One Hot Night

by West, Megan

  Glancing at her watch, she saw it was nine-thirty. She hurriedly pulled out her makeup bag, doing a quick job of her face. She focused more on her eyes, shadowing and lining them in record time until they looked wide and smoky. Then she swept on rose-colored lipstick before smacking her lips with a slight smile.

  She rummaged for a pair of heels, settling on lace-up stilettos, and quickly slid in her one pair of diamond stud earrings, a graduation gift from her mother years ago. She grabbed a black clutch, tossed in her apartment key, ID, credit card and the lipstick, and reached for her phone to dial a taxi, taking a deep breath.

  I guess I really am doing this. She thought to herself as she walked out the front door with a heavy sigh.

  ***

  She texted Bethany from the taxi.

  -I’m on my way. No promises on how long I’m staying.-

  Her phone chimed a few seconds later.

  -Good! I’m so excited! I think you’ll enjoy it!-

  Bethany was clearly excited. And why shouldn’t she be? Katherine reasoned. Even if it wasn’t a particularly traditional career path, Bethany loved it. Her friend had paid her way through college by stripping and graduated with a degree in psychology, but she hadn’t wanted to go on to graduate school. She’d moved to San Francisco with Katherine largely because it was a city that was so accepting.

  Katherine had followed a job offer. Some days, during particularly slow hours at the office, she wondered if she had made a mistake by following such a traditional path. She worked at a magazine, put in her eight hours, hit the gym, and either went out for dinner with friends or ordered delivery to her apartment more often than not.

  She dated occasionally, had downloaded Tinder, and had sex about as often as she figured other attractive women her age did. It was good sex usually, ‘normal’ sex. She didn’t have any hang-ups about her body or her sexuality, and she’d always considered herself a pretty well-adjusted woman in her twenties.

  Yet, if she listened to Bethany, there was a whole other world of sex that she hadn’t even tapped into. A world where sex wasn’t just an activity that happened sometimes when the stars aligned, but something to be pursued, enjoyed, savored—like a good glass of wine. She shivered suddenly, wondering what it might be like to have a man be so singularly devoted to the sensations that he was producing in her body.

  Even if some of them involved pain.

  Katherine was snapped out of her thoughts by the taxi pulling up to the curb. She quickly paid and stepped out, careful of her stilettos on the uneven sidewalk and not flashing anyone in her short dress.

  The door to the club was a wrought-iron gate flush with the wall, through which she could see a set of steps that descended into a faintly lit darkness. There was a purple carpet rolled out onto the sidewalk, and several black-clad bouncers hanging around the entrance. She walked directly to the front and showed them her ID.

  “I’m on the list. Invitee of Bethany Rockland.”

  One of the bouncers looked confused, but the other, clearly more experienced, shook his head and pointed to the list. “Mistress Venus.”

  Katherine blinked, but said nothing.

  They found her name, and the bouncer produced a ring of keys that looked as though they belonged to a medieval prison. He unlocked the gate and swung it open. “Enjoy your evening, Miss.”

  Katherine smiled, and then focused on the task of walking somewhat gracefully down the steep, dark stairs. She was greeted immediately by a woman dressed only in a complicated mess of black leather straps. One went across her breasts, obscuring her nipples, while another wrapped just beneath them, pushing them upwards. Two crossed over her abdomen in an X, while another went directly between her legs. She was barefoot, and wore a thin black collar around her neck with a silver loop hanging from it. She was balancing a tray of drinks, and handed Katherine a glass of champagne.

  She accepted it and took a sip. It was delicious and tasted expensive. She secretly looked the woman up and down—a dominant, maybe? She suppressed a giggle at the thought. How very appropriate. She took another sip. Maybe she would be hanging around for a little while.

  She made her way down a purple-carpeted hallway. Antique lanterns were hanging from the walls, lighting her way dimly. All the way down, women stood stiffly in exact intervals, stone-faced and silent. They were nearly nude, with only black leather pasties encrusted in jewels covering their nipples, and skimpy black panties. All wore the same thin black collars. At the very end was another wrought-iron gate, and Katherine blinked, her eyes widening.

  A tall woman in black high heels, her blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders, stood with a ring of keys in her hand. She was completely nude except for the collar, from which a thin gold chain ran, stringing through two gold hoops pierced through her nipples, and down between her legs. Katherine shuddered a little, quickly imagining what else it was clipped to.

  The woman moved gracefully, unlocking the gate and holding it open. “Enjoy your evening, Mistress.”

  Katherine walked quickly through the gate, clutching her champagne with slightly rattled nerves. She stepped out, and found herself in a huge, circular room. The floor was hardwood, and the walls were all heavy stone, resembling a medieval castle. There was a marble bar in the center, and a huge stage built out of stone jutting from one wall. At the other end, a winding iron staircase led up to a balcony, and presumably somewhere else as well. There was another wrought-iron gate in one section of the wall, and Katherine wondered where it went.

