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Chapter twenty
Chester slides the car to a stop in front of what appears to be an average, if very elegant and expensive-looking, bar.
Nothing about the outside screams sex club. Walking through the door does nothing to alter my opinion. Fynn seems giddy with excitement. Is it the residual effect of the concert? Or having us all here together in what I’m thinking is his playground. His territory.
The closer we got to the club, though, the darker Nandy’s mood turns. He releases my hand as soon as we get into the back of the Mercedes. I instantly miss the closeness, but when I try to take his hand back again…he shifts it just enough to let me know the gesture isn’t welcome.
That stings. A lot. And now. Now I’m just confused.
“Nandy, if you don’t want to be here…” I say quietly…but he just shakes his head and increases his distance from me.
What the fuck?
Fine, I can play this game as well as anyone. I focus my attention on the room.
Opulent is the word that comes to mind. Luxury. The places oozes money. There is nothing unusual about that in this city. In this area of the city. But still nothing about this screams sex club. A place to practice and explore kink. Were they just teasing me?
There is a dance floor, and a stage where a pair of men are singing and dancing, their hips meshing together as one. Women, dressed in barely there lingerie, fall at their feet. Hands slide up their pants, so many hands, and cup their balls. One man is facing me enough that I can tell he is hard and getting harder as hands reach for his erection and rub it through his pants. The other man moves behind him and positions himself at his ass…the man in the front bends gracefully forward, all the while continuing to sing.
Not realizing my progress forward has stopped, Fynn touches my arm and winks at me. He motions me to follow him.
His leather-pant clad ass sashaying past the bar quickly captures all my attention. He gives the bartender a nod and a wink. The bartender returns the gesture, and it’s his attire, or rather lack thereof that is the first sign this is not your average bar. He has his dark hair swept back from his clean-shaven face. A black necklace with a silver symbol I can’t identify dangles from it and leads my eye to his hair dusted chest, visible because he is wearing a vest. A well-made, perfectly fitted suit vest with nothing underneath.
Nandy steps closer to the bar and I see the bartender turn and I glimpse the trousers which match the vest sitting snug against his round ass. He unlocks a drawer, opens and pulls something out. He tosses a set of keys to Nandy, who catches them effortlessly in a move that is so sexy in its simplicity and also a reminder he’s a regular here. Not just a silent, absent co-owner. He’s a regular. He participates.
The bartender lets his eyes roll over Nandy, but he doesn’t pause. Another sign he’s seen Nandy a lot. Nandy can’t walk into a room without making everyone pause and look. This man’s eyes return briefly to the glasses he is polishing and placing along a tray where they will sit and wait for the drinks he is about to pour. Then his eyes find me. They lock on my body and even from a distance, I can see the way they cruise up and down my body. Stroking me so blatantly I can feel it. I grin slightly. I’m used to this. Not necessarily from men. Or maybe I’ve just never noticed men noticing me before. I like it. A flutter hits my stomach and I keep watching him watching me and when his eyes finally reach my face again, I give him a small wink.
It catches him off guard, and I’m guessing that doesn’t happen very often with him. Expected from Fynn, but not a club rookie. He shakes his head and smirks. A knowing smirk and given the men leading me to a pair of large wooden doors, that smirk and head shake says he thinks I’m in way over my head.
Fynn places his thumb against a pad by the double doors, then enters a code, and they open. He stands back and waves us through and raises his eyebrows mischievously at me as I step through.
Nandy is continuing his march toward another set of doors at the far end of what turns out to be a balcony overlooking another large dance floor surrounded by large overstuffed chairs and couches. Again, it is the dress and lack thereof that shows this isn’t a regular dance club. In the dark corners, which aren’t really that dark, I glimpse people in various stages of sex, and hand jobs and blow jobs. Writhing to the music. I glance back at the dance floor and notice the same uninhibited groping and fondling. I spot another balcony that can only be reached by passing through the set of doors Nandy is racing toward.
Doors and windows, giving the effect of being on an outdoor balcony looking out at the street below. Some of them are open, offering people a view of the dance floor and it has inspired some to play around right there on the balcony and it is there that I first glimpse some ropes and cuffs and someone on their knees with a dog collar around their neck being pet fondly on the head. While all still very new and foreign to me, this is more what I expected from a sex club. More of what I’ve read about in books or seen on the internet. But in real life…. it has my curiosity piqued and as Nandy places his thumb now on the pad by this next set of doors…a shiver races down my spine. And I wonder where Nandy falls on this spectrum. Fynn…Fynn seems like he can, and does, do everything.
A dog collar. I can’t see myself finding pleasure in that. Kneeling. Submitting. That’s not really me.
We don’t make the left turn down the balcony I’d seen. Instead, we continue down the hall and finally to a room at the very end of it. Nandy hesitates when he gets there, pulling a platinum key card out of his pocket. I see his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh. He turns, the scowl still present.
“Are you sure about this?” He asks.
I furrow my brow and glance at Fynn. He winks at me. I once again wonder what I might have gotten myself into. Fynn is busting with joy. Nandy is pissed off. But at what?
“Do I need a safe word a something?” I’ve heard about those too. Again, I thought it was just fantasies in books, movies.
“I don’t know, do you?” Nandy hisses at me.
This mood. I don’t get it. I definitely don’t like it. And if I need to get on my knees for him to get my Nandy back…I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.
“No.” I say confidently.
He puts a key into the lock and then passes the card across the reader and even with the thumping music of the dance floor behind us, I can hear the series of clicks as the lock frees itself for us.
The room is…wow…like the marriage of a penthouse suite in the fanciest hotel in the city and, well, something I have no words for other than a torture chamber, if that torture chamber was at Versailles. Three gleaming crystal chandeliers fall from the high ceilings, which are painted with scenes of clouds and storms. The walls are various shades of gold and amber, like I’ve entered a castle in another time period.
There are no windows. No view of the outside world from in here.
An enormous bed sits snug against a wall. It isn’t a fourposter bed, as there is only one post with a series of rings dotting the tall wooden post at the foot of one side of the bed. I see rings along the massive headboard. Ribbons and ropes mimicking the opulent and soothing colors of the room hang from a rod attached to the ceiling running the circumference of the bed. If you didn’t know better, you would think they are decorative. But since I do know better, I can’t help but imagine all the ways a person can be tethered to the bed. My cock twitches.
