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“I can’t wait to be back at the ballet. I feel like I’m climbing out of my skin, wanting to dance again. And the rest of it—” I look at him warily. “I don’t want to go back to the Rosebud. I don’t think I could, after what happened there. But I thought another club, somewhere nicer?—”
Lorenzo’s expression tightens, and I feel my stomach sink.
“You want me to stop stripping, don’t you?”
“I—” He starts to speak, but I break in, talking so quickly that my words begin to trip over each other.
“I love both kinds of dancing. I miss them both. I know it might upset you, but it’s not just the money, there’s this feeling—” I look at him, trying to make him understand. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just know if I quit, there’s something I’m going to miss.”
Lorenzo reaches out, his fingers brushing over the back of my hand. “I understand,” he says quietly. “But I can’t lie to you—I hate the idea of you dancing for other men. The things I thought of when I saw you dance at the club, that I wanted to do to you—I can’t stand the idea of that while we’re together, no matter how nice the club.
My stomach sinks again. “But you said you understand?—”
“I do.” He looks at me carefully. “I have a different idea. I’d like for it to be a surprise. If you’ll trust me?—”
The sentence hangs between us. He looks at me patiently, his green gaze fixed on mine, and I nod.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I trust you.”
—
Friday night, I find a red dress on the bed and a pair of nude ballet flats next to it. It’s a gorgeous dress—thin spaghetti straps, a v-neckline that goes well past my breasts, the skirt slit up to my hips on both sides. There’s a note next to it, in Lorenzo’s spidery handwriting.
Darcy is coming over tonight to watch Niki. Wear this for me. Nothing under it. Be ready by eight.
I read the note twice, a burst of excitement heating my stomach—and nervousness, too. It’s undoubtedly the surprise that Lorenzo mentioned, and I have no idea what he might have in mind. I have to trust him, exactly as I said I did—and I do.
At seven, I get ready, slipping the dress on with nothing beneath it. I leave my hair loose, long, and silky down my back, and put on simple makeup—a thin cat eye, rosy lipstick. Lorenzo is waiting in the living room when I come out, and Darcy whistles when she sees me.
“Where are the two of you going?” she asks, glancing at Lorenzo and appraising his suit trousers and button-down, and he smirks.
“It’s a surprise,” is all he says, and then he takes my arm, leading me down to the waiting car.
“I liked the idea of you in heels,” he says, opening the car door. “But I didn’t think your ankle could handle it quite yet.”
“That was a good call.” I feel touched by the fact that he thought of it. “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Not a word.” He gives me that same smirk, and then closes the door, the car pulling away from the curb.
The building he takes us to is a nondescript stone building a bit past downtown, with a heavy black door at the front that has no knob. I feel a swoop of nervousness in my stomach, my arm through Lorenzo’s, and I look up at him. “What is this?”
“Do you trust me?” he asks again, and I nod.
“I do.”
“Then follow me. You’ll understand soon.”
He knocks heavily on the door, in a quick pattern, and a moment later, it opens. The woman on the other side is stunningly beautiful, dressed in an outfit that is little more than an assortment of black leather straps, and high heels. Her dark hair is piled on her head, her makeup heavy but still artful, and she gestures towards what I see now is a glossy black door at the end of the hall in front of us. “Enjoy,” she says, and Lorenzo leads me forward.
We step through the black door into a large room, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they do, I begin to understand.
The room is huge. The floor is smooth stone, and I see a bar at the far end, the top of it lacquered like the door that we just walked through. The lighting is soft and rosy, and I see a spiral staircase leading up to a floor above us. But it’s everything else in the room that makes me unsure where to look.
There’s a number of apparatus scattered throughout the room—things I recognize theoretically, though I’ve never used them myself. There’s a St. Andrew’s cross, spanking benches, manacles at one end of the room. In the center of the room, there’s a dais, and I see that while it’s empty for now, Lorenzo’s gaze immediately goes to it, and then back to me.
I can’t stop looking around. The room is half filled with people for now, though I expect it will get busier as the night goes on. A woman is face-down on one of the spanking benches, moaning as a man stands behind her, lazily lashing her ass and thighs with a flogger. A man is cuffed to the St. Andrew’s cross, a woman and another man in front of him teasing his erect, bound cock by turns. There’s more of the same happening throughout the room, and I feel a throb of heat between my thighs as I look around, a slow realization dawning on me of why I think Lorenzo has brought me here.
I turn towards him, feeling a little unsteady. “Why are we here?” I ask softly, and his hand goes to my waist, pulling me closer.
