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She savored a sip of the timeless cocktail she had developed a fondness for during her college days while researching whiskey distilleries. “I like it. It’s sweet, like me.”
Once Billie’s beer was in hand, they vacated their spots and made room for others to claim their place at the bar. Positioned just behind the row of barstool occupants, they absorbed the ambiance that surrounded them.
“Shall we explore?” asked Billie.
Ari nodded in agreement. Her attention swept across the dance floor to a diverse pool of women. The rhythmic pulse of music brought to life a nostalgic photograph where bodies swayed in a colorful game of dress-up. Ari’s gaze caught sight of an archway concealed behind a red velvet curtain. Positioned there was a robust woman, an intimidating figure who occasionally moved aside to allow patrons to pass through. Yet, sometimes she stood her ground, asserting her authority by refusing entry.
“Look over there,” Ari said, gesturing toward the entrance to another side of the club. She beckoned for Billie to join her, navigating through the crowd that separated them and the velvet curtain. To stay close, Billie reached out and took Ari’s hand. They interlocked their fingers as they traversed a path, hoping to part the horde like the Red Sea.
Ari and Billie walked with an air of confidence as if they owned the place. They only paused for a second when the guard cast a scrutinizing gaze over them. The woman’s stern expression gave the impression that she held the keys to the kingdom, deciding who could pass beyond the threshold. With an authoritative pull, she drew aside the velvet curtain, granting passage to the other side.
Beneath their feet, the plush carpet signaled their arrival in a world of opulence. Bathed in the crimson glow of the lighting, the petite antechamber seemed to hint that a realm of love lay just beyond the door. A small plaque bore the words, The Sanctum.
An eerie hush came over the confined space as the curtain severed the music resonating from the opposite side. It was as if they stood at the very equilibrium of a pendulum’s swing. The outline of the doorframe shimmered with a red glow, reminiscent of flames of the sexual inferno that supposedly existed on the other side. A far cry from the traditional notion of a sanctum, particularly given the heat that radiated through the door.
Hesitation gnawed at Ari, and her doubt cast a dark shadow over the courage it took to infiltrate a sex club. If she struggled to even peek into this world, how could she step into it, making herself one with Adytum? When her nerves brimmed over her mind, she turned to leave, only to bump into a woman with cascading black locks and a dress with a revealing neckline that extended almost to her belly button.
Perhaps this transitionary space was, in fact, the true sanctum. Unlike Ari, the woman displayed no hesitancy. With an assured grip, she reached for the door, allowing the radiance to seep through her fingers as it swung open. The moment the door creaked ajar, an orchestration of sultry moans and ardent cries swelled forth and amplified a porno movie soundtrack. The woman proceeded inside, and as the door threatened to seal them out, Billie caught it. “Are we going in?”
Ari pressed her lips into a line. Her head swayed in a gesture of internal deliberation between the strong moral compass and her morbid curiosity. Finally, she nodded. “Let’s do this.”
An unusual amalgam of sensations coursed through Ari, increasing her heart rate while compelling her focus toward the combination of sounds: the punctuated cracks of whips mingling with terrifying cries. A long corridor stretched before them with open doors on each side, reminiscent of the layout found in hotels. As they passed the first set, it drew their gazes inside. On the right, a woman suspended in midair held their attention, her body encased within a cocoon of leather. The room to the left was a smaller space with three women dressed in red silk gathered around another woman hog-tied on a stainless steel table.
“This is seriously intense,” Billie said. Her words were like a magnet that drew her closer to Ari while their sweaty hands clenched one another. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Ari remained silent, her steps steady and deliberate as they continued on. Each new doorway they passed offered another glimpse of something different, as if channel surfing between various sex networks. Her arousal intensified, as did a powerful undercurrent of fear of enjoying it too much. It was moments like this—when her excitement wasn’t on display—that she appreciated being a woman. Only she knew how wet her panties had become since entering the club’s elusive sanctum. Even if the salivation in her mouth matched that of her sex, she couldn’t picture herself twisting in a smolder of passion or a solo masturbation session with the prying eyes of peepers watching.
The corridor led them to the pinnacle of The Pendulum—a compact arena dominated by a central stage. Circling this theatre were three tiers of stadium seating, nearly full. The sound of the whip striking the naked flesh of the woman’s servant echoed through the transfixed audience. The choreography of dominance and submission unfurled upon the stage. It was an intricate dance that held the audience in rapt attention as they awaited the next delicious strike. Ari and Billie made their way down the steps, finding a place in the aisle of the second row to watch in the same perplexing awe as the rest of the audience.
The blonde Domme instructed her slave to the table where she sat, her legs spread-eagled in stirrups. She then bound the woman’s hands above her head, secured them, and leaned in to whisper something that elicited a smile.
Behind Ari, a call from the audience rang out, “Make her squirt!”
The request made both Ari and Billie wince. However, the surrounding crowd responded with a cacophony of similar demands, as if they were eager to witness a volcanic eruption. In response, the Domme raised her hand, a gesture that commanded silence from the eager crowd.
Her voice, amplified by a loudspeaker, reverberated through the arena. “As much as you vicious bitches want to see some raunchy exhibition, I prefer to savor my desserts.”
With authority, the Domme claimed the woman’s glistening offering, dropping to her knees before the bound submissive. The microphone she wore amplified her ministrations in all-encompassing surround sound, allowing the hushed crowd to immerse themselves in the scene with a symphony of senses. Ari felt all five of them as she swallowed to release the breath caught in her throat.
Touch. The crowd, fans of the show, packed themselves into the arena, one on top of the other. Ari had Billie on one side of her, with other enthusiastic women surrounding her like sardines.
Sight. As she watched the Domme lap away at the squirting submissive, it felt as if Ari had traded places and had the unrelenting tongue on her own sex.
Hearing. With all the held breaths, the sound coming from the microphone over the loudspeaker was like wearing noise-canceling headphones that drowned out everything else.
Smell. It wasn’t only her musky aroma wafting up from her core but also that of everyone around her. With so much sex in such close proximity, it was like wearing a pair of dirty undies as a facemask.
Taste. It had been so long since she had a woman on her tongue that she salivated in jealousy–not that she wanted to trade places with the Domme, but because she wished she was the submissive who had to drink her own orgasm.
The sound of the slave’s cries echoed in the quiet arena, leaving Ari craving the same sense of dominance. Even though she didn’t want to be on display in front of gawking faces, there was still an element of excitement at the show. Perhaps the thought of someone commanding her orgasm appealed to her. Maybe even giving up total control of her body to an unyielding tongue drove her passion. The books she had read about BDSM, submission, and dominance filled her mind with tantalizing possibilities.
Her mind cocooned within its own reverie and she tuned out the boisterous surroundings. It wasn’t until Billie leaned in closer, breaching her solitary musings, that Ari snapped out of her trance-like state. “Wow. That was friggin’ hot.”
Ari offered a nod. Her emotions and thoughts left her speechless.
Then Billie continued, “If they want a performer, are you okay with this?” She paused, searching for the words. “Would you be—”
Ari’s quick response said everything. “I’m going to find out.”
