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Rebecca grabbed my hand tight as she climbed the main staircase, stopping dead before we stepped through into the main club. “Remember your name, Cat. Lydia doesn’t exist in this place.”
I nodded, then followed her in, looking this way and that as I struggled to orientate myself. It was a bigger space than I’d imagined, a gulf of standing area lined with dimly lit seating: plush booths lined with rich scarlet brocade and occupied by small clusters of people, some of which appeared to be particularly well acquainted. I tried not to pry, forcing my eyes to remain on Raven alone as she led the way. The main bar was a crazy spectacle, flashing bright in a neon hue - all pinks and greens and electric blues, with bar staff to match. I sat down beside Raven, noticing Cara following up the rear, saying her hellos to the groups in the booths.
“Well?” Raven asked. “Are we staying?”
“Yeah. But I’ll need a large glass of something.”
“I’m sure we can sort that out.” She leant in close, breathing into my ear and directing my gaze with a finger. “Toilets are over in that corner. There’s a ladies’, a mens’ and an anybodies’. So take your pick when you go. There’s also a wet room off to the side, but I wouldn’t recommend you head in there unless you want a face full of piss. It’s where the edge players get it on.” She gestured further along. “Main stage area. They have a selection of cuffs from the ceiling, with an electric wrench for suspension play. There’s also an X-frame propped at the back and sometimes they’ll set up a flogging bench if it looks as though it’s needed. Mainly the stage is for the hardcore players, so be warned, things really can get fucking hardcore up there. You’ll soon know about it if someone’s starting up a scene, they’ll fire up the main spotlights and turn it into a show. Don’t be surprised to see people getting it on from the sidelines, it’s like real-time porn, only better if you’re into the whole pain-pleasure thing. Nothing like the sound of a screaming sub in live audio.”
“Will there be a show tonight?”
“All depends who’s in. Sometimes I go up there, butI’mbabysittingyouthis evening.” She winked. “As you can see, in terms of general ambience some of the seating is in darkness, some spotlit, depending on your penchant for exhibitionism. There’s a chill-out room to the back of the main floor, but there’s not all that much chilled out about it. Lastly, down the corridor you have the playrooms. That’s where a lot of the fun and games happen.”
“Playrooms?”
“Yeah, for smaller scenes. They have a variety of furniture in them... benches, racks, cuffs, frames, cages... this is a members only club, and each member is assigned a locker off to the side of playroom one.” She jangled some silver keys in front of my face. “People tend to collect what they need and choose a room for their scene. Some are big enough for multiple pairs or groups, others more for one on one play. They all have internal windows, so you’ll get spectators looking in, but playroom four has blinds if you want a bit of extra privacy.” She smiled. “I’m not sure you’ll need to know the etiquette, but an open door means people are welcome inside and will sometimes be invited to join in. Closed door means watch but don’t enter, unless you’re in a separate scene and want to use the free equipment. Everything gets hosed down and sterilised at the end of every night, but we’re all pretty responsible and we clean up after ourselves. There are wipes in every playroom, and a selection of rubbers. Safe sex is standard here, this isn’t a dive.”
“Nice to know,” I smiled.
“There are some toys available for sale under the bar, vibrators and butt plugs and shit like that, as well as batteries, lube and bondage tape. Sometimes they stock rope as well, but you can’t count on it. If you have any issues there are always hostesses about.” She pointed at a tall woman in white PVC leaning against the wall to the side of the bar. “That’s Delicious, she’s on duty tonight. If you ever get any problems, unwanted attention or some kind of medical issue they’re always around to help, and they hang out with the newbies if they feel nervous. You’re with us, of course, so it’s not so relevant to you.”
“And how much does this cost? To be a member, I mean?”
“Why, you thinking of joining?” she grinned. “It depends. If you want to come every week you pay for VIP membership, which is four hundred a month, with a fifty percent discount for a partner if you have one. You can also invite one guest a month in addition. Occasional members pay five hundred for the year, but they also pay another hundred on the door each visit, and don’t get a discount for partners.”
