“They should expand the pool to include the male subs too,” Michael flashed his friend half a smile.
“I haven’t seen you take one of those in even longer.”
Satisfied that the sub in front of him was well taken care of, Michael pushed away from the wall and strolled over to where a naked young man was cuffed to a St Andrew’s cross. Michael moved to stand in the shadows again to observe the scene unobtrusively. “I’m fine, Derek,” he sighed. “I just don’t feel like taking on a sub right now. Maybe not ever.”
“I’m not suggesting you collar a sub, and you know it,” Derek said. “There’s nothing wrong with taking a play partner just for a scene.”
Except for the intimacy. Michael seemed to have lost the ability to just play with a sub. He got attached too easily; it broke his heart every time he had to let the sub go, even after just a scene.
His mind strayed to the previous Saturday. There were so many reasons he should stay away from the Bennetts. They were married – to each other, no less. They were likely not in the lifestyle. And technically, the husband at least, was his patient. Not his regular patient, but he’d have to tread carefully with the board of ethics if it were ever reported that he had any sexual contact with either – or both – of them.
Yet that consultation haunted his dreams and teased his cock endlessly.
The way his eyes met hers over her husband’s chest.
Those soft caresses she gave her husband’s arm? She might as well have been touching Michael’s cock directly, because he felt it every bit as much as her husband.
But as often as Judith made an appearance in Michael’s dreams the past week, her husband starred in his fantasies too. Muscular and an inch or two shy of six feet tall, with dark hair and grey eyes. Full, sensual lips and high, sculpted cheek bones. If Michael even had a visual type, Tristan Bennett would be it.
The man was a beautiful contradiction. He exuded alpha male confidence, yet under Michael’s hands… the man was a masochist. He’d seen him slipping deeper and deeper into subspace, and considering Michael was stitching him up without anaesthetic, he’d allowed his body’s own response to pain to anaesthetise him instead.
Michael was not a sadist. He’d been a Dominant for nearly twenty years, and even he hesitated to put a label to his kink. He lived to take care of his subs, to identify their needs and see them met, no matter what their own kink, yet he didn’t particularly care for the ‘Daddy’ label. And a sub’s unreserved, freely-offered trust and submission… he wanted to feel needed. It was his Kryptonite. His catnip.
His brother perhaps coined it more accurately – it made him feel as close to a god as a mere mortal could get.
And that was exactly why casual play held no appeal for him. He needed something deeper.
Scene areas were set up like islands, or displays in an exhibit, throughout the main floor of the club and ringed by stanchions and chains. Spectators were gathering around the scene he was observing, but he focused his attention on the naked sub cuffed to the St Andrew’s cross before him, and the Dom circling him with predatory grace.
The Dom moved around the cross, inspecting the restraints, adjusting the sub’s position by tapping the flapper at the end of his crop at the sub’s ankles to widen his stance, before finally stopping on the other end of the cross so he could look his sub in the eye between the upright arms of the X. He reached around the cross and grabbed a fistful of his sub’s hair at the back of his head, tightening his fist in his hair in a show of dominance. The sub’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Their conversation was pitched at intimate volume, but Michael presumed the Dom was reminding his sub of his safeword.
The Dom held his sub’s head in place while he kissed him passionately, and when he broke the kiss, he stepped back to lift the sub’s testicles gently with the end of the crop through the lower half of the X – punctuating it with a sharp flick of the crop.
The sub went up on tip-toes and cried out, and Michael’s eyes drifted to the crowd, only to notice a pair of newcomers watching the scene.
They were not dressed in regular fetware; he was dressed in black jeans and black button-up shirt, while she wore a classic little black dress and heels. They didn’t see him, as their eyes were riveted to the scene, and he was standing in the shadows, but Michael would recognize them anywhere.
And if memory served, the man was due to have stitches removed on Monday.
~*~
How did a high school biology teacher end up at a high end sex club? Excuse me – exclusive BDSM club.
