Adventurous Me, Page 2

  “What size do you wear?”

  “Huh?” That’s a weird question for him to ask me.

  “What size? Clothes? Shoes? What size do you wear?” He’s looking me in the eye – he’s dead serious about whatever it is that he’s thinking.

  “Um, a ten or a twelve? Shoes, a seven and a half.”

  “Want an adventure?” His eyes sparkle and those smile crinkles go into action.

  “Maaaaayyybeeeeeee . . .”

  “Well, if you do, just come by this address tomorrow night. I’ll find you something to wear in the meantime. When you get there, just tell the doorman that you’re a guest of Dave. They’ll call me to the front and I’ll walk you right on in.” He pulls out a pen, writes something on a business card, and hands it to me.

  All that’s printed on it is the word “Bliss” on the front; his name’s written there too, and there’s an address on the back that he wrote down. The address is in a business area, so it’s not his house. I have no idea what this is all about, so I stammer, “We’ll see.”

  “Okay. All I ask is that you give it a chance. If you come by and don’t want to stay, that’ll be okay. But I think the adventurous side of you will like it. Bring your friend too. She might like it there.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I’ll come by.” There’s something magnetic about this guy, something that makes me want to get to know him better. I start to think it might be time to leave, so I stand. He was right – the room has stopped moving. “I think I’d better get home before I’m tempted to get trashed again.” I smile at him.

  “It’s been nice to meet you, Trish. I hope to see you again, maybe tomorrow night.” He stands like a gentleman would. I have this overwhelming desire to hug him and, before the thought can go into and come back out of my brain, Dave says, “You’re having a rough time. I’ll give you a hug if you’d like.” He opens his arms and for reasons I don’t understand, I walk into his embrace. It feels comfortable and warm, not at all creepy. I really, really like this guy, and I make my mind up immediately. When he turns loose, I look up at him.

  “It’s been nice to meet you too, Dave. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” I turn and head home, Party Pooper in tow.

  “What was that about?” Sheila quizzes me in the car.

  “We’ve got somewhere to go tomorrow night,” I tell her. Before I left the bar, I’d already made up my mind.

  If there was adventure to be had there, I was going to plant myself right in the middle of it.

  “I’ve got to work late.”

  “How late?” Sheila’s backing out on me. I think she’s scared.

  “Until at least ten.” She doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic.

  “Okay. Guess I’ll go alone.”

  “No! That doesn’t seem very smart, Trish. You don’t know what you’re walking into,” she scolds into the phone.

  “I’ll be fine. It’s in a business district in town. It’ll be okay. But I wish you could go.”

  “Maybe another time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I want to hear all about it.” We hang up and I’m alone. The idea of going alone is kind of scary, but it’s also kind of exciting too.

  I’m in the bathroom, paying special attention to my makeup and hair, when I hear the front door open. It’s got to be Ron.

  Before I even make it into the room I yell out, “What the hell are you doing here?” It makes me furious to see him standing in the middle of the living room.

  “I came by to pack up some more of my stuff. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.” He finally takes a good look at me, and he looks surprised. “You’re not, are you?”

  “Actually, I am,” I tell him and head back to the bathroom.

  “And where are you going?” he asks. I want to tell him that it’s none of his business, but that wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying.

  “Somewhere fun. To have an adventure.” I’m trying not to grin too big.

  “An adventure. I see. Well, you have fun with that.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

  “I plan to. If you take anything that’s not yours, so help me god, I’ll chase you down and . . .”

  “I won’t. I just want this to be over, Trish. I’ve wasted too much time in this relationship.”

  Wow. I can’t think of anything he could’ve said that would’ve hurt me more. I was wasted time. And he didn’t waste mine? “Well, I’m done wasting my time on you. I’m going out and paint the town.”

  “Good luck. You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass,” he laughs.

  Oh yeah? I’ll show him. As least I hope I do.

