Well, she wasn’t wrong about the hook-up thing. The first three hits on the search for “BDSM dating” were full of intimidating personal ads featuring an excess of close-up genital shots. She almost didn’t click on the fourth result because it was listed as a forum rather than a dating site, then she realised she had more questions than answers about the whole thing, so the site could be useful.
There were still far more genitals on display than she was accustomed to seeing at work. Maisy resigned herself to completing the search at home, but not before she asked a quick question in a thread helpfully titled “Ask Stupid Newbie Questions Here.”
With a title like that, maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised by the antagonistic responses she received.
Chapter 3
Not a Pizza Place
Maisy shut the front door with a happy sigh, it’d been one hell of a dull day. Thankfully, Harry was still out, so she had plenty of time to have a cup of tea and just slob out with a book - exactly what the doctor ordered. Before she settled in though, she remembered she had a forum to check.
The wonky kettle filled the kitchenette with steam as Maisy scrolled through the replies to her post.
All she’d asked was whether the kind of relationships she read about; the intimate, loving, kinky as all get out ones, even existed in real life and were there BDSM clubs in London as well as in her books?
She couldn’t even get off by herself anymore without biting her own arm or cuffing her legs to the bed (something that feels very silly after the orgasm). There really wasn’t much point pretending she could just find a normal man and go off and have lots of normal sex like her girlfriends. She needed more.
Where on Earth were you meant to find a Dom anyway? The women in her novels were always swept off their feet by perfect men who knew how to make them scream with pleasure at the merest provocation, which sounded great, but hardly achievable.
The people on the fetish forum seemed to share her doubts. Several creepy guys offered to show her the ropes, wink wink, nudge nudge, if she’d just send them her address. Some, predictably enough, sent pictures of their dicks. A few accused her of being a man pretending to be a woman because she wouldn’t meet those creepy guys. Some sneered at her for asking such a naive question and suggested she go back to her ‘little books’ if she couldn’t be bothered to do any real research.
“Well,” Maisy muttered, preparing to close the web browser and do just that, “Sorry I asked.”
Before she could click on the little ‘x’ in the corner of the screen, the envelope icon started blinking red. One (1) new message.
“Please don’t be a cock shot, please don’t be a cock shot, please don’t be a...phew.” The message was blessedly free from any attachments.
“Dear JustCurious,
I hope you’re not too discouraged by the replies you’ve received. It’s always a shame to see derision towards those new to the scene.
To answer your question in the relative privacy not afforded on that message board: Yes. The kind of relationship you describe does exist, more or less, as do countless other intensities and variations on the broader theme of power exchange.
Relaxed BDSM clubs are also very real in most major cities worldwide. I’m sure your research led you to some sites advertising big club nights.
There are, however, more private places to indulge that side of your personality, many of which choose not to advertise.
I’m a member of a club in London which might suit your interests. It’s relaxed, classy, and safe.
They run regular beginner’s nights and all members are carefully vetted and monitored for everyone’s safety.
It’d be an ideal place to get a taste of ‘real’ kink, as you put it. If you’re interested, here’s the address and the dates for the next beginner’s nights.
I recommend bringing a friend to relieve nerves. Of course, if you like, I’d happily show you around myself.
www.clubdrift.co.uk
Hope to see you there,
Dan”
With a healthy sense of cautious scepticism (installed during her teenage years on the internet) she reread the message a few times.
He didn’t seem to be sarcastic. His profile was sparse: no face picture, a generic suit wearing torso, an equally generic username, age (35), and the fact he was apparently single. Although, as the more helpful caustic comments on her forum post had pointed out, that didn’t really mean much online. Apparently married men posing as super-Doms online to lure in naive newbies was a common problem, who knew?
What’s more, this Dan hadn’t jumped straight into bossing her around, which was a huge plus compared to some of the other messages she’d received. He didn’t even seem interested in her personally. The sensible advice to bring a friend prevented her worrying that he was after a hook-up.
He’d just told her politely where she could find actual answers to her question. That’s about as non-threatening as you could get in the circumstances.
She searched the address he’d given her. It came up as Club Drift: Private Members Club. The home page was black with nothing but a phone number and the address in a small and unassuming bronze type.
If she phoned ahead she’d know it was a real place and they could tell her more about beginner’s nights.
She tentatively dialled the number, swearing to kick herself upside the head if it turned out to be a big hoax and she was just phoning the local pizza place.
“You’ve reached Club Drift, how may I help you?” The speaker’s French accent was so strong it took her a moment to adjust.
“Yes, hello. I was just wondering...I was referred to you by... Sorry, I think I have the wrong number.”
“One moment if you please. Were you given this number by Daniel?”
“No,” She clicked back to the tab with the forum, the message did say Dan. “Well, yes, I suppose so. He sent me a message online and I looked you up.”
“Oui! Excellent. I’ll just get him for you.”
“No! Wait! I just wanted to-”
“Hello?” A deep and rumbling voice with a London accent.
“This is kind of embarrassing. I was just calling to see if, well, if this was a real place, to be honest.”
