Sure Thing (21 page)

“Do we?” His voice has hardened the thread of implacable steel unmistakable.

“No.”

“Call me Sir, without fail, while we’re here. Please try to remember that, Ashley, because if you don’t that’ll earn you a spanking. A public spanking. Do you understand?”

“What? You wouldn’t really do that. Would you?” I’m seriously considering turning on my heel and marching back to my car. I never anticipated tonight’s little outing might entail public humiliation for me, though I suppose the clues were there when I saw my costume for the evening. Frozen to the spot—both literally and figuratively—I stand shivering in the driveway, my arms crossed protectively in front of me in a vain attempt to keep warm and cover my breasts. Tom realizes I’m not at his heels, stops, turns, then comes back to stand before me. He has his stern Dom face on, but there’s a tenderness, an understanding in his eyes I find heartening.

“I can see how much that would upset you, and I’ve no wish to do anything to you that you don’t agree to willingly. Please, Ashley, this is awkward. I can see I should have explained the rules to you in more detail, but we are where we are. Just for this evening, please, don’t put me in a position where my authority as your Dom has to be tested.”

I appreciate his concession, he’s now requesting rather than demanding my compliance, but I’m still not at all sure I can accept this. Feeling distinctly cheated that he didn’t make the “rules” more clear before I agreed to come here, I nod and follow him grumpily across the forecourt, up the three stone steps to the large double doors which open even before we get to them. A tall man in evening dress bows his head to Tom and totally ignores me despite what I consider my extremely attention-seeking appearance.

“May I see your membership card please, sir?” he enquires politely.

Tom pulls out his wallet and flashes a credit card sized pass in front of the doorman, who nods politely.

“Welcome back to The Hermitage, Mr Shore. Will you and your guest be playing tonight?” His first acknowledgment of my presence.

“Possibly, thank you. We haven’t decided. My guest is new to our lifestyle, she needs to explore, discover her nature somewhat. Is the dungeon busy this evening?”

“Yes, sir. Several of our guests are already enjoying the facilities.”

By now we’re inside the large lobby, and Tom has returned his wallet to the back pocket of his jeans. Despite the chilly evening he’s only wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt. I glance around, and this seems to be pretty standard dress for the few Doms in evidence around the place. As Tom told me they would be, the submissives are as exposed as I am, and no one is turning a hair.

“Is your companion aware of the rules and protocols of the house, sir?” The doorman is perfectly polite but clearly not about to let us proceed any further until he’s satisfied I know how to behave, apparently.

I move to reply but Tom silences me with a gesture. He answers for me.

“She is, Michael. She’s played with me several times and understands how to use her safe words. She’s familiar with many of our activities already but feels she’d like a little more—variety.”

The tall guardian of—whatever—turns to me, addresses me directly for the first time. “I hope you will find our facilities to your liking. My name is Michael and I am in charge here this evening. Myself and my staff will be on hand in all the public rooms if you require any help or guidance. What are your safe words, please?”

“I—Smithy’s Forge…” I mutter, glancing up at Tom for approval.

He nods briefly.

Michael, the apparent guardian of public safety, continues, his eyes commendably fixed on my face throughout our bizarre exchange. “I see, and is that your signal to stop all activity immediately?”

“Yes, it is,” I respond, my voice quiet but gaining in confidence. Somehow, my skimpy dress and downright illicit intentions for this evening no longer seem so outlandish. I tip my chin up, meet Tom’s amused eyes, before looking around the hallway.

But Michael is not finished. He doesn’t allow us to pass him yet to continue into the club. Instead, he fixes his stern eye on me. He has further instructions. “The house has safe words too. We use a simple traffic lights system here. Red means stop, amber means slow down, apply caution, and green says you’re fine. From time to time, if you’re involved in a scene in one of our facilities, one of the staff will ask you to indicate what your color is at that time and you are required to answer immediately. If you are gagged you will be shown colored cards to select from. This is for your own safety, you understand. We will not disturb you unduly but you will be watched while you are here. Screaming is not uncommon, as you will no doubt be aware, but prolonged screaming or other disturbance will attract attention. Provided we can be assured of your general wellbeing you will be allowed to continue. Please, enjoy the facilities of The Hermitage.” And with that he nods to me and bows formally to Tom before gesturing for us to pass him and proceed into the house.

