I walk up to the doors of Club X, the huge mansion-like structure looming in the background, its red ambient lighting illuminating the front of the building and casting a glow on its esteemed guests that are waiting to be admitted. A cool breeze blows through the area. My skin pricks as the air softly caresses my flesh, crackling with electricity, and the dark-suited bodyguard at the door recognizes me.

His eyes trail the skimpy outfit I’m wearing, the red silk short nightgown I changed into before getting out of my Honda. I feel almost naked under his gaze, but at the same time incredibly sexy; he makes me feel wanted. Although the attraction is firmly one-sided.

I should be used to this now, but I still get nervous with anticipation. I know that in a few moments, men far more powerful than him will be looking at me, and it makes me feel anxious. Unconsciously, I trail my finger along my bracelet. It’s rubber without any metal rings, meaning I’m still just learning. I haven’t yet chosen a membership bracelet that will indicate what I want in a partner, Dominant or Master, or someone who enjoys the more painful side of BDSM. I’m afraid to admit that I’m still a virgin, although there’s a bracelet for that. I would rather have a Submissive or Slave bracelet, although I’m not sure which one yet. The lines are blurred for me still. And I’m not sure how much control I’m really willing to give up. The fantasy of being completely at someone else’s mercy makes me weak with desire. But the reality has an entirely different effect. I think the aspects of pleasure and pain are what intrigue me most. I haven’t felt the sting of a whip yet. But I really want to. I crave it like a sweet-toothed freak fiending for their next Twinkie. I just haven’t asked for it. It’s as easy as letting a trainer know that I’m ready. But I haven’t taken the plunge yet.

Deep down, I know that actually committing to it is going to take a lot. So right now, I’m just observing. It’s all just research for my book. Or so I tell myself.

I’m admitted through the doors by the dark-gazed bodyguard, and as I step into the club I have to suck in a breath. I’ve been here a lot, at least half a dozen times, but I’m still floored every single time I walk in. Club X is beyond beautiful with thick lush carpet, extravagant furniture, gorgeous ambient lighting and soft, tantalizing music that makes my blood heat.

But the thing that gets me the most is the very air that surrounds the people.

The men who walk the floors of the club radiate power and wealth beyond imagine, and the women who follow them are too beautiful for words. I watch as a masked man pulls his timid partner along by a gleaming silver chain, his eyes filled with determination and swirling with lust. I keep my gaze safely away, knowing it’s not my place to look a Master or Dominant directly in his eyes unless I want to draw his ire. I’m supposed to be Submissive, and acting anything otherwise will get me in trouble. Even if I’m only here to watch. I can’t ruin the fantasy that Club X provides so perfectly.

I shiver as the atmosphere of the club seems to wrap around my body, my nipples pebbling. I love this place. It’s even better than reading my books, and that says a lot.

My lungs fill with a deep, steadying breath, as I try to get control over my emotions. It’s almost as if I’ve taken a hit of a powerful drug and I’m getting high. That’s what this place does to you. It gets you high on lust, power... sex.

I lean against the bar just past the foyer and breathe in deeply, cooling my heated blood.

I know I want to go to the dungeon, but first, I think I need a drink. It's dark down there, and I’m not sure I can handle it without at first numbing a part of myself. I need to free my inhibitions.

As I wait for the bartender, I glance across the large hall. The stage on the back wall is dark tonight, with the curtains closed, and I don’t know if that’s a good thing. I look forward to the shows, since not only are they exhilarating, they’re a great learning experience. I order a shot of tequila, making sure to keep my gaze in a safe place. Within seconds, the shot glass is placed in front of me by a beautiful bar vixen with long dark hair, wearing the same professional uniform the other employees have on. There’s no mixing up who’s working here, and who’s here for play.

The liquid burns as it goes down my throat, but it’s a comfortable feeling. I know it will help me deal with the experience of the dungeon. Even though I’m hungry for it, the alcohol aids me in handling the intense sexual emotions that run through my body. The alcohol is nothing in comparison to how intoxicating the sights in the dungeon can be. I bite into the lime and let it wash the taste of the liquor out of my mouth, the sourness making my eyes close tightly.

When I’m done with my drink, the fiery liquid warming my belly, I leave the bar and make my way through the halls, blending in and trying to disappear amongst the crowd.

A few men approach me as I pass the playrooms. I swallow thickly, my heartbeat racing as I pause in my steps. I don’t look at them, but I make sure that my bracelet is in view. Once they see it, they move on. No one seems interested in someone who still doesn’t know what they want.

