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“We wouldn’t miss it,” Reggie said, as he moved off, leading Jocelyn to the empty table without another interruption.
“What did he mean, am I available?” Jocelyn asked when she could finally comment on their welcoming. “And I’m not ready?”
“Shared submissives are common in this place,” he said, looking at her face to see what kind of expression appeared there.
“You’d share me with another man? Give me away to be screwed by someone else?”
“I’ve done it dozens of times,” he said.
“But with me?”
“Why would you be any different?” he asked, becoming colder than he’d been in some hours. She was different, he knew that, but he wasn’t planning to tell her.
“But I’m not ready?” she wondered at that comment.
“No. You can count yourself lucky for tonight.”
The blonde was at their table serving their drinks, and with the jazz band playing they listened.
“What makes me ready?” Jocelyn asked, still curious about the odd conversation with Hans.
“You are when I decide you are, if you’ll ever be ready,” he added. “You reminded me a few days ago that you hadn’t balked, don’t count on that continuing.”
She seemed to take the comment at face value, and he watched her body begin to move with the music. She seemed caught up in the sounds, and for several minutes he saw her mood change with the changing rhythms. Suddenly turning back to him, Jocelyn grabbed his hand.
“Let’s dance,” she said. Already on her feet before he could launch a protest, she had him standing, and since they were practically in the middle of the dance floor anyway, they were moving body to body seconds later.
She was like a cat, eyes of savage hue in the smoky gray light of the room. Her sensual gyrations provoked an instantaneous response in his crotch. Damn! The woman would have him creaming his pants like a schoolboy if he didn’t watch out.
“You move really well,” she whispered, all her seductive allure was on the outside beckoning him to come inside her mystic aura.
“Been a long time,” he admitted, kissing her offered lips.
“I bet,” she said, pulling away.
“You’re smashed, aren’t you?” Reggie said, seeing Jocelyn become more bold.
“No. Just happy,” she retorted. “This place isn’t that bad at all.”
“You haven’t seen everything yet.” He smiled. Happy was rarely a word he used for himself, in fact he didn’t think much about his state of being. He just went on the same way day after day. But there were things about Jocelyn that lightened his mood, when he let them. Seeing her provocative body in dark green leather, deliberately seducing him with every lusty move, was one.
“Things are getting hot behind the wall, Reg.” Hans was whispering the message in his ear, just when he was in the middle of being mesmerized by the dancing woman in front of him.
Reggie nodded and grabbed Jocelyn’s hand, pulling her to the back of the nightclub to the brick wall, and the small door that took them into the ‘bowels,’ as the place was affectionately called.
There was already action going on in the dimly lit room, a tiny crying German wench was draped over a padded bar, with a dominant applying a strap to her naked ass. Jocelyn cringed the instant she saw the scene, the girl’s wildly red behind, and her thighs as crimson as her butt.
A thick wooden dildo had been shoved in her pussy, and she was mercilessly fucked with it until she let out a different kind of wail, in tribute to her cunt grinding against the leather bar as she came. Lifted from the apparatus, the girl was happily limp, falling into another woman’s arms. The other woman stroked her kindly. “You learn a good lesson, Else,” she admonished her.
As the two passed by Reggie, the older and dominant woman smiled at him. “You bring your wench to get strapped, Reg?”
“To watch,” he said.
“Train her, she could use it,” the woman remarked, as she gave Jocelyn a quick but thorough inspection. “Remember what I taught you.” She led her just punished submissive away, as Reggie and Jocelyn moved further into the room.
There was a stage at one end with chairs in front in a semi-circle. Other punishment paraphernalia, like the bar the young woman had been bound to, was scattered haphazardly about. However, the scene about to play for them would be on stage, Hans’ Theatre of the Dark, as he called it.
The room quickly filled with people from the outer nightclub, watchers of an absurd play. When the curtain rose on the small elevated platform, there were two players, two women, sitting in chairs. Each wore a leather skirt, and leather halters that left little to the imagination. Their large breasts seemed to be bursting from the tiny garments. Their arms were tied behind their chairs so that the prominent bobbing tits stuck out lewdly from the women’s torsos. One was blonde, the other brunette, other than that, they were quite similar with tousled curls atop their heads, mountains of flashy eye makeup, and brash red lipstick. There were black boots on their feet to match their skirt
