Nessa Connor (3 page)

“What do you mean?” he played dumb.

“The only cages I see are hanging from the ceiling ten feet in the air,” she observed, “and they’re just for decoration....That one there,” she pointed with her finger, “wouldn’t even support fifty pounds. It’s a fake, just for

show. Those D-rings aren’t even soldered.”

The bouncer still didn’t budge.

Scarlett had no interest whatsoever at the rookie bar: her true destination was the public dungeon where she

could have a random encounter in the play space, then go home by herself with no strings attached.

Or no chains attached, she laughed inwardly at her play on words.

“I want to see the real club, you little shit!” she said firmly in her Domme voice.

The bouncer nodded and opened a locked metal door behind him. “Yes, Mistress.” He ushered her in.

The first thing that greeted her was a huge poster: “No alcohol, no drugs, no smoking!”

She rolled her eyes: as if
anyone
who was a true practitioner of BDSM would ever dream of mixing alcohol or

drugs with BDSM. The idea was ludicrous.

And ridiculously dangerous.

Plus, it was completely unnecessary. The natural endorphin high that accompanied S&M activity was

unparalleled.

Scarlett headed down the dark corridor, her six inch stiletto heels echoing with each brisk step. The floor

was polished mahogany wood and the walls were lined with every sort of crop, quirt and paddle ever invented. Bulbs

shaped like candles flickered from wrought-iron sconces every few feet. The faux-finished walls were painted deep

burgundy.

So far, it looked like pretty much every other place she’d been, Scarlett thought.

Just then, her cell phone beeped. It was a text message from Joelle.

I’m safe. Don’t wait up
.

Scarlett replied with her own message, then turned her phone off completely. It was horrendously rude to

ruin the atmosphere for others during a scene with your cell phone going off. At some places, it would get you kicked

right out.

Both of Scarlett’s best friends, innocent little lambs, sucked up by wild wolves on their first night out. Damn,

there was going to be a lot to talk about in the morning, Scarlett thought.

Was there a book
S&M for Dummies
? If not, she was going to have to write it herself.

At least she didn’t have to pretend to buy round after round of drinks on “Daddy’s credit card,” like she normally did. Sometimes it was impossible to keep up with the two trust fund twins. Neither of them had any idea

Scarlett’s parents were plain, blue-collar workers, from the wrong side of the tracks, in rural Missouri. After eight

years, it was getting tough to keep up the charade.

But after nearly a decade, she couldn’t tell them her secret. She had waited too long and gotten in too deep.

They would never trust her again if they knew she was not rich like them. She had gotten a full scholarship to the

University of Chicago based on her high school grades and her astronomical SAT score. Rissa and Joelle had always

just assumed her parents paid the tuition bill like theirs did. Little did they know the yearly tuition at U of C was

more than her parents total income combined.

Scarlett knew Joelle and Rissa would still love her if they found out, and they would forgive her deception,

but she would not be able to bear the look of pity she would see in their eyes.

Scarlett shook herself out of her reverie and examined her surroundings. At the end of the corridor, there

was a large, old wooden door, complete with iron bars and ancient iron hinges. It looked like it had been rescued

from a shipwreck or pillaged from a medieval castle.

Nice touch, Scarlett thought.

Most of the BDSM dungeons she had been to were ordinary rooms with sheetrock walls painted brown or

red.

She pushed open the creaky door and her eyes went wide on the other side. This place actually
looked
like a

real dungeon. The play space was enormous, probably four thousand square feet or more, and the ceiling was at least

twelve feet tall. It looked and felt just like the Great Hall of a medieval castle: the walls - and even the ceiling - had been constructed of genuine stone. The polished mahogany hardwood floor extended through the lobby and then

turned into real flagstone in the play space.

Was it Scarlett’s imagination, or did the place even smell like medieval herbs? Mint, lavender and English

rose wafted pleasantly into her consciousness.

Only a pig roasting on a spit over the hearth could have made the ambience more authentic, she thought

with a laugh. Scarlett felt like she had been transported back in time to the Middle Ages. This was fabulous.

A hand painted sign hung over a brown leather sofa in the lobby. It read: “LGBTQ - All Are Welcum Here.”

Scarlett had to laugh at the intentional misspelling of the word ‘come.’ Another sign looked like parchment paper

and said: “Curious? Cum In!”

“Welcome to The Oubliette,” a soft voice called to her.
Oubliette
was the Middle French word for a hidden

dungeon, derived from the older Latin word meaning ‘to obliterate.’ Someone here was very clever, she mused.

Scarlett stopped in the office adjacent to the lobby and paid for a one month trial membership, then signed

the patron rules-of-use contract and the confidentiality agreement. They were all standard fare at an S&M club, although the member fees here were much higher than the other places in town. She knew already this club was going to be worth the price of admission. She would just have to pick up some extra hours as a cocktail waitress at

the Waldorf Astoria to cover the expense.

“Would you like a tour, Mistress?” asked the beautiful transgender secretary politely.

Only her large Adam’s apple gave her away.

“No thank you, miss. I’ll just wander around myself,” Scarlett answered. It was completely permissible to look at, and even watch, other people during their sexual encounter, as long as one did so silently and unobtrusively;

without interfering with their play and without breaking their mood.

Wrecking someone else’s mindfuck was nearly inexcusable. Many people, however, enjoyed being watched

by strangers and the element of voyeurism increased their pleasure.

“We have a lending library just past the big fireplace,” indicated the secretary with a nod. “There are DVD’s

as well as books.”

“Thank you,” Scarlett replied.

“There is also a mini-museum with the owner’s private collection of historical D/s props and costumes,”

they went on. “There’s a dildo in there of petrified wood that supposedly comes from ancient Celts, along with some

yokes and hobblers from the Vikings. A lot more cool things, too.”

