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Chapter 1: Hank
It was a nondescript door at the end of an alley, the sort that you could walk past a hundred times without noticing. But as I stood in front of it, the small golden plaque that read ‘Kink’ brought back a flood of memories. I hadn’t stepped foot inside this club for over a year.
“Hank? Is that really you?” A voice emerged from the darkness, yanking me back to the present. Turning, I recognized the bouncer, a man built like a brick wall.
“Hey, Jerry. It’s been a while.”
His eyes twinkled, smile genuine. “I’ll say. Thought you gave up on us.”
“Just needed some space,” I admitted, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
With a nod, Jerry pushed open the door for me, revealing the world I’d left behind.
The moment I stepped into the club, a wave of nostalgia hit me. The warm glow of soft, diffused lights, the faint scent of sweet cocktails, and the echo of soft laughter washed over me. The atmosphere was lively yet cozy, a distinct balance that had always characterizedKink. The vibrant murals, the bright colors of the playroom visible through the glass walls, and the intimate corners for those seeking a private moment, everything was just as I remembered.
I navigated my way through the club, past the lounge area and the bar, which was lined with Daddies engrossed in their drinks or chatting with others. The energy was infectious, but I kept my distance, merely an observer.
“Hey, Hank.” The bartender's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
“Hey, Carl. One whiskey, neat,” I ordered, sliding onto a stool. I didn't usually drink, but tonight felt like an exception.
“Rough day?” Carl asked, sliding the amber liquid in front of me.
“Something like that,” I admitted, taking a sip.
Carl, a middle-aged man with more wisdom in his eyes than years on his face, leaned on the counter. “It's good to have you back, Hank. You’ve been missed.”
I nodded. “I've missed this place too, Carl. More than I care to admit.”
He gave a knowing smile and left me with my thoughts.
Turning on the stool, I took in the Little’s playroom through the glass wall. Littles were running around, giggling, their Daddies watching them with a mix of amusement and adoration. Seeing them, I couldn’t help but remember Bianca, the Little who used to call me Daddy.
I could still feel the weight of her trust, her reliance on me. But the pain of her betrayal, the wounds that had yet to fully heal, reminded me why I was on this side of the glass.
Carl’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I replied, taking another sip of my whiskey, letting the warmth fill me. “Yeah, I'm okay.”
The night wore on, and the club buzzed with energy, laughter, and life. But sitting there, in the heart of it all, I felt an odd sense of peace. Maybe it was the familiarity of the place, or perhaps it was the realization that, despite everything, I belonged here. Not as a Daddy, not yet, but as myself - Hank, the man who loved, lost, and was slowly learning to live again.
My gaze fell back to the Little's playroom, a hint of longing hidden beneath the layers of nostalgia. I missed being a Daddy, the responsibility, the bond, the love. But it was a part of my past, a role I was not ready to embrace again.
“Hank, is that you?” Joe's voice boomed through the crowd, and I turned to see my old friend making his way towards me. Joe had a gruff exterior that hid a surprisingly tender heart.
“Joe.” I greeted, clapping him on the shoulder. His laugh was infectious, and I found my lips curving into a smile.
“Come on, Mike is over here.”
Without waiting for my reply, he grabbed my arm, leading me towards the Little playroom. I could have protested, but a part of me was curious, so I let him guide me. I stood outside the entrance while Joe stepped in.
There, amidst the colorful play mats and toy-filled corners, was Mike. A figure bundled in a dinosaur onesie, complete with a tail, he was enthusiastically tugging at Joe's leg, trying to pull him down to his level.
“Daddy, you promised! 'Guess the Cartoon'!” Mike's eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and anticipation. His cheeks were flushed, likely from the energy he was putting into his tug-of-war with Joe.
“I remember, little one,” Joe replied, feigning a sigh. The affection in his voice was clear as day, his stern facade melting away in the face of Mike’s excitement.
Watching them interact, I felt a pang of longing. The dynamics between a Daddy and his Little were more than just a relationship; they were a bond, an understanding, a unique rhythm of love, discipline, and playfulness. And seeing it unfold in front of me brought back memories I had tried to bury.
