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“We’re going out tonight.”
Rae swallowed her bite of chicken salad. “Um, I—”
“Nope, no excuses.” Viv’s dark eyes drilled into her. “You’ve been cooped up for too long, and you’re coming with me to a play party tonight.”
“Wait, what? Like a BDSM party?”
“You want to do this for a living, then you need to understand the lifestyle. And tonight’s party is an open house, so nonmembers can attend as long as they’re sponsored by a member.”
Rae’s anxiety sparked to life. “But I don’t have anything to wear.”
“We’re close enough in size. You can wear something of mine—no corsets, of course. And we can disguise the baby bump if you want.”
She thought about it. The party was private, and it’s not like anyone there would recognize her. She told herself it was safe.
“Okay, I’m down.”
“Great!”
Later that July evening, Rae felt like a huge trussed turkey in the tight black latex dress Viv let her borrow along with a pair of shiny red boots and fishnet stockings. The dress had slight ruching, which helped to conceal her bump, but it didn’t matter. She could’ve been wearing a potato sack and she’d still have felt like she was wearing a big flashing neon sign pointing to her belly. Trying to look sexy while pregnant seemed absurd, but Viv had fun making her over, hair and makeup included.
As they pulled up to the building housing the play party, Rae thought it looked like an insurance office space from the outside. The beige brick and darkened windows gave no indication of what was inside, which was vastly different from anything Rae could’ve imagined.
After Viv got them checked in at the reception area, the scantily dressed hostess took Viv’s cell phone, then placed it in a bucket and handed her a ticket. They moved through heavy velvet curtains and entered the dungeon. The inside was filled with purple-and-red lighting, giving the open space the feel of a chic nightclub, and Depeche Mode pumped through hidden speakers, although no one was dancing.
It was overwhelming at first, seeing so many people in various stages of undress tied to cushioned benches and Saint Andrew’s crosses, their Dominants spanking or flogging them. One older man was slowly being mummified in a corner by two young women gleefully dancing around him with duct tape. Another woman was standing and spread against a Saint Andrew’s cross, naked, her back and rear end covered in welts from the whip a tall, bare-chested man brandished.
“Stay close to me,” Viv said to her over the loud music. “And put this on.” She handed Rae a purple rubber bracelet. “It lets the DM—the dungeon monitor who keeps an eye on people and makes sure everyone’s safe—know you’re new.”
Rae slipped it on and looked around more, feeling like she had entered an alternate universe where age, race, body size, gender, and sexual orientation didn’t matter; everyone there seemed to be completely in their element and not judging anyone around them. In fact, there were chairs lining the main play space and even a large room off to the side with theater-type seating and a huge window so voyeurs could enjoy the many play sessions going on.
“I’m going to be demonstrating proper caning techniques later,” Viv said, “but first I want you to meet a few of my friends.”
She took Rae to the back of the building where there was a full kitchen filled with people, most dressed in leather or latex clothing or sexy lingerie. Rae noticed there was no alcohol anywhere, and Viv offered her a fruit punch. She pointed out the person who made it, an older woman who vaguely reminded Rae of her first-grade teacher. And that was the thing: everyone, for the most part, looked so normal aside from their erotic attire.
Viv introduced her to a few friends, and Rae found herself relaxing a bit into a conversation aboutThe Wireand a few other shows she had watched with Viv. As she was talking with a young woman around her age, a shirtless man wearing a leather mask grabbed a handful of Rae’s ass and grunted out, “Fresh meat.”
Quick as lightning, Viv slapped his hand away and hollered to a large bearlike man wearing a prominent “DM” patch on his leather vest. Without fanfare, the DM carted the masked man away.
“There are no second chances here,” Viv whispered to her. “Break the rules, and you’re out. He ignored your bracelet, which means he’d probably ignore collars too.”
Rae almost forgot about the meaning of collars, and she realized how many of the partygoers, mostly women, wore one. Viv had told her Dominants sometimes gave their submissives collars to signify to others that not only did the submissive belong to them, but they were also under their protection. Other Dominants were expected to respect the collar and leave a submissive alone.
Although she belonged to no one, Rae almost wished she were wearing a collar. The masked man touching her without asking frightened her, making her wary of standing anywhere near a man.
Viv noticed her apprehension and gave her hand a squeeze. “I have a surprise for you, hon. Come with me.”
She led Rae to a small room off the main play space. In the room, a young man stood next to what looked similar to a massage chair, almost like the kind masseuses use at malls.
“This cute subby is Farrow.” Viv motioned to the sandy-haired man, who was undressed down to his blue bikini bottom, which left nothing to the imagination.
Rae felt a sudden, surprising desire as she admired the man’s chiseled features. Her pregnancy hormones tended to elicit warmth in her pelvic area at the most awkward times, and she tried to concentrate on appearing normal and not like a panting dog in heat.
“This is Mistress Rae, the trainee I was telling you about.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mistress,” Farrow said, although he didn’t hold out his hand, and he didn’t look Rae directly in the eyes.
“Nice to meet you too.”
