June
Despite owning one of the hottest sex clubs around, my life is quite mundane and ordinary. I spend most of my day doing paperwork and researching new and interesting BDSM activities to try at the club. I’ve had a couple of requests for game nights. We already have theme nights a few times a month, so squeezing in a game night with different activities shouldn’t be too hard.
“Hey,” Ranger peeks his head in my office. “You have a minute?”
“Yeah,” I look up. “Are you doing an interview today?”
Ranger is my psychologist. More specifically, he’s the psychologist for Anchored. It’s his job to perform a psychological evaluation for each potential member before I let them walk through the doors on a club night. Kinky people I can handle. Crazy people? Not so much. It’s for my own safety and the safety of my patrons that I require everyone go through this screening process.
“I’ve got two scheduled.” He glances at the files he’s holding. “Katya Johnson and Ginger Spencer.”
“Those sound like fake names.”
He just shrugs. “I’ve heard faker.”
“You want some coffee before your appointments?”
“Always.”
He comes into my office and heads to the Keurig in the corner. Ranger takes his time selecting the perfect type of coffee, and once the cup is finished brewing, he comes back and sits across from me at my desk.
“How are you, June?”
I raise an eyebrow. “What’s going on, Ranger? You aren’t one to ask me about my feelings.”
“That’s because you love to keep them bottled up inside.”
“You know me,” I shrug. He’s not wrong, and I’m not embarrassed to admit it. I know I need to grow. I know I need to change. Knowing and doing are two very different things, though.
“You lost your grandma, June. I know you two were close.”
I shake my head. “I can’t talk about that now, Ranger.” I look around the tiny office. Yeah, the walls are covered in nautical prints and pinup pictures. Some of them are nudes and some of them are vintage prints in lingerie. And yeah, my desk has a picture of my Granny on it. And yes, my Granny knew about the club.
She knew everything, and she loved me, anyway.
“Why not, honey?”
“Because I’m going to start crying, Ranger, and I have way too much shit to do today.” I look up at him, silently begging him not to push me. Ranger is one of my best Doms and one of my favorite people. He nods quietly and sips his coffee, but he doesn’t push me anymore.
For that, I’m grateful.
Ranger is a good man, an honest man, and I hope he finds someone who makes him happy someday. That won’t be me. Our relationship is strictly professional, and always will be, but I hope he finds someone he loves, someone he enjoys spending time with.
“So, how about this weather?” He says.
“Is this your attempt at being a normal, non-shrinky person?”
“It is.”
“You aren’t very good at it.”
“Hey, you can’t insult a Dom.”
“I can do whatever I like. It’s my club.”
Ranger laughs. “Okay, what do you want to talk about, June? What are you up to today?”
I motion to the paperwork on my desk. There are way too many piles.
“Ordering new equipment, looking at my taxes, dealing with billing: you know, normal business stuff.”
“It sounds painfully stressful.”
I nod tightly. “It is. I should be better at dealing with this by now, but you know me, Ranger.” I shake my head, again, not wanting to admit it. “I’m a bottler.”
“It’s okay to open up, you know. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“Nothing, I suppose.” I might as well be honest with Ranger. “But the idea of changing the status quo makes me uncomfortable.”
“Why’s that, do you think?”
“Being a hard-ass is what got me this club in the first place. I saved up, fought for it, got it, made it happen. It was a dream for years before I finally cemented Anchored as my own. I don’t want to do anything that would cause me to lose this club, Ranger.”
“And you think talking about your feelings would make you lose the club? Can you explain your line of reasoning to me?”
Leave it to Ranger to shrink me. He always does this.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?” He asks innocently, but his eyes are twinkling. Yeah, he knows what he’s doing.
“You’re asking me to explain my line of reasoning, but what you’re really doing is pointing out that I’m a silly, silly girl and that my line of reasoning is inherently flawed and childish.”
He laughs.
“I’ll have you know, Ralph Alexander,” I put the emphasis on his real name. I pay him for these interviews, after all. I write his damn checks. I get to call him his real name and not his dungeon name if I want to. “That I am not childish, nor am I silly.”
I stick up my nose, and once more, Ranger laughs.
“All right,” he says, shaking his head. He gets to his feet and smiles at me. “I’ll leave you alone, June, but you know that I’m always here for you. You do know that, don’t you?”
“I know,” I tell him. “And I appreciate it more than you know.”
“Of course. I’ll go see if my first victim – I mean client – is here.”
He leaves my office and I hear him walking quietly down the corridor to the front of the building. Chances are that the potential members will be prompt and on time. Most of them are. That’s because Anchored is an exclusive club. I don’t focus on bringing in new members: I focus on retention. I charge a lot for membership and in exchange, the people who frequent the club get a safe, sane, and consensual place they can play.
They also get a place that’s private and that respects their personal identities.
I have no interest in betraying the trust of my members. For most of the people who play, Anchored offers a haven where they can leave their troubles behind. There are no lawyers, no doctors, no kindergarten teachers, no daycare workers. Not at Anchored. No, when you walk into Anchored, you leave your personal life at the door. You aren’t a mother or a father or an aunt. You’re just a submissive or a Dominant. You’re just a switch. You’re just someone who has a need, and Anchored fills that need.
At least, it’s supposed to.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about my own needs, and what I want.
Would I love a handsome, masculine Dom to take care of me?
Maybe.
Would I be more comfortable with a sub of my own?
I don’t know.
The truth is that while I love the idea of playing with a woman, of dominating one, I think I really do want a Dom of my own. It seems selfish to me, though. Asking someone to meet my needs, to help me, to control me? It’s all a lot to cope with. I know, logically, that there’s nothing wrong with this.
I know that these are questions every woman, every man, who is interested in BDSM has to answer at some time, but right now I just want something easy in my life. It seems like things have been so hard for so very long, and right now I just need a break.
I lean back in my desk chair and I close my eyes.
A break, or a fucking vacation.