Saving Graves: A Club Irons Novel

by Drew Sera

  The door swung open and my dad stood there, smiling. He was happy to see me. I could feel it.

  “Son, you have a key. You’re not a stranger,” he said as he stepped aside, welcoming me in. “This is your home, too.”

  Home. I didn’t feel that it was though. And it’s nothing that he did, or didn’t do. It’s just how I felt. He took me in to live with him when I was seventeen and knocking on death’s door. He kind of had to. Up to that point in my life, he was somewhat of a fantasy for me. I knew I had a dad and he talked to me on the phone a few times during each school year, but I never saw him. His home was his. I was his estranged son who stayed there for about eight months before going to college.

  “Food should be delivered soon, come on in and let’s get you something to drink.”

  I wrestled my arms out of my jacket and set it on the chair that I passed on the way to the kitchen. He knew Coke was my favorite and handed me a can and a glass with ice. I could feel his eyes on me as I poured the Coke over the ice. I hated it when he did that. It’s made me uncomfortable since I started living here. I feel like he can see right through my clothes and look at all of the marks on my body.

  Taking the empty can to the trashcan, I sidestepped him and leaned against the island. At least here I felt somewhat protected from his gaze. We both stood there in awkward silence. I looked at the floor and I knew he was looking at me.

  “How have your classes been this past week?”

  “They’re fine.”

  I glanced up at him and sure enough, he was looking at me. Enough. I pushed away from the counter and headed toward the living room where the faint sounds of sports announcers were coming from. I sat in my usual spot on the couch and he sat in his usual chair.

  “How were the two parties you went to?”

  “They were fine. One was kind of boring.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, it’s good to socialize though, Anthony.” I nodded in agreement and took another sip of my Coke. “I know it’s hard for you to socialize, son.”

  I took a deep breath but kept my focus on the TV. I didn’t have any friends in school. I had plenty of acquaintances though. I came close to having real friends from my baseball team in high school, but I kept them at a distance for the most part. If I became close friends, they’d invite me places and eventually they’d find out. It was best for me if I didn’t have friends.

  “I’m not socially inept, Dad.”

  “I didn’t say that you were—”

  “You’re implying that I’m some social outcast and voicing your concerns over me needing to make friends. I chose not to have friends when I was in school, Dad. If I didn’t have friends, no one would invite me to birthday parties, or shit like that. Without being invited places, there was less of a chance that someone would find out.”

  I grabbed the remote and turned the TV volume up, indicating that I didn’t want to talk, but wanted to just watch the game.

  “I think those were normal feelings to have, Anthony. Fear was an everyday, normal feeling for you.”

  “Are we going to talk about normal again? I wasn’t normal, or like other kids. I am the first to admit that. But I’m trying to fit in now and be like other college kids.”

  “I know, son. I only meant that I think it’s good you’re getting out and doing things with your peers.”

  I thought back to the party from Friday night. Most of those kids were older than me and so annoying. They weren’t anything like the party from Saturday night. Those were awesome people.

  “Most of the people from the party Friday night were loud and immature. Girls hanging on guys chugging beer and crap. People playing stupid games of bouncing a ping pong ball in a cup. It was a lot of noise.”

  My dad laughed and nodded.

  “Yeah, welcome to the college party scene.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I didn’t drink anything,” I said, hoping to thwart any conversation about alcohol responsibility.

  “I know your views on alcohol, Anthony. Being raised by alcoholics always has an impact on the child. They either grow up to abuse it too or stay as far from it as possible. I know where you stand on it.”

  Good. I won’t go near the shit. I was constantly in the line of fire of drunken rages. I didn’t want to put that in my body. I was trying to take care of my body now.

  Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon was free from any awkward conversations and we just talked football and ate pizza. I loved this time; just sitting with my dad watching the game. This is something I really wished I had while growing up.

  Chapter Ten

  November 1993

  I met Roger and Mark at a restaurant just outside of San Francisco about an hour before we were going to go to the dungeon. All week I’ve been reading over the info materials I received from the dungeon last weekend and have been writing down questions as they came up. Roger and Mark were eager to meet with me and answer my questions. I showed them the schedule of classes I got from the dungeon too. I circled the ones they suggested, and while we’re at the dungeon tonight, I’d go ahead and sign up.

  “You seem like you’re much older than twenty,” Mark said, and Roger agreed with him.

  “Are you the oldest child in your family?” Roger asked.

  “I’m an only child.”

  “What do your folks do?”

  I swallowed hard and tried not to make it obvious that I didn’t want to talk about them.

  “My dad is a doctor. General medicine.”

  They both nodded and didn’t ask me anything further about my family, so I relaxed some. I learned that they were in their forties and while Roger had “house slaves,” he didn’t have a permanent submissive. Mark described himself as being something called a Service Top, and he explained the title to me.

  “Make no mistake, Anthony, whether you identify as a Dom or a Service Top, the type of scenes you negotiate will all have the same element of power play. You’re accepting control of the scene and ensuring the safety of the submissive you play with,” Roger said.

