Dirty Bad Wrong

by Jade West

  She brought me coffee every fucking morning, just how I liked it. Just like we were friends, placing it on my desk with the same shy smile every motherfucking day. And the meetings, countless fucking hours of watching Lydia Marsh watching me, oblivious to the torment of her pretty green eyes. Lydia Marsh who didn’t think I cared shit for her. It’s better that way. Definitely better for me.

  I’d given Explicit a wide berth for weeks. The club regulars dulled to grey once I’d seen the pain in Lydia Marsh’s eyes. Even sweet little Cara, even Rebecca. What I’d seen in Lydia was real. Beautiful, hot, raw pain; her broken soul peeking out through the cracks in her armour for just one single helpless moment, and I’d seen it. I’d seen her. Even if I bleached my retinas she’d still be there, sobbing her hard little heart out in the kitchen.

  I slammed the file shut and smoothed down the edges. Perfect order. Just how I liked it.

  ***

  I didn’t tell Bex I’d changed my plans. She’d find out for herself soon enough.

  In my craving for a distraction I’d done the unthinkable. I’d pulled out the little black book. The virtual little black book, of course: full of email addresses and online dating profiles all tagged together nicely with photos of my encounters. I’d checked them out one by one, browsing for the perfect Lydia Marsh antidote. Several were off the radar, status relationship or no longer active at all, others I’d red flagged as emotional no-gos. I only hit one lucky jackpot. A submissive known as Violet from over in Kent, far enough away to avoid ‘just passing’ or suggestions of coffee, but close enough to make it in on short notice. She’d been good last time around. Nicely experienced. Really fucking dirty but a little too fucking keen. Still, we’d passed the six month cool-off, she was green light status all over again.

  I’d dropped her a message, making it perfectly clear what I wanted from her. She’d taken the bait, just like I’d hoped. I used the opportunity to check out Masque’s profile. It was still relevant. Sparsely populated, unrecognisable and entirely untraceable.

  Interests - Everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. No vanilla.

  Seeking - Sex only. Casual encounters.

  Not in a hotel bed, with the cute little coffee trays and in-room satellite TV. Not in some random woman’s living room surrounded by domestic trinkets and family photos, and sure as hell not in mine. One venue only. Public, casual, impersonal. No strings, no questions, just filthy rough sex. They’d never even see my face.

  It’s amazing how many women want it that way.

  I took up my position at the shadowy side of the bar, watching for my guest. I was invisible from the main entrance, well placed to enjoy her nervousness as she looked around the room for me, jittery and unsure as the stepped amongst the club regulars. I saw Violet’s hair first, redder than I remembered, piled up high on her head in a vintage wave, her long neck sloping down into narrow collarbones. She was older than me, hitting just the other side of forty and blessed with both a high pain threshold and a deep-seated desire to be abused in public. She was a gusher, with a pussy long ripened for punishment, conditioned for the hard stuff by two rough labours and a special-interest side income. Pay-per-minute webcam, fucking herself raw with any crazy implement her public paid for. It was her edge over the younger competition. Good news for her bank balance and good news for me. She’d take my whole fucking fist without so much as a whimper. Dirty bitch. My cock twitched. Thank sweet Jesus for that.

  I made my approach without speaking a word. She sensed my presence, turning to look up at me with hungry eyes.

  “Masque, hi. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  “Hello, Violet.” I took hold of her chin, forcing her face from side to side as I checked her out at close quarters. “You look good.”

  “Not for long, sir, I’m sure.”

  I tipped my head to the main floor, to the cuffs hanging down from the ceiling centre stage. “I’m going to hurt you in the spotlight, Violet, for the whole club to see. Do you consent?”

  She didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

  “I’m going to fuck you up bad, Violet, do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Her eyes lingered on mine, dark as night in the shadowy hollows of my mask. “Please, sir, if you would, please bruise me bad. My regulars would like that, sir, very much.”

  “And where would your regulars like to see these bruises, Violet?”

  “Everywhere, sir.”

  “Tell me where, Violet. Where do you want me to hurt you?”

  I watched her gulp, her chin still tight in my grip. “My ass, sir, and my thighs.”

