The Bondage Club

by Alexandrea Weis

  He turned to her and was unnerved by her pale peach top and the way it complemented her creamy complexion. Quickly returning his eyes to the coffee cup on his desk, he wanted to chug back a few swift gulps to make his tired eyes stay open. But instead of giving in to his impulse, he lugged the always heavy briefcase in his hand onto his desk and removed his blue suit jacket.

  “Thanks for the coffee.” Patting down the wrinkles in his white shirt, he added, “I can use it this morning.”

  “Your face looks better today,” she offered from her desk.

  “Yeah, it’s better.” Itching to know how her evening went, he asked, “Did you have a nice dinner?”

  “Yes,” she conceded, without elaborating any further.

  “Where did you go?” He tried to sound casual.

  “We ate at the hotel where he was staying. Nothing fancy.”

  His curiosity was getting the better of him. “Hotel?”

  “Yeah, Lionel is in town for a restaurant supplier’s convention. He wanted to check up on me.” She kept typing on her computer as she talked.

  He sat back in his chair, a little aggravated. “Who’s Lionel?”

  “My brother. He came in from New Orleans yesterday.”

  He sank in his chair with relief, and then he became concerned that he felt that way in the first place. “You never mentioned you had a brother.”

  “I have three of them, actually. I’m the youngest, and according to my brothers the most spoiled. Lionel is the closest to me. We are only three years apart. My oldest brother, Frank, is ten years older than me, then there’s Andrew, he’s five years older, but he lives in Spain, so I don’t get to see him very often.”

  “What’s he doing in Spain?”

  “He works for an international bank. He’s been the lucky one, travelling around the world. He’s lived in Singapore, Hong Kong, Berlin, London, and now Barcelona.”

  He shook his head, feeling a stab of envy. “Sounds like a great life.”

  “You ever want to travel?”

  With a slight grin, he clasped the tall cup of coffee on his desk. “Yeah, when I was younger. There were cities I wanted to see, to run away to, actually.” He removed the white lid from his cup. “San Francisco, New York, Denver, Miami, New Orleans; I was particularly interested in New Orleans.”

  She stopped typing. “You wanted to go to New Orleans?”

  “Nah, I wanted to live there. You know, in the French Quarter in one of those quaint little cottages. Write books like Tennessee Williams, drink coffee and chicory, hang out in the bars, and walk among the tourists. I guess that all seems kind of cliché to you.”

  “It’s just not the New Orleans I know. I mean, sure it exists if you live in the Quarter, which also happens to be the noisiest place on earth, so writing would be practically impossible. But I can see that kind of romanticized view of the city. It’s just that there is so much more to it.”

  He held the warm coffee in his hands, mulling over the regard he heard in her voice when she spoke about her hometown. “Why didn’t you go back to New Orleans after college?”

  “I thought about it, then Katrina happened. I wanted to go and help my father rebuild the family business, but he insisted I stay in Atlanta.”

  Interested in learning more, Hunter sat up in his chair. “What family business?”

  “My dad started a restaurant supply business before I was born. Now it is the biggest in the city. Frank and Lionel help him run it.”

  “You ever consider moving back home?”

  “Oh yeah, one day. I miss it too much to stay away forever.” She hesitated and her eyes glistened, enthralling Hunter. “It’s hard to explain to someone not from there what that city does to you. New Orleans has a way of staying with you. You carry it around inside of you…always. The traditions, the holidays, the food, the people, the places, I miss it all. But for now, my life is here.”

  “I really hope you get back there some day. It sounds like you belong there.”

  “Maybe you’ll get there one day, too. I think in New Orleans you could be the kind of writer I know you can be. You have the talent, Hunter. Just not the will.”

  He frowned at her. “I thought you said I lacked inspiration.”

