by Force, Marie
Listening to the shower running in the next room, I lie in her bed, looking up at the ceiling fan as it spins round and round, a metaphor for the thoughts cycling through my mind.
The supreme unfairness of it all is hard to fathom at times like this, when I’m unable to have what I want most in the world, all because of whom I was born to. Some might think, oh, poor little rich boy, born with a silver spoon in his mouth. What in the world does he have to bitch and moan about? But imagine your fate being decided for you before you’re even born. Then all the riches in the world might not look quite so appealing.
I think about the last, bitter argument my father and I had before I left to attend film school at USC. I’d gone around him and applied behind his back, thrilled and elated to have gotten in but sick at heart to know a draining battle would take place before I left.
I declined offers to attend business school at Oxford, Harvard, Yale, UPenn and Dartmouth. I did that before I told him I was going to USC so there would be no other options remaining by the time I broke the news to him. The blowup was every bit as cataclysmic as I expected it to be. He was so furious, his face turned purple, and for a brief, horrible moment, I wondered if he was having a heart attack.
Wouldn’t that have been ironic? If he’d dropped dead right in front of me and because of me, he would’ve gotten what he wanted after all—me as his prisoner. But he didn’t drop dead. No, he recovered and managed to say and do some things that I still recall in vivid detail nearly twenty years later. He called me an ungrateful, disgraceful, arrogant waste of his DNA, among other choice words. All because I had a dream that differed from the plan he made for my life before I was born. And that was the least of what happened that day, but I can’t allow myself to go back there, to be sucked into that rabbit hole of despair that I’ve worked so hard to escape.
I left for LA the next day and have rarely been home in the ensuing years. I see my mother and sisters at least once a year, but I haven’t seen my father in eight years, not since the funeral for my maternal grandfather. I don’t think we exchanged more than ten words during the two days I was home. I’m dead to him in every way except for one—he hasn’t gone so far as to actually disinherit me, much to my dismay. I used to pray every night that he would.
My womanizing stemmed initially from my desire to disgust him to the point that he didn’t want me as his heir anymore. But nothing I’ve done, and I’ve tried a lot of things, has had the desired effect. And that’s my own fault. It was my idea to use my mother’s maiden name as my surname in my new life, lest I ever be somehow connected to him. So while I’m sure my father is suitably appalled at the way I live my life, the rest of the world has no earthly idea that Academy Award-winning cinematographer and world-class skirt chaser Jasper Autry is actually the heir to the Kingsley billions, in line to be the tenth Duke of Wethersby.
Naturally, it’s never occurred to my father that my sister Gwendolyn, the Wall Street financier, would actually be much better at running the family empire than I ever could be, but God forbid his heir be a woman. That’s not the way of things in his world. If I hadn’t been born, finally, after four daughters, he would’ve left everything to his brother’s son before he turned his dynasty over to a mere girl.
Gwen is a Harvard MBA with the same head for finance my father has and his father before him had, but she’s never worked a day for the family business. She’s a bigwig at an investment bank on Wall Street where she’s made a name for herself in the same financial circles in which my father is a living legend.
The hairdryer goes on in the bathroom, a signal to me that the shower is free. I run the palm of my right hand over the stubble on my jaw, unnerved by the trip down memory lane that takes me back to some of the most difficult days of my life. I have no regrets about making a stand for the life I wanted rather than having the life he intended to force upon me, but I’ve always known I’m living on borrowed time.
That’s especially true lately as my father spends less time in the office and more time pursuing passions that regularly put his life at risk. Last May, when he climbed Everest for the second time, I don’t think I took a deep breath for an entire week while I waited to hear he had successfully descended from the summit.
His latest thing, according to the media, is flying solo around the world in an experimental solar-powered plane, because that’s not dangerous or anything. Sometimes I swear he’s gotten into extreme challenges just to torment me. I have no doubt he takes a perverse pleasure in knowing I’m constantly on edge, waiting to hear he’s managed to kill himself.
The whole world will be watching his latest exploit. If his greatest skill is making money, his second-greatest skill is courting publicity. I’d have to hide under a rock to avoid the coverage. Luckily, my baby-making week with Ellie coincides with my father’s latest circus, so I’ll stay offline and out of his loop, which is where I’m happiest anyway.
“Jasper?” Ellie emerges from the bathroom. She’s wearing a robe, but her hair is dry and she’s put on some makeup. Not a lot, but just enough to emphasize her eyes and lips. She looks fantastic, as always. “Are you all right?”
“Of course, darling. I dozed off for a few minutes after you wore me out.”
Smiling, she rolls her eyes at me. “What do I wear to a sex club?”
“Something sexy.”
“That narrows it right down.”
I get out of bed and go to her, putting my arms around her waist. “You could wear that robe, and you’d stand out like the perfect rose that you are. Anything you want to wear will be smashing, I’m sure.” I kiss her and step around her into the bathroom.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You were a million miles away when I came out of the bathroom.”
