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“We talked about this before. You consent to give up consent for the duration of your interactions.” A touch of impatience crept into his voice. “Are you shocked?”
“I don’t know.” My mind was racing over his words. “I mean, I know you and I trust you, but I won’t know any of the other people there. At least, I hope I won’t. I feel okay doing scenes with you without a safe word, but—”
“There won’t be anyone there you can’t trust.”
“How do I know that?”
“Because I’m telling you that, and you trust me, yes?”
I stared down at the mess I’d made of my plate. “I trust you. But…”But that’s because I’m attracted to you. I’m turned on by you. I let you hurt me because you get me hot.“What if I don’t want to do a scene with someone else, and they want to do a scene with me?”
He didn’t answer for long moment, just looked at me with his deep hazel eyes. His dark brows registered subtle tension, but not as much tension as I felt inside. “It’s not a love thing,” he finally answered. “It’s not a romantic date, to go to The Gallery. It’s a physical thing. If you’re turned on by sadism and dominance, every man there will know how to tap into that desire. Every man there will be able to excite you.”
“So you just…what? Take me to The Gallery and offer me to all your friends?”
He leaned back in his chair. “Are you getting upset, Sparkles?”
“No, I’m trying to understand how it works. Do you put all the submissives up on auction blocks? Stand them along the wall until they’re chosen?”
A smile teased the corners of his lips. “Would you enjoy that? Being auctioned off? Put on display?”
I pictured a room full of men like Fort, dominant, sexually voracious men who were rich and powerful enough to join a club to get what they wanted, access to a horde of submissive females all the time. The idea turned me on to a surprising degree, but it frightened me too. I wasn’t exactly a seasoned masochist, and I wasn’t a petite beauty like the woman Devin had brought to Goodluck’s show. “I’m not sure I’d like that,” I admitted. “What if no one wanted me?”
His eyes took on a cynical cast. “Really? Are we fishing for compliments?”
“No. Seriously.” I held out my glass for more water. “It’s a possibility.”
“It’s not a possibility,” he said, ignoring my outstretched glass. “But for the record, here’s how things generally go. A submissive comes with her sponsor—her Dominant or Master—and that’s who she spends the bulk of her time with. If a scene develops and draws other people in, it’s a good thing. More pain, more pleasure. More fun.”
He pushed back his chair and gestured me over to him, taking me in his arms. “The Gallery can transform you if you go into it with an open mind. What you can’t do is walk into the club with the idea that you exclusively belong to anyone. You and I aren’t exclusive, right?” He said it kindly, gazing into my eyes. “We’ve been clear about that from the start. Our thing is about physical and mental connection, and experiencing sexual thrills that 99.9 percent of the population is too afraid to think about. Going to The Gallery is doing that same thing, only adding other like-minded people.”
“When you put it like that…”
He squeezed me as I shifted on my toes. “What are you thinking? Yes? No? Not your thing?”
“I don’t know if it’s my thing. It might be. Like scening with you…I didn’t know I liked it until I did it.”
“Let me show you the fine print.” He reached for the paper I’d noticed earlier, sliding it in front of us while his arm tightened to pull me into his lap. “Any submissive who plays at The Gallery has to read and agree to these five rules, and sign at the bottom. They want every participant to be on the same page.”
“I’d have to sign this now?” I asked, turning back to him.
“No. At the door. You’re supposed to read and sign it every time you come.”
“Sounds very legal.”
He laughed. “It’s quasi legal. It’s more a good faith agreement that you won’t cause shit if you don’t enjoy yourself as much as you hoped.”
I looked down at the paper, scanning the bulleted list while he finally refilled my water.Number one: All submissives must be accompanied by a sponsor who will manage their conduct and care. No unsponsored submissives will be admitted.I did a mental eye roll at that one. God forbid some poor woman wandered in there unprepared.
Number two: Any submissive brought into The Gallery shall be considered communal property and shared in any way her sponsor desires.I was glad now he’d warned me about that one in advance, or I would have choked on it. I took a deep drink of water, imagining a faceless stranger forcing me to his will. It turned me on more than I thought. My face flamed despite my best intentions as I moved on to number three.
The Gallery is a no-safe-word zone. The submissive’s limits will be determined by her sponsor.
The last part captured my attention, made me feel a little better about the whole sharing thing. “Ok, so your sponsor basically stays in charge of you. Like, even if some other Dom wanted to interact with me, you’d be there to make sure they don’t stab me in the neck.”
“Of course.” His gaze roved over my throat, then his tongue blazed the same path. “I’d never let anyone stab you in the neck. Your neck is too perfect to ruin.”
He caressed my breasts, stoking the fire that burned hotter with each perverse “rule” I read. I peered down at the fourth line.All submissives must strictly adhere to The Gallery’s dress code.
