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I ping-pong my gaze around the entryway of the club, unable to settle on just one thing. The walls are a deep shade of purple with a textured gothic wallpaper—some sort of intricate black design I can’t quite make out. Frosted silver sconces on the walls illuminate risqué photos every few feet down the long hall.
Three women saunter out from behind a curtained partition, each dressed in the same uniform: skintight black lace lingerie with matching black masks.
“Welcome to Checkmate Enterprises, ladies,” the woman in the middle says.
She has her platinum-blonde hair up in a high and tight ponytail; it’s so snug it looks like it’s stretching her skin upward, eliminating any potential frown lines and probably giving her a real banger of a headache.
I adjust my own mask, grateful for the barrier. My nose and mouth are totally exposed, but still, I feel shielded. The women take our coats, but I don’t feel as naked as I thought I would, despite my barely there outfit. Something about this mask protecting me… It makes it easier to not be the shy, inexperienced woman I am.
Once our coats are whisked away and the women have returned, all three stand shoulder to shoulder, their mouths upturned.
“Is this your first time with us?” the middle woman asks.
I nod as Remi speaks up.
“Yes. We should be on your list. I’m a close friend of Tobias Sanchez. I’m Remi Danvers, and this is my guest, Giana Carey.”
We each take out our proof of identification, as Tobias told Remi we’d need, and hand them over.
Thank God for our very-expensive-and-real-looking fake IDs. We don’t need them; we’re both in our early twenties. But her father is a politician and mine is a mafia boss. It’s easier when our real last names are far, far away from us.
The three blondes each look down at small tablets in their hands, and as they scroll, I admire their long black gloves, which extend from fingertip to elbow.
The middle blonde smiles again, handing us our cards, and I slip mine back into my clutch. “If you two can please fill out our questionnaires, we can then admit you into the party. You may decide to not become members after your visit with us, but we do require the questionnaire to be filled out anyway since you’ll be here tonight and may end up utilizing some of our facilities.”
She swipes something on her tablet, and the two blondes on either side of her simultaneously hand Remi and me their tablets.
“You can sit over there”—she motions to a sitting area with a leather sectional—“while you fill out your forms, and then just let us know when you’re all done. One of us will walk you into the main area.”
She dismisses us with a smile, and Remi and I make our way over to the designated space.
“So should we answer these things honestly or…” Remi glances at me before scanning the questions on the document, and I opt to look over her shoulder so we can read them together.
Remi swipes her finger down past the generic things, like blank fields to list name, age, sexual orientation, and preference, and finally stops on the question portion. “Do you have a sexual fetish or kink? If so, please list.”
“Well, they just go right for the jugular, don’t they?” I say with a laugh as Remi turns toward me, her head bowed a little to shield her suggestive brow raise from the women at the door and the people entering.
She turns back toward her tablet and starts typing.
“You already have an answer? What’s your kink, and why don’t I know it?”
She scoffs as I tap my leg against hers. “Don’t act like you don’t know, G. Dom and sub. You know I’m a control freak, and that doesn’t stop in the bedroom. I want to make a man my little bitch.”
She giggles, and I roll my eyes because I should have totally guessed that.
I focus back on my own screen and realize I’ve quite literally never thought about fetishes or kinks. Unless… I mean, it’s not like I’ve never been curious and found myself stumbling onto a porn site. I guess I always tend to look at the same couple of categories. Threesomes and age play. But are those even fetishes or kinks?
God, this is going to be difficult.
By the time I’m through the questions, I’ve realized there’s a whole other world I’ve never even thought about exploring. Remi and I hand our tablets over to the blonde women and, as promised, we’re about to be led down what looks like a long hallway when the blonde who originally explained the questionnaires to us resurfaces and grabs hold of my hand, stopping us.
“I just received word that my boss would like to meet with you,” she says, and I’m immediately wondering how badly I fucked up that questionnaire.
“Do those answers go right to him?” I ask with a nervous laugh. “I admit I don’t know half of what was asked, but I didn’t think it was possible to screw up that bad.”
She waves her hand as if she’s batting away my words. “Oh my God, no. Sorry, let me clarify. He always picks a handful of women out of the crowd, and one lucky woman gets to spend the night with him.”
She grins suggestively, and I fly my hand up to my mouth as I let out the air I was holding in.
