The dungeon is both exactly what I expected and the complete opposite. The room is, similarly to the hallway, dimly lit, with consistently dark colours like brown, black and dark red covering the room's walls and furniture. Filling my ears are the noises of people chattering, faint music and - to my surprise - people moaning. I clench my jaw, feeling at once uncomfortable but also very intrigued. A few people, also wearing masks and clothes similar to ours, have gathered on the right, where a small stage is placed. Nearing it, I spot a woman sitting on a chair with a blindfold on and her hands tied behind the chair. She's wearing only a bra and panties, making her very exposed to everyone surrounding her. A man wearing a suit and a mask is circling her, holding a flogger in his hand. He steps closer to her, suddenly grabs her hair and leans down to her ear. She's visibly holding her breath, her stomach sucking in and her head tilting back by his strong grip. He whispers something to her to which she responds incoherently. As a result, he steps back, and suddenly raises the flogger and hits her, ever so slightly, on her breasts. She moans and I gasp. People turn around to look at me, apparently surprised at my reaction.
"He hit her, Soph!", I whisper panicky to Sophia still on my side. People around us look annoyed.
"Shut up!", Sophia whispers back with a smile on her face to everyone else. "Let's get you a drink", she continues, turns her heel and starts walking towards the bar centred in the room.
"Roger that". I'm relieved, a drink is exactly what I need right now. We walk up to the bar, and she calls the bartender.
"One Sex on the Beach and one..", she looks at me.
"Pornstar Martini please", I say, realizing the irony of the sexual drink names.
"Sex on the Beach huh? Is that something you would like to materialise?", a voice interrupts my trace of thoughts. My eyes follow the sound, and spot a blonde and handsome tall guy wearing a suit. He nears Sophia, and she giggles.
"Perhaps", she says, and I've seen her flirt with men too much to even pay attention to the rest of this conversation. I roll my eyes, turn to the bar again and notice our drinks. So, naturally, I grab mine and take a big sip of it. The sweetness of the passionfruit hits my lips as the vodka burns my throat. This is exactly what I needed. Just as I am about to take another sip, someone bumps into me, making me spill some of the orange liquor down my bra. The cold, sticky martini stains my skin, and I look up annoyed at the one guilty.
"Excuse you?!", I say annoyed. He turns. His tall figure startles me. He's wearing a suit too, but his is ever so slightly tighter, emphasising his strong figure. Half of his face is covered in a black mask, reminding me of the one from Phantom of The Opera. The features of his face that are visible, show a strong jaw and brown eyes with lush eyebrows, matching his dark, semi-long hair that falls onto his face.
"That's no way to talk to a Dom". His deep voice startles me, and he has to look down to meet my eyes. He then continues to, uninterested, turn to the bar and wave at the waiter. He does not even have to tell him the order, for a Scotch on the rocks shows up in front of him within seconds. He brings the beverage to his lips and tilts it slightly up, pouring only a small sip of scotch into his mouth.
"I don't give a shit about what you are", I mumble annoyed and turn my back to the bar, leaning up against it with my corset. The cold surface of the bar makes me jump. Suddenly, a warm large hand closes around my jaw, making my entire body shift. He turns my face towards his and leans down to face me. My heart is pounding and, to my surprise, so is my abdomen. He squints, examining my mask-covered face. His grip on my jaw is strong and I can feel his fingers press into my skin.
"What was that?", he almost whispers. His dominance and sudden power over me have me completely speechless. With every cell in my body, I am trying to get words out, but speaking has suddenly become an impossible task. I pull myself together.
"You heard me", I say and squint my eyes too. He takes a deep breath through his nose, making my entire body squirm. I can smell his cologne, smelling just as good as he looks. He licks his lips. Damn.
"Careful". I feel like my legs are going to turn into jelly. To contain myself, I bite my lip, still holding intense eye contact. His eyes shift to my lips. "Don't do that". And suddenly, he lets go of me, standing up tall again. For some reason, I am left wanting more, even though I, 2 minutes ago, wanted nothing more but to leave this place. He reaches over the bar, picks up a small napkin, and turns to me again. "May I?", insinuating cleaning up the martini spill from my breasts. My heart is pounding and my body burning and aching for his touch again.
"Yes", I hear myself say. I imagine the whole scenario: him, firstly cleaning my breasts by barely touching the napkin on my skin. Then, the dry napkin not working he has to spit on me, the spit dripping into my cleavage...
"Yes, sir", he corrects me. I snap out of my imagination and smirk.
"There's no way I am saying that". His eyes darken. Shit.
"Don't talk back to me". With his other hand, he grabs my throat and I gasp at the sudden movement. His eyes are locked on mine, and his hand clenching to the point where I can barely breathe. His face is inches away from mine. My hands naturally fly up to touch his, trying to loosen his grip, but he is stronger. "I said, it's 'Yes, sir'. Can you repeat that for me?". To my surprise, I feel myself getting wet. I want him.
"Yes, sir", I manage to gasp through his grip, to which he responds with a small smirk. Fuck, he knows what he's doing. He loosens his grip.
"Good girl". He steps back, grabs his scotch, downs it in one mouthful and leaves. I put my hand on my own throat, not knowing what just happened.
"What the fuck Olivia", Sophia says behind me. I turn, and her eyes are twice as big as mine. "Do you even know who that was?". I shake my head, looking back after him but he's disappeared in the crowd. "That was Mr. Fox, the owner of Playrooms".
I am walking fast down the street, trying to eye a cab, any cab, but there are none. My heart is pounding and my jacket is barely closed around my lingerie. I snatch the metal mask off my face, feeling it choking me. I try to control my breathing as well as my thoughts, but they're racing faster than I can manage. Images and memories of my ex-boyfriend, Jamie, keeps popping up in my head, as a result of my feelings drawn towards this Mr. Fox. Jamie's manipulative voice plays over and over in my head like a cassette tape that's stuck. Even though my mind has come over him as a result of hours and hours of therapy sessions, the PTSD of his manipulating and obsessive manners are stuck within my body. I knew this was going to happen, why do I always do this to myself? I can feel a panic attack sneak up on me, but just as my mind's about to go out of control, Sophia grabs my hand.
"There you are. What happened?", she worryingly says and strokes my arm.
"It was just too overwhelming, I'm sorry. I know I lost the bet and that I promised to do this, but I need to go home". I can feel the tears press on my eyes and a lump form in my throat.
"Yes, honey, of course, let's go home, eat some ice cream and binge Sex and the City, okay?". I nod, feeling at once better and grateful for her understanding. We finally find a cab and get into it. "Did you see the guy I was talking to?", she says, just as we sit down.
"I think everyone saw the guy you were talking to", I giggle. The leather of the seats sticks to my ass that, due to my panties, is very bare.
"I got his card! If you're down he owns a strip club not far from Westminster. It's less intense, obviously, but it's very secluded and we could go and drink our asses out next Thursday? You do kind of owe it to me". I smile.
"That sounds really fun and weird - I'm down". We shake hands. "But not on Thursday, because I start my new job on Monday. Maybe Friday instead? So I can rest on Saturday".
"Good thinking. After going to a strip club with my little blondie we'll need at least five business days to recover". She leans back into the seat. God, I'm going to regret this.