“Wow, I’ll have to take a look,” Scarlett said with sincere interest. Before she had secretly dropped out of

college at U of C freshman year, she had wanted to major in history.

“There’s also a dry bar, with juice, tea and soda, along with some snacks down along that hallway,” the miss

pointed in another direction. The place was like a labyrinth. “And a Pro Shop beyond that.”

Scarlett laughed aloud at the term ‘Pro Shop.’ She was certain she could drop a pretty penny in there.

“Here is the schedule of classes, workshops and guest speakers.”

Scarlett tucked the brochure in her purse before thanking the person again and walking away.

The main play space extended so far back, Scarlett had to squint to focus on the dark recessed corners. The

room was not a plain square or a rectangle like other dungeons she had been to; instead, it had a score or more of

hidden alcoves and vestibules, some of them partitioned off with heavy, royal blue draperies while others remained

open.

The walls were covered with wrought-iron candelabras that boasted real beeswax taper candles. The fire

marshall would certainly have a heyday with those, she thought.

The owner had obviously spared no expense in designing this fantasy world. Around the perimeter of the

play space were at least a dozen St. Andrew’s crosses made of scarred old wood; some of them were mounted to the

wall, while others were anchored to the floor with heavy bolts. None were padded, and neither were the kneeling

pillories or the stockades. This was not a place for posers who needed to be pampered.

This room was hardcore.

She loved it.

Scarlett strode down the middle aisle. She knew with her statuesque height and formidable Domme aura,

she would have to fend off multiple invitations from other players to join them in their scene. She never lacked a

partner - all she had to do was show up at a sex club, and the offers came flooding in. For the moment, however, she

politely waved off the myriad invitations, and continued her perusal of the facilities.

In each of the four main corners hung wooden suspensions disks, some affixed to the ceiling with chains and

others with ship rope. Every one of the semi-private nooks and crannies were furnished with spreader tables and upright bondage frames or short whipping posts. The other patrons - some of them heterosexual duos or trios, some

of them gay and lesbian pairs - were deeply engrossed in their scenes or in the mandatory aftercare where the sub

recovered slowly with TLC from their Dom.

More towards the center of the room, there were various crates in different shapes and sizes: some were small

cubes, called ‘pet crates’ while others were coffin-sized ‘casket crates.’ All of them were currently occupied with submissives in various positions of confinement. Someone who did not understand the voluntary and consensual nature of their imprisonment would have thought they had stumbled into a heinous POW camp.

But Scarlett knew they were all enjoying themselves immensely and were lost in their own erotic world called

‘sub space.’ If anyone was
not
having fun, all they had to do was say the house safe word, and they would be released immediately, either by their lover or by the employees of the establishment and even the other patrons.

Everyone worked together to maintain a safe, sane and consensual environment.

In between were medium sized wooden crates with tops that looked like treasure chests that perfectly fit in

with the historical decor of the dungeon. In the very middle of the room was a ‘kinky cannon,’ presently being well

utilized by a beautiful, older woman and her partner. Alongside it was a mounted wooden cask called a ‘bitch barrel.’

It too was being put to good use by a Top and his bottom.

In the precise center of the room was a huge Queen Throne, mounted upon a tall dais. LGBTQ and Kink

banners hung above it.

There was absolutely nothing missing from this well-thought-out clubhouse, Scarlett thought, impressed.

There were even random chalkboards scattered about where Dominants could write the ‘crimes’ of their submissives

and announce the punishment for all to see. Humiliation and degradation were essential ingredients for a sub’s optimal pleasure.

“Does it meet your liking?” a tall man approached Scarlett.

His baritone voice was so deep that she felt it reverberate in her chest. The faintest southern drawl made her

tingle inexplicably from head to toe. He reminded her of a chivalrous knight of olde or a benevolent lord from the

days of yore. Goodness and generosity poured from his large being.

So did sexiness...

Scarlett studied him carefully as he stopped before her, maintaining a respectful distance of personal space

that showed her he was not presumptive: he didn’t assume that because she was in a place like this that she was easy

or slutty or that she was a prostitute.

She felt drawn to him immediately and with inexplicable force. His cobalt eyes were mesmerizing.

He was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes upon - in real life, or in her imagination. Even her

best fantasy did not measure up to the reality that was standing before her. Was she actually drooling over him? She

clamped her dainty jaw shut tightly to ensure she didn’t.

The big, blonde giant dwarfed Scarlett. He was so big, in fact, that his attractive, golden-maned head nearly

blocked the light from the wrought iron chandelier behind him. His massive, well-muscled body was nothing less

than enormous. Every inch of him was gorgeous and he made Scarlett feel small and protected in his presence. He

was dressed in a modern, stylish grey Armani suit, but somehow even
that
looked medieval here in The Oubliette.

An indigo tie and kerchief highlighted his stunning cerulean eyes.

“Does it meet your liking?” he repeated his question again.

Scarlett’s breath caught in her throat. She was surprised by her own strong reaction to him. She hadn’t been

attracted to someone like this in years.

“Yes,” she stammered. It was highly uncharacteristic for Scarlett Eire, Domme Extraordinaire, to feel

nervous, especially with a man. She was used to having powerful CEOs and vice presidents lick her boots while she

whipped them until they begged her like babies to cease.

This man made her feel downright giddy. “It’s a glorious dungeon,” she peeped. “It looks so real....I could

lose myself in here.”

“That’s pretty much the point of it,” he teased. His white teeth gleamed against his tanned visage. His bottom teeth were slightly crooked, but their imperfection only made him look more perfect and more appealing.