  “They’re the same thing. What drives a writer to write is something that comes from within. I call it will, some call it passion, you call it inspiration. But it’s whatever motivates you to sit there and get the words out.” She picked up the tall Starbucks cup sitting next to her computer. “Don’t give up on your writing. That story you wrote was….” She peered into her coffee. “Well, it made me green with envy that I will never be able to express my thoughts quite so…eloquently.”

  He took a deep sip from his coffee, wanting to banish all thoughts of his book. “Thank you for the encouragement, but in the meantime…where do we stand on the new release?”

  She sat up in her chair and motioned to her computer. “I’ve put together a press release to send out to bloggers and reviewers I know. After we check out that club tonight, I was going to get with Smut Slut for possible dates to do the cover shoot. You sure you still want to go with me?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  She put her coffee down on her desk. “Hunter, these places can be pretty…they may take some getting used to. Unlike the class the other night, this kind of bondage club will be more…uncomfortable. Are you sure you are ready for that?”

  He flashed back to how she’d tied him up on his sofa and suppressed an urge to laugh out loud. “I’m ready for it, trust me.”

  Giving him a dubious side-glance with her round eyes, she mumbled, “We’ll see about that.”

  She returned her attention to her laptop and for a moment, he admired the way her slender hands brushed across the keyboard. There was something so captivating about her that Hunter found it hard to turn away. He couldn’t understand what was happening to him, but he knew the signs well enough to recognize that Cary Anderson was working her way beneath his skin. She was getting inside, and dangerously close to his heart. Part of him wanted to push her away, but another part yearned to hold her close. And that long forgotten glimpse into the shadows of his soul was beginning to trouble him. He needed to rein in his feelings, be the tough guy women wanted; otherwise he was afraid he would only end up getting hurt when she eventually walked away.

  * * *

  Hunter was checking his watch as he waited in his car for Cary to emerge from her triangular apartment building. A close walk from the Donovan Books offices in the Fairlie-Poplar district of downtown, the historic apartment building was known for catering to artists, musicians, and the generally creative. When he saw her at the door of the car, wearing a black leather skirt and billowing black blouse, he could not believe she was the same woman he had seen leaving the office only two hours before. About her neck was a silver chain-link necklace, her eyes were surrounded by deep gray eye shadow, and her full lips were glistening with bright red lipstick.

  “Ah, you look very…nice,” he said as she took her seat.

  “Nice? The place we’re going isn’t the sort for nice.” She inspected his casual blue dress shirt and black slacks. “You, on the other hand, will stand out like a sore thumb.”

  “We’re going to check it out for a photo shoot, not socialize,” he disputed while shifting the car out of neutral.

  “This might be a chance to introduce you to the real world of bondage. Hitting the club scene and seeing how couples hookup might be good for you.”

  “I think I had enough of the bondage scene the other night with you.” He steered the car into the busy traffic on Peachtree Street. “My arms are still sore, by the way. Whatever you have been picking up in those bondage classes seems to be working for you.”

  “I thought we were putting the other night behind us.”

  “We are,” he agreed. “I’m just not interested in getting any more glimpses into what you do with your off time.” He shifted the car into
second and hit the gas as he tried to pass an aggravatingly slow moving black Lincoln.

  “What makes you think that is something I do on my off time? Maybe I thought it was something you might enjoy, seeing how uptight you were about the two of us being together.”

  “I wasn’t uptight.” He skillfully swerved around the Lincoln. “I didn’t think it was a good idea for us to—”

  “Are you saying you didn’t enjoy the other night?” she edged in.

  “No.” He slammed the stick shift into third.

  “You sure gave me the impression that you liked it.”

  “It’s just not what I intended. I’m not into being tied up, Cary, and…forget about it. We said it was behind us and it is.”

  “What did you intend?” she pestered.

  “Nothing.” He jammed the accelerator down, flying past more slow moving traffic.

  “Did you want to be in charge? Seduce me and not have it the other way around?”