  “It’s a lot of responsibility because it rides on your shoulders to make sure the submissive or bottom is enjoying herself and is safe. Plus, if you’re doing it right you give her the ability to drown out everything and just enjoy the scene.”

  I was listening to everything they were saying. It all made perfect sense to me.

  “Just remember, even though you’re the driving force in the scene, that submissive has all of the control. She’s a huge part of the negotiation process and ultimately determines if she will submit to you,” Roger added.

  “Good Doms will push that sub to the edge of their boundaries, without going past her limits. Sometimes it’s a tough balancing act, which is why communication is key. You trust her to tell you exactly where the limits are at, and she trusts you not to go beyond them. If you can take her to the edge, you’re going to have them lined up, Anthony.” Mark nodded and smiled before picking up his glass.

  “I agree with, Mark. You have a look about you and will be turning a lot of heads.”

  I smiled at their compliment and remembered back to last weekend when that Pro Domme was checking me out.

  “Do scenes ever go bad?” I asked.

  “Yes, unfortunately, they can.” Mark leaned back in his chair before continuing. “You’re human and will make a mistake, but also know that with the level of responsibility you’re going to take on, you have to be extra cautious.”

  “That means checking the play space, check the equipment, check the girl. By following whatever routine you’re going to establish for yourself, you’re going to decrease the chances of something going wrong,” Roger mentioned. “If something does go wrong, ensure she is safe and calm. Once that is secured, talk to her. Depending on where it went wrong, by talking about it, you can learn from it.”

  “And Anthony, just because a scene goes bad, it doesn’t mean you’re at fault. But, it’s your responsibility to find out why it went south if it’s not ob
vious to you. Something could have triggered her. Always talk to the subs and find out their hard limits before negotiating,” Mark stated.

  “I’ve been reading stuff all week, and I keep seeing the ‘hard limit’ phrase and the ‘soft limit’ phrase. What’s the difference? I can’t seem to find info on soft limits. Hard seems pretty obvious to me.”

  “Soft limits are limits that the sub has in place that she’s not interested in exploring at the moment. So, she could have anal penetration as a soft limit, for example. She might not be ready at the moment to try it, but perhaps in the future she’d be open to trying it,” Mark explained.

  “Got it, makes perfect sense.”

  We left the restaurant and made our trek to San Francisco and just like I did last weekend, we parked a few blocks away.

  “Nervous?” Mark asked me as we walked uphill to the dungeon.

  “No, not at all. I’m excited for tonight,” I said.

  “Make sure you get yourself signed up for the classes before we go inside,” Roger said.

  He sounded slightly winded from the uphill hike to the dungeon. We finally made it, and once we were checked in, I took care of signing up for some classes that I had picked out. After that, we headed down the hall to the clutches of taboo.

  Right in the main room, tons of things caught my eye. I didn’t know where to look…but I wanted to look everywhere at everything. Turns out that Mark and Roger knew a lot of members at this dungeon and introduced me to anyone they saw that they knew, including Mistress Lynn.

  “Well, now you guys are showing up here with young Anthony,” Mistress Lynn said as she walked toward us.

  Mark and Roger laughed when she told them that she met me this past Sunday, and again, she looked me up and down.

  Eventually, we made our way around the club and watched various scenes. Everything aroused me, and I was walking around with a painful erection smashed against my pants. Mark quickly found a young lady to scene with, and he motioned me over to them to listen to their negotiations. Mark was a Service Top, so the submissive explained what kind of scene she was looking for. Once that was decided, he asked her about any injuries or triggers that he needed to know about. The girl told him that she had a shoulder injury and that bondage involving her shoulder was a hard limit. They went over any other limits, and then he took her to one of the private rooms.

  Roger let me listen in as he negotiated a scene with a submissive, too. It was a great learning experience, and I paid close attention. Like Mark, he asked the girl about her hard limits, soft limits and any known triggers. Then they covered any injuries. As I listened, it became apparent that both Roger and Mark must have these questions as part of their negotiation routine and I began to make a mental note to make sure I establish some sort of routine as well. They ended up disappearing to another room, and I was left to roam on my own.

  I was intensely watching a scene with a rigger and a submissive in the main room when I heard heels getting louder on the floor. Pulling my eyes from the scene in front of me, I looked to my left and saw Mistress Lynn waltzing over. It was hard for me not to stare at her ample cleavage peeping between the blue latex outfit she had on.

  “So, how new are you?” she asked me.

  “Very new. This is my first night in a dungeon. I signed up though for a bunch of classes over the next few weeks.”

  “Everyone is new at one point, Anthony.”

  I nodded and turned my attention back to the rigger and the suspension scene. At least that way, I wasn’t staring at Lynn’s tits.

  “Are you in college?”

  “Yes. I’m a business major.”

  “Are you at a big school or a smaller one?”

  “UC Berkeley.”

  “You’re a brain boy, aren’t you?”

  “Not really. I’m good with math.”

  “Scholarship pay for school?”

  “My dad.”

