Page 10 of Whimper Wonderland


Font Size:

Ophelia introduced us. “Dove, meet Princess. She’s the baby of the group, but she’s also the house mom, so her word is law. Disobey, and you’re out on your ass.”

“You’re new here,” Princess said. “Welcome. If you don’t mind signing in…”

Signing in included handing over my license and filling out a couple forms—a non-disclosure and a liability waiver. I felt a bit like I was about to enter a kinky rollercoaster. Princess offered to give me a tour, but Ophelia took it upon herself to show me around. She’d adopted me, and I was grateful for the hand-holding. Literally. She didn’t let go of my hand as she guided me through.

“There are three floors,” she informed me. “They get kinkier as you go up, basically. The firstfloor is the lounge—we’ve got a bar, snacks. You can hang out here, mingle. A lot of people come down here for after care. Second floor is for public play—that’s where you’ve got your St. Andrews’ crosses, paddle benches, that sort of thing. Top floor is invite-only—that’s where you’ve got your private rooms. Basically, you can go up there to fuck. Any questions?”

So, so many. My head was spinning with them. “It looks like someone’s house.”

Ophelia shrugged. “It is. He comes around now and then. We just bless Daddy Warbucks for letting us turn this place into a den of sin every Friday.” She flopped in a chair near the unlit fireplace and looked at me. Her eyes slid over me, examining. “So, what’s your type?”

A heat climbed my neck. “What do you mean?”

“Are you a submissive? Dominant? Sadist? Rope bunny?”

She might as well have been speaking in Klingon.

“I’m…not sure.”

“Let me put it this way—are you a Poe or a Quinn?”

I bit my lip. “A Quinn.”

Ophelia winked. “I got you. Stay here.” She hopped up from her seat and crossed the room to the group of guys in the corner. They were about our age, maybe younger—late twenties, early thirties. Stacked. Gorgeous. I felt myself melting into the vintage wallpaper—the awkward new girl. I watched as Ophelia slipped her arms around a guy’s strong middle. She whispered into his ear and a grin slid across his mouth. They had an easy intimacy with each other. Seconds later, she took him by the hand and guided him over to us.

I took stock of him as he approached—hair cut so short, it was almost buzzed. Brown skin. Vibrant, green eyes that made my stomach flip.

Ophelia ran her hand up his arm, presenting him to me. “This is Carver. Carver, Dove. This is her first time.”

“Welcome to the Club,” he said. His voice had a darkness to it that made me shiver.

“Thanks.”

Ophelia cocked her head. “Do you want to play?”

I blinked. “With him? Isn’t he your…um…?”

“My…?”

“Boyfriend?”

They exchanged a glance, then broke into laughter.

“Fuck no.” Ophelia shook her head. “I know the book made it seem all like—ooh, sexy, scandalous. And yeah, sure. Kink is hot. But you’ll have way more fun if you just think of this as a place where a group of friends hang out and sometimes spank each other.”

Just like that, something switched in me.

I had permission. Permission tohave fun.

I extended my hand the way a princess might—wrist limp—towards the dominant. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s play. Please. Sir.”

He grinned, took my hand, and said, “Let’s have some fun, little Dove.”

Carver took me to the second floor. We talked for almost an hour—what was I comfortable with? What was I not comfortable with? Then I got spanked until my ass was black and blue.

Ophelia and I played all night. We took turns—she would “spot me,” as she called it, which meant she’d watch as the dominant and I played, just so she could check in with me every now and then and make sure the scene was running smoothly. Then I would spot her, watching as she got spanked, or whipped, or tied up. Around midnight, we ditched the dom in favor of pastrami sandwiches from theall-night bodega. We ate sloppy sandwiches out of greasy bags and laughed until we choked. I felt high or drunk, even though I was neither of those things. It was one of those nights when you could feel the magic of the city rattling around like subway cars under your feet.

“I feel so fucking good right now,” I told her.