The man chuckled, “A perfectly reasonable thing to do. I suppose Claude hasn’t helped by passing you straight back to me.”
“At least I know you’re real.” She cringed. What did that even mean? I thought you were a troll, but now you’ve got a voice I’m completely reassured? Glad to hear you’re not a haunted computer emailing me to get my hopes up? For goodness sake, Maisy.
“Indeed. I sent you a message this afternoon inviting you to beginner’s night, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m, uh, JustCurious,” She wrinkled her nose at the awkward introduction, “And I was wondering what ‘beginner’s night’ actually means.”
“Mostly what it sounds like. Claude - he’s the owner by the way - Claude opens the club to non-members on a weeknight so they can come in, chat to some regulars, check out the equipment, stuff like that. It’s just so people can get a feel for the place without the pressures of a full club night. Like a very relaxed munch.”
What the hell’s a munch, she thought.
“Right. Okay. That sounds much less terrifying than I imagined.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Shall I put your name down?”
“I guess so. First Tuesday of the month, right?”
“Next Tuesday, yes.”
“Oh wow, so it is. I’ll be there.”
“And the name?”
“Maisy Be-. Just Maisy.”
“I look forward to seeing you there, just Maisy.”
He hung up before she could respond.
Chapter 4
101
By the time Tuesday rolled around Maisy’s mind was brimming with every excuse she could think of not to go to beginner’s night. What was she supposed to wear to ‘Intro to kink 101’ anyway?
Latex? No, she definitely didn’t have anything like that in the back of her wardrobe and that was probably trying too hard anyway. Jeans? This place sounded pretty ritzy, maybe jeans were off the dress code.
A secretive, classy website was all very well, but sometimes people just wanted a dress code and some hard facts, damn it. She’d have to have a word with this Claude about her web developer contacts, surely he was missing out on business by... No, Maisy, no work. Definitely keep this weirdness separate from work.
She was suddenly struck by the delightful image of Michael sneering at the low cut black top she was trying on. “Well, she’s always been a little strange,” Imaginary Michael said, the stench of whiskey strong even in her mind. No. Maybe she should take a leaf out of Claude’s book with the privacy thing.
Maisy wasn’t ashamed of this interest exactly, she felt a bit like an adventurer about to discover uncharted territory, but some people were, well, some people were just Michaels. Best to keep it all separate. She settled on tight jeans in black, which took the casual vibe away a bit, and a red top in a draped silky fabric which showed some cleavage.
Not too casual, but not too dressy or revealing either. Maisy crossed her fingers in silent prayer that she’d guessed right. Then again, if she walked in and everyone was wearing fetish gear on the relaxed coffee night she wouldn’t feel under-dressed; more like terrified. This was meant to be an easy introduction, like the kiddie pool.
She’d web-searched the term ‘munch’ after speaking to Daniel on the phone. Apparently it was a social event for kinky people that didn’t involve actually doing anything kinky. That was the best she’d been able to come up with, anyway.
She couldn’t help wondering what Dan and Claude looked like. Hearing their voices but having no reference for their actual physical appearance meant her imagined versions of them varied wildly day to day.
Claude went from a (frankly offensive) French caricature with a thin moustache and thinner legs to a rotund uncle-like figure, while Dan went from Mr. Darcy to Mr. Face Like a Bag of Spanners. Strangely, the more she thought about it the more he turned into Mr. Darcy. Well, no harm in hoping the nice helpful man was attractive. After all, he was the only person there besides the owner whose name she knew.
Maybe she could talk to him if she was brave enough. Ask him some questions. Maybe he’d show her the equipment, maybe even demonstra- Whoa girl. You’re just going to see what it’s about, don’t get too worked up. It’s not even a date, thank goodness. The last thing Maisy needed was a date to worry about as well.
AS FAST AS FIVE-FOOT-four Maisy could go without looking like she was running wasn’t very fast at all, but she was desperate to get to Club Drift and inside before she could change her mind or be seen. Then again, there was no reason for anyone to think anything untoward was happening behind the little door in the huge black-boarded railway arch.
A bouncer in a dark suit stood near the entrance. She slowed to a halt when she spotted the imposing man, wondering again if this really was safe. A gaggle of giggling young couples wandered past her in their office clothes, waved at the bouncer, and went inside. Okay, so she wasn’t a single woman wandering into a murder den. Probably. Almost definitely. Maybe.
Maisy took a steeling breath and approached the bouncer, trying to look calmer than she felt. She noticed a discreet bronze plaque on the door that read simply ‘Club Drift.’
“I’m here for, um, I-”
The man interrupted brusquely “Don’t ask me, darling. The scary chick inside’s got the list.”
“But you’re the - fine. Thanks.” Maisy gave him a tight smile and pushed the heavy door open.
The small room behind the door surprised her, but she soon noticed the arched doorway beyond the reception desk, heard the not too distant clinking of glasses, and realised this was just a tiny partitioned part of the huge disused railway tunnels. Everything was gleaming glass and brass, a stark contrast with the bare stone floor.
“Good evening.”