He’d never have guessed that a den of debauchery lay within this historic building hidden in Newlands. From the outside, the building boasted ornate gables and mouldings in the plaster work, and he couldn’t be sure in the almost-dark, but he thought he spied gargoyles on the edges of the roof.
They passed into the building under a bougainvillea-covered pergola and found a tastefully-decorated reception area. Soothing classical music played in the background. A reception desk faced the door, and a woman who was dressed so professionally she could pass for a flight attendant, stood politely to greet them. “Good evening – how may I help you?”
After a quick glance to Tristan, Judith stepped forward and ducked so that she could speak softly and no one else would overhear. “We are meeting with Mistress Ariel.” At the quizzical look from the receptionist, Judith stuttered, “I-I mean Mistress A! Sorry.”
“Are you Judith?” The receptionist asked. “She said to expect you. Please, take a seat and complete these forms while you wait; I’ll have someone find her for you.” She picked up the handset of her desk phone. “Selwyn,” she said, glancing up at Tristan and Judith. “Please let Mistress A know that her guests have arrived.” She hung up and smiled. “She was already sitting at the lounge area – she’ll be here in a moment. In the meantime, please hand me your ID or drivers’ licence.” She handed them each a clipboard and pen and turned to the copier with both their ID cards.
The other end of the reception area held a pair of leather loveseats, kitty corner from each other around a low glass coffee table. Magazines lay scattered on the table, and Tristan made out a few old editions of Cosmopolitan, Men’s Health, GQ and Getaway magazine.
Feeling completely out of his depth, he sat beside Judith on one of the couches and started reading his form. It was a hefty document, and the first page looked like something you’d fill in at a doctor’s office; personal details such as name, ID number, contact details and address, Medical Aid numbers, allergies, chronic conditions and details of next of kin.
The next page contained mostly billing information in the top half, and a code of conduct and indemnity form on the bottom half, but he stuttered to a halt at the third page, which was a long itemised list with tick-boxes arranged into columns marked “hard limit” and “soft-limit”. Thankfully, under each item, there was a short description in fine print, and some of the descriptions made him cringe. A shuffling sound from behind the counter reminded him that the dainty, elegant receptionist would probably read this list when he was done.
He cleared his throat. “Um, excuse me, but I really don’t think I’ll be participating tonight. We’re just here to watch – do we really need to complete everything?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid if you don’t complete all the forms, I can’t allow you to enter the club.”
“But –”
“Tristan,” Judith hissed. “Just complete it, Baby. Think of it like going to the doctor.” Just then, a term on the form caught his eye. ‘Medical play’. Hell no.
From the corner of his eye he saw the receptionist get up from behind her desk and approach. She sat on the arm of the couch on Tristan’s side, legs crossed primly, and peered at his form over his shoulder. “Just be honest; one day you can fill in a new limit list, when you feel a little braver.”
She stood and made her way back to her desk, leaving Tristan to stare after her. He glanced at Judith and saw her eyes on him. �
�I love you,” she said softly. “You know that, right?”
“I love you too,” he whispered.
“Do you want to leave?”
And disappoint her? Man up, Bennett; we’re just watching tonight.
He turned back to his form, ticking most of the items off as hard limits, and handed both of their clipboards in to the receptionist.
The inner door to the club opened, allowing the wailing strains of O Fortuna from Carmina Burana to spill out into the serene atmosphere of the reception office. A tall brunette dressed from her bustier to her skin-tight pants in silver-studded black leather entered, riding crop in her hand, and wrapped Judith in a warm hug. “I’m so glad you could make it!” She released Judith to look Tristan in the eye. “And this is Tristan? My name is Ariel, and I work with Judith, but while we’re here, you can call me ‘Mistress A’; welcome to Angelus. Come inside; we don’t hang out in reception in our fetware; it looks terrible if poor, lost vanillas wander in off the street and find us in our play clothes.”