  “And?”

  “And my tits, sir, please... and please hurt my pussy, too.”

  “The regulars want to jack-off to your gaping, bruised cunt, do they Violet?”

  Colour bloomed right across her cheeks. “No, sir, that’s just for me.”

  “Good girl, Violet. Good girl. Let’s get a drink.”

  ***

  Lydia

  Crazy, crazy, crazy, I’m fucking crazy.

  I’d officially lost my mind, leaving the Dev at gone midnight to trail along with my new weirdo friends to their weirdo-wacko sex bar. All I really knew was that it was located in Soho. We took the Northern Line to Tottenham Court Road station, and I followed them in silence, my mouth dry as parchment as I tottered along behind in crazy high stilettos. I’d been the subject of a total makeover, dressed at Rebecca’s whim for my debut appearance at sex club central. She’d laced me up tight in black leather, fastened me into fishnets and suspenders, then turned her attention to my make-up; sweeping flicks all the way out from my eyes, burgundy lipstick and false lashes, with just the slightest hint of rouge. I didn’t look like the usual fit-for-the-office Lydia Marsh at all, and I’d felt strangely well for it. At least I had back at the apartment. A change is as good as a rest, so they say.

  My guides stopped outside a pair of unmarked wooden doors, and my nerves jangled around my stomach so hard I considered running, but Rebecca had my elbow locked tight in hers, no hope of escape. She knocked and two huge men stepped out, smiling in recognition once they caught sight of Bex and Cara.

  Bex pulled me forward. “This is Cat. She’s my guest tonight.”

  They waved us on through and I was in, just like that. We stopped at a shadowy red reception bar to leave our coats, handing them over to a skinny little creature with so many piercings I could hardly make out her features.

  Rebecca grabbed my hand tight as she climbed the main staircase, stopping dead before we stepped through into the main club. “Remember your name, Cat. Lydia doesn’t exist in this place.”

  I nodded, then followed her in, looking this way and that as I struggled to orientate myself. It was a bigger space than I’d imagined, a gulf of standing area lined with dimly lit seating: plush booths lined with rich scarlet brocade and occupied by small clusters of people, some of which appeared to be particularly well acquainted. I tried not to pry, forcing my eyes to remain on Raven alone as she led the way. The main bar was a crazy spectacle, flashing bright in a neon hue - all pinks and greens and electric blues, with bar staff to match. I sat down beside Raven, noticing Cara following up the rear, saying her hellos to the groups in the booths.

  “Well?” Raven asked. “Are we staying?”

  “Yeah. But I’ll need a large glass of something.”

  “I’m sure we can sort that out.” She leant in close, breathing into my ear and directing my gaze with a finger. “Toilets are over in that corner. There’s a ladies’, a mens’ and an anybodies’. So take your pick when you go. There’s also a wet room off to the side, but I wouldn’t recommend you head in there unless you want a face full of piss. It’s where the edge players get it on.” She gestured further along. “Main stage area. They have a selection of cuffs from the ceiling, with an electric wrench for suspension play. There’s also an X-frame propped at the back and sometimes they’ll set up a flogging bench if it looks as though it’s
needed. Mainly the stage is for the hardcore players, so be warned, things really can get fucking hardcore up there. You’ll soon know about it if someone’s starting up a scene, they’ll fire up the main spotlights and turn it into a show. Don’t be surprised to see people getting it on from the sidelines, it’s like real-time porn, only better if you’re into the whole pain-pleasure thing. Nothing like the sound of a screaming sub in live audio.”

  “Will there be a show tonight?”

  “All depends who’s in. Sometimes I go up there, but I’m babysitting you this evening.” She winked. “As you can see, in terms of general ambience some of the seating is in darkness, some spotlit, depending on your penchant for exhibitionism. There’s a chill-out room to the back of the main floor, but there’s not all that much chilled out about it. Lastly, down the corridor you have the playrooms. That’s where a lot of the fun and games happen.”

  “Playrooms?”

