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The other rules were similarly straightforward—only one person or party at a time in the club’s anteroom and dressing room in order to protect members’ privacy. Solo members welcome (everyone welcome), nudity and sex allowedonlyon level three, don’t interrupt a scene, no touching whatsoever without consent, no food in the play areas but the kitchen is stocked with sparkling water and snacks. No alcohol. No drugs. No ridiculing others’ preferences or scenes.
One visit allowed on a provisional basis while the club conducted a background check. Assuming it turned up nothing concerning, a board member would be in touch to extend an offer of membership.
“Oh, membership won’t be necessary.” Quinn glanced up at Vanessa. “I’m just here to . . . just for . . . tonight.”
Vanessa smiled like she might hear people say that a lot. “Of course. You can always decline the offer and re-activate your application if you change your mind.”
Quinn finished reading and signing the rules and handed the pages back. “I’ll text Alex,” Vanessa said. “He’s one of our DMs—sorry, dungeon monitors—tonight, and he’ll show you around. Everyone’s really friendly and cool here, but if you have any questions, see Alex or me. Octavia’s on the floor tonight too. I’m sure she’ll come find you to introduce herself.”
Alex emerged from behind a velvet burgundy curtain that separated the reception area. He was a few inches taller than Quinn and at least a decade younger. His clean-shaven face, black t-shirt and black jeans shoutedboy bandmore thandungeon monitor. Although she had never known any dungeon monitors—at least none she had been aware of.
He led her back to the main floor, a large open central area with a high ceiling and a glittery chandelier at the center. Semi-private nooks lined the perimeter, with delicate sconces casting a warm glow from the pillars between each alcove.
Off the main floor, Alex showed her the restrooms and additional changing areas, the equipment closets, and the kitchen, waving or nodding to just about everyone who wasn’t immersed in something else.
He took her from station to station, hanging back behind the people gathered to watch each scene.
At the first, a woman wearing a black corset that appeared to be made of rubber was shackled to an A-frame stand, while a man teased her thighs with a long feather.
In the second bay, a man padlocked a cage with another man on all fours inside it. In the nook across the room sat an unoccupied medical table with stirrups.
A woman in stiletto heels and a hospital gown, open in the back to reveal a thin strap of thong, and a man carrying a black doctor’s bag headed toward it.
To Quinn’s left, Alex pointed out a large, dark wood frame with chains arranged like a spider web. She imagined the cold metal against her wrists and ankles—and what Jonathan might do if he were the one who had put her there. A shiver shot through her body.
“Mahogany,” Alex told her with more than a hint of pride. “Hand made. We found this artisan in Germany who crafts our furniture. Each piece is one of a kind.”
“It’s beautiful.” The dark wood was gorgeous. “He must be talented.” Although when Alex next showed her the padded wall, she couldn’t help but have one criticism:Why did it have so much cushioning?
Alex paused by the staircase, restricted with a burgundy-braided rope between two stanchions, reminding her of the entrance to a theater.
“So. Upstairs.” He pointed. “Nudity and sex are okay on level three. There’s an open common area with some couches and day beds, and then around the outside, we have the private rooms. You can reserve one at the front desk or in advance through the website. Want a quick tour?”
“No, thank you,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m fine down here.”
She was just checking the club out; she was not going to actually do anything or take off her clothes or have sex with a stranger.
Jonathan had already spiked her guilt like a deliriously bad fever. What she wanted was to escape, and despite all the padding, she could do that down here.
If she were going to do anything. Which she wasn’t.
“Well, I’ll let you do your thing.” Alex met her eyes. “Or can I help you find a play partner? People are super-approachable, but I’m happy to make introductions if you’re more comfortable that way.”
Beyond walking in the club’s front door, she had not planned on having to make decisions or answer questions.
That was one of the main reasons she had texted Jonathan after that first night—and after each of the rest—even though she had sworn it was the last. He had an uncanny way of knowing what she needed; she didn’t have to ask, and neither did he.
“I’m good. Thanks for the tour.”
Alone now, she slowly circled the large room again, pausing at the back of the groups watching the scenes unfolding in the alcoves.
Closer to the middle of the room, people mingled and talked as if it were any other gathering. And just like she felt less awkward at those gatherings with a glass of wine in her hand, she should go to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
A cracking sound redirected her attention and she turned toward it. A woman in a black bodysuit was bent over a red padded sawhorse, her wrists in cuffs, each fastened to a metal ring on the legs.
A man stood behind her, bringing a flogger down on her ass again and again. The woman’s mouth moved each time, but the ethereal electronica coming through the ceiling speakers drowned out the sound.
It didn’t matter. From the look on her face, Quinn could practically hear her moans of pain and pleasure.