  I use my navigation system to find the address. When I get there, it’s a nondescript building between two other buildings in a downtown block. There’s a public parking garage across the street, so I park there and walk across.

  There’s no signage on the building until I walk up to the door. There’s a small brass placard that says “BLISS.” Nothing else. And it’s only about a foot wide, so you have to be right in front of the door to see it. I stand there for a few seconds, then push on the door.

  I step into something that looks strangely like a doctor’s waiting room – fluorescent lighting, wood and vinyl chairs, and an office with a window. There’s a guy sitting in the office and he looks like no physician’s receptionist I’ve ever seen. He’s got so much ink on him that he looks like a road map of Dallas, no kidding. He gives me a warm smile that looks kind of out of place on his face and says, “Hi! Can I help you?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I stumble over my own tongue and pull out the card. “Dave gave me this last night. He asked me to come by.”

  “Cleaning crew? Bartender?”

  I’m confused. “Neither. Just a guest, I suppose.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry! I thought maybe you were here for a job or something.” Sounds like just another club. “Let me call Dave up here.” I walk around and look at the waiting room while he makes the call. It’s all pretty plain. There are Ladies’ Home Journal magazines in the magazine racks. That seems unusual at a club. The door to the back pops open and I hear Dave’s voice.

  “Trish! I’m so glad you came! Wow, you look nice!” That’s the first compliment a man’s paid me in, hell, I don’t know how long.

  “Thanks! You look pretty fine yourself!” I grin back, and then I’m kind of embarrassed. He picks up on it and hugs me again, and just like before, I feel at home in his arms.

  “Come on in. And don’t let the looks of the place fool you. It’s as benign as you want it to be. I found you some stuff to wear. We have a locker room. Come on in and I’ll show you around.” He opens the door and motions for me to go through.

  The little hallway is kind of dark, but then it opens into a larger room.

  And I wish the floor could open up and swallow me.

  There are bare-breasted women everywhere, and a lot of them are wearing leather or rubber below their waists. Most of the guys are bare-chested, and they’ve all got on some kind of leather too. Some of the women are barefoot, but some wear boots or stilettos. There are tattoos everywhere in here, and piercings, and jewelry, and makeup. Some of the women are wearing elaborate, close-fitting necklaces, and I wonder about those, especially when I see that most have tiny padlocks on the backs of them. That’s strange. I’ve forgotten that I’m moving until I bump into Dave as he stops at a doorway. “Locker room. Here.” He hands me a brown paper bag. “Just choose an empty locker to stow your stuff. If you need help, just ask any lady in there. They’ll be glad to help you. See you when you come out!” He pats my shoulder and walks away, so I go into the locker room, sit down on a bench, and start pulling out the things he’s brought for me.

  They’re all brand-new. There’s a lace tee. There’s also an honest-to-god, lace-up corset; I assume that’s to wear over the tee. The corset looks very expensive, with jewels and nail heads and embroidery, and it’s beautiful. Skin-tight leggings are next, and they don’t look like they’ll fit, but they’re stretchy, so I won’t kn
ow for sure until I try them on. In the bottom of the bag is a pair of five-inch stilettos, Mary Jane-style with a platform, and they’re sort of cute.

  And did I mention it’s all black? Everything’s black.

  I look around for a dressing room, but the only thing I see are a few showers. I wonder what I’m supposed to do when a woman who looks to be in her thirties wanders into the locker room.

  “Wow! Nice fetwear! Where’d you get that corset?” She takes it from the bench and scrutinizes it. “This is amazing.”

  “Um, Dave,” I start. “Do you know Dave?”

  “Everybody does! Dave got this stuff for you? You’re one lucky woman! He’s got excellent taste, if you know what I mean!” I have no idea what she means. “Need some help with that?”

  “Yeah, I will, but I can’t find a dressing room.” I motion around the room.