“So you pay four hundred every month to come here?”
“Sure do. Why do you think I needed a housemate?” she nudged me in good humour. Cara slid over a couple of drinks, cocktails from the looks, bright blue and topped with an umbrella. I mouthed thanks. “There you have it. Explicit in a nutshell. Everyone uses a name here, for privacy, hence the Cat thing. Oh, and there’s a no-photography rule, things like that. There’s an official list of dos and don’ts but everyone generally knows what they are. Anyone leery gets asked to leave pretty sharpish, so generally it’s ok to relax and it’s always ok to say no if you don’t want to do something. You’ll get offers, I’m sure.”
“How long have you been coming here?”
“Five years or so. I started coming here with Jaz, but she doesn’t come so much these days. Any more questions, Sherlock?”
“I think you’ve covered it. Now to see how long I can hack it without running home safe to suburbia.”
“Suburbia? You’re talking about Camden as suburbia?! You’re getting wild in your old age, I’m sure there’s a deviant little Cat in there somewhere, after all.”
“I guess this is the place to find out.” I raised my glass for a three-way toast. “To new experiences.”
“We’re always up for that,” she smiled.
***
Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the tension in the room: the shadowy glimpses of couples making it all the way to last base without a care in the world for who saw them. Maybe it was the vicarious buzz from the people heading to the playrooms for more hardcore action. I can’t say for sure what made me so excited when the spotlights on the main floor lit up, but my heart raced in my chest so damn hard I thought it would thump right out through my ribcage.
“Action,” Raven said, giving me a hefty nudge. “Let’s go.”
Alcohol made me brave enough to follow her lead, holding onto her for dear life as she wove her way amongst the spectators. Cara pressed in close behind, pointing out a spare pew in the shadows with a decent view of the stage. My jelly legs were relieved to be seated, wedged between my two guides to watch the action unfold. I dared to cast my eyes around the other viewers, but most were cloaked in darkness beyond the glare of the lights. I couldn’t deny the adrenaline. The whole room was buzzing, and me along with it.
“Who’s up?” Cara whispered to Raven behind my back.
“No idea,” she replied. “Maybe Tyson and Dixie?”
“They’re in playroom two,” Cara said. I saw Raven shrug, then turn her attention back to the floor as a woman took her position under the spotlights. She was pretty. Older than any of us, maybe early forties. A shapely redhead with her hair piled high, trussed up tight in a simple black PVC dress. She was breathing deeply, staring out beyond the crowd at the darkness. There was a serenity to her; a calmness in her stance despite her agitated breath. She swayed gently in her own little trance, her arms graceful like a swan, oblivious to all around her.
A shadow appeared at her rear, looming large through dark drapes. A man. A huge fucking man. Electric nerves pulsed on sight of him, fear and excitement mashing into one heady concoction. A ripple went through the crowd, an excited murmur that fizzed up my spine.
The man was as toned as a gladiator, ripped and raw and ready to fight. My eyes bowed down to his feet on instinct, and slowly I worked my way back up. Heavy black boots. Tight black denim over sculpted legs, hanging low enough to showcase the muscular V of his hips. His abs looked forged from steel, tense and tight under bronzed skin, and his chest, oh my God, his chest. My eyes widened in recognition. A huge tattoo in jet black, curling all the way around his ribs. A multi-headed beast, tribal and malevolent, dancing on his flesh as though it owned every part of him. Sothiswas the man with the chimera: the design on Rebecca’s wall, the design I’d looked at every fucking day since I moved in. My eyes shot to his face, searching for the identity of the man who wore such a mark, but there were no answers to be found there. The man was masked, most of his features hidden behind black leather. His eyes were only shadows, dark and sinister, and his hair was slicked back to his scalp, as dark as the rest of him.