Unfortunately, a million miles wouldn’t be far enough to free me from the shackle around my ankle. “I’m fine, darling. I’ll be quick.” I close the door, unnerved by how completely she “sees” me. She always has, even when we were “just” friends, but since we’ve become lovers, she’s become more attuned to me, and God, I love being seen by her. I love being known by her. I love everything with her, even if I shouldn’t.
I get in the shower and stare up at the water raining down upon me, determined to enjoy every bloody minute I get to have with her before I’m forced to set her free.
We ride to Black Vice in Jasper’s car. He’s been unusually quiet since he came out of the shower and got dressed. I assume it’s because he’s not thrilled to be taking me to the club, but I have no way to know that for sure. I’m too excited to experience the club to risk asking him what’s wrong. I don’t want him to change his mind about taking me there.
Growing up in LA, I was always aware of the city’s sexual undercurrents. There are stores devoted to pleasure, basic strip clubs and higher-end “gentlemen’s” clubs, not to mention the adult film business that operates on the fringes of Hollywood. There was no avoiding the influences that surrounded me, but I’ve never had an urge to delve any deeper into the various lifestyles. Until now. Until Jasper confessed his kinky tendencies and made me obsessed with knowing more.
We climb into the Hollywood Hills, far too close to Flynn’s house for comfort. Jasper navigates the winding road, pulling into a driveway I would’ve missed. The driveway bends and twists a few times before revealing what looks like a private home.
Young sexy men in tuxedo shirts and bow ties are working the well-lit entrance, valet-parking cars and greeting guests.
Jasper gets out of the car, takes a ticket from one of the valets and comes around to help me out. Wordlessly, he tucks my hand into the crook of his elbow and walks me inside where I have to blink several times before my eyes adjust to the much darker lighting.
A handsome dark-haired man with dark eyes and the sort of intensity not often seen in men so young comes over to us. Wearing black pants and a dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, he greets Jasper with a war
m smile and the half bro-hug that guys are into these days.
“This is my friend Ellie. Ellie, meet Devon Black, our host this evening.”
Devon takes my offered hand and kisses the back of it. “Lovely to meet you, Ellie. Jasper tells me this is your first time at a club like ours. Welcome.”
“Thank you so much for having me.”
“I’d say the pleasure was all mine, but I hope it’ll be all yours.”
The statement is so bold that it sends a flash of heat rippling through my veins as I try to imagine what I might be in for.
“Before we go any further, I’ll need you to sign our standard nondisclosure form that basically says we’ll take aggressive legal action against anyone who speaks of who or what they see here. I trust that Jasper has told you that our club is a place where people are made to feel safe to be themselves. Everything that happens here is anonymous. I can almost guarantee you’ll recognize someone you see here tonight. By signing this form, you promise not to disclose that information to anyone.”
“That’s no problem.” I take the form from him and sign it.
Devon takes the signed form, hands it to the woman working the reception desk and gestures for us to follow him. “Come along. Let’s take a tour.”
“Don’t you have to sign the form?” I ask Jasper.
“Jasper is a longtime member of our club,” Devon replies.
“I appreciate your time tonight, Devon,” Jasper says.
“Not a problem. My lady has been down with the flu. I find myself with some rare free time, so your call was well timed.”
“Give Tenley my regards,” Jasper says.
“Tenley, the stylist Flynn and Natalie work with?” I ask, making an effort to keep the surprise out of my voice. “Addie’s friend?”
“The one and only,” Devon says with a soft smile that conveys his affection for her.
So Tenley is part of the lifestyle, too? This just gets more interesting all the time. And I haven’t seen anything yet.
We’re taken into a huge room with a variety of stages where couples and groups of people are engaged in a variety of activities. On one stage, a woman is bent over an apparatus as her lover flogs her with a device that resembles a mop made of leather. Next to that stage, a man is being dominated by a woman dressed all in black leather and wearing the highest, spikiest heels I’ve ever seen. I wince when she stands on his chest and drives those spike heels into his skin. He groans with unmistakable pleasure.
Another stage has a woman surrounded by a group of four men, each of whom tends to a different part of her body. I try to imagine what it would be like to have so many hands, mouths and tongues working me over at the same time, and my clit tingles with unexpected interest.
“That sub is acting out a gang-rape fantasy tonight,” Devon tells me. Music is blasting through the room in a sexy, urgent sort of beat, but I can easily hear Devon’s voice over the noise.
“People have rape fantasies?” I ask in a small voice.
“People have all kinds of fantasies,” Devon explains, “and in clubs such as this, they’re free to explore them in a safe, sane, consensual environment. Those three themes form the core of our lifestyle, and they should always be at the forefront of your involvement, whatever it may be.”
“Darling, are you all right?” Jasper asks.
I realize I’m staring at the woman surrounded by men as I wonder how her fantasy will unfold. Will they all take turns? Will they have her at the same time? What would I want if I were her? I wouldn’t ever fantasize about rape. That much I’m certain of. Multiple guys tending to my pleasure? I could possibly live with that, but it’s not at the top of the list of things I want to try.
“Ellie?”
“Yes, sorry, I’m fine.”
I’m a one-guy-at-a-time kind of girl, and the only reason I’m curious about what goes on here is because it interests Jasper. And he interests me. His hand on my lower back keeps me focused on the here and now, which requires my full attention.
