A Fine Line
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Copyright ©2013 Mikala Ash
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The leather-jacketed hulk sitting at the door of Club Sensuelle gave me the once over with a pair of beady black eyes. "Name?"
He ran his porcine gaze down the clipboard he held in his meaty fingers. I'd called the BDSM club earlier that afternoon to reserve a place. When he found my name his eyes flicked back up. "First time?" It was more of an accusation than a question.
I offered a smile and an agreeable bob of the head to confirm that yes, indeed, it was my first time. When not entertaining at home (I have a fully equipped dungeon in the basement) I usually went to Club C, a honey pot for vampires and werewolves. Though not paranormal, I perversely enjoyed their take on power and dominance. Since it had burned down in a gas explosion a while back, I'd decided to try this place.
I flashed my card. He took it from me to compare the details with the ones I'd already provided.
"Read the rules?"
I nodded again. "On your website."
He picked up a form and a pen. "Read 'em again. Sign and date at the bottom."
It was the standard waiver, absolving the club of any responsibility for death or injury. A lot of BDSM joints had something similar. Amongst the detail was the club's official safe word and safe sign so that an activity can be stopped at the submissive's discretion. Though I've never had the occasion to use one, safe words are the only protection we had against something going accidentally wrong.
I signed with trembling fingers. I'm always like this when going to a new place. I was filled to the brim with nervous anticipation. My first night at Club C had been the same: hot adrenaline coursing through my veins, pussy wet as wet can be, and my nipples denting my blouse.
It was the good kind of stress, creating an elevated state of arousal. I think of it as a type of positive fear, my type of fear. I lived for it in the same way base jumpers crave the ascent and fall, forever pushing the limits of courage.
The doorman checked that I'd signed in the right place and handed me a pink chip. It was a triskelion and on the reverse face it had SD13 stamped on it. I guess it signified I was the thirteenth submissive seeking discipline to walk in tonight. A good omen? I hoped so.
I'm naturally a bottom, a submissive, though I do occasionally enjoy being a top, especially for my clients who want to be punished. They're the customer, and the customer is always right, which means I must obey their every whim, which brings me back to being a bottom again. A neat rationalization, I like to think.
"Hand this in at the bar as soon as you get inside." He gave me the once over again. I was wearing my cutest little black skirt. It went mid-thigh and my tight white blouse with three buttons undone allowed my pert and unfettered breasts to occasionally pop into view. "You'll be beating them off with a stick," he mumbled and waved me through.
"I won't be the one doing the beating," I replied hopefully.
"I guess not, honey."
The club was crowded and noisy. I stood for a minute just inside the door, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. The auditorium was big with a high gothic ceiling supported by stone pillars. The main features were a circular bar in the middle of the space, an overlong banquet table to the right side, and on the far left, a jail cell in which half a dozen bottoms were handcuffed to the metal bars; their arms stretched high above their heads. A red spotlight was zeroed in on them, highlighting their scanty attire.
A shiver of excitement shot through me, and I gave an appreciative gasp. The tops at the nearest tables turned their hungry eyes toward me. I immediately dropped my gaze, adopting a submissive role, and walked with "uncertain" steps toward the bar, aware that they were watching my entrance, imagining me as their very own submissive slave.
Sharp icicles of excitement coursed through my veins, pricking every cell, and raising my level of arousal with each "hesitant" step.
I was horny as all get out, and had been for the last week. Though I was a switch, able to adopt both dominant and submissive roles, I can only get off as a sub. I'm into the real rough stuff; spanking, caning, slapping, pinching, rope play, wax, and even electric and water torture when I'm in the mood.
Whenever I absolutely need to come, at least a couple times a week, I have several trusted Doms who I allow to use my dungeon equipment to tie me up in a hundred different ways. Using my whips, paddles, gags and blindfolds, not to mention my collection of vibrators and toys, they tease and fuck me to glorious oblivion.
This last fortnight my friends were unavailable for a variety of reasons, and after five days of nerve-shredding frustration, I took the step of enrolling at Club Sensuelle.
I finally made it to the bar. The barman was naked, except for a black leather mask that obscured half his face, and a leather harness arrangement that went from a collar at his neck to a studded cock ring. This was no doubt the cause of his healthy erection, which bobbed as he walked. He held out his hand for my token. His firm perfectly shaped lips were accompanied by pale green eyes, which appraised me in a quite blatant manner. He projected a little too much self-assurance to be in a role like his, and had I been in Domme mode I would have slapped him.
He considered me for a long moment and the extended silence between us gave my heart a little flutter...