With the rubber bracelet on my wrist, the only people who talk to me are Submissives waiting for their partners, or the trainers. I like it that way. It makes me want to keep the bracelet forever. It makes me feel safe. But the days are limited. The membership here is expensive. Too fucking expensive. The first month with this bracelet was on the house. Madam Lynn, the owner I think, said that I could stay to see if it suited me. But next month I have to pay up if I’m not paired up. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Or if I ever will be. But the month is almost up.

It’s hard not to stop and stare at the sexual acts taking place in the playrooms as I pass them. The men and women going at each other with untamed depravity. Their moans and cries and grunts and groans assault my ears, the smacks of their flesh pounding against each other filling my already heated blood with sexual desire.

I ignore it as best I can, although my breathing is coming in faster, and continue on into the darkened corridors, my pulse racing with excitement.

There’s nothing in this world like the place I’m about to enter. The playrooms are an intense experience, but down here it’s far more… primal, possessive. Raw in every sense of the word. I make my way down a dim hallway to where two men dressed in dark suits wait on either side of a large iron cast door. They’re employees, guards who make sure that everything runs smoothly. And that no laws are broken. They give me a cursory glance before opening the door, the sound of its creaking making my heart jump in my chest.

I take in a ragged breath before I walk into a dark stairwell, the only lighting being small, glowing red sconces on the wall, giving the area an almost evil feel. A few masked men pass me on my way down and their way up, their dark gazes holding secrets that chill my blood. One man even stops to look at me as if thinking that I am looking to be taken, but when he sees my bracelet, he keeps moving like the men back at the playrooms.

They respect that I’m not ready, and not a single person has tried to push me. There are rules to the club, and they’re strictly followed. It makes me feel safe. It’s odd to think that way, given the nature of this place. But I do feel safe.

I shudder to even think about what goes on through the heads of the Masters and Dominants when they look at me. It arouses me in a thrilling and exciting way. A way that hardens my nipples, and sends a pulsing need to my clit. I’m almost ashamed at how turned on I am by their questioning glances and piercing stares, and the sinful thoughts I know are lurking behind their eyes.

It’s just like how I imagine things in my books. I only hope I can write about this in a way that does this place justice. A way that captures the sensual seductive side along with the other emotions coursing through my blood.

As I get closer to my destination, a shrill scream that’s a mix of pleasure and pain rips through the stairwell. It’s followed by whimpers and moans. I pause, gripping onto the banister for support, my breath stalling in my lungs. I’ve been here many times, but I still can’t prepare myself for some of the darker things that happen in the dungeon. It’s so sexually intense that I become dizzy with desire and emotion. Thank God I’ve taken that hit of tequila. After I calm myself, I continue on until I make it to the bottom floor. The sounds of groans and seductive pleading fill my ears. It’s a place that resembles a seventeenth century English dungeon, with cages and racks on either side of the room, and lit torches along the walls. The ambiance is everything that makes this room… it's all so tempting and forbidden, mixed with danger and fright.

It’s more private here, especially this early, but I’ve seen many things here I never imagined I would. Things that have turned me on. Scenes I’ve watched play out, and then later been ashamed to have gotten aroused by. I’ve seen a woman beaten with a whip until tears were falling down her cheeks, her ass bright red from the lashes. But she leaned into it. She begged for more. Her Master gave her what he felt she needed, and the way he took her after made me desire the same ruthless touch.

I want to feel what she felt. I want to experience it to understand why she desired it as much as she did.

I watch, stalking along the edges of the room, as a naked, dark-haired woman is bound to a bench. The rough rope is coarse and would chafe her skin, but her masked Master places a thin piece of silk under it. Her lips part in a soft mix of moan and whimper as he binds her so tightly she can barely move. I can see his huge hard cock pressing against his silk slacks. It forces an intense wave of arousal through every part of me.

The Master, or Dominant, I’m not sure, is wearing the membership bracelet. His rubber bracelet is joined by two interlocking metal bands of silver, and in the center, a red band. I shiver at what the bracelet signifies. This dude is into some dark shit. Sadism and Masochism.

I’ve seen this couple before, though I don’t know their names. I don’t know anyone’s real name, actually, other than Nicole. It’s funny--I’ve been coming here for a while, and I don’t know anything about anyone. But it doesn’t bother me. I’m here for the experience. And names are rarely used inside Club X.