  “I did not want to seduce you, but perhaps…yes, I would have liked to call the shots instead of you….” He stopped, uncomfortable with going on. “Let’s drop the subject.”

  She unfolded her arms and sat back in her leather seat. “Fine, if you feel intimidated.”

  “I don’t feel intimidated.” He slowed down for a red light. When he pulled behind a car, he turned to Cary. “Why are you so different from other women? Most are happy to let the man decide the pace of a relationship, but you go barreling forward. Do you know how that makes a man feel?”

  “Intimidated?” she said, grinning.

  “No. Weak.” He saw the light change to green and he directed his eyes to the road. “Men think they are weak when a woman takes control in bed. Every now and then, sure, we all love it. But in the beginning, when two people are starting out, it’s not something a guy expects.”

  “But you did like it, didn’t you?”

  He shoved the stick shift into first and stomped on the clutch. “Sure, Cary. I liked it.”

  She leaned in closer to him. “Then why didn’t you say that?”

  “Because it can’t happen again. You work for me,” he grumbled.

  “So what if I’m your employee. That doesn’t mean we can’t sleep together.”

  “That’s exactly what it means,” he argued in a disgruntled tone.

  “What if I quit?”

  “What’s more important, screwing me or building something together?” He put the car into second. “Besides, you don’t want to get involved with me. I’m not into relationships. Eventually, we would break up and it would be hard as hell for both of us at work. This way is better. We had our one night of fun, and now we can get down to business.”

  She sat back in her seat, furrowing her brow. “So you don’t want to try again?”

  Hunter kept his eyes on the road. Of course he wanted to try again. Ever since their night together, he had been able to think of little else. But he was also practical. He needed the new line more than he needed a girlfriend.

  “No, I don’t want to try again. We’re better business partners than lovers, Cary. I’m sure you can see that.”

  She viewed the street ahead. “No, not really.”

  Anxious to change the subject, Hunter quickly uttered, “Where is this place?”

  “Just keep heading along Peachtree. It’s a few miles up, by Georgia Tech.”

  “What’s the name of this club?”

  “The Hole. Smut Slut told me about it. It’s an urban party club, but a lot of the singles going there are into bondage. They have a special back room for hookups.”

  An uncomfortable thought crossed his mind. “You ever hookup with anyone there?”

  “I just do research, Hunter. I don’t go there to meet men.”

  It did not take long to reach a nondescript, two-story, red-bricked building with a few silver sculptures decorating a dimly lit entrance. Cary pointed Hunter to a parking area in back of the structure, and after pulling into a spot, he surveyed the crowded lot.

  “It appears busy tonight,” he commented as he rose from the car.

  “It’s always busy,” Cary returned, shutting her door.

  “So you come here a lot then.”

  She came around to his side of the car. “Why do I get the impression you’re fishing for something?”

  He put his car keys in his trouser pocket while avoiding her maddening eyes. “I’m just trying to understand your fascination, that’s all.”

  “My fascination? What are you talking about?”

  He placed his hand in the small of her back and ushered her toward the red-bricked building. “I’m trying to understand why this lifestyle—if we even call it a lifestyle—appeals to you.”

  “You make me sound like some deviant,” she groused, pulling away from him. “I’m not fascinated with this…‘lifestyle,’ as you put it.”

  He stopped and dipped his head temptingly close to her face. “You could have fooled me.”

  She swerved away from him. “So what is wrong with wanting to have a little fun?”

  “Nothing,” he admitted, following her. “But going to bed with someone shouldn’t be about games, it should be about emotions.”

  That made her spin around on her black heels to face him. “That’s rich coming from a man who probably hasn’t had an emotional moment with a woman in over a decade. Why is it men expect women to feel something in bed, but the same rule does not apply to men? If anything, you guys pride yourself on not getting emotionally involved with sex.”

  “For us it isn’t an emotional issue. For women it is,” he loudly argued.

