by Sophie Stern
“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.
Chapter 3
Christina
When I step into my empty house, I pour a glass of wine and lean against the fridge as I down it. The house feels empty. Bennett is spending the night at my babysitter’s place. Every Friday, I watch Susan’s daughter and every Saturday, she watches mine. It works out well. We both get to have some “me” time and our daughters are best friends, so they love the sleepovers.
It helps that we live close to each other, too.
I finish my wine and pour another glass. Then I sink to the kitchen floor. I just sit there for a little while, wondering when my life started spinning so out of control. I suppose it was when Cameron died. I suppose it was when he disappeared from my life.
Cameron was always an anchor for me.
So many times, I felt like a ship floating away from the shore I wanted to be docked at. So many times, I felt like I couldn’t handle one more day. So many times, I felt lost, and he was there for me. He was always, always there for me. He rooted me, anchored me. He kept me exactly where I needed to be.
And I’ll always be grateful for that.
And I’ll always miss him.
The tears come before I expect them to. I should have expected them. It’s just that it’s been two years and I should be out of tears by now. I should be done crying. I should be done pining for my lost love.
I should be done missing him.
Tonight’s scene was so much fun, but so intense. I didn’t expect to orgasm in front of a crowd. I didn’t expect to come in front of a group of people. I never have before. Somehow, though, I thought about Odessa’s words, and I focused on the fact that tonight, I was just a submissive and nothing more, and I was able to let go.
I was able to stop thinking about my kid.
I was able to stop thinking about my job.
I was able to stop thinking about my dead husband.
For just a little while, I was able to be free, and it felt fucking fantastic.
And now I’m home and everything is hard.
Somehow, I manage to make it upstairs to my bedroom and crawl into bed. I don’t brush my teeth or wash off my makeup or take off my clothes. I just get in bed, and I curl up in a ball, and I cry. I cry and I cry and I cry. I wish for a different world: one where my husband was still alive. I wish for a different life: one where I wasn’t so alone. I wish for a different ending: one where my daughter still had a father.
And eventually, I cry myself to sleep.
*
I wake up when my alarm goes off at ten. I shut it off, but don’t fall back to sleep. I have two hours before I have to pick up Bennett. I have two hours to myself and I have no idea what I want to do.
First things first: I need to get cleaned up.
&
nbsp; Somehow, I manage to pull myself out of bed. I feel like I have a hangover, which is weird because I didn’t drink at the club at all, and I only had two glasses of wine when I got home. Then again, I did do an awfully lot of crying.
I make it to the bathroom and start the shower. Then I look at myself in the mirror. I’m a wreck, a mess. I’m not even a hot mess. I’m just a mess. My makeup is smeared from my crying. My eyes are still swollen. Hell, even my hair has gone against nature and just completely freaked out.
Everything about me looks awful.
I brush my teeth and stare at myself the entire time. I know that something has to change. I’m not exactly partying hard, but I’m playing at a sex club. I’m playing at a club and I have no right to be doing this. I’m a mother. I should be focusing on my daughter and making her happy. I shouldn’t be going out late. I shouldn’t be leaving her with a babysitter. I shouldn’t be doing any of those things.
“It’s just single mother guilt,” I tell myself out loud, remembering what Susan said the last time I expressed these thoughts.
Christina, everyone feels guilty about the things they can’t give their children. Everyone feels bad when they can’t give their children the world, but you know what? It’s not your fault he died. It’s not your fault that he was a military man. It’s not your fault, and you do not need to feel bad for needing a break once in awhile. No one was meant to do this alone.
Susan is a war widow, like me. We met at a support group shortly after our husbands died. They were both killed around the same time, so we’ve been able to go through the stages of grief together. We’ve been able to move through the stages one at a time, and we’ve been able to help each other.
Having Susan doesn’t make up for losing Cameron. Not by a long shot. Still, it’s nice to have someone who understands what I’m going through, who knows what it’s like to lose someone, who knows the struggle of raising a daughter on her own.
We both feel guilty so much of the time, but we do our best to move past that.
Susan has a boyfriend now: a nice man called Jim. He’s completely ordinary, completely normal, and completely perfect for her. He even has a completely regular job; he’s a teacher.
I’m happy for her.
I’m happy she’s been able to find some sort of normalcy in her life.
I’m happy she’s been able to move forward.
I just hope I’m able to do the same.
Eventually, I stop moping around, take my shower, and wash my hair. I shave my legs and wash my face and then I get out, blow-dry my hair, and get dressed. I don’t bother putting makeup on, but I probably should. It’s a good habit to get into, but right now, I just feel so tired and lonely that getting dressed takes an unbearable amount of effort on its own.
I shouldn’t be so depressed.
I shouldn’t be so sad.
I shouldn’t be so lonely after all this time.
Somehow, I manage to get into my car and drive to Susan’s. She only lives a few minutes away, which is another reason swapping babysitting with her works so well. It’s never too far.
When I knock on the door, I hear scurrying inside.
“I’ll get it!”
“No, I’ll get it!”
“It’s my turn! You got it last time!”
“I want to get it!”
“Girls,” I hear Susan’s voice calmly echoing through the house. “Neither one of you gets to answer the door. Wait for me.”
“But it’s my mom!” I hear Bennett’s voice loud and clear.
“It doesn’t matter who it is,” Susan says. “What’s the number one rule of staying safe at Miss Susan’s house?”
