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That was always my dream.
It’s a dream I’ve had for many years, but that was shattered long ago. Now, the idea of marriage seems out of reach. I wonder if it’s even really that important, or if I just had the concept on a pedestal somehow.
“I don’t think I’m going to find a wife in a sex dungeon,” I tell Anthony.
“Perhaps not, but you never know.”
“Do you know something I don’t?”
Anthony claps my back. “I just want you to have some fun,” he says. “This is a nice place full of good people. I think you’ll be able to enjoy yourself here. You can let loose a little, meet some new friends, and maybe find yourself a submissive. Even if you don’t find your dream girl, you’ll at least get to play a little, and you can’t complain about that.”
“No,” I agree. “I can’t.”
“All right,” Anthony sets his glass down on the bar. “What do you say we go watch some scenes?”
Instead of answering, I place my drink on the bar and hop down from the barstool. I’m wearing a bright bracelet that indicates I’m drinking tonight and won’t be playing or scening with anyone. Anthony has a matching bracelet. It’s the paper kind, the kind that you have to cut off when you get home at the end of the night, and it scratches at my skin.
“I know it’s annoying,” Anthony says. “They should come up with a better system.”
“You’d think with all the mone
y they’re making, there would be an easier way to distinguish the drinkers than making people wear these damn things.”
“You’d think so,” a voice says to my left. “But then again, people are tricky. Perhaps the motivation is to discourage people from drinking at all.”
I turn to see a man in the shadows. I can’t see his face, but I don’t have to in order to know this is a powerful man: one who is used to being listened to. Is it the owner? It must be the owner.
“Perhaps you’re right,” I say simply, and the man turns and vanishes into the room.
“That’s Master Thorn.”
“His name is Thorn?”
“Last name. Not sure what his first name is and I don’t really care. He’s the owner.”
“Interesting guy.” You’d have to be. The man single-handedly took a mini-cruise ship and converted it into a sex club. Who would have dreamed that up? It’s incredible. The interior of Anchored is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, as far as sex clubs go.
The dungeon is dark and the music is loud, but everything is clean and new and pristine. There’s a nautical theme throughout the dungeon. There are ship’s wheels throughout the room, along with rope and flags and sails. The entire thing looks exactly like the interior of a ship should, except that there are also crosses and spanking benches and stages.
“Allow me to give you a tour,” Anthony says, pointing to a stage. “That’s the main stage. That’s where the big demonstrations happen.”
“Demonstrations?”
“Sometimes they’ll bring in a specialist or an expert who can show a new technique. Maybe it’ll be a ropes demonstration or perhaps they’ll have a psychologist who gives tips for aftercare. Could be anything. That all happens there. There are a couple of smaller stages,” he points. “As well as play areas for people who want to experiment publicly.”
“And for people who don’t want to experiment publicly, but who still want to play?”
“There are two options. There are private rooms and voyeur rooms. In order to use the private rooms, you need special permission from the club. You have to be vetted and have a signed contract with your submissive on record at the club.”
“They take safety seriously here.”
“As they should,” Anthony shakes his head, and I know what he’s thinking. A lot of clubs are free-for-alls. People go and they play with strangers or people they think they trust, but something goes horribly awry. Someone gets hurt or injured or just feels overly emotional and can’t handle the adrenaline. It happens. Domination and submission is intense, with or without the pain aspect.
As we walk through the space, I look around at the couples surrounding us. Men and women, old and young, tops and bottoms: everyone seems to be in their element. Everyone seems to be having an incredible time.
And then I see her.
“She’s a beauty, all right,” Anthony’s words echo my thoughts. The woman tied to the pole on stage is incredible. She’s facing the crowd and she’s not wearing a stitch of clothing. I can see every part of her: her face, her breasts, her rounded tummy, her pussy. Her legs are spread slightly and as I watch, her Domme works her over with a flogger.
