And largely undiscovered.
I lead Samantha to the bar and order both of us a martini, extra dirty. She doesn’t argue when I push the stem of the glass into her fingers. She merely eyes me over the rim as she takes a sip. I see her top lip curl slightly at the harsh bite of alcohol and I suppress a smile. She really is mostly Samantha.
We stand in front of the elegant bar, beneath the elegant chandelier, inside the elegant club until Samantha has looked around and I feel the tension leave her stiff spine. When the muscles relax beneath my palm, I speak.
“Let me show you around.”
She smiles another small smile, takes another sip of her drink, sets it down and then nods in agreement. I lead her toward the long, winding staircase with its rich mahogany railing and thick oriental runner, and we slowly ascend it. My pulse is already quickening with thoughts of what’s to come.
At the top of the stairs, there is a hallway to the left and right, as well as another set of steps that leads to the third floor. But for us, for tonight, I think this floor will suffice.
When I motion Samantha to the right, she turns slowly in that direction. I wonder if she’s noticing the subtle changes as we walk toward the hall—the dimmer lighting, the darker colors, the thick panels covering the walls, panels designed specifically to absorb sound.
At the mouth of the hall, there are three doors—one left, one right and one straight ahead. I happen to know the ones on the left and right are bathrooms. It’s the one directly in front of us that I’m most interested in.
I twist the knob and push open the door. I urge Samantha through into another hallway. When I close the insulated door behind us, the low tones of conversation, the delicate tinkle of glass and the soft music from the floor below are all immediately deadened.
I take Samantha’s hand and lead her slowly forward. Doors line the corridor ahead, the first of which is closed. Even though the soft moans assure me it’s occupied, the closed door signals their desire for privacy. No one in the club would dare violate that. The rules are strict and absolute.
“Tell me, Samantha,” I begin, leading her on, “have you ever been to a place where you can have anything you want? Where anything you desire is not only acceptable, but obtainable?”
She doesn’t answer me, but I feel her fingers tighten around mine. The next door we approach is open. I let Samantha move slightly ahead of me, sliding my hand over her hip to bring her to a stop and then moving in to stand behind her. Looking over her shoulder, I see the man and woman inside. I think to myself this is a good first look for her.
The room is windowless and dominated by an enormous mattress draped in black. There is a woman lying atop it, spread eagle. Around her wrists and ankles are black leather cuffs attached to chains which are anchored to the floor. There are candles dripping with thick rivulets of hot wax placed all around the bed. They’ve been used, as I can see by the streaks of dried, blood-red wax on her stomach, thighs and br**sts. Kneeling on the bed, with his head between her legs, is a man.
“Some people like to be watched,” I whisper into Samantha’s ear before I press my lips to her neck. As if triggered by my words, the woman on the bed turns her head to look at us. I recognize her. Her mouth is open in a silent moan and her eyes are wide behind her domino. I hear Samantha’s soft gasp when Carla’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. Her moan becomes louder and she twists against her restraints. The man between her legs moves his arm, pushing something he’s holding in his hand deep inside her, in and out. Her next moan is partly a laugh as she arches her back and throws her head back in ecstasy.
I turn Samantha away from the room, back toward the hall and all its doorways, and we walk to the next one. Inside it is a woman, bound and gagged, on all fours in the center of a bare floor. Behind her is a man, gripping her hip with one hand and slapping her bright pink ass with the other as he thrusts into her. The woman moans and grunts behind her gag.
“Others like to be spanked,” I explain. I move Samantha on to the next door. “It’s impossible to know what you like until you try…everything.”
We pass three more doors, each one making me harder and harder, thinking of Samantha in the various positions, bound and completely under my control. And loving it. Giving me orgasm after orgasm as I work her body in ways she never dreamed.
When we reach the last set of rooms, two of them are empty. One has a bed with smooth, clean, black sheets that would be the perfect backdrop for Samantha’s pale skin and vibrant hair. The second is a smaller room with hooks on the wall and floor, as well as chains suspended from the ceiling. I can also easily picture Samantha here. Against the wall. Facing away. Chained and unable to move. Her dressed unzipped all the way to her delicious ass. Her skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat. And me. Behind her. Pumping into her. My fingers biting into her flesh. Her moans filling the air. Her body squeezing around mine.
“Let me show you how good I can make you feel,” I say, moving around in front of her, tugging her with me as I back into the room.
A muffled scream echoes down the hall. I know no one is being hurt. Not really. Everyone here is consensual.
Samantha stops. I see her chest rise and fall quickly with her accelerated breathing. I see the unusual pallor of her skin. I see the look of terror in her eyes. I see the tremor of her lower lip. This is beyond the fear I wanted her to feel. A fear like this won’t allow pleasure to pass. And that’s not what I’m into at all.
“I won’t hurt you, Samantha,” I pledge quietly, stepping closer to her, reaching up to take her chin between my fingers. It trembles in my grasp. “This is all about pleasure, pleasure you’ve never known before, pleasure I want to introduce you to. A little fear can heighten the senses; a little pain can feel like ecstasy. Would you like me to show you?”
As I watch her in her silence, I see something surge to the surface, breaking through her upset. It’s something unwanted.
Emotional pain. And, with it, tears.
“What’s the m—”
“Get me out of here,” she says so softly I can hardly hear her.
“Samantha, I—”
“Please, Alec,” she pleads, her voice quivering with barely suppressed distress. “Take me home. Right. Now.”
“Okay,” I say immediately. “We’ll go home. There’s no reason for you to be upset. I—”