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“Si, Club Lussuria, or Club Lust. It’s a private establishment for couples in a Dominant/submissive relationship. The only way to gain entrance is with an invitation, and it is my mistress's desire to invite you and hopefully share a scene with you,” Gio says.
He’s addressing Jon, but he isn’t meeting his gaze. A sign of his respect for Jon as a dominant? I don’t know all the rules to this D/s relationship. I wouldn’t know what to do at a club like that.
“David and I do not share. I will not allow him to touch or be touched by another person. That goes for me as well. I am his alone.” Jon’s voice is solid and brooks no argument, but it’s not hostile like last night.
“I appreciate the sentiment, Jonathan. I, too, would not share such a prize as you have, but I would still like to give you the invitation. It’s my birthday tomorrow, and we’re having the celebration at the club, and I would like you to join us there,” she says before Gio hands her an envelope in dark-eggplant purple with the name Lussuria embossed in black on the front, which she slides to us.
“You would not be pressured to do anything you wouldn’t want to do, of course. It would just be a pleasure to have your beauty in my club,” she says before finishing her drink and smiling at both of us.
“I will leave you to mull over your decision. If you decide to come, ask the concierge to order a water taxi to the club. He’ll know where to send you.”
With a slight nod to Gio, he stands and waits for the Contessa to get up before securing his hand on her lower back, and as they’re about to walk away, I call, “Contessa! Thank you for the meal and the compliment.”
“I’m not a contessa,” she says, a smile brightening her face.
“Not in title, but in manner you are royalty,” I say.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JON
“Buon pomeriggio, Signore De Witt. How may I help you?” the concierge asks as I approach the marble desk.
I slide the envelope from my pocket and show it to the tall man. “I would like to know more about this club, please.”
“If you would follow me, signori,” he says, directing us to a door to the side of the reception desk, standing to one side to let us through.
We enter a small office with only a tiny window letting in some fresh air, but it isn’t drab. Like everything in the hotel, it feels luxurious.
“Please have a seat,” the concierge says as he moves to the other side of the desk. I pull out a chair for David and make sure he is comfortable before taking my own to the left of him.
“If I may ask, signore, where did you get this card?” he asks. His tone is suspicious, and I find it unsettling.
After Francesca and Gio had left last night, David and I stayed to finish the food and drinks and discuss if we should accept her invitation to what could surely only be a sex club.
David was up to the experience, but I was sceptical. So, I wanted to learn more about the club before we committed ourselves to anything.
We couldn’t find anything about the club on the Internet and thought the hotel’s concierge might have more information since he knows the club's location.
“We met Signora Vero last night, and she invited us to Lussuria for her birthday, but we would like to know more about the club, and hope you could help us,” I explain.
The concierge’s shoulders visibly relax at my words. “Well, signore, if Signora Vero invited you, then I would be delighted to tell you more about it,” he says, his smile glowing again.
“Why were you reluctant to say so before?”
“Well, the club is very private and rather secretive … no, that is not the word … circolo selettivos, yes, they are selective in their membership.”
“Francesca said the same thing last night, and that it was a club for couples in a dom/sub relationship. But could you tell us more about the club? We would hate to make a mistake or offend someone,” I explain.
“Not at all, signori. It is one of Italy's most luxurious and best clubs for Dominants and their submissives. There is but one rule: dominants and submissives must wear a Venetian mask when entering. I believe you can remove it inside, but it is needed to gain access to the club.
“Francesca said something about a Venetian mask last night. Is there a store that you would recommend?” I ask, looking at David to gauge his mood. I want to know if he feels comfortable going. But I have nothing to worry about; from his returning smile, I know he’s excited. So, I guess we’ll be going to a premier sex club.
“With pleasure, signore. My sister runs a store not far from here, on the other side of the Rialto bridge. Here,” —the concierge leans to the left and opens his desk drawer, and hands me a red and gold card— “when you enter the store, give this card to Maria and tell her Mario sent you. She’ll help you purchase authentic Venetian masks, not those they sell to the tourists.”
Mario stands up from behind his desk, “I will order you a water taxi for ten pm, signore. It will take you to the club.”
“Thank you, Mario. I appreciate your help with this.” We get up as well and follow Mario from his office.
