Page 45 of The Golden Pecker


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Landon put his hand on James’ shoulder. “Is she here tonight?”

James turned his head a fraction of an inch toward Landon but didn’t look up. “Yes.”

God. His voice reminded me of two mountains rubbing together, and not in a sensual kind of way—more like an annoyed shoulder bump while passing in a crowded subway.

“Is who here?” I whispered.

“Wait until you’re asked to speak,” Landon said under his breath.

As much as I wanted to bite back with an angry reply, I couldn’t help feeling the pressure of the club adding weight to his words. It really was like a different world down here. While it irked to have a someone actually tell me to “wait until you’re asked to speak,” it had a different context here. I’d gone to Germany when I was sixteen once, and I pretty quickly learned that nobody over there had discovered carbonated drinks—or drinks in general, taste better with ice. I didn’t go around trying to convince the entire country that I was right. I just sucked it up and drank room temperature beverages for two weeks.

As the saying went, when in The Golden Pecker, do as the peckers do. In this case, Landon was the Pecker King. The peckeriest pecker of all, you could say.

So, I batted my eyelashes and studied the floor.

Landon watched me, then nodded. “Come with me. I’m going to show you the sensory deprivation room.”

I wanted to ask a question, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was waiting for me to slip up again. Wait until I’m asked to speak. With an internal sigh, I shoved the question into the back of my mind and followed obediently. I couldn’t say why but bowing to his authority filled my lower stomach with a not-so-unpleasant kind of warmth.

I recognized the hallway we moved through, as well as the curtains leading to two of the rooms I’d been in already. My curiosity was piqued by the sheer number of curtained-off areas and then the rows of sturdy looking doors a little farther down the hall. Landon stopped at a door that was painted black. He pulled one of the golden coins from his pocket and slid it into a receptacle below the handle. It reminded me of an arcade machine. There was a little metallic clink, then Landon pushed the door open.

“How do you get your coin back?” I asked.

“Each coin is chipped with an identifier. Some rooms require you to ‘spend’ your coin for the night. Once it’s spent, you can retrieve it on the way out at the reception desk.”

I rolled my eyes. “You guys come up with so many overly complicated systems down here. What about just asking for a key like for a gas station bathroom? Hmm? Did anyone consider that before they imbedded microchips inside metal coins?”

Landon gave me a look that said I was walking on thin ice.

I blew out a frustrated breath and made an exaggerated show of redirecting my eyes to the ground and zipping my lips.

The room was nothing but a narrow walkway covered in a soft, black fabric shaped like the inside of an egg carton. The floor below the walkway, the walls, and the ceiling were all clad in those spikey, sound dampening triangles like the kind YouTubers stuck on their walls. As soon as the door closed behind us, the most intense silence I’d ever felt seemed to crush in around me.

“Wow,” I said. “Wow,” I said again, more quietly. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but even my voice sounded different—like little echoes and reverberations that normally only registered subconsciously were absent as well.

“It’s state of the art sound dampening technology. Almost every surface is covered in it. And that’s the tub,” he said, gesturing to a little bowl that was surrounded by the same soft, black spikes. I could see now that it was full of water.

“Wait,” I said. “I’m supposed to get in that thing? I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”

“You won’t be needing them,” Landon said. “And I’m being gentle with you because it’s your first night as my submissive, but I expect you to learn without needing to be reminded of the rules again.”

I winced. Right. I was asking questions again. I clamped my mouth shut.

“Good,” he said.

I hated how his praise made a little ball of pride blossom in my chest. I was starting to see how women could get addicted to this, silly or not.

“Take off your dress and get in the tub,” he commanded.

I opened my mouth to protest, then remembered the rules. I closed my eyes, trying to think of a way to ask him to turn off the lights first without getting in trouble.

“Here,” he said in a voice that was surprisingly gentle. He took me by the arm and led me to the edge of the tub. “When I turn off the lights, it will be absolutely dark. Not the kind of dark you’re used to. I want you to take off your clothes when the lights are off—even your underwear—and hand it to me. Then take my hand and I’ll help you get into the tub.”

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