feel any obligation to me.” He stopped after that point.
She understood and nodded, grateful.
“Would you like a tour of the place?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she answered, relieved.
He stood and she followed. “L’Opera has been here for three years,” he began. “It’s my baby, I suppose. I wanted a safe place that offered something different, something more specific than many other clubs in Amsterdam at least. This is the main area. It’s open, as you can see, so any play that’s done here is public.”
“What do you mean by specific?” she asked, although she had an idea. She scanned the scene around her: some people sitting at tables talking, some wrapped in soft blankets drinking from bottles of water as they were held, others in the middle of play. As she took it all in, she thought she might understand what he meant by specific.
“L’Opera is what I’d call a boutique BDSM club. It’s small, first of all, and it will remain small. Most of the members are more like family to each other and that’s my goal, to create a community—an accepting, open community. As you probably know, everyone’s kink is unique. L’Opera caters to couples mostly. Couples where the male is the dominant partner and the female, the submissive.”
“Which explains the dress, or lack thereof, of the female half of your… guests.”
“Exactly.”
“But if you allow only couples in, committed couples, why did you let me in?”
“People who end up here have been around the scene for some time and they’re searching for a safe place to play and meet others without the… random taste-tester off the street.”
Her eyes once again scanned the room.
“Everything that’s done here is done with consent,” he said, watching her.
“I understand that. It’s just so… unreal.”
“Here it’s very real. But to finish answering your question as to why we let you in, you apparently didn’t strike John, the man at the door, as random.”
“Oh,” was all she could say. So maybe he’d noticed her circling the block after all; she’d just been unaware of it.
“A submissive who is as new to this, as you obviously are, and is searching. I would not leave her to navigate this road alone. You have to take care, always, Sophie. You’re a beautiful woman. It’s important you find your right partner—if you decide that is truly what you’re looking for.”
She had no words, once again feeling duplicitous.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, again guiding her with a hand at her back. “The private rooms are there.”
“What happens in the private rooms?”
“Anything the participants want.” He unlocked a door that opened to a staircase. “Only my security guards and I have a key to this floor. You’ll see why in a minute.”
Sophie climbed the steep, circling iron stairs with Kyan close at her back. She stepped onto the landing to find the corridor completely silent and she turned to Kyan, unsure what to do. There were six doors that led off the corridor, all of which were closed. At eye level were small 5″ by 5″ windows. Some were still dark, but from two, light shone through. He gestured in the direction of one of the doors. “Adam and Rebecca are inside that one,” he said. “Just a little background, they are a married couple with children. They’re fairly new to BDSM and quite private. They rent a room here twice a month to play without having to worry about their kids walking in on them. They’ve only played in public a handful of times.”
“Are we going to look inside?” she asked. “I mean, if they want privacy…”
“They’re aware they may be observed.”
Sophie thought about this, the idea of someone watching her if she were ever in a similar situation, and found the idea more arousing than anything else.
They passed another door on their way and she glanced inside, stopping immediately.
“Keep moving, Sophie,” he said.
“But… what’s happening in there?” she asked. The woman in the room was bound and by the looks of her, very upset.
“That’s a punishment. I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to witness that on your first night here.”
“Punishment?” she asked, the beginnings of the arousal she’d felt moments ago now turning to white heat. Why was she turned on by that word alone?
“Please keep moving,” he said, his voice just a little harder.
She looked at him and did as he said, the image of what she’d glimpsed, of the woman bound and bent over at the waist, the stripes of the cane the man was swinging already clearly marking the flesh of her hips and thighs, now burned like a brand on her brain.
“Here,” he said, turning her so she faced the window and coming to stand behind her, his hands firmly planted on her shoulders.
“Adam is trying the crop on Rebecca tonight,” he said. “They got here only a little bit ago, so it looks like we’re right on time.”
Sophie was stunned at what she saw before her. The room was furnished with just one high-backed wooden chair at its center. Adam and Rebecca stood close together. She was naked and he wore a pair of tight-fitting jeans, his chest was bare, his arms muscular. In one of his hands he held a riding crop, but it wasn’t the crop that caught and held her attention. It was the way he was holding Rebecca. Although Sophie couldn’t make out the expression on her face, she must have been upset because they stood inches apart, foreheads together, his fingertips on her cheeks. His lips were moving and she was nodding. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Adam speaking some words that Sophie thought must be assurances of some sort, and Rebecca listening, nodding now and then. He then simply pressed his lips to her forehead and they held there in this most intimate, tender pose.