“Don’t answer the door without a grown-up,” both Bennett and Amelia say.
“That’s right.”
I hear the sound of the deadbolt and then Susan opens the door looking strangely perky for someone who just hosted a sleepover.
“Hey beautiful,” she says. “Come on in. I have coffee.”
“Thanks,” I step inside and Bennett immediately throws herself into my arms.
“Mommy! I missed you!”
“I missed you, too, princess,” I hug her and kiss her. “Did you have fun with Amelia last night?”
“Yes,” Bennett smiles.
“We watched a movie,” Amelia says.
“And ate cookies!” Bennett adds.
“Shhh,” Amelia shushes her. “That was a secret.”
I look at Susan, but she just laughs and motions for me to follow her into the kitchen.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t overdose them on sugar last night, but they did feel like baking, so we made chocolate chip cookies.” She points to a plastic bag on the kitchen counter. “We saved you plenty.”
“Girl, how am I going to eat all of these?” I look from the cookies to my tummy and back again. “There’s literally no way.”
“Just freeze them,” Susan shrugs. “They’ll last you months.”
“Thank you,” I say when she hands me a cup of coffee. I hear the girls giggling and laughing, and I make myself comfortable on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter. “How was Bennett for you?”
“Fine, as always,” Susan says. “How was your night?” She smirks knowingly. She’s been trading babysitting with me long enough to know that I like to spend my night off at clubs of some kind.
“It was okay,” I tell her. I should probably pour my heart out, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Maybe after another cup of coffee.
“Not the greatest?” She asks. Susan looks completely put-together this morning. Her hair is styled and her makeup is done. She’s wearing cute jeans with a nice shirt and she even has shoes on. I’m guessing that shortly after I leave, Jim will be making an appearance. He’s probably planning on taking the girls out to lunch. He’s sweet to them that way.
“It wasn’t bad,” I tell her. “But you know,” I pause. I don’t know what I want to say. I don’t know how to put what I’m feeling into words.
“But you want something more,” Susan supplies helpfully.
“Yeah,” I say, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I want something more, with someone more. It’s been a long time since Cameron passed away. Sometimes it feels like the blink of an eye and sometimes it feels like a lifetime. Things are so different now. I’ve had to be strong for so long and sometimes, I don’t know, Susan.”
“Sometimes you want someone to take care of you?”
“Does that make me sound totally pathetic?” I ask, wincing.
“Not at all. We all need that, Christina. We all need someone sometimes. I felt the same way before Jim and I got together, you know.”
“I remember,” I say. Susan struggled with whether or not she was ready to date someone. She worried about whether she’d waited long enough after her husband’s death to start dating. She worried what people would think. She worried so much.
But she needn’t have worried.
Jim is totally perfect for her. He’s nice, and normal, and she spoils her.
He takes care of her.
He watches over her.
And part of me wishes I could find someone like that, but part of me is scared that deep down, I’m too much of a freak for that. Playing at Anchored is my “me” time. It’s how I relax. It’s how I unwind. It’s also how I let myself feel.
I’ve had to be strong for so long. I’ve had to keep my emotions locked up because if I think about my grief too much, it will overwhelm me. Then I won’t be able to go to work and I won’t be able to focus and I won’t be able to do anything. That can’t happen because Bennett is depending on me. She needs me.
What if I start dating someone and he breaks my heart?
What if that’s the final straw?
What if that’s all it takes to shatter me?
What if I break and there’s no one to pick up the pieces?
What will I do then?
I can’t let my daughter down. I’m
all she has left. If I get into a relationship and it fails, she’s going to experience the effects of that. If I get into a relationship and things go horribly, terribly wrong, Bennett is going to suffer, too, and that’s not really fair.
“Christina, there’s nothing wrong with admitting you want someone.”
“I don’t want someone specifically,” I tell her. “I don’t have a secret crush or anything like that. There’s no tall, dark, and handsome stranger waiting in the shadows for me. I just sometimes wish I wasn’t so alone all the time.”
“This is going to sound really lame, hon, but have you thought about just getting on a dating app and finding someone? You know, just testing the waters? You don’t have to sleep with anyone,” she adds quickly. “But what if you just went on a couple of dates? You know, just to see how it goes.”
“I haven’t really thought about it,” I admit.
“There’s a good one,” she says. “It’s called Turntable. You should check it out. That’s how Jim and I met, after all.”
“Really?” She never told me that.
“Really,” Susan sips her coffee. “Just give it a try. What’s the worse than could happen?”
Chapter 4
Zack
As a real estate attorney, I spend most of my days in the office staring at paperwork. I write contracts and closing agreements and I look at documents. I help my clients understand what their legal rights are and, most importantly, advise them as to whether they should sign certain contracts or not.
Believe it or not, when it comes to buying and selling real estate, most people don’t really completely understand what they’re getting into. That’s what makes my job so important and what ensures I have a solid client base.
When people are in a hurry to buy or sell a piece of land or a house, they tend to make rash decisions. These choices aren’t always in their best interests. When they talk with me first, I’m able to help guide them and help them figure out what the smartest move is.
Today, I’m helping an elderly couple finalize the sale of their home to a young family. The couple is getting older and they’re both in poor health, so they’re going to move in with their daughter. As we sign the last of the paperwork, they thank me for helping them over the course of the last few weeks.