  She took a step closer to him. “Do you really think I needed to feel something for you the other night in order to fuck you?”

  Refusing to react to her outburst, he went around her. “Don’t try and sound like a man, Cary, it doesn’t suit you.” He strode along the side of the building to the street entrance.

  “Oh, I guess you want me to be all sweet and innocent, is that it? I’m more appealing that way.” She hurriedly walked behind him.

  “Forget I mentioned it,” he called over his shoulder. “Forget that night ever happened, and let’s just concentrate on the work.”

  “You’re the one who keeps bringing up that night, not me. You’re the one having a hard time forgetting.”

  “I said let it go, Cary.” Annoyed, he rushed to a front entrance that was decorated in gray slate with a silver half-moon hanging above the black glass door. He pushed past a small crowd, and when he pulled the dark door open, Cary came alongside him.

  “Forgetting something happened doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, Hunter.”

  He held the door open and waved her inside. “Yes, it does.”

  She gave him one last discontented scowl and then entered the building. As she passed through the door, her small butt wiggled beneath her black leather skirt, and Hunter was reminded of Smut Slut walking down the aisle at the Book Expo in her leather minidress.

  Together they would make a hell of a woman, he mused.

  The interior of the bar was dark, smelled of smoke, and was already thumping with loud dance music. After passing a bouncer all in black sitting on a wooden stool by the door, Cary and Hunter moved into the main bar area. The centerpiece of the long room was a monolith bar of backlit onyx that subtly changed colors. Like an undecided chameleon, the starry pixilated walls appeared to move and change colors, transforming from ice blue to blood red and then to burnt yellow. Three bartenders were scurrying to attend to the orders of the numerous patrons crowded along the bar, while glass tables with blue neon lights beneath and black couches on either side were situated along the wall across from the bar.

  “What we want is upstairs,” Cary shouted to be heard above the loud music.

  She took his hand and led him through the narrow room to a rear door that was surrounded by an assortment of pink and yellow neon lights shaped like arrows. Walking along, Hunter became preoccupied by the feeling of her hand
in his. Stirrings in his belly began to trouble him. Why was the mere touch of her hand making him feel this way?

  The rear door led to a straight stairway that climbed to a second story. Red neon arrows of various sizes on the walls directed the way up. Emerging from the stairway, they stepped into a second barroom with shiny metallic piping along the walls and around a huge slate bar. Beyond the bar was a dance floor edged in the same metallic piping. A DJ in a booth to the side was cranking out electro pop tunes meant to entice a flurry of dancing, but none of the patrons were interested. Behind the DJ, Hunter spotted a pair of black curtains billowing below an air-conditioning vent. Above the curtains were the words Dungeon Club done in white neon.

  “That’s where we want to go,” Cary told him, and then tugged at his hand.

  When they stopped before the curtains, a thick-armed, baldheaded bouncer in a black T-shirt gave Cary and Hunter a going over with his scary blue eyes.

  “Hey, Cary,” the bouncer greeted, his deep voice as intimidating as his muscular frame.

  “Hey, Sid.” She nodded to the curtain. “Good night?”

  Sid shrugged. “The usual with a few virgins thrown in.”

  With a forceful jerk on Hunter’s hand, Cary pulled him beneath the black curtains. On the other side, his eyes had to adjust to the dark light, but after a few seconds he was able to make out a square room lit with blue neon lights around the walls and ceilings. The only decoration was a few silver chains on the walls, along with an occasional pair of handcuffs thrown in. Black couches and booths were set about the floor and next to the walls. In the corner was a small bar with a single bartender who was also sporting a silver chain around his neck. In fact, as Hunter began to take in the scant group of people scattered about the room, he noticed most were wearing silver chain-link necklaces. He gestured to the one around Cary’s neck.

  “What’s with the chains?”

  Her fingertips caressed the necklace. “For members of the club. Everyone wearing a necklace is a club member. One’s without necklaces are called virgins.”