Sophie would have turned away, feeling like she was intruding on something too private, but when she tried, Kyan’s hands on her shoulders held her in place.
“Watch,” he said. “You want to. It’s one of the reasons you came.”
She didn’t answer, but did as he said. Adam released Rebecca, who glanced once at the long black leather crop he held. Sophie could see the hesitation in her eyes, but when she turned once more to her husband and he nodded, she went to the chair and bent over it so her belly was pressed up against the high back. She set her feet to the outside of the back legs and bent forward so far that she could grip the lowest part of the front legs.
The way the chair and now Rebecca were positioned, Sophie had a perfect view of the woman’s ass and, with her legs spread as they were, her glistening sex as well as the sparkling crystal that made up the base of the plug she held inside her anus. The flesh of her plump buttocks was already reddened. Sophie swallowed, her panties more than a little moist now as she watched the woman prepare herself.
“He’s already… spanked her?” Saying that word out loud made her blush furiously.
“He’s prepared her to receive the crop,” Kyan said from behind her. She noticed how he stood close but didn’t actually touch her, aside from his hands on her shoulders.
Adam positioned himself and Sophie could see the bulge that took up the front of his pants. He lifted the crop to Rebecca’s waiting buttocks and rubbed the square tip across it. He said something Sophie couldn’t hear before lifting his arm and, with a flick of his wrist, brought the crop down.
Sophie gasped and jumped. Kyan chuckled at her reaction.
“It’s soundproof?” she asked.
“They can’t hear us and we can’t hear them,” he said, pressing her shoulders, signaling once again for her to be silent and watch.
Adam lifted the crop again and struck her other cheek. Sophie could see Rebecca clenching in anticipation of the assault, but as he continued, as her buttocks reddened, she relaxed them, even as her breasts rocked with each stroke and her ass trembled.
“He’s not hitting too hard; he’ll take it slowly and I don’t believe he wants to punish her.”
“I thought you said it was al
l consensual?” she asked, unable to peel her eyes from the couple.
“One can consent to being punished. It all depends on the dynamics of the relationship. But tell me,” he said, turning her to face him. “How do you feel as a witness to this?”
She flushed, wondering if he could see how aroused she was.
“Sophie,” he said when she still hadn’t answered after a few moments. “You are welcome to come back here—as my guest—any time I’m here. But there are certain rules I’ll expect you to follow.”
“Rules?”
“Yes, rules. First one is that if I or any other man here asks you a question, you are to answer it. Verbally and with proper address. In case you’re unsure what that address is, it’s Sir. Is that clear?”
She looked at him with wide eyes, her belly tightening at his words, her mind wanting this, exactly this. It seemed to come so naturally to him. As kind and gentle as he’d been with her since he’d seemingly taken her under his wing, he was still able to dominate without question. “Yes… Sir,” she said, her body tingling to life from head to toe at her muttering of that word.
“Good girl,” he said.
“Now answer my question. Do you remember it?”
She nodded, but when he gave her a look she opened her mouth to speak. “Yes, Sir. You asked how I felt when I was watching. I felt, feel…” She took a moment, breaking eye contact, unsure she could do it but somehow trusting this stranger. “I feel aroused. Sir.”
He smiled.
“Would you like to come back tomorrow night?” he asked.
She would have said yes, but remembered Michael would be home then. Her heart twisted in her chest. “I’m out of town this weekend,” she lied. “I can’t.”
Kyan nodded. “It will be my pleasure to meet you again, whenever you return. I have to leave you for a bit now, but you’re welcome to stay.”
She couldn’t imagine being here alone. Wasn’t even sure how she’d ever thought she could do something like this alone. “No, I should go home. It’s late. Sir.”
“Where do you live?”
“On the Brouwersgracht,” she said, then mentally berated herself for telling him. What if he just showed up at her door one day? At least he wouldn’t know the house number. “I don’t mind walking—I need the fresh air.”
Reclaiming Sophie Page 2