  “Yeah, for smaller scenes. They have a variety of furniture in them... benches, racks, cuffs, frames, cages... this is a members only club, and each member is assigned a locker off to the side of playroom one.” She jangled some silver keys in front of my face. “People tend to collect what they need and choose a room for their scene. Some are big enough for multiple pairs or groups, others more for one on one play. They all have internal windows, so you’ll get spectators looking in, but playroom four has blinds if you want a bit of extra privacy.” She smiled. “I’m not sure you’ll need to know the etiquette, but an open door means people are welcome inside and will sometimes be invited to join in. Closed door means watch but don’t enter, unless you’re in a separate scene and want to use the free equipment. Everything gets hosed down and sterilised at the end of every night, but we’re all pretty responsible and we clean up after ourselves. There are wipes in every playroom, and a selection of rubbers. Safe sex is standard here, this isn’t a dive.”

  “Nice to know,” I smiled.

  “There are some toys available for sale under the bar, vibrators and butt plugs and shit like that, as well as batteries, lube and bondage tape. Sometimes they stock rope as well, but you can’t count on it. If you have any issues there are always hostesses about.” She pointed at a tall woman in white PVC leaning against the wall to the side of the bar. “That’s Delicious, she’s on duty tonight. If you ever get any problems, unwanted attention or some kind of medical issue they’re always around to help, and they hang out with the newbies if they feel nervous. You’re with us, of course, so it’s not so relevant to you.”

  “And how much does this cost? To be a member, I mean?”

  “Why, you thinking of joining?” she grinned. “It depends. If you want to come every week you pay for VIP membership, which is four hundred a month, with a fifty percent discount for a partner if you have one. You can also invite one guest a month in addition. Occasional members pay five hundred for the year, but they also pay another hundred on the door each visit, and don’t get a discount for partners.”

  “So you pay four hundred every month to come here?”

  “Sure do. Why do you think I needed a housemate?” she nudged me in good humour. Cara slid over a couple of drinks, cocktails from the looks, bright blue and topped with an umbrella. I mouthed thanks. “There you have it. Explicit in a nutshell. Everyone uses a name here, for privacy, hence the Cat thing. Oh, and there’s a no-photography rule, things like that. There’s an official list of dos and don’ts but everyone generally knows what they are. Anyone leery gets asked to leave pretty sharpish, so generally it’s ok to relax and it’s always ok to say no if you don’t want to do something. You’ll get offers, I’m sure.”

  “How long have you been coming here?”

  “Five years or so. I started coming here with Jaz, but she doesn’t come so much these days. Any more questions, Sherlock?”

  “I think you’ve covered it. Now to see how long I can hack it without running home safe to suburbia.”

  “Suburbia? You’re talking about Camden as suburbia?! You’re getting wild in your old age, I’m sure there’s a deviant little Cat in there somewhere, after all.”

  “I guess this is the place to find out.” I raised my glass for a three-way toast. “To new experiences.”

  “We’re always up for that,” she smiled.

  ***

  Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the tension in the room: the shadowy glimpses of couples making it all the way to last base without a care in the world for who saw them. Maybe it was the vicarious buzz from the people heading to the playrooms for more hardcore action. I can’t say for sure what made me so excited when the spotlights on the main floor lit up, but my heart raced in my chest so damn hard I thought it would thump right out through my ribcage.

  “Action,” Raven said, giving me a hefty nudge. “Let’s go.”

  Alcohol made me brave enough to follow her lead, holding onto her for dear life as she wove her way amongst the spectators. Cara pressed in close behind, pointing out a spare pew in the shadows with a decent view of the stage. My jelly legs were relieved to be seated, wedged between my two guides to watch the action unfold. I dared to cast my eyes around the other viewers, but most were cloaked in darkness beyond the glare of the lights. I couldn’t deny the adrenaline. The whole room was buzzing, and me along with it.

  “Who’s up?” Cara whispered to Raven behind my back.

  “No idea,” she replied. “Maybe Tyson and Dixie?”

  “They’re in playroom two,” Cara said. I saw Raven shrug, then turn her attention back to the floor as a woman took her position under the spotlights. She was pretty. Older than any of us, maybe early forties. A shapely redhead with her hair piled high, trussed up tight in a simple black PVC dress. She was breathing deeply, staring out beyond the crowd at the darkness. There was a serenity to her; a calmness in her stance despite her agitated breath. She swayed gently in her own little trance, her arms graceful like a swan, oblivious to all around her.