Like an obedient little cocker spaniel I trot along the hallway in Tom’s wake. First he heads for the bar at the end of the hall, asks the bartender for an iced water for himself and an orange juice for me. He hands me my drink with a quirk of his expressive lips.

“Something stronger later, perhaps, for me at least. You’re driving. If we intend to play a little this evening it’s best we both keep a straight head for now. And I definitely prefer to keep my submissive’s senses on high alert, makes for more interesting games.”

Not sure I entirely agree with his reasoning I nevertheless accept the drink. It gives me something to do with my hands and helps me to resist the almost overwhelming impulse to cover my breasts. Realizing my discomfort, Tom maneuvers me into a corner and stands in front of me, shielding me from view.

He leans in, nuzzling my neck in apparent dominance but in reality taking the opportunity to murmur into my ear, “If you want to leave we can. And whatever happens I promise no one’s going to touch you. You’re safe here, trust me.”

I gulp my drink, take a few deep, steadying breaths, then, “I’m fine, just a bit shocked. It all takes a bit of getting used to, especially parading around naked. I guess I’m just something of a prude. We didn’t do a lot of this in Gloucester. Really, I’d like to look around. I don’t want to take part in any, any…activities, but I’d like to watch if that’s all right. Is it all right? Just watching, I mean.”

He smiles, brushes his lips over mine. “A prude? Dressed like that? Hardly. You’re fucking wonderful. And yes, watching’s fine. And if you want a floorshow I think the dungeon’s the best place for us. There’s usually a lot going on down there, and plenty of spectators too. Follow me.”

Cocker spaniel-like once more I scurry along behind Tom as he makes his way through a large double door and we descend a flight of stairs. Through another double door we find ourselves in a large open area, dimly lit for the most part although there are pools of illumination at various intervals. These take the form of a sort of spotlight arrangement artfully angled to better display the range of sensual delights being enacted for the pleasure of participants and spectators alike.

Tom moves casually into the space, keeping mainly to the darker areas which are discreetly furnished with comfortable seating, low tables, and here and there sumptuous cushions scattered around on the floor. There are several occupants relaxing in the shadows, but Tom leads me to a softly upholstered two-seater settee which is currently unoccupied. He sits down and pulls me onto his lap, and makes no comment when I cross my legs tightly to obstruct any casual view of my naked crotch, achieving some minimal degree of modesty. Tom proprietorially caresses my bum with his hand as he leans back and slugs down the rest of his iced water. I cling to the dregs of my orange juice, gazing wildly across the rim of my glass at the intense, uninhibited sexuality showcased on all sides of me.

A few minutes pass. I’m aware of Tom’s hand on my bottom, a warm and familiar presence in this alien world, but he makes no other move, nor any attempt to engage me in conversation. I’m free to look around, to observe, to stare unashamedly from our secluded vantage point in the shadows. Eventually I admit to myself that my fascinated attention keeps swinging back to one couple on the far side of the room, a tall blonde-haired woman and a fairly stocky, dark-haired man. She’s secured, her back to the wall, arms and legs outstretched as though on a St Andrews Cross. Needless to say, she’s naked. And blindfolded. Her partner, her Dom I suppose, wearing leather trousers but bare-chested and gleaming with sweat, is systematically lashing her breasts, her belly, her exposed crotch with what appears to be a short, multi-stranded whip. The handle of the implement is perhaps eighteen inches long, the strands around the same length. Their almost fluttery motion through the air suggests no great weight, but she flinches with each stroke. The pool of light showcasing her is sufficient to clearly define her reddened breasts, and the stripes criss-crossing her belly are sharp, vivid in the strong white light. I begin to flinch in sympathy with her, though I suspect she’s perfectly content with the proceedings.

Noticing where my attention is riveted Tom reaches up, pulls my head down to his lips to murmur in my ear, “She’s called Josie, her husband—sorry, Dom—is Edward. They run the post office on a housing estate in north Leeds. Nice couple. Would you like a closer look?”

“Won’t they mind?”

