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I nodded. The Attendant signed in the appropriate spot and pointed to a room off the left. "You can leave your coats and overshoes in the coat check. Fetish wear is required. If you have none, you will be able to choose from what is in stock or else you'll have to leave."
Drake nodded and we went to the coat check. Drake removed my coat and handed it to a scantily dressed coat check girl who also wore a collar, indicating her status as a submissive.
"Thank you, Sir," she said. She took my coat and hung it up. Drake removed his overcoat and suit jacket and handed it to her as well. He pointed to my feet.
"Take those off," he said. I hesitated for a brief moment but then removed my boots.
"Master, what do I wear on my feet? I forgot shoes."
"Nothing. Submissives wear bare or stocking feet."
I raised my eyebrows at that. He smiled. "It's psychological."
I nodded. The coat check submissive gave Drake four tiny tokens. "Sir, you're aware of the two drink per person maximum," she said. "Drinks are being served at the bar. The dungeon is downstairs, but there are stations set up around the main floor for demonstrations. There's dancing in the ballroom. Have an enjoyable evening, Sir."
She smiled at us and pointed to huge ornate double doors.
"Thank you," Drake said and took my hand, leading me through the doors and into another world.
We stood just inside and took in the scene. Perhaps fifty people stood around in small clusters, men and women dressed in leather and latex, some with collars on, various body parts exposed depending on their status as Dominant or submissive. Classical music played in the background from a small trio of a pianist, a violinist and a bass player. All wore fetish wear.
"These people are the movers and shakers," Drake said as he stood behind me, one arm around me, resting on my hip.
"I hope I don't see anyone I know through my father," I said.
Drake squeezed me from behind. "Katherine…"
I closed my eyes. "Oh, sorry. Master. I'm just so nervous."
"I know," he said. "Let's get you a drink. I need you relaxed but still aware of the rules."
We went to the bar and Drake ordered us two shots of vodka. We held them up and toasted each other as we always did and shot them back. Then Drake kissed me after I'd barely swallowed the vodka as if he wanted to taste it on my tongue.
"This is going to be a great night," he said.
We wandered around the main floor, and surprisingly, I was only introduced to a couple of men with their submissives. The greetings were short and although friendly, none of the men tried to engage Drake in any substantive conversation. It seemed as if everyone was here for the show. At various places on the main floor we saw what looked like home-made gymnastic equipment – a re-designed miniature pommel horse, a narrow balance-beam like structure and a wooden X on the wall with manacles at the end of each of the arms. There were tables with whips and floggers and everywhere, there were spray bottles and towels. It was like a gym or exercise room mixed with bondage gear, set against an eighteenth century salon with ornate furniture and a huge marble hearth.
I shivered. This was the BDSM that I had a difficult time accepting, but these people were submitting to this and doing this because they wanted it. For whatever reason, pain and humiliation and submission pleased them. These people gave each other what they needed and could get nowhere else.
"Why do these people like this? All of this – domination, submission, pain and humiliation, Master?"
"These people, Katherine?" he said, his eyebrow cocked. "You happen to be one of these people now. Maybe you're not into pain or humiliation, but you're into submission. It's not illegal so don't judge, Katherine. Understand."
I thought about Drake, and how he needed control, sexual control, over his lovers. How he enjoyed having me tied up and completely helpless. Was it because he was afraid a woman wouldn't allow him to do what he wanted unless she was completely tied up? Or was it the trust, as he said?
It was hard to know. I tried to connect the dots in his life – his failed marriage, the restraining order, the bondage, the sexual control. Was it as simple as him feeling this was the only way to keep a woman? Tie her up and make her come over and over again?
As if he could sense my unease, Drake led me to a couch by a huge bay window and sat me down, while he remained standing in front of me.
"What's going on in that mind of yours, Ms. Bennet?"
"Master, I was just wondering why people are attracted to BDSM. Why you are. Why I am."
He sighed heavily. "In the end, does it matter? I've tried to understand why I am. Understanding why doesn't change things. I still want it."
"So you understand why, Master?"
He looked away, inhaling deeply. "Perhaps."
