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"Can you clean off the equipment for me?" Drake said, his voice soft.
"Certainly, Master D. Do you need a private room?"
"Yes," Drake said. "Preferably one with a bathroom."
I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to see other people and how they responded to the little drama playing out before their eyes.
Soon, Drake carried me up the central staircase to a second-floor bedroom that looked like it belonged in some grand mansion in Florence instead of Yonkers, the carpets thick, the walls covered in rich brocade, the bed enormous. Drake carried me into a small bathroom and sat me on the vanity. I grimaced because my ass was tender but as he'd said to those watching the spanking, the small bit of discomfort would remind me that I'd been punished.
He ran some water and wet a washcloth with cold water, pressing it against my bottom lip for a moment.
"I'm fine," I said when he pulled the cloth away, a tiny bit of blood still on it. "Master."
"You're strong-willed," he said. "Stronger than I knew. I never wanted you to be scarred because of anything we did together, Kate. I never want to draw blood."
"Master, it's just a bit of skin I pulled off. It won't scar."
He pulled me into his arms and I slipped my arms around his neck, my tears stopped now, just a strange sense of calm descending over me.
He moved back and looked me in the eyes. "Do you want to go home now? Or do you want to stay? You've barely seen anything."
"Let's stay," I said, drawing in a deep breath. "If it pleases you, Master," I added quickly, making a face and tapping my head lightly with a fist. "I want to see the dungeon if you want to take me there."
"Are you sure?" he said, his expression now doubtful. "When we first met, I thought it would be good for your 'research' but now, I'm not so sure you'll enjoy it. Things can get pretty intense. There are people who do want to draw blood, Kate. Who do want to feel pain and administer pain. People will be fucking. It can be upsetting to you if you’re not used to it."
"Whatever you think, Master. I trust you to know what I should do."
He nodded, just staring at me for a moment as if deciding.
"Maybe it would be good to go down there for a short while, just so you can satisfy your curiosity. But I may only go in a bit deep. Not to the really intense places."
"You're scaring me, Master."
"I don't intend to. Just want you to be prepared for what you'll see."
"I trust you, Master."
"I value your trust, Katherine. I take your trust in me very seriously."
Then he kissed me, softly, and stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers, touched my bottom lip.
He pulled me off the vanity and we made our way back down to the main floor, walking through those assembled to watch various displays and demonstrations of technique. A few people nodded to Drake as we passed but didn’t speak to him. It was all very respectful.
We descended a wide staircase to the basement and immediately the atmosphere changed. The basement was dark and made of old brick and had a cold-sweat feel to it like in a cave. Some heavy bass-filled electronic music played in the background, its beat insistent. Dubstep. I recognized it – Trolley Snatcha by The Future. It was probably the only Dubstep tune I knew. When I lived in residence at Columbia, one of my roommates played it endlessly.
The lighting was subdued and there were imitation torches on the walls, flickering with an eerie light that I knew was electric rather than a flame. But the effect was the same. A bit spooky and definitely darkly sexual.
The basement was divided into room-like spaces. Each room was open to a central aisle. Inside each room was some kind of apparatus and people inside using it to inflict various forms of pain or pleasure on each other. People down here were all dressed – or undressed – for the atmosphere. Leather, latex, rubber. They wore and used chains, masks, ball gags, spreader bars. There were whips and floggers of every design on boards, and over the sound of the music, I heard the crackle of electricity and turned, looking for the sound.
"Electricity, Master?"
"Yes," he said, his voice low. He squeezed my hand. "We won't go there."
We walked around a crowd watching a scene, threading through people who stood and watched, Doms with their subs on leashes, some kneeling at the Dom's feet, watching the events transpire inside the rooms.
In one room, a twenty-something male sub with short spiky white-blond hair was standing in the center of the room, his hands bound to hooks in the ceiling, his legs spread with a spreader bar. His testicles were imprisoned in some kind of cage-like structure and he was being struck on the ass and back with a flogger. His bald-headed older Dominant dressed all in black leather stood behind him, whispering something into the sub's ear every few strikes. The sub had a huge erection, obviously turned on by what was happ
ening to him.