She took Judith by the hand and led them through into the inner club. It was like walking through a velvet curtain, the way the pulsing music wrapped around them. The lighting was intimate; dim, except for a set of soft spotlights focused on each play area demarcated from the walkways by stanchions and chains.
Off to one side of the cavernous room, a bar lined one of the walls. Patrons were sitting on the stools before the bar where a man in a red silk shirt was serving them drinks, but there were also several men and women on the couches in that corner, chatting with drinks in hand.
Ariel led them to a couch in the lounge area where a male submissive already knelt. He wore a black leather hood that covered his head and face, and a pair of short black lycra shorts. The salt-and-pepper fur on his chest marked him as older, and the watch on his wrist looked expensive. “Please, sit,” Ariel invited, and when Tristan hesitated, good manners prompting him to offer Ariel the only other available seat, she insisted.
She snapped her fingers and pointed to a spot on the floor in front of the couch. The submissive bent forward onto all fours and Ariel sat down on his back, legs neatly crossed, facing Tristan and Judith.
“So, Judith – find the place okay?” Ariel asked, accepting a highball glass brought to her by a young woman with full sleeve tattoos and a thin dog collar around her neck.
“Yes,” Judith said, “although, we used the GPS on Tristan’s phone, just to be sure. You’d never guess what was hidden here just driving past.”
“Angelus prides itself on being discrete,” Ariel agreed. “No use provoking the neighbours into calling the health inspector, the building inspector and even the bloody police just because of some misguided moral outrage.” She turned to Tristan. “So, Tristan, Judith tells me you had an interesting experience at the doctor last weekend.”
Tristan tried not to feel betrayed that Judith had apparently gossiped about him to her co-worker. “Just an accident at home – I was careless and walked through the patio door at home. But everything is fine now.”
“Stop fidgeting!” Ariel snapped, and before Tristan could react, Ariel smacked her slave sharply on the buttocks with her crop. The man clenched his buttocks tightly together at the impact.
“Yes, Mistress,” the slave wheezed.
Ariel turned back to them. “So, Tristan – are you okay?”
“It’s alright, I’ll get over the embarrassment soon enough,” Tristan said, staring at Ariel’s panting sub. “I’ll have to look where I’m going next time.”
Ariel looked confused for a moment, then smiled. “I meant after your subdrop of last weekend; the depression following your precedure.”
“Subdrop…” Tristan looked at Judith, who looked down guiltily. “You gossiped about me to your colleagues?”
“She had to speak to someone,” Ariel huffed. “Tristan, I don’t normally barge in where I’m not invited.”
“So who invited you?” Tristan ground out.
“Tristan! Please,” Judith pleaded.
“I’ve had enough,” Tristan muttered and rose. Judith gave a sob behind him.
“Sit,” Ariel said. It was barely louder than conversational volume, but it sliced through the air between them, leaving no room for refusal, and Tristan paused. He looked down at the tall brunette sitting calmly on her submissive’s back as if it were a throne and she just regarded him calmly with those hazel eyes. She nodded at the couch, and Tristan sat down slowly.
Ariel looked down at the hooded sub underneath her and put a hand to his shoulder. “How about you? Give me a colour.”
“Green, Mistress,” the hooded man said slowly, and his voice had a haunting quality to it.
“Good boy,” Ariel murmured, patted him gently on the shoulder and turned back to Tristan and Judith. “Do you know what a masochist is?”
“Vaguely,” Tristan said warily. “It’s someone who likes getting bossed around.”
“Not necessarily,” Ariel smiled. “A masochist is someone who enjoys pain; not every submissive enjoys pain, but on the flip-side of that coin, not every masochist enjoys being submissive. When a masochist experiences the right kind of pain, their own body releases chemicals and endorphins that can make them feel euphoric. They become drunk on it. They dissociate from the pain; some report an out-of-body experience, like they’re flying. And sometimes the body starts to confuse pain and pleasure.”