“If they wanted privacy they wouldn’t be in here. There are private rooms available. People play here in the dungeon because they
want
an audience. Come on.”

He stands and drops me on my feet. I scramble for my shoes which I kicked off as we sat down, and he waits for me, allows me to hang onto his arm for balance while I wriggle my feet into them. Then we stroll in the direction of Josie and Edward’s scene, me respectfully a foot or so behind Tom. I comfort myself by ogling his bum, beautifully defined in his perfectly fitted black Levi’s. En route Toms stops to nod or exchange pleasantries with a couple of other Doms but totally ignores their female—and male—companions. A thought occurs to me and I scurry to catch up with him, grabbing his elbow to attract his attention.

“Tom. I mean, Sir—do women ever take the dominant role? I mean, could I whip you?”

He turns to regard me sternly for a moment, and I realize that grabbing his elbow may not have been suitably respectful for our current environment. I shift uncomfortably and mutter an apology, not at all keen to test the boundaries, and definitely not in this place, surrounded by whips, spanking benches and God knows what else. There’s no shortage of inspiration here for an irritated Dom looking to discipline his unruly sub, remind her of her place.

Then Tom smiles suddenly, clearly amused by my half-baked attempts at submissive compliance, and answers my question. “Yes they do, often. And no you bloody couldn’t, not my idea of fun at all. If you want to explore your Domme side I can easily find you a playmate who’ll bottom for you, though. Do you fancy that?”

I think about that intriguing prospect for a few moments, then, “No. Thanks for offering, but no. Sir.”

He smiles, not especially surprised at my response I suspect, apart from maybe the ‘Sir’ part which shows I
am
learning, and we continue to make our way across the dungeon. We position ourselves a discreet few feet away from the happy couple, apparently completely wrapped up in each other and oblivious to anything or anyone else around them. Certainly that’s true of Josie, whose frantic groans of mounting pleasure can be clearly heard from this vantage point. She’s muttering something, and Edward moves in close to hear her. His response is a guttural snarl, not at all postman-like if you ask me, and he turns his attention exclusively to his wife’s crotch. Up close I can see that he’s using a suede flogger rather than a whip, and I recall having seen something similar in the chest of little horrors back at the apartment. I start to wonder…

Edward is now flicking the flogger unmercifully against his sub’s clitoris and labia, and she’s in absolute ecstasy as far as I can tell. She’s panting now, thrusting her hips forward to catch the blows, urging him on, muttering something incoherent. Suddenly, Edward glances around him, catches sight of his audience. Embarrassed to be caught watching I start to step away, ready to apologize, but Edward’s urgent beckoning and Tom’s hands on my shoulders stop me. Tom steps around me and strolls over to Edward, leans down to hear his curt request. He nods, smiles pleasantly, and approaches Josie. He says something to her, she nods frantically, and with no further ado Tom moves to stand alongside her and casually takes her right nipple between his fingers. He squeezes, tight, leaning in again to check that the degree of pressure he’s applying is quite to Josie’s liking, before proceeding to twist and pull on her swollen nipples, first one, then the other.

I watch in bemused silence. I should be jealous, but I’m not. Tom’s involvement in their scene is so—impersonal—nothing like when he plays with me. He’s just an extra pair of hands here, quite literally—this is still Edward’s scene. When Tom and I spoke all those weeks ago, the first night I slept with him, we talked about the Dom/sub relationship. He told me it was not always sexual. Abbie said something similar. I didn’t quite get it then, because between Tom and me it was always so very, very sexual. But here, now, with Josie and Edward, Tom is just being helpful like the nice guy he is, acting as an extra nipple clamp. It makes the intimate connection I feel to him so much more powerful, more significant. My pussy quivers as I contemplate how much more meaningful his touch is when he lays it on me.

Edward continues his ministrations to her clitoris, and a few seconds later the joyous sound of Josie’s climax is ringing around the room. Both intent on her responses, Tom and Edward continue to deliver their services until she relaxes, spent, limp now in the restraints holding her in place. Her lips are moving, though her words don’t carry to where I’m still rooted to the spot. Tom nods to Edward, mutters something to Josie, which I assume to be along the lines of “you’re welcome,” and returns to me.