Zack
“Are you sure this place is a good idea?” I ask Anthony, sipping my whiskey. We’re sitting at the bar in the back of Anchored, which is, apparently, one of the best sex clubs in the city. Who knew? I certainly didn’t. I’ve lived here for 10 damn years and I’ve been spending all of my time at the other, more popular, more public clubs.
I’ve certainly never played anywhere as nice as this before.
“Of course it’s a good idea, dumbass,” Anthony turns, facing the room around us. “You’re wound up tight, my friend. You need this.”
Anthony has been a member of Anchored for a year now. He loves it here. It’s his favorite place to play. He’s been exploring BDSM since we were in law school, and although he’s offered to bring me here many times, I’ve always turned him down.
I’m not even completely sure why.
Perhaps it’s because Anchored seems like a closer-knit community than some of the other clubs. At the places I go, it’s easy to slink in and out of the club unnoticed, undetected. It’s easy to find an anonymous partner for the night. It’s easy to find someone to play with or to just sit and watch. It’s easy to stop coming for awhile and then start back up.
There’s no commitment required.
Anchored is different.
You have to pay monthly membership fees to come to Anchored. In my case, Anthony got special permission from the owner to bring a guest. If I want to come back, I’ll have to cough up the money for membership dues, go through a medical health check to make sure I’m clean, and undergo a psychological assessment.
Health and safety is taken seriously at Anchored.
Since I’m a guest tonight, I’m not even allowed to play. This is part of the reason I’m drinking. If I was going to pick a submissive for the night, if I was going to find a woman to play with, I wouldn’t be touching alcohol. I wouldn’t have anything to do with it because I wouldn’t want it to impede my judgment.
When I play with a submissive, I want her to have my full attention and understanding. Even if we’re only together for one night, I want to know she’s completely taken care of. That’s the beauty of Domination. My submissive gives herself wholly to me and I take and I take and I take, but then I give back so much more. She gives me her body, her mind, and her soul, but I give her pleasure she’s never imagined, pleasure she’s never even dreamed about.
I give her everything I can possibly give her, and then I give a little bit more.
“What do you know about how tightly I’m wound?” I ask because I can’t help myself. I shouldn’t poke Anthony, shouldn’t prod at him to get snarky with me. I know perfectly well that he’s right; I’ve been a bitch to deal with lately. Still, hearing it from my friend stings a little, and I want to talk about it.
Anthony doesn’t respond right away.
The thing about being a good lawyer is that it’s not just about knowing the law. It’s not just about memorizing legal jargon. It’s not just about researching previous cases to establish legal precedent.
It’s so much more.
One of the most important qualities of a good lawyer is being able to observe people, to read them. In the courtroom, a good lawyer needs to be able to read the faces of the jury. Are they on your side? Are they believing what you’re saying? If they aren’t, you need to change whatever it is you’re doing in order to sway them to your side.
It’s not just courtroom lawyers who need to be able to observe, though. If a new client walks through the doors of my legal firm, I need to be able to tell if they’re lying to me. I’m more than happy to talk on cases that are complicated or tricky, but I won’t deal with clients who lie.
Not to me.
Not to the person who is trying to help them.
Now, Anthony is looking at me, sizing me up. This doesn’t offend me, but perhaps it should. We’ve been friends since law school. We were roommates during school and we’ve worked together ever since. Edgar & Berstein LLC is an incredible law firm, and I’m thrilled I get to call Anthony my partner in crime. We work well together, and I trust him more than anyone else in the world.
“You haven’t had a serious relationship since Mary.”
“There’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
“Mary broke your heart,” Anthony clarifies. “And you’ve been afraid to love ever since.”
“What do you know about love?” I say. “No offense, brother, but you’re just as single as I am.”
“I’m happy with my life,” Anthony says smoothly. I know he’s being honest. He’s not the type of guy who settles down. He’s never really been interested in that. No, Anthony is more interested in making money, working out, and going hunting than he is in settling down with one woman.
That was always my dream.
It’s a dream I’ve had for many years, but that was shattered long ago. Now, the idea of marriage seems out of reach. I wonder if it’s even really that important, or if I just had the concept on a pedestal somehow.
“I don’t think I’m going to find a wife in a sex dungeon,” I tell Anthony.
“Perhaps not, but you never know.”
“Do you know something I don’t?”
Anthony claps my back. “I just want you to have some fun,” he says. “This is a nice place full of good people. I think you’ll be able to enjoy yourself here. You can let loose a little, meet some new friends, and maybe find yourself a submissive. Even if you don’t find your dream girl, you’ll at least get to play a little, and you can’t complain about that.”
“No,” I agree. “I can’t.”
“All right,” Anthony sets his glass down on the bar. “What do you say we go watch some scenes?”
Instead of answering, I place my drink on the bar and hop down from the barstool. I’m wearing a bright bracelet that indicates I’m drinking tonight and won’t be playing or scening with anyone. Anthony has a matching bracelet. It’s the paper kind, the kind that you have to cut off when you get home at the end of the night, and it scratches at my skin.
“I know it’s annoying,” Anthony says. “They should come up with a better system.”
“You’d think with all the money they’re making, there would be an easier way to distinguish the drinkers than making people wear these damn things.”
“You’d think so,” a voice says to my left. “But then again, people are tricky. Perhaps the motivation is to discourage people from drinking at all.”
I turn to see a man in the shadows. I can’t see his face, but I don’t have to in order to know this is a powerful man: one who is used to being listened to. Is it the owner? It must be the owner.
“Perhaps you’re right,” I say simply, and the man turns and vanishes into the room.