Tristan’s mouth went dry. He remembered the waves of sensation rolling through him with each pierce of the needle. His hands trembled and he folded his forearms over his stomach. “You’d have to be crazy to enjoy pain.”
“Baby,” Judith said, untangling his arms from around him and taking his hand with both of hers, “Saturday – that was you.”
Ariel patted her submissive’s shoulder again. “Give me a colour.” His response was slurred, and Ariel stood up. “Okay, I think you’ve had enough. Tristan, please help me get him up and sitting on the couch.”
Tristan stood and helped Ariel to get the hooded man to his feet and seated on the couch. Ariel clambered up onto the sub’s lap, and the man immediately grabbed her in a hug. She cradled his head to her chest and gently stroked his shoulder with her hand, as if soothing a toddler.
Tristan watched the scene awkwardly and felt like an intruder.
“Our scene started a while before you even got here,” Ariel said softly. “How about the two of you have a look around; that scene over there, the male sub cuffed to the cross, should be informative. I’ll be done in thirty minutes or so; we’ll talk a little later this evening.”
He offered his hand to Judith and helped her up from the couch. He threaded his fingers between hers and they walked hand in hand through the exhibit-like room.
“Are you angry with me?” She asked with a small voice.
Tristan squeezed her hand, but didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “I’m embarrassed that you spoke about what happens in our bedroom with someone else,” he finally admitted.
Judith hugged his arm with her free arm and laid her cheek on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Baby,” she said. “I just – I hadn’t even realized how much I needed to speak with someone, and Ariel just has this way of making you feel comfortable confiding in her. If it makes you feel better, in all the time I’ve known her, I’ve never heard her gossip. She’s a vault.”
They strolled past scene after scene, and watched submissives in various stages of undress kneeling or tied to strange furniture. It felt strange to suddenly be exposed to so much naked flesh and openly sensual behaviour, and he didn’t think he’d ever be comfortable being on display in such a fashion.
“So… was there anything that caught your eye?” Tristan asked as they paused by a couple where the woman was wrapped in ropes in an intricate woven design.
The woman was suspended from the ceiling, her body arched backwards, arms outstretched above her head so that her body made a large arc. A web of knotwork connected in the middle of a circular area
, so that her body formed part of the outer edge of what looked like an enormous dream-catcher, complete with ostrich plumes hanging from her one ankle. Even her hair had been woven into the webbing. She appeared relaxed, as if she were dreaming, while the rigger was putting the finishing touches on his rope sculpture.
Tristan moved to stand behind Judith and slipped his arms around her waist while they watched the scene. She leaned back against his chest and relaxed. “I’m not so sure I’d be that good at knotwork,” he murmured in her ear, but she shook her head slightly.
“I can appreciate it as art, but I don’t know if I’d like to try it myself,” she whispered.
The rigger, apparently finished, waited for a few minutes, standing by his subject’s head and speaking softly with her. With one hand on the ropes, he rocked her gently. Judith twisted in Tristan’s arms and kissed him, and they resumed their stroll around the room.
The loud slap of leather against flesh made him pause. The sound sent a shockwave of anticipation through his body before he even registered what he’d heard. It was a primal reaction, and when he heard the second slap, his eyes homed in on the source.
A naked man was tied to an X-shaped cross, his back to the crowd. His hands and feet were cuffed to the structure, and the muscles in his back flexed as he arched into the blow.
A leather-clad man was circling him slowly, running the flattened tip of the crop in his hand over the body of his partner, flicking here and there. When he stopped before the submissive, facing him through the upper arms of the wooden X, they spoke quietly for a few moments, and Tristan’s gut clenched when the dominant flicked the crop at the sub’s dangling nuts.
The man with the crop rounded the cross again and ran the shaft of the crop between the other man’s buttocks, rubbing a few strokes against his anus, before flicking another tap to his testicles, this time from behind, between his legs. The submissive howled and arched his back, and the dominant chuckled as he turned to his duffel bag laying on the edge of the scene.
Michael Page 4