I note that the waitresses and waiters are all wearing butt plugs with tails attached to them and only enough other clothing to cover their genitals. The women are all but topless with their nipples covered by tassels and other ornaments. I try to imagine what it would be like to land a new job and be told, Oh, by the way, you’re required to wear butt plugs on the floor and nipple pasties as you serve our clientele.
“Are they told during the interview that they’re required to wear butt plugs as part of the uniform?”
Devon chuckles at the question. “They’re not mandatory.”
“So they wear them because they like them?”
He shrugs. “You’d have to ask them. We require only that they dress provocatively, in keeping with the theme of the club. Anything else they choose to do is entirely up to them.”
“And I assume your staff is required to also be ridiculously hot?”
“Again, not a requirement.”
We walk up a flight of stairs to an open gallery area where Devon gestures to side-by-side closed doors. “Behind those doors, you’ll find a variety of scenes unfolding between consenting partners. Left side is the playroom, right side is observation, and intercourse is allowed up here but not on the main floor.”
“Do you want to take a look?” Jasper asks.
I’m trying to decide how far I want to take this quest for information, when one of the left-side doors opens and a couple emerges. They are so wrapped up in each other that they don’t notice us until I gasp and draw their attention to us. Hayden and Addie.
They do a simultaneous double take when they see us standing there with Devon.
Hayden’s happy, satisfied expression turns stormy. “What the hell are you doing here, Ellie?”
“She’s here with me,” Jasper says, putting an arm around my shoulders.
Hayden looks from him to me and then to him again. “You wanna run that by me one more time?”
“You heard me.”
“I asked him to bring me,” I say.
He stares down Jasper. “What the hell for?”
Before Jasper can answer, I say, “I’m not planning to ask what you’re doing here, Hayden, so maybe you should afford me the same courtesy.”
His eyes narrow, and I can tell there’s a lot more he wants to say.
“Hayden.” Addie tugs on his hand. “Let’s go home.”
After a long pause, he says to Jasper, “You’d better hope Flynn doesn’t hear you brought her here.”
That makes me mad. “Newsflash, Hayden. I’m thirty-five years old. I don’t ask my little brother for permission to do anything. It’s none of his business that I’m here, and it’s none of yours.”
“She’s right, Hayden.” Addie pulls harder on his hand. “Let’s go.”
He lets her lead him away, but not before he directs another stormy scowl at Jasper.
“Well,” Jasper says cheerfully after they walk away, “always a treat to run into Hayden.”
“My apologies,” Devon says. “I was upstairs with Tenley earlier and hadn’t heard they were here tonight. I would’ve given you a heads-up.”
“No worries, mate.”
One of Devon’s employees approaches us and confers privately with him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have something I need to see to. Feel free to wander at your leisure. I’ll meet you back at the bar to answer any questions you might have, Ellie.”
“Thank you.” I realize that though I revealed myself as Flynn’s sister during the encounter with Hayden and Addie, Devon doesn’t seem particularly concerned about my brother’s potential ire.
“I’m sorry about that, love,” Jasper says when we’re alone. “I had no idea they were members here.”
“But you knew they were part of the lifestyle.”
“Yes.”
“I can totally see it for him, but Addie…”
“She’s new to it.”
“Ah, I see. Since she got together with him, and he just wi
llingly introduced her to his lifestyle?”
“Um, I don’t think it went quite like that, but you’d have to ask her.”
I’m struck by the memory of the bruise I saw on Addie’s arm in Mexico. Is it possible that was caused by shackles of some sort? Well, I’ll be damned… “I feel like I’m back in high school, and all the cool kids know something I don’t.”
He smiles down at me, his eyes alight with amusement. “It’s not like that. Most people don’t go around talking about how they like to get off. For example, I’ve never once heard you tell anyone you like to be spanked.”
I reach up and squish his lips shut. “I didn’t know I liked that until I did it with you.”
“Exactly,” he says, the word muffled by my fingers. He reaches up to remove my hand, kissing my fingers before wrapping his hand around mine. “You never know until you try, and that’s one of the central tenets of our lifestyle. Everything once. Twice if you like it. There’s no shame in experimenting or stepping outside the lines to see what’s possible.”
“I’m trying to understand, as a feminist, the attraction to being submissive. I feel like I’m setting all of womankind back decades by allowing a man to control me in bed in an actual relationship.”
“I can understand why it seems like you’d be giving up your hard-earned power, but it’s not like that. You retain all the power by dictating in advance what you want and don’t want.” He pauses before he adds, “How many decisions do you make in the course of an average day?”
I have to think about that for a moment. “Hundreds?”
“Right, so imagine a scenario where you let someone else do the thinking for you, and the only thing you need to be worried about is your own pleasure.”
“Isn’t that kind of selfish?”
“Not at all, darling. To me, seeing to my partner’s pleasure is the ultimate turn-on. I’d go so far as to say that turning over your pleasure to your partner is the ultimate use of your power as a woman.”
“You make a compelling case. I’ll give you that.”