  She gives me a funny look. “Why do you need one? I mean, rip it all off, girlfriend!” With that, she reaches down, grabs the hem of her tee shirt, and pulls it up and off. She’s wearing absolutely nothing under it, and her breasts are only slightly droopy, with big nipples sporting gold rings. She proceeds to pull off everything, then reaches into a locker and starts getting dressed. When she’s done, she’s wearing a red leather thong, red leather garter belt, red stockings, and red stiletto-heeled boots, but she’s wearing nothing on the top.

  “Come on, let’s get you dressed,” she tells me. My pants come down and I pull the leggings on. She nods. “Looking good. Better put the shoes on. You may not be able to bend over once you get the corset on.” There’s considerable doubt in my mind that I can walk in the things, but I put them on anyway. She points to my boobs, so I pull my tee up and off. “Get that bra off,” she barks, and I unhook it and take it down. I feel very self-conscious standing there, naked from the waist up, but she looks at me and says, “Nice tits! Here, put the lace tee on.” I pull it on over my bare breasts and she holds up the corset. “Let’s get this on you and I’ll tie the laces.” Corset in hand, she wraps it around me, zips the side, then grabs the laces and pulls it tight – too tight. I can barely breathe. “I know what you’re going to say, but you’ll get used to it. It makes your waist look smaller and makes you look very sexy.”

  When it’s tied, she takes me to a mirror in the shower area. “Look! You look fabulous!” I see her pointing in the mirror and I take a look.

  I barely recognize myself. I look, well . . .

  Sexy. And adventurous.

  She looks in the bag Dave handed me and says, “Yep, I thought you’d forgotten something.” In the bottom in a small box are earrings and two bracelets, all of very delicate silver. They’re all filigree and very large, and I’m touched at the trouble Dave went to for me.

  When I’ve got the jewelry on, the woman says, “Oh, by the way, I’m Delilah. I’m a regular here. Are you a member?”

  I shake my head. “I’m Trish and no, I just met Dave last night and he invited me to come.”

  “He’s a wonderful person.” She gets a serious look on her face, kind of like the one Dave wore the night before. “Have you ever been to a fetclub?”

  “A what?”

  “Um-hum. That answers my question. Look, if you have any questions about anything that’s going on, just ask someone. They don’t mind explaining. But don’t interrupt them when they’re doing a scene, okay? That’s just poor form. A Dom needs to concentrate on his sub when they’re scening.”

  “I have no idea what you just said,” I tell her with a shrug.

  “That’s okay. You’ll figure it out pretty quick. And remember: At Bliss, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Safe, sane, and consensual, always. Ready?” She holds out her arm to me like she’s going to escort me.

  “I guess so. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be ready for.” There’s more going on here than I know or understand, and I’m terrified, but I’m also excited. And that’s when, as I take her arm, she says the magic words.

  “Well then, come on out and start the adventure.”

  There are strange sounds coming from the big room as we walk out into the hallway and head back into the light. When my eyes adjust to the lighting, I’m speechless.

  There are three alcoves. In the farthest one, a woman is kneeling on some kind of bench, her forearms and wrists bound down with straps and her ass in the air, the bench turned so that her side is to the audience. And she’s completely naked. A man stands to one side of her, facing the crowd, and he has what looks like some kind of whip in his hand. As I watch, he begins to lash her backside and she cries out, but she also has a peaceful look on her face.

  In another small alcove, a woman is bound to a big cross-like apparatus, face out toward the crowd. There’s a clamp on each of her nipples, and it looks excruciating. A chain runs from clamp to clamp, and a third chain hangs from the center of that one and runs down her stomach. It goes all the way down to her . . . oh, god, there’s a clamp there too. How can she stand that? As she’s standing there, the man with her is getting out something that looks like a microphone. But he hits a switch on it and it hums to life. It’s a giant vibrator, and he presses it right into her slit. She shrieks and pants and, within a couple of minutes, she’s having an orgasm, right there in front of everybody.