Another couple is seated on a bench, and I’ve seen them before, too. The man gives me chills like no other. And not in a good way. His eyes are beady, and pure black. His hand is gripping his pet’s shoulder, squeezing. He’s always touching her, or pulling her collar. I’ve never seen them interact in any way other than what they’re currently doing. She's on her knees on the ground, looking straight ahead and he's behind her, whispering into her ear.

Her hair is wispy and unkempt, which also makes them stand out. None of the others look like her. They’re taken care of in ways she’s not. Most of the women here are given looks of jealousy from me; I can’t help it. But not her. I can’t help the sympathy I feel for her.

Of all the people here, he’s the only one that doesn’t seem to belong. And it's all because of the way he treats her. The way she doesn’t beg him for more. The way his touch seems to wilt her spirit, rather than enhance it.

I rip my eyes away from them, hating that they’re here. I have to ignore them whenever they come down to the dungeon. Instead I focus on the couple in the center of the room, the reason most everyone is in this room. The ideal couple. The one that exemplifies what I consider to be the fantasy of this lifestyle. I watch as he kisses her softly on the lips and places a blindfold over her eyes. There’s a guard to the right of them, watching vigilantly. There’s another one stationed at the end of the room, also watching the couple and the onlookers like me. These men observe every detail. They see everything. The men in the suits are here to enforce order in case things go too far. They know the safe words ahead of time. Although everything is done discreetly. And some couples don’t use safe words at all.

I was shocked the first time I saw one of these men disrupt a session. I could understand why though, because the woman was screaming for her partner to stop. The very fact that the guard felt the need to step in made me fear for the Submissive. The guard merely stepped forward and requested that the Submissive give her safe word. The Dominant stepped back immediately, lowering the paddle he was using on her, and the Submissive gave it, out of breath and still writhing in the binds that held her down. She whispered the word green and then looked to her Dominant, waiting for more. I got the feeling it wasn’t the first time a guard had interrupted them.

The man in the suit stepped back, and the scene continued. The Submissive kept screaming as her Dominant fucked her ruthlessly, using her body mercilessly, fucking her with vicious need and smacking the paddle against her skin as he took her almost like a caveman from prehistoric times.

It was a rape fantasy reenacted before my very eyes. It was very difficult to watch, and my eyes kept going over to the guard that was standing nearby. But he didn’t move again. As long as the Submissive didn’t say the safe word, the Dominant had complete control over her. They were free to act out whatever fantasies they shared in complete safety.

For couples without safe words, they merely nod at the guards when asked if they’re alright. Or so I’ve been told. I’ve only seen a guard interrupt once. I’m surprised how many couples don’t have safe words. Some simply use ‘stop’. I suppose it’s different for every partnership.

Most of the clients in here seem paired up, like these two. It makes me envy them. Especially when they’re collared. Collars are like wedding bands. My eyes fall to the floor, and my heart thuds. Maybe that’s more of my romance novels slipping in. I don’t know for sure that the people here regard collars so highly.

It’s hard not to confuse reality and fantasy. But that’s easy to do here. This place is like a fantasy come to life.

A movement out of the corner of my eye causes me to look around. The breath stills in my throat, and my heart skips a beat. There he is. Looking at him, I can hardly stand, my knees are so weak. He’s like a dark prince, dressed all in black with his matching half mask, the edges of it looking torn. It only serves to enhance his chiseled features. My breath quickens as his eyes bore into me with an intensity that makes my skin prick. The room seems to bow to him. Everything urges me to bend to his will. And I want to.

My heart pounds rapidly in my chest as I stare at the floor. A chill travels down my shoulder and through my spine. He has a power over me more intense than anyone else. A pull to him so strong I nearly give in and fall to my knees as I feel his gaze on me.

I’ve seen this man before. In fact, I ran into him when I was new to the club. My cheeks burn at the memory, remembering his dark regard of me, the flush of my skin as I sank to my knees and apologized for being so clumsy. He watches me sometimes when I come into the club, and I’m always almost overwhelmed. At first I thought it was all in my head that he was checking me out, and then I thought I was just getting carried away by my fantasies. But he followed me down here.

He must want something from me. The thought makes my body come alive with desire.

Or maybe it really is all in my head, I think to myself. No one knows me here. I’ve tried my best to make myself as invisible as possible.

But as I move away and walk over to the Saint Andrew’s Cross that sits next to a rack of whips and rope, I can feel him following me, stalking my every move.

My breathing quickens as I do something new. I slowly fall into a kneel, trying to remember every detail one of the trainers showed me about proper posture. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. But my body feels compelled by a mysterious force.

I show him submission.

I invite him to have power over me.