by Sophie Stern
“You’d think with all the money they’re making, there would be an easier way to distinguish the drinkers than making people wear these damn things.”
“You’d think so,” a voice says to my left. “But then again, people are tricky. Perhaps the motivation is to discourage people from drinking at all.”
I turn to see a man in the shadows. I can’t see his face, but I don’t have to in order to know this is a powerful man: one who is used to being listened to. Is it the owner? It must be the owner.
“Perhaps you’re right,” I say simply, and the man turns and vanishes into the room.
“That’s Master Thorn.”
“His name is Thorn?”
“Last name. Not sure what his first name is and I don’t really care.”
“Interesting guy.” You’d have to be. If he is the owner, the man single-handedly took a mini-cruise ship and converted it into a sex club. Who would have dreamed that up? It’s incredible. The interior of Anchored is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, as far as sex clubs go.
The dungeon is dark and the music is loud, but everything is clean and new and pristine. There’s a nautical theme throughout the dungeon. There are ship’s wheels throughout the room, along with rope and flags and sails. The entire thing looks exactly like the interior of a ship should, except that there are also crosses and spanking benches and stages.
“Allow me to give you a tour,” Anthony says, pointing to a stage. “That’s the main stage. That’s where the big demonstrations happen.”
“Demonstrations?”
“Sometimes they’ll bring in a specialist or an expert who can show a new technique. Maybe it’ll be a ropes demonstration or perhaps they’ll have a psychologist who gives tips for aftercare. Could be anything. That all happens there. There are a couple of smaller stages,” he points. “As well as play areas for people who want to experiment publicly.”
“And for people who don’t want to experiment publicly, but who still want to play?”
“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.
Get your copy on Amazon: Starboard (Anchored Book 1).
