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"So, Katherine," Drake said when he leaned in close, his mouth next to my ear. "You feel like dancing a bit?"
I smiled when he wrapped his arms around me and led me over to the dance floor where we danced close together, gyrating against each other. I held my hands above my head like I was restrained as Drake held my hips, pressing himself against me, his mouth moving over my neck to my ear, which he bit softly.
Once the song finished and segued into something a bit more hip hop, we stopped dancing.
I stood on my tiptoes, my mouth next to his ear. He bent down a bit to accommodate me.
"Where's the dungeon?" I whispered, impatient to see the main event.
"Katherine," he said, a frown on his face. But then he smiled just a bit. "So impatient for the main event?"
I bit my lip, realizing I was being a bad sub. "Sorry, Sir," I said, and shrugged, smiling back at him.
"In the back," Drake said and took my hand. "Let's go."
The room in the back was as big as the bar and dance floor, was painted black and inside the room were a series of black wrought-iron cages. The throb of music from the dance floor was muffled, as if the room was soundproofed. The music inside the dungeon was dark, something between dub step and plain old metal. I heard some screaming, and wasn't sure it was the music or a patron but it ended in a groan of pleasure, so it was a good scream, not bad.
Inside, people demonstrated a number of kinks – flogging over a pommel horse, nipple clamps and pussy whipping with a riding crop against an iron cross, and in one, two men were suspended by a series of ropes and pulleys, their bodies wrapped in a thin film of saran-like material. The denizens of the dungeon were dressed in various costumes – some wearing leather, others latex, while still others were decidedly Goth with long black clothes, high Doc Martens, white faces, and eye makeup on the men.
While Drake went to get us a drink, which was perfunctory for observers but not required for participants, I stood and watched a Dom dressed in a long black leather trench coat pour hot wax on his sub's nipples. While I watched, men walked by me and looked me up and down, but I studiously ignored them all, not meeting their eyes. One young man about my age with spiky blue hair and dark eyes stopped and spoke to me, his accent very British. He wore black leather pants and a white t-shirt, over top a pair of suspenders.
"Care for a foot rub, luv?" he said. "You've got lovely looking feet."
"No thanks," I said and gave him a smile, trying to be polite. He shrugged and moved on to the next woman standing alone and I saw her turn him down as well. Finally, he met with someone who agreed, and the man knelt down right there on the floor and removed her shoe. He proceeded to rub her feet, and seemed to get really into it.
Drake returned with two drinks in hand and stopped beside me, handing me one. It was a vodka tonic with lime. We toasted each other and took a drink.
"See anything you like?" he asked.
I glanced around. There was nothing I wanted to try, but it all excited me – being around other people who were pursuing their kinks aroused me.
"I like to watch," I said and smiled up at him. "Even if I don't want to do."
"Voyeur, Ms. Bennet?"
I nodded and turned back to see the man rubbing the woman's foot, his face beatific behind the black mask.
"That looks OK," I said and motioned the man. "My feet are killing me in these heels."
Drake laughed. "If she doesn't watch out, he'll ejaculate right here."
My eyes widened. "Really? I thought he was a sub, wanting to do submissive things, like service women."
"No," Drake said and shook his head. "He's a foot fetishist. He's turned on by women's feet. He's probably going to come in his pants."
I couldn't look away as the man's eyes rolled a bit in his head. The woman was busy talking to her partner and didn’t seem to notice. The foot fetishist suddenly fell forward, his face slack.
"Yep," Drake said, and turned to face me, taking me by the arm and leading me away. "Like I said."
"Oh my God," I whispered. "I can't imagine it being so arousing to touch someone's foot that you would actually come." I looked up at Drake, who was smiling, as if amused by my naiveté. "I mean, without his genitals actually being involved in any physical contact…"
"His pants are probably very tight. Some people claim to be able to make their subs come on command," Drake said, his eyes half-hooded. "But I always believed that was wishful thinking."
"You never tried?"
He shook his head.
"I come in my sleep sometimes," I said. "And I'm not being touched."