“That’s Master Thorn.”
“His name is Thorn?”
“Last name. Not sure what his first name is and I don’t really care.”
“Interesting guy.” You’d have to be. If he is the owner, the man single-handedly took a mini-cruise ship and converted it into a sex club. Who would have dreamed that up? It’s incredible. The interior of Anchored is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, as far as sex clubs go.
The dungeon is dark and the music is loud, but everything is clean and new and pristine. There’s a nautical theme throughout the dungeon. There are ship’s wheels throughout the room, along with rope and flags and sails. The entire thing looks exactly like the interior of a ship should, except that there are also crosses and spanking benches and stages.
“Allow me to give you a tour,” Anthony says, pointing to a stage. “That’s the main stage. That’s where the big demonstrations happen.”
“Demonstrations?”
“Sometimes they’ll bring in a specialist or an expert who can show a new technique. Maybe it’ll be a ropes demonstration or perhaps they’ll have a psychologist who gives tips for aftercare. Could be anything. That all happens there. There are a couple of smaller stages,” he points. “As well as play areas for people who want to experiment publicly.”
“And for people who don’t want to experiment publicly, but who still want to play?”
“There are two options. There are private rooms and voyeur rooms. In order to use the private rooms, you need special permission from the club. You have to be vetted and have a signed contract with your submissive on record at the club.”
“They take safety seriously here.”
“As they should,” Anthony shakes his head, and I know what he’s thinking. A lot of clubs are free-for-alls. People go and they play with strangers or people they think they trust, but something goes horribly awry. Someone gets hurt or injured or just feels overly emotional and can’t handle the adrenaline. It happens. Domination and submission is intense, with or without the pain aspect.
As we walk through the space, I look around at the couples surrounding us. Men and women, old and young, tops and bottoms: everyone seems to be in their element. Everyone seems to be having an incredible time.
And then I see her.
“She’s a beauty, all right,” Anthony’s words echo my thoughts. The woman tied to the pole on stage is incredible. She’s facing the crowd and she’s not wearing a stitch of clothing. I can see every part of her: her face, her breasts, her rounded tummy, her pussy. Her legs are spread slightly and as I watch, her Domme works her over with a flogger.
It’s light play, to be sure, but it’s incredible. I was never into the harder stuff, anyway. Whips and chains are fantastic, but I prefer to focus more on the pleasure side of Domination. I like my subs to come undone beneath my hands. I like them to come over and over and over again.
I like them to come so hard they can’t remember their own names, and then I like them to come once more.
As Anthony and I watch, the woman floats higher and higher. She’s in subspace, all right. It’s its own sort of high, from what submissives have told me. It’s like smoking a joint or being drunk but all it takes is a good Dom or Domme to get you there.
“Come,” the Domme is saying to her sub. “Come for me. Come now.”
She hits the woman with the flogger over and over, moving from her breasts to her pussy. As soon as the flogger touches the space between her legs, the beautiful brunette comes. She comes hard. She screams as her body shakes and quivers, pulling against the ropes. She cries out, and her eyes open, and for just a second, they connect with mine.
My cock has never been harder.
As her orgasm subsides, she sags against the ropes. Her body is worn and spent. She’s tired, exhausted, and more than ready for a little aftercare.
Tenderly, gently, the Mistress unties her from the pole and helps her to a nearby chair. I’m expecting the Domme to go to her, to sit with her, to wrap a blanket around her and comfort her after such an intense scene, but she doesn’t.
To my complete horror, the Domme simply gives her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then she turns back to the stage and begins cleaning up. The submissive sips a bottle of water and then rises. Without another word, she heads toward the locker room.
“What the actual fuck?” I say out loud, but Anthony shushes me. He looks around, as if I’m going to accidentally offend someone.
“Dude, chill.”
“Chill? That Mistress didn’t give her any fucking aftercare. A hug? Really? That’s all she’s going to give her?”
“You don’t know their situation,” Anthony warns me, but I’m too pissed. I march over to the Domme and tap her shoulder.
“Excuse me,” I say. She turns around, surprised to see me standing there.
“Can I help you?” The Domme is beautiful. She’s just as beautiful as the submissive she was playing with, but something inside of me hates the way she abandoned her woman after such a scene.
“What the hell was that all about?” I motion to the chair where the submissive was sitting.
“What are you talking about? You didn’t enjoy my scene?” The Mistress seems offended, but I don’t even care.
“Your scene was incredible. It’s the complete lack of after-care that has me pissed off. What kind of mistress are you?”
The woman’s eyes suddenly look sad and she shakes her head. She stops cleaning and just looks at me. For a second, I think she’s going to tell me to go to hell, but she doesn’t.
“You’re right,” she says. “And I shouldn’t play with Christina anymore. I can’t play with her anymore. Not after tonight.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She doesn’t do aftercare. I’m guessing you’re new here. You must be new. I’ve never seen you, and if you’d been around here for any amount of time, you would know her. She doesn’t want to snuggle. She doesn’t want a backrub. She doesn’t want anything. She wants to scene and then she wants to go home. She doesn’t want emotional entanglements. She plays, and then she leaves.”
“What? Why?” I manage to choke out. “Aftercare isn’t about becoming emotionally involved. It’s about coming down safely from a high.”
“I know that,” the Mistress speaks quietly. “And you know that. Hell, everyone in this fucking dungeon knows that, but that girl?” She nods to where Christina disappeared. “That girl is so scared of getting close to anyone that she refuses everyone. There’s a reason we call her the Damsel of the Dungeon, sir.”
Then the Mistress turns and she walks away.
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