  A shadow appeared at her rear, looming large through dark drapes. A man. A huge fucking man. Electric nerves pulsed on sight of him, fear and excitement mashing into one heady concoction. A ripple went through the crowd, an excited murmur that fizzed up my spine.

  The man was as toned as a gladiator, ripped and raw and ready to fight. My eyes bowed down to his feet on instinct, and slowly I worked my way back up. Heavy black boots. Tight black denim over sculpted legs, hanging low enough to showcase the muscular V of his hips. His abs looked forged from steel, tense and tight under bronzed skin, and his chest, oh my God, his chest. My eyes widened in recognition. A huge tattoo in jet black, curling all the way around his ribs. A multi-headed beast, tribal and malevolent, dancing on his flesh as though it owned every part of him. So this was the man with the chimera: the design on Rebecca’s wall, the design I’d looked at every fucking day since I moved in. My eyes shot to his face, searching for the identity of the man who wore such a mark, but there were no answers to be found there. The man was masked, most of his features hidden behind black leather. His eyes were only shadows, dark and sinister, and his hair was slicked back to his scalp, as dark as the rest of him.

  I had no idea who the fuck this man was, but I’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

  Cara broke my trance, leaning right across me to speak with Raven. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming?”

  Raven put a finger to her mouth to hush her submissive, and I caught a flash in her eyes that meant business. Cara sat back in position, content to let the conversation drop, but me not so much. I leant into the silenced Cara, putting my mouth right to her ear.

  “Who is he?”

  “Masque,” she whispered. “He’s a God here... seriously hardcore. He’s so fucking dirty bad wrong.”

  “Dirty bad wrong?”

  She smiled at me. “Dirty. Bad. Wrong. So wrong,... but so right.”

  Raven grabbed my elbow, pulled my ear to her mouth. “We should go now.”

  My stomach lurched. “Why?”r />
  “This isn’t for you. We need to go.”

  The words were out at lightning speed. “I want to stay.”

  “You don’t know what you’re getting into. This scene, here, right now, really isn’t for you.”

  “I don’t care. I want to stay.”

  We stared each other out for long seconds, and I felt the uncomfortable urge to plead like a child. She looked away as the man known as Masque made a move. He pressed up against his woman and she melted into him, relaxing her head against his shoulder in complete compliance to his will. He wrapped his arms around her, tugging down the zip at her breast. She was surprisingly heavy-chested, loose flesh hanging low against her ribs. I felt my cheeks burn as I watched the path of his hands. He took the zip all the way down, offering her naked body to a roomful of eyes. She was shaved, like Raven, and even from my position I could see how wet she was. I shifted in my seat, burning but fascinated. She looked so raw, so vulnerable in her nakedness before the crowd. Pinned bright in the spotlights, every part of her bared to the world. She looked so real, so authentic. She looked free. My mouth dried to paper.

  Raven leant in again. “We’re leaving straight after. No arguments.”

  I nodded.

  Masque tossed the woman’s dress aside, then trailed his fingers down her arms. Her skin goose-pimpled, and she let out a moan as he took hold of her wrists, raising them high above her head. She held them as instructed, not even flinching as he fastened her into the leather cuffs hanging from the ceiling. Her breathing quickened as he retreated to control the hoist; winching the chains up tight until her arms were stretched and spread above her. He returned to test the chains, pulling down on them to check their resilience. They took his weight easily. He pressed his lips against her ear, whispering words I couldn’t hear. She spread her legs, giving more of her weight to the chains above, and he tapped his fingers against her thighs to indicate even wider. She did as he wished, gripping tight to the chains for support as she spread herself as far as her legs would go. He moved to her front, and she tilted her face up towards him, eyes still closed. Her lips parted in silent offering, and he moved in closer, teasing her mouth with the slightest touch of his. I heard a moan as she inched forward, straining for more. He gave her what she craved, a harsh, hungry kiss, all tongue and teeth. Her lipstick was smudged when he broke away, her lips full and puffy.