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Turning, she looked up into the face of a Denzel Washington lookalike, circa 1992, and caught her breath. He was abso-freaking-lutely gorgeous. He wore a black T-shirt stretched over his muscular frame with the acronym RACK in shiny red letters that dripped as if with blood.
“Greetings, lovely lady. Care to engage in a little edge play? My name is Lord Brandon.” He spoke in a rich, delicious British accent. Sophia had always been a sucker for British accents.
“Hi,” she replied, trying not to gawk at his male beauty. The Lord title told her he was a Dom, though it also could indicate he was something of a poser. Not that it mattered—she was there to scene, not to judge. “I’m Sophia. I’m not sure I’m ready to scene quite yet. I just walked in the door.”
“I saw you come in,” he replied, flashing a brilliant, white-teethed movie-star smile. “I hurried over to claim you before another could. You’re ravishingly beautiful, Sophia.” He rolled the r in ravishingly like an actor on the Shakespearian stage. “And your name is as lovely as your form. Like Sophia Loren, that Italian beauty of yesteryear.”
Yesteryear? Who used words like that? In spite of herself, Sophia laughed. The guy was too much. “Actually, I’m named after my grandmother, Sophie Weinstein from the shtetl,” she couldn’t resist quipping back.
“From the… what?” Lord Brandon looked confused, his regal bearing slipping a bit.
“Never mind,” Sophia said, chuckling. What the hell—she had come there to distract herself. And she was unlikely to find another piece of eye candy as lovely as this one. The gear bag on his shoulder looked promising, too. Both a cane and a flogger handle stuck out of the open zipper. “What did you have in mind for a scene?”
“I have the bondage wheel in a few minutes. I’d love to strap you in, lovely lady, and have my wicked way with you.”
Oooh! The bondage wheel. Yummy. And wicked way sounded good to her.
She smiled up at him. “All right, Lord Brandon. You’ve convinced me. Let’s go.”
They made their way to the bondage wheel station. The wheel was made of sturdy stainless steel with a large padded body rest at its center. A man wearing only a thong was strapped in facing forward, a zipped black hood completely covering his head and face. A woman resembling the actress from Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, was flicking a plastic beaded whip over his body. His skin, sheened with sweat, was mottled with small red marks left by the beads.
A timer dinged just as Lord Brandon and Sophia arrived. Martin, the assistant manager who also served as bouncer when necessary, appeared. “Time’s up,” he said to Elvira. “I’ll help you get him down.”
The Mistress unzipped and pulled the black hood from her sub’s face. She smoothed his mussed graying hair and kissed him on the cheek, the tender, intimate gesture telling Sophia they were a couple. Together, Martin and she unstrapped the guy and helped him from the wheel.
As the couple slipped away, arms around each other’s shoulders, Martin sprayed and wiped down the apparatus. He glanced back at Lord Brandon and Sophia as he worked, his face breaking into a smile of recognition.
“Hey there, Sophia,” he said. “It’s been way too long. Where the hell have you been?”
“Here and there,” Sophia said vaguely, smiling back. “Lord Brandon here is signed up for the next slot. I’m excited to try this thing out.”
Martin’s eye moved to Sophia’s temporary partner, his tongue flicking over his lower lip as a bulge appeared at his crotch. “Hellllllloooooo there, sailor,” Martin cooed in a campy, exaggerated way. “Don’t tell me you’re pure het? I’ll have to kill myself immediately.”
To his credit, Lord Brandon didn’t take offense, as some straight guys would. “Sorry, mate,” he replied, flashing those blindingly white teeth. “I’ve only an eye for the ladies.”
“And a Brit, too. Oh my god,” Martin wailed theatrically, but he, too, was grinning. “Figures. All the cute guys are straight.”
Sophia laughed. “Hey, that’s supposed to be my line. All the cute guys are gay,” she retorted. Turning to Lord Brandon, she added, “Present company excluded, naturally.”
Martin shrugged. “The grass is always greener…” His cleaning done, he addressed Lord Brandon, his tone more businesslike. “You ever used the wheel before?”
“Not this particular one,” Lord Brandon replied. “But I am experienced with bondage wheels.”
“We had this one custom made,” Martin said with evident pride as he stroked the rim of the large wheel. “All the straps are Velcro for quick release. Feet go in the anti-gravity boots to hold the legs steady, and there’s a footrest for comfort and stability. You can cuff her wrists at her sides or extended.”
He paused in his explanation to ask, “Do you have your own cuffs? If not, they’re available for purchase. For hygiene reasons, we require you provide your own.”