  She had a suspicion she might not want to know.

  She headed for the bar, still taking in her surroundings. There were all kinds of equipment against the walls that she didn’t recognize. There was an X-shaped structure made of polished wood, benches covered in leather, and she noticed for the first time that the ceiling had a strange suspension system.

  “Here for the show?”

  Katherine’s head snapped around, and she saw that the bartender was speaking to her. “Oh, I’m just here for my friend. It’s her first night. Bethany…er…Mistress Venus,” she corrected herself, the title sounding even stranger as she said it.

  The bartender grinned. “She’s my favorite,” he said, leaning forward conspiratorially.

  Katherine blinked. Favorite? For what? She had a sudden vision of the lean, dark-haired man in front of her tied up on the floor while Bethany ground a stiletto into his back…or something equally as strange.

  “She’ll be part of the show tonight. You’re in for a treat.”

  Katherine wasn’t too sure about that. She took a seat on one of the cushioned bar stools. “Glenmorangie, neat,” she ordered, and the bartender grinned. “My kind of lady.”

  Katherine didn’t know whether that was a compliment or not. She took the glass he handed her and surveyed the floor. It was starting to fill up. She remembered Bethany telling her that the show would begin at midnight. The floor was swarming with people—women dressed in corsets and tight pencil skirts, or short black or red dresses like the one she was wearing.

  She saw a couple thin, model-ish women wearing black latex dresses. The men were wearing dark jeans or black slacks, with button-down shirts partially unbuttoned. A few were wearing blazers. A few were shirtless. She glanced at the entrance and saw a woman walk in wearing an impossibly tight corset, and an ankle-length black pencil skirt, her hair piled high atop her head and diamond earrings cascading from her ears. Her heels had to be six inches high. Behind her walked a man in latex pants, without a shirt. He was wearing a thick black collar, and a leather leash was attached to it, the end casually held in the woman’s hand. The light from the lanterns on the walls caught the glint of metal hoops pierced through his nipples. Katherine knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help herself. She had never seen anything like this.

  “Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

  The voice was smooth and deep, inches from her ear. She turned to see who it belonged to.

  A tall man sat casually on
the barstool next to her, a glass of clear liquid and ice in his hand. Vodka, gin or tequila? He was dressed in dark denim, with a pinstriped button-down that looked worn-in and soft. A navy blue blazer was over it, the sleeves of the blazer and the shirt pushed up. The first thing Katherine noticed was that all the buttons of his shirt were done.

  The next thing she noticed were his eyes. They were blue, a soft aquamarine color, sparkling against his pale, smooth skin. His hair was light brown and artfully messy. He leaned a little closer, and her skin prickled.

  “Do you come to these sorts of things often?”

  Katherine shook her head. “I’ve never been before, actually. My friend is one of the dominatrices here, this is her first night in their show. I came for support.”

  “Oh, so you’re a virgin.” He said the last with a smirk and a soft purr to his words, and she shivered a little.

  “I’m not…” she started to protest, and then she realized what he meant—a virgin to this sort of thing. “Oh. Well, I suppose so.”

  “It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” He motioned his head in the direction of the woman in the long skirt, who was at the opposite end of the bar. The woman’s pet man was kneeling on the floor next to her. She accepted her glass from the bartended and tugged sharply on the leash. The man rose swiftly and gracefully to his feet, following her silently into the crowd.

  “I don’t get it,” Katherine admitted. “Why would anyone want to follow someone around on a leash? It really doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Some people enjoy submitting wholly to the whims of others.”

  “That sounds like slavery.”

  “Well, it is, I suppose, in name. They do call themselves slaves, or submissives sometimes, or pets. But it’s all consensual.” He laughed. “I didn’t expect to be educating someone on the ins and outs of this life here tonight.”

  “Are you a part of it?” Katherine turned to face him, her expression curious. “Where’s your slave…or pet, or whatever?”

  “I’m absent a submissive at this moment.” He lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “Maybe I will find a new one tonight.” His eyes caught hers for a moment. She shifted in her seat, feeling suddenly warm.

  “Good luck,” Katherine said, laughing a little. “I hope you find someone.”

  He didn’t stop looking at her. “I think I might.” He motioned for the bartender. “Another gin and tonic for me, and another scotch for the lady.” He took both glasses and handed her the Glenmorangie. “Maybe I’ll see you later.” He leaned forwards, kissing her on the cheek, and then turned, disappearing into the swelling crowd.

  Her cheek tingled where his lips had touched. She could smell his cologne hovering in the air, notes of sage and tobacco and leather. She took a sip of her drink, savoring the heat and smoky flavor of it in her throat. It had been a long time since she’d met a man with such an arresting presence.

  She almost hoped that she would see him again.

  ***

  Some time and another whisky later, Katherine checked her phone. Ten minutes to midnight. She slid off of the barstool, taking a glass with her, and started to move through the crowd, looking for a spot near the stage where she could see Bethany when she came out. She found a place in the front line of people surrounding it, and stood, sipping her drink as she waited.

