“‘Come to Me, Bend to Me...’ Seems appropriate for where we are.” That he knew the 1954 musical, let alone a song from it wasstunning, but then he shocked her further by asking, “Were your parents in the lifestyle?”
“Goodness, no!” she squeaked, unable to even consider the possibility.
His laugh was deep and gruff like his speaking voice, and quite pleasant. “Although we’re often loathe to think it, we were all begat the same way, dear Fiona. Mechanically speaking, that is.”
There was a slight bottleneck to get into the dungeon because the submissives had to relinquish their shoes.
“Why, if I may ask?” Fiona inquired of her guide.
“It’s a Decadence tradition, I’m told, and because it helps put little subbies in the right headspace.”
When she handed over her treasured five-inch, ankle-strap stilettos and looked up at Master Axyl, she felt like she’d stepped in a hole. Nearly six feet tall, being towered over was unusual and intensified her nervousness and vulnerability. She better understood the rationale behind the tradition.
Once inside, he stopped at the top of the stairs and let her take in her first glimpse of the heart of the club—the dungeon. Or what Master Eric had referred to as the playroom. Booths lined three of the four walls, but most were unoccupied. The members and guests circulated amid the activities taking place in a multitude of roped-off stations on the vast main floor. The lights were up, and a hum of conversation filled the room.
In a split second, her mind traveled to a time that wasn’t just for exploring. Visions of submissives kneeling at their dominant’s feet, their bodies adorned in cuffs and intricate ropes and little else filled her head. Her imagination added the sound of whips cracking, muffled moans, and orgasmic cries blending into a concert of pleasure and erotic pain.
Master Axyl’s firm grip on her arm jolted her out of her fantasy as he led her down the stairs to the main floor.
“They designed the playroom like a dartboard. The outer ring is seating, for conversation, negotiation, observing, and for relaxing before and after play. The next ring is what we call the circuit. Like the yellow brick road, if you follow it, it will take you where you need to—”
“The Emerald City?”
“Not quite,” he chuckled, strolling while explaining, “Keep to it, and the circuit will take you by all thirty stations, which is the third ring, where you’ll find standard equipment such as crosses, benches, and bondage tables. You’ll also discover some unique, custom-made designs painstakingly acquired by Master Eric. It all culminates in the center circle, the dungeon’s main stage where some of the most creative pulse-pounding scenes take place.”
“Like what, for example?”
“You’re about to find out.”
He nodded toward the center of the room, where a circular stage rose out of the floor under a single bright spotlight. In the middle of it stood what she could only guess was a whipping post. Her first thought was what on earth had she signed up for? Her second, how was any of this G-rated?
“This is one of four demonstrations Eric has arranged for our prospective members.” He steered her toward a row of bench seats on a raised dais along the front wall. “Let’s have a seat. No sense straining our necks when we can be comfortable.”
Fiona couldn’t take her eyes off the scene unfolding thirty feet above the main floor. The dom, dressed in all black, wasn’t nearly as big as Master Axyl but was still tall and fit. At first glance, he looked around her age. Then she noticed the touch of gray in the dark-blond hair at his temples, and the occasional glimmer of silvery threads in his beard under the lights.
In a figure-hugging vinyl minidress, his play partner willingly yielded as he secured her wrists to a ring embeddedin the post above her head. Enthusiastically, too, judging by her delighted smile.
He spoke as he circled her, but from this distance, she couldn’t hear what he said. The sub understood and turned with him; her gaze never leaving his. She ended up facing the post, which was when Fiona realized she’d be vulnerable to whatever he planned to do from all angles.
The multi-tailed lash draped around his neck gave Fiona a pretty good idea of what that was.
Further preparing for the scene, he pulled off his shirt, revealing broad shoulders, muscular arms, ripped abs, and a lean waist, and not an ounce of fat that she could see. For the next quarter hour, he employed the flogger, the rhythmic thwaps of leather against skin filling the air. Fiona only vaguely noticed the sub’s moans starting out low and rising in pitch as the scene continued. Or how her body bowed and writhed with each stroke. She was secondary to the grace and confidence of the dom who commanded the scene. Fiona sat transfixed, watching the play of muscles in his back and shoulders as he worked the lash.
With obvious skill, he lightly flicked the tails against her belly, upper thighs, and breasts. He then changed the speed and angle, delivering a series of firm strokes over her bare upper back and vinyl-covered bottom. Keeping her off guard, he snapped the lash across both nipples, visible through the vinyl even from a distance.
He delivered stroke after stroke, controlling her pleasure until her bliss-filled cries echoed off the high ceiling, and the widely spaced walls of the cavernous room. And he didn’t stop until it culminated in what looked to be an intense, body-shaking orgasm.
When the dom’s lash arm dropped, his upper body gleamed with sweat, showcasing his flawless skin and powerful, well-defined muscles. Fiona licked suddenly dry lips. Flushed, very much aroused, and wishing she could change places with the lucky girl, she shifted in her seat.
The telltale squeak of the leather broadcast her restlessness. She tried to mask it by leaning in and asking Master Axyl, “Are they a couple? They seem so...in sync.”
“That’s Doc’s skill with a flogger you witnessed. He doesn’t have a sub. The one he’s with is a volunteer for the demo.”
“It sounds like there’s more to that story.”
“Yes, but he’s not telling. And if I knew, I wouldn’t share. Gossiping is against the rules, as stated in the handbook you received,” he replied, gently reprimanding. “Suffice it to say, he’s available for demos because he’s a permanent bachelor. Steer clear of Doc if you’re seeking more than a dom for the night, little subbie.”
“Why Doc? Is it just a nickname, or is he really a physician?” she asked, trying to conceal her disappointment as she watched him release his noodle-legged sub from her restraints. He held her close, speaking close to her ear, offering what she imagined was praise and reassurance, as the stage lowered and disappeared amid the crowd as it returned to the main floor.
