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Leif, huh? I forced myself to take deep, slow breaths. I was so nervous, my knees shook. I had no idea what he planned to do here tonight. Our conversation in the car had caused my imagination to run wild. Nothing was off the table? What had I been thinking? Neil was pretty creative on his own; in an environment where he was allowed to run wild, he might be more than I could handle.
I kind of hoped I was right.
The woman asked Neil something. He looked to me. “She’s going to tell you the rules. I’ll translate for you.”
I smiled to let her know I understood. “Oui.”
Neil told me the rules of the club, listening patiently as the woman recited them from memory. No touching anyone without his or her enthusiastic consent. The safe word was, quite literally, “safe” in french, but the woman assured me that the dungeon staff would recognize it in English, as well.
“And no blood or fluids play except in the designated wet areas,” he finished, and when I paled, he hurriedly added, “That’s not my kink, and I know it’s not yours.”
“You’ll be with me the whole time, right?” I asked him uncertainly.
“I will not leave your side,” he promised. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Do you want to use your real name inside?”
“Do you, Leif?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He smirked down at me. “Don’t be saucy, Chloe.”
“At least it’s not some Icelandic monstrosity.” That one earned me a swat on the butt.
The woman hit the buzzer on the door. Neil guided me toward it with his hand at the small of my back.
I think I’ve seen too many movies or something, because the club didn’t look anything like what I’d expected. I’d thought there would be loud industrial music and strobe lights, like a nightclub party. It was actually quite well lit, a diffuse golden glow that felt more like a classy restaurant than a stereotypical sex club. There was a bar, all in black with a huge mirror behind it, and two handsome men in black shirts, ties, and aprons working to serve the patrons relaxing on the padded, high-backed stools.
All of the people inside were well-dressed, and of varying ages. We passed a seating area where several young men with dark hair and olive skin sat talking in a language I didn’t understand. They seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that in the center of the main room, a slender man was tied to a huge St. Andrew’s cross as a woman in black PVC smacked a bamboo cane on his thighs.
“Canes, huh?” I said to Neil in a low voice. “You’re never doing that to me.”
“I wouldn’t want to,” he said, guiding me across the floor. “I’m not experienced with them. She’s a professional, though,” he said, with something akin to vocational appreciation as he watched her. “Notice how she moves her strikes around; she’s never overdoing it in one place.”
The man shouted as another blow landed, and his heavy breathing hissed through his teeth.
“There’s a fine line between skirting the edge and going entirely over it,” Neil observed.
“And she looks way good doing it,” I said, noting that even though not an inch of her body was bare under the high-collared PVC suit and thigh-high boots, her figure was rockin’. Her stick-straight black hair was scraped back into the tightest ponytail I’d ever seen, and her lips were glossy, fire engine red. If I hadn’t already known she was a professional dominatrix, I would have guessed just because she looked the part.
“That she does,” Neil agreed, seemingly transfixed by the sight of her. Then he turned to me and smiled. “We could talk to her when she’s finished, see if she would be interested.”
I shook my head. “I’m not into girls. But let’s keep our options open.”
“Leif,” a man at the bar called out, and Neil’s expression turned to one of friendly warmth. I had to remember to give him shit about the name later— Leif had been the fake name he’d given me when we’d first met six years ago.
“I have to say hello, do you mind?” he asked apologetically. “I hate to do this to you. Five minutes, I promise.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not there isn’t anything interesting for me to watch.” I walked with him toward the bar, his arm possessive around my waist as we approached a tall, slender man with thinning black hair. He was dressed more casually than Neil was, in a brown turtleneck with leather patches at the elbows and what looked like Dacron trousers. Beside him, a thin, angular woman with golden hair and mannequin pale skin lounged, looking bored. Her lips glistened with pale gloss, and she toyed absently with a lock of her hair. Her printed wrap dress completed the startling illusion that they had just wandered in from the early 1980’s. They were both insanely cool looking.