Maisy jumped, she’d been so distracted by the lush Art Deco chandelier she hadn’t even noticed the woman in the shadows behind the desk. The tall and extremely attractive woman gave Maisy a warm smile, soothing her startled nerves. Scary, had the bouncer said? Surely not. “Are you on the list?”
“Yes, I think Daniel put me down. It’s Maisy.”
“Lovely to meet you, Maisy,” She crossed Maisy’s name out on a clipboard and came around the desk to shake her hand. She was wearing a tight-fitting black dress that was a touch too revealing to be office wear, but was still very proper somehow. “I’m Matilda, one of the house crew Daniel no doubt warned you about.”
“Right.” He hadn’t, Maisy wasn’t sure what she meant by that, “Nice to meet you,” she tried to smile, but nerves got the better of her and it came out more like a grimace.
“Just fill in this tiny form for me and then you can go on in,” Matilda passed her a form that said page one on it, but for some reason it didn’t have any other pages. She filled in her name, address, telephone number, and, slightly unsettling, her next of kin.
“First time can be scary. This little box room doesn’t help. Here, I’ll show you into the main club. Get it over with then you can relax and chat some, it’s like ripping off a plaster, you know?” Was that a Caribbean lilt in her voice? Everything about the woman exuded kindness, confidence, and good humour. Maisy realised through her nerve induced fog that she liked Matilda immediately.
“Uhuh. Sure.” Maisy nodded, but although her gaze focused on the big doors behind the desk she didn’t move her feet.
“Poor Maisy.” Maisy frowned, but she found only understanding in the other woman’s smile, her eyes held no mockery. “Come.” Matilda took Maisy’s cold hand in her own warm one and led her firmly to the doors, pushing them open before she could hesitate again.
“Oh wow.”
Matilda chuckled and squeezed her hand before releasing it, “Wow is right, sweet thing.”
Maisy wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Maybe a strange, dingy room with red lighting and plastic seats. Maybe a dungeon with metalwork restraints and next to no lighting. What she hadn’t been expecting was a lush and expansive underground bar straight out of The Great Gatsby with cavernous arched ceilings and decadent furnishings.
The seemingly endless space they’d entered was surprisingly warm for a bare brick room with a flagstone floor. Moustachioed men and precisely coiffed women in elegant period costumes manned the glass and brass bar that dominated the main room.
Maisy could see further tunnels that led beyond the huge space to areas bathed in shadow. Booths with burgundy upholstery in lush velvet or suede and dark wood tables framed the brick walls; women in beaded frocks with fringes that swayed tantalisingly with their hips moved among them serving drinks.
“Maisy? You okay with me going to get the next startled rabbit?”
“Hm? Oh! Yeah, thanks for showing me in, Matilda.”
“No worries. Dan is on bar duty for the next hour or so if you’re looking for him.” She nodded then went back the way they’d came, leaving Maisy in the doorway.
Okay, maybe I should have asked her to walk me to the bar, Maisy thought. Although it was early, the massive room was already heaving with intimate groups of friends and couples, all smiling and laughing. She felt like a gooseberry. After a deep breath she started walking towards the unusually large bar. It seemed much further away than it had a moment ago when she’d been admiring the antique water drip dispensers from a safe distance - were they the things you use for Absinthe? She was sure she’d seen that in a film once.
A lot of her surroundings reminded her of old films she’d seen, now she thought about it. One foot in front of the other, Maisy, go on. No-one’s looking. Okay, they are looking a bit. Is that guy wearing a dog collar? Oh shit, don’t stare, now he’s frowning. Keep walking. Hey, this floor is much too hard, I hope those girls are wearing kneepads. One, two, one, two - God, I hope they�
�re serving alcohol tonight - one, two, one two.
DANIEL WATCHED THE little newcomer approach from behind his bar. The poor woman looked like a kid on their way to the head teacher’s office for a telling off. It had to be Maisy, the girl from the forum. She’d seemed so curious, so articulate in her responses on the site, he hadn’t been able to resist reaching out to her.
Claude had been nagging him to do some recruitment for a long time, so Dan had started keeping an eye on the popular forums. Maisy was the first person he’d encouraged to attend a beginner’s event. Dan valued the privacy a carefully curated membership offered, so although he’d told Claude he’d keep an eye out for potential new members he’d been slacking. Claude didn’t really understand advertising and he too was concerned about privacy, but he insisted that the younger side of the membership needed a boost.
She was obviously nervous, terrified even, and there she was, putting one foot in front of the other. When she reached the bar, Dan was delighted to see that she was only a few inches taller than its highest point - damn cute.
Claude’s oversize bar was an ingenious choice in a club that regularly entertained submissives who like to feel small. She blinked at the bronze bar rail that was just below her chin and shook her head before looking around the bar for help. Big brown eyes, full lips, lush curves, dark curls - damned if she wasn’t the prettiest newbie he’d seen in a long time. Shame he’d have to behave himself so as not to scare her off. He approached quietly.
“Maisy?” She jumped, wide eyes turning to him.
“Yes? Wait, how did you-”
“It’s Daniel. Glad to see you showed up.”
Maisy's Keeper: Club Drift, Book One (The Club Drift Series 1) Page 2