  I assumed my dad was using money from the settlement to eat the cost of school. I’ve seen the tuition bill each semester. The only reason I agreed to UC Berkeley was that it was still close to him and I knew with the settlement that it’d be a great education without a dime from my dad’s pockets.

  “Grow up in the area?” she asked, and my heart began to pound.

  “No, I grew up in Las Vegas. I moved here during my senior year of high school with my dad.”

  “I love Las Vegas. I have a good friend out there who opened his own club a few years back. It’s so difficult to get licensing in Vegas, I hear.”

  I was instantly interested in a club back home.

  “What’s the name of it?”

  “Irons. I was there during the opening weekend. Amazing club.”

  I looked at my surroundings and raised an eyebrow at her.

  “This is a pretty amazing club too,” I commented.

  “Oh, it is. It has a lot of history and charm. But Irons, that’s a whole different class. If you’re in town when they do a guest night, you should go. You’ll see what I mean when I say that it’s in a league of its own.”

  “Do I just sign up to be a member like I did for this club?”

  She shook her head and started laughing. I frowned as I tried to figure out why my question was so funny.

  “No, dear. There isn’t a sign-up sheet for Irons. New members have to be referred by someone and on top of which, membership fees are twenty thousand dollars annually.”

  “What?”

  “I thought you were a numbers guy? Don’t worry, there are lots of clubs that everyone is welcome to join that doesn’t cost twenty grand. Like I said, try to get on the waiting list for guest night.”

  I nodded and returned to watching the rigger. I wondered what kind of rope he was using as I studied the position of the rope on her body that attached to the cables. She must feel little or no pressure. I was amazed.

  “Why don’t you go visit the cum-slut room and get that taken care of?” Lynn said.

  I looked at her with raised eyebrows because I really didn’t know what she was referring to, but the cum-slut room sounded fabulous. She cocked her head to the side and made it obvious she was looking at my erection that was ready to burst through my pants.

  “It’s kind of obvious,” she said.

  “Only if you’re looking,” I countered.

  Lynn’s cheeks turned red, and I winked at her.

  “Mmm, you are going to stop hearts. Are you sure you aren’t interested in switching?”

  I knew that term because I read about it this week. I wasn’t submissive. At all. Nothing about that turns me on. I’ve already been on the receiving end of belts and crap.

  “I’m dead sure.”

  “It was worth a shot,” she said, and we shared a quiet laugh. “Now, why don’t you go visit that room.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just go see for yourself. Lots of young ladies with cum fetishes,” she said.

  As she walked past me, she dragged her fingertips across my chest.

  I went back to watching the rigger and the girl for a few moments. Once the rigger got the girl into the position that he wanted her in, he unzipped his pants and pushed his dick in her. The guy pushed her off his dick, only to pull her back down on it. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to watch him and the girl or the rope above them on the cables.

  Fuck, I was hard.

  I decided to go down the hallway and find out what this cum-slut room was all about. There was a prominent sign above the door that said: “Cum Slut Room” in black lettering. From the hallway, I looked inside and saw a handful of naked women sucking cocks.

  Yes, I was interested in this room.

  What wasn’t visible from the hallway was a small group of guys jacking off on a woman. She was sucking on one while the others stroked. The girl was covered in cum, probably from others before these guys.

  “Ah, you found the cum slut room,” Mistress Lynn announced as she walked into the room and stood beside me. “So, what’s yo
ur fancy?” she asked.

  I gazed around the room and adjusted myself and thought about what I wanted.

  “Anthony, don’t over think this. This is simple. You just want to empty your balls.”

  I had a strong feeling that she wanted to see my dick. Unless she’s this forward with everyone, and she might be. There was something alluring to me about the anonymity of the group of guys, but I wasn’t sure that was right for me. While I glanced around the room, a little blonde walked over and knelt at my feet.

  “Sir, may I have your cum?” she asked quietly.

  I stepped forward, unzipping my pants and I pulled out my aching erection. In just the past week or so, I’ve had four mouths on my cock on two separate occasions. Both were very different. The one at the frat party had the giggling girls, playing around with me. The house slaves at Roger’s party that were cleaning me up felt so much better. Those women were experienced and played with my balls. I was about to find out how this little cum slut would compare.

  “How may I service you, Sir?” she asked and stared up at me with her green eyes.

  “Suck my balls,” I said and took another step forward.

  I watched her pull a nut into her mouth and felt her tongue massage it. Fuck me. Her hand went to work moving up and down the length of my shaft while her other hand massaged my other nut. When her eyes peered upward at me, I flinched and looked away. I didn’t want to look in her eyes. I concentrated on the wonderful feeling she was giving me and tilted my head back and stared at the ceiling.

  “Harder. Can you rub my balls harder?”

  It didn’t take very long, but I was about to come and announced it. The girl let go of me and opened her mouth waiting. Her eyes pierced me though, and it was almost enough to pull me out of the mood. I reached down and tugged on my balls, which sent a jet of cum from my cock onto her face. I looked at her body and not in her eyes as strands of my cream decorated her face and chest.