  There’s another alcove, a bigger one, and I can’t see what’s going on in there because of all the people crowded around. Whatever it is must be popular. When we walk up, one of the men says, “Oh, excuse me, subs. Hey, gentlemen, subs coming through.” The crowd parts with his words, and Delilah and I walk right up to the front. That’s when I stifle a gasp.

  There’s a woman, naked, on her back, strapped to a table. Arms, legs, everything, tied down, and there’s a split in the table so that her legs are apart, leaving room between them to just walk up. There’s red wax all over her, her breasts, chest, ribs, arms, legs, belly, privates, everywhere, obviously dripped on her while it was hot. Some kind of cords are tied around her nipples, their ends crossed across her body and tied to a d-ring on either side of the table so that there’s a constant tension on them. And the pain from the cords is probably intensified with any movement. Which there is. There can’t help but be movement.

  Because the man in the alcove is fucking her. Right there. Right in front of everybody. His cock is unusually large and hard, and he’s really giving it to her. I’m shocked, but no one around me seems to be the least bit fazed by it. Then I realize something kind of scary.

  Deep down, while I stand there watching, I acknowledge to myself with great shame that I’m wishing I were her.

  “Any questions?” Dave has poured me a cosmo and I’m sitting at the bar with him. He’s not the bartender. He’s something else much more important because everyone seems to defer to him in everything.

  “Yeah. Do you own this place?” I have a lot of questions I’d like to ask, but I’m a little too embarrassed to ask them.

  He laughs. “God, no! I’m just a very active member.” After another swallow of the bourbon he’s drinking, he says, “Very active. Leadership.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe you . . .” And I’m too embarrassed to finish.

  “What? Try out all of the subs? I wish!” he chuckles. “Nah. I have a couple I play with on a regular basis, but that’s about it.” I’m trying to figure out what a sub is and what they call play. “So you watched the scenes. Any questions about any of that?”

  It’s hard to look at him. “Well, I guess I, what I don’t understand is, I mean . . .” I stammer.

  “Look, Trish, I know that was probably pretty shocking to you. But we’re all very open about our sex lives around here, and we’re not shy about our sexuality. There’s no shame here. Look around. Most of these people have bodies that are far from perfect.” That was true; I’d noticed a few of them and thought to myself that I’d never take my clothes off in public if I looked like that. But they seem completely comfortable. I have to admire that.

  “So what’s
the purpose of all this? Why can’t they just do this at home?”

  “First, the equipment is too expensive and takes up too much room.” That makes sense. “Second, some people actually like to be viewed when they’re doing this. They enjoy it and find it arousing.” I can’t even imagine that. “And third, not everyone has someone at home to play with.” Ah. Playing equals sex.

  “But the people who were doing the scenes, they’re married, right?”

  “Gosh no!” He laughs outright at that question. “The guy with the flogger? He and that sub play together all the time, but they’re not attached, just negotiate as they go along. The couple fucking in the big alcove,” he says, not even flinching at the word, “are in a committed D/s relationship.” I have no idea what that means. “But the woman with the clamps? This is the first time she’s been here.”

  I gasp. “She’s never done this before?”

  He shakes his head. “No, no, no, that’s not what I mean. She’s in the lifestyle. She’s a member of another club in another city, but she’s in town on business and had some needs. She came here looking for a service Dom to, well, service her. And Master Justin stepped up to the plate. That may or may not include sex; doesn’t always.”

  “So she just came in here and asked someone to do that?”

  “Yes. They negotiated what they’d be doing before they started. If I’m not mistaken, they’re in a private room right now.” He smiles and takes another sip of bourbon.

  “You mean they’re back there . . .”

  “Fucking? Yeah. I certainly hope so, because we don’t have enough private rooms to go around, and I’d hate to think there are other people who’d like to be back there fucking and those two are in there playing gin rummy or something,” he chuckles. “Want another beer?”

  “No, but I need one.” My face is burning in embarrassment, and Dave gets the bartender to hand me another glass full of fortitude.

  He looks at me for a minute, then says, “I want to ask you something. And I want you to be honest with me.”