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He presses the button on the elevator once we get to the end of the hall and grins at me. Once we’re inside, he presses the number two and says, “We’re not naked. I’m not fucking you. How is this inappropriate? I’m an owner. I have to be here on opening night.”
I go to reply but don’t know what to say. He’s right. It’s not like we’ve seen any naked people or have to participate in any orgies. Even still, if someone gets invited to a sex club, you want to know that’s where you’re going, regardless of what’s gonna happen there.
The door opens up to another darkened hall, this one lit up with warm gold lights. The rooms we pass are empty, but one has a massive bed that could easily hold ten people. Another room has some sort of device hanging from the ceiling, and I decide instantly I don’t ever want to be in that one.
Vicente looks around each room, ensuring there’s plenty of cleaning wipes, towels, and sanitizer. He tells me that there’s employees who clean after a group or couple leave, but some people want the materials there so they can clean up before and after themselves as well. Which, I get. I’d do the same thing.
Wait.
I mean, if I were the type of person to come to a place like this, that is.
The second level definitely kicks it up a notch from the first level. There’s less hiding what this place is. There are open rooms with plenty of areas for group play and an array of toys and equipment to put to use. In the center of the main room is a circular stage with two smaller stages set on higher platforms to the sides, however, they’re caged. In the largest one is a couple doing sensual dances with limited clothing. In one of the smaller ones is a lean, muscular man in tight leather shorts, while the other has a curvy woman in a fishnet dress with black undergarments. They move their bodies to the music while touching and caressing themselves with looks of pleasure on their faces.
My body heats up as I watch, my heartrate picking up speed as I enjoy the show they’re putting on. I glance around at the small audience they have up here and they all look as entranced as I was, though a couple of people seem to be taking things a step farther as a man’s hand reaches under his date's skirt. To have power over people just by enjoying yourself behind the safety of a cage must be nice.
I snap out of my daze and find Vicente leaning against a wall watching me. He gazes at me with interest and not with the smug amusement I’d expect.
I strut toward him. “That was a good idea,” I say, gesturing toward the stage.
He dips his head slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “I thought so too.”
“Will they get naked?”
“If they wish to.”
“Hmm.”
We start walking through another hall. “Want to come back when they do?”
“Maybe.”
He chuckles. “Maybe. Maybe you’re aputa sucia, huh?”
My brows furrow. “I don’t know Spanish, but I know enough to know that sounds bad.”
“Depends on what you like,” he says with a grin.
We pass several rooms, some in use, some open. There’s bathrooms and showers on each level, as well as lockers to hold belongings. Vicente tells me this will be a membership only club, but tonight anyone gets to come and see what it offers before making the commitment.
The third level is dark with glowing royal blue lighting. These rooms are more extreme, holding more BDSM themes. I see St. Andrew's Crosses, spanking benches, a jail cell stand up cage, sex swings, and a latex vac-bed, some of which I had to ask Vicente about.
“What’s ENMY mean?” I ask after seeing the logo printed on condoms in each room.
Vicente takes a seat in one of the impact play rooms, running a hand over his thigh as he watches me. “Do you know what ENM is?” I shake my head. “Ethical non-monogamy.”
“Ethical non-monogamy,” I repeat. “Like cheating?”
“Except it’s not cheating because there’s consent.”
“So, open relationships?”
“Open relationships, swingers, polyamorous people. It all falls under ENM. Instead of just having it be those three letters, we added the Y from the end of monogamy and it’s a simple word most people wouldn’t question.”
“Makes sense,” I say, pulling my attention from his intense gaze and studying the tools on the table behind me. I pick one up that has several spiked wheels. “What’s this for?”
Before I know it, Vicente’s behind me, his fingers brushing mine as he takes the tool from my hand and begins rolling the spikes gently over my arm. “Sensation play,” he says in a low tone in my ear. “The Wartenberg Wheel, but usually it’s called a pinwheel.” He places it on my chest where my skin is exposed. “It’s best used in sensitive spots.” He moves it lower. “Nipples.” The spikes journey even lower over the black material of my dress, running over my belly button and stopping right at my panty line. “Other places.”
His breath whispers across my neck and my eyes close, waiting for him to take the pinwheel to a lower destination.