  Midnight was announced by the heavy tolling of bells marking the time. A large iron chandelier descended from the ceiling, lit with thick candles. She couldn’t tell from the distance she was at if they were real candles or not, but she suspected that they might be fake. Otherwise wax would drip on the participants in the show.

  Actually, they might like that, Katherine reconsidered.

  A heavy door embedded in the stone wall of the room swung open with a groan of iron hinges, and Katherine saw the woman who had let her into the room walk forward, the gold chain catching the light and sparkling. She ascended the stairs gracefully, moving to stand front and center on the stage. A few paces behind her, a man in leather pants and a black shirt, half unbuttoned, followed.

  A whip made up of several tails of leather attached to a heavy handle was in his hand. He snapped it, the tails hitting the stone floor of the stage with a crack. The woman didn’t so much as flinch, but Katherine could see her breasts heaving. The man walked up behind her, one hand running down the side of her waist.

  Katherine saw her skin tense with her reaction to his touch. Her mouth parted slightly as his hand ran up her stomach, the other reaching over her shoulder. He tossed the whip to the ground next to her. Both hands found her breasts simultaneously, his fingers tweaking at the pierced nipples, the chain tightening as he toyed with the hoops and then tugged them forward, straining against the pink spheres of her areolae. His hands skimmed down her waist, one remaining on her hip while the other dipped between her legs, spreading her pussy lips between them so that the crowd could see the ring hidden there, glinting in the candlelight. From her vantage point, Katherine could see the girl was wet. She was enjoying it.

  “Enjoying the show?”

  Katherine flinched, turning her head and gripping her glass more tightly to keep from spilling it. The brown-haired man from before was just behind her, smiling rakishly. He was still alone.

  “It’s…different.” Katherine said, raising her glass to her lips. Her heartbeat fluttered in her chest. The man on stage was running his fingers slowly between the girl’s legs, stroking her softly. The girl was clearly enjoying herself, her eyes glassy with pleasure, though she remained motionless.

  “Her training is impeccable,” the man whispered to Katherine, his breath brushing against her ear. She shivered. For a sudden moment, she imagined his hands wrapping around her like the man on stage. Her nipples stiffened inside her push-up bra, and she was suddenly very thankful for the layers of foam and fabric between her breasts and the eyes of the crowd.

  “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” he murmured, his warm breath still tickling her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “I’m Andrew.”

  “Katherine,” she murmured. “Pleased to meet…” she turned suddenly, realizing why he had seemed familiar at first. She had seen his picture in a profile her magazine had done. “Andrew Blake?”

  He grinned. “The very same.” He took her shoulders and turned her back to face the stage. “You’ll miss the show, Katherine.” His voice caressed her name, and she felt her face start to flush with heat. The man was having a hell of an effect on her. Or maybe it was only the whisky.

  The man on stage had stepped away from the girl and reached for his whip. He flicked the tails out, letting them caress the skin of her back and butt before taking another step back and snapping it. The girl turned, and followed the man to a padded bench, placed horizontally on the stage. She leaned over it, her abdomen squarely on the padding, and her hands flat on the stone on the other side. Her blonde hair fell down and around her face, obscuring it from view. The man stood to the side, letting the crowd take in the view of the girl’s firm, pale ass and long legs, displayed for them. He walked to an iron frame hanging on the wall where he hung the whip up. Next, he took down a long thin cane.

  “She’s enjoying this?” Katherine asked, her voice disbelieving.

  “She’s loving it,” Andrew assured her.

  The man flexed the thin cane, and then, reaching back, he snapped it across the girl’s ass. She flinched, but made no sound. He did it again, and then again. Three bright red lines crossed her pale skin. The girl’s back was arched, pushing herself out to meet the blows, the muscles in her legs taut and quivering. The man struck again twice, and Katherine thought she heard the girl moan. Her own skin was hot as she felt Andrew’s presence behind her.

  The blows were coming faster now, and she could see sweat gleaming on the man’s forehead. Andrew moved closer to her, either of his own volition or because the whole crowd was bearing forward, trying to get a better view.

  The girl’s back was arched so h
ard that Katherine thought it must hurt her, but she showed no signs of anything but pleasure in the pain. She was moaning in earnest now, her feet flexed so her toes pressed into the stone, and Katherine could see the muscles of the girl’s arms tense as the man struck again.

  “Twenty strokes,” Andrew murmured. “She really is well-trained.”

  The man on stage stepped back. The girl’s ass was patterned with welts, crisscrossed over her white flesh. She was breathing heavily. “Spread your legs, slave,” the man commanded. The girl did so, widening her stance so that the space between her thighs was clearly visible to the crowd. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd.

  She was dripping wet, dampness clearly visible on her thighs. The man stroked the cane up the insides of her legs, and the girl trembled, her ass pushing out towards the man in eager anticipation. “Five strokes,” he said, his voice carrying out, “and then you may come.”