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“If only you had the sand, I’d supply the rest. Coming up, sailor.” The barkeep spun around for the drinks. When she returned, she slid the glasses across the slick surface of the bar. “First time here? I haven’t seen you before.”
“Nope. You haven’t.” The vague response kept up the allure. Dylan lifted the glass to her lips and allowed the amber liquid to warm her throat while sizing the woman up and checking off all the things she had going for her. The thrill of pulling in a woman’s attention had always been intoxicating to her, even when she had been on the other side of the counter in this woman’s position five years ago. The scenery and ambiance might have morphed into a hazy shade of disco at The Pendulum, but the sexually charged insinuations of “one-night stand to forever,” in exchange for a big tip, hadn’t changed at all.
Just as Dylan wondered when this woman would go on break, Lucy came up from behind and snaked her arm over her shoulder with a peck on the cheek. “Oh, there you are, babe. Thanks for my drink. Just what I wanted, a little sex before dancing.”
A classic move from the blonde-haired woman who was more like a sister than a best friend. Dylan slapped a fifty on the counter and slid it across until her fingers touched the bartender’s. Before taking her hand away from the bill, her index finger inched over the delicate skin, nestling in between the two of hers with a tickle. A silent invitation for sex at a later date. “Thanks, doll.”
“What the hell was that, Luce?” Dylan asked, pushing away from the bar and allowing other guests to take their spot, as if the same unspoken promise sucked them in for a moment in heaven.
“That was me looking out for my friend,” she said as she removed the lifesaver that was her arm from Dylan’s shoulder. “You came here to check out the competition, not to get laid. Otherwise, I would have invited someone too.”
That “someone” was Cooper, a certain bar manager who worked with Dylan at Adytum. She had tossed around the idea of asking Cooper to come along but thought better of it with the growing infatuation between her two friends. She didn’t want to be a third wheel in a canvass of the competition, one which she had planned. “Okay, okay. You’re right.”
Weaving through the crowd of sweaty bodies pulsating to the thumping of disco-infused club music, they made their way to the balustrade that separated the bar area and dance floor. Dylan leaned on it, her hands still holding her drink as she took in the atmosphere of a clientele dressed in over-the-top outfits and costumes; a masquerade ball posing as a rave. The crazier, the better, like the gorilla dancing next to a woman wearing nothing but cat ears and a tail.
“This is quite the change,” Lucy said, her fingers gracefully sweeping a stray blonde lock behind her ear. She had often frequented The Pendulum when Dylan worked at the bar years ago. Back then, it was a one-story dive swinger’s club catering to the fair maidens of the city with only two rooms: one public, one private.
“It is.” Dylan’s mumbled voice didn’t carry far as the thought was more for herself than for Lucy.
Lucy leaned closer to Dylan’s ear, a puzzled expression on her face. “How long has it been since we’ve been here? It has to be at least a few years.”
“Three,” Dylan revealed, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “It’s under new management now. Some Gen X-er with a hard-on for the New York kink scene owns it.”
“Looks like they’ve brought a bit of the city with them.”
That might have been true, but it had been a hot minute since Dylan had been in New York. That was sightseeing with Lucy and Ida, not clubbing. The new look of The Pendulum was something out of the heyday of New York in the seventies, where clubs were a mind-bending blend of alluring elegance and raw, instinctual pleasure. Three years ago, that wasn’t the scene. The last time Dylan was here, the small parquet floor had a handful of bar-height tables around the edge, and the few people who used it for dancing stood in a line doing synchronized dance moves. The outside walls were once home to round booths, which provided prime locations for exhibitionists to perform lewd acts for voyeurs drooling from both ends.
“The dungeon used to be over in the corner. Let’s go see how much that has changed.”
They navigated through the throng of dancing bodies, threading their way amidst the undulating crowd, punctuated by salacious gropes from anonymous hands. Under different circumstances, if this had been a visit purely for indulgence, Dylan might have lingered and sought a pretty young thing for an intimate dance. However, their purpose was something greater than hedonistic pursuits; they were driven by a mission of researching the competition.
In the past, the dungeon wasn’t an area highly guarded. Guests could come in and out at their leisure. However, now, they learned that they couldn’t go past the velvet curtain that separated the club from the pleasure zone. “Turn around. Nothing for you in there.”
“Excuse me?” Lucy said, feeling indignant enough for both of them. “Are you telling us we can’t go in there?”
“That’s exactly what I said,” the burly woman with a crop on top of her head and a party in the back replied. She could clearly bench press the two of them at the same time. Just as she stood her ground, a dainty figure, barely twenty-one, if that, walked toward the curtain. The guard revealed the threshold to heaven and let her in, promptly closing it afterward as if warding off evil spirits that tried to invade.
Lucy puffed out her chest, ready to go off, but Dylan tugged at her arm and pulled her away. “Come on.”
“What the hell, Dyl? I thought you wanted to check out what made this club so popular. I can’t imagine this place is rolling in dough because of ‘Disco Inferno’ over there.” Lucy pointed to the dance floor where Donna Summer’s Hot Stuff had the guests twirling to the beat. “I swear we’re in some twisted version of Studio 54.”
Dylan pointed back to the velvet curtain. “No, that’s why they are. Anyone can come in and dance, but they can’t get in there ... just like in the seventies.” It was then that Dylan paced in a circle, realizing why The Pendulum now attracted so many people. Envy. People wanted what they couldn’t have, just as Dylan and Lucy did at that moment. When denied entry, people kept coming back each night with different attire, hairstyles, and companions, all desperately trying to gain admission to the highly coveted sexual shrine. That’s how they made the big bucks.
“I don’t get it,” Lucy said.
“I do. Come on,” Dylan waved for Lucy to follow as she headed to the bathroom.
Between the two sinks, a woman with blonde hair sat on the counter while a redhead kneeled with her face buried between spread legs. If denied access to the sex sanctum, there was always fucking in the bathroom with minimal privacy.
Dylan ignored them, pushing to the mirror on the far end of the fake marbled wall. After assessing what they had to work with, Dylan pulled off her vest and unbuttoned her shirt, pulling that off too. “Come on, off with it. Bra and everything. Put this on.”
With the dress shirt hanging on Dylan’s finger like a clothes hook, Lucy tore off her top and slipped on Dylan’s white button-down. The sheer white blouse showcased the pink buds of her chest, which Dylan flicked to attention as she helped button it, leaving it more open than closed. It fit snug, a little tight on her, but it accentuated her tits which might grab the attention of Attila, defender of their gateway to the other side.
For her, Dylan returned the vest over her naturally bronzed torso, leaving it open to reveal her plump breasts, which she hated. Her skin tone and dark eyes seemed to hold a secret, making her all the more intriguing. Reflected in the mirror, even to Dylan’s own eyes, she could see herself thrusting into a throuple with the two women standing before her. She’d totally fuck herself.
With a grin and a twitch of her eyebrows, Dylan turned to Lucy. “Come on. Let’s get our groove on.”
Just as expected, they were ushered behind the red velvet curtain, dividing the world of The Pendulum in two. On the other side stood a sturdy wooden door marking another barrier into the realm of BDSM, and on it was a plaque displaying the words, The Sanctum. As Dylan grasped the handle, the warmth of it spread through her palm, igniting not only her hand but also her core. With a pull, the door swung open to a long hallway lined with rooms where women indulged in salacious desires of the flesh. They left the world of catchy melodies and rhythmic beats to enter a realm where the screams of submissive slaves were like a serenade on the sensual palette of Dominatrices.
