elbow with his hand and pulls
me toward a black lacquered door in the back. I’m not sure how I didn’t notice
it before. There’s a clear glass knocker below a peep hole but no other indication that this door leads to some rabbit hole.
He lifts the glass and knocks it back into the wood in a
distinct, five-knock pattern. Seconds later, the door pulls open.
“Master Townsend, good to see you.” A man in a tux pulls the
door wide. “Ah, I see you’re bringing a guest this afternoon. Shall we find a
suite for you and your swan?”
“She’s not a swan, and we won’t be staying long.” His
fingers press possessively deep into my flesh though I don’t think he means to
hurt me.
It takes a bit for my eyes to adjust when something bright in
the center of the room sends a sharp sting to my gaze. The floors are black and
white marble, reminding me of a game of chess, and a glass swan sculpture rests
on a large table in the center of a circular foyer. It’s lit from below and
above with a soft, incandescent glow that shows off the facets and rainbow
glimmers in the angles of the sculpted creature. It’s not glass it’s crystal.
Of course.
“I’ll be showing her around, and then we’ll finish in the
gallery,” Dane says to the greeter.
“Enjoy.” The man holds up a white-gloved hand and points
down a long corridor.
This place isn’t visible from the street, and I’m willing to
bet money it’s not in any phone book or directory. My palms moisten, and I pray
he doesn’t try to take my hand. He can never know how intimidating this place
is.
Exotic lounge music pipes down hidden speakers, growing
louder as we reach a large room at the end of a hall. Men’s laughter echoes off
the high ceilings.
“Hi, Master Dane.” A woman slinks by in pure white lingerie
wearing an eye mask with white feathers splaying out from the sides. Her head
is held low as she addresses him. Lengthy white feathers drip down her
backside, dragging on the floor while she walks in five inch,
Swarovski-crystal-encrusted stilettos.
“Lauren,” he says, giving her a nod. He still holds onto me
though I’m a half step behind him, and when we enter the room with the music
and the men and the laughter, I finally see why.
All eyes fall on me the second we stand in the doorway.
Dane’s hand slips to my waist, hooking me and pulling me against him. I breathe
him in like he’s the oxygen I need to survive this warped little world I’ve
just set foot in.
“This room is for open play,” he says. “The Swans in white
are submissives and the Swans in black are the Dominatrices.”
A svelte woman in a shiny leather bustier with a matching g-string and a whip flashes me a red-lipped smile. I don’t
see her eyes because they’re covered in a black-feathered mask. She, too, wears
a floor-grazing tail.
“Well, well, well.” The drunken slur of a man’s voice originates
from behind us. We turn to see an older patron with a greasy forehead and a
tumbler of gin and tonic staring at me with a stupid grin on his crooked mouth.
“Are we initiating today or what’s the deal with this one? Is she a free for
all or what?”
Dane’s open palm presses into my hip
followed by the dig of his fingertips.
“She’s with me, Donny. Move along.” The low growl of his
words elicits an eyebrow raise from the drunkard.
Donny pushes between us, and for a second I’m sure he’s
going to cop a feel on his way through, but to my relief he doesn’t. He’s just
smashed.
“Did he touch you?” Dane’s lips reach my ears, his voice
throaty.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Good.” He releases me and straightens his collar before
smoothing his hand down his front breast pocket. “This is a classy
establishment, I can assure you of that, but there are some who were
grandfathered in and given lifetime memberships. And some of them refuse to
adhere to the policies.”
“It’s okay.” I want him to take my hand. Being protected and
watched over,
me toward a black lacquered door in the back. I’m not sure how I didn’t notice
it before. There’s a clear glass knocker below a peep hole but no other indication that this door leads to some rabbit hole.
He lifts the glass and knocks it back into the wood in a
distinct, five-knock pattern. Seconds later, the door pulls open.
“Master Townsend, good to see you.” A man in a tux pulls the
door wide. “Ah, I see you’re bringing a guest this afternoon. Shall we find a
suite for you and your swan?”
“She’s not a swan, and we won’t be staying long.” His
fingers press possessively deep into my flesh though I don’t think he means to
hurt me.
It takes a bit for my eyes to adjust when something bright in
the center of the room sends a sharp sting to my gaze. The floors are black and
white marble, reminding me of a game of chess, and a glass swan sculpture rests
on a large table in the center of a circular foyer. It’s lit from below and
above with a soft, incandescent glow that shows off the facets and rainbow
glimmers in the angles of the sculpted creature. It’s not glass it’s crystal.
Of course.
“I’ll be showing her around, and then we’ll finish in the
gallery,” Dane says to the greeter.
“Enjoy.” The man holds up a white-gloved hand and points
down a long corridor.
This place isn’t visible from the street, and I’m willing to
bet money it’s not in any phone book or directory. My palms moisten, and I pray
he doesn’t try to take my hand. He can never know how intimidating this place
is.
Exotic lounge music pipes down hidden speakers, growing
louder as we reach a large room at the end of a hall. Men’s laughter echoes off
the high ceilings.
“Hi, Master Dane.” A woman slinks by in pure white lingerie
wearing an eye mask with white feathers splaying out from the sides. Her head
is held low as she addresses him. Lengthy white feathers drip down her
backside, dragging on the floor while she walks in five inch,
Swarovski-crystal-encrusted stilettos.
“Lauren,” he says, giving her a nod. He still holds onto me
though I’m a half step behind him, and when we enter the room with the music
and the men and the laughter, I finally see why.
All eyes fall on me the second we stand in the doorway.
Dane’s hand slips to my waist, hooking me and pulling me against him. I breathe
him in like he’s the oxygen I need to survive this warped little world I’ve
just set foot in.
“This room is for open play,” he says. “The Swans in white
are submissives and the Swans in black are the Dominatrices.”
A svelte woman in a shiny leather bustier with a matching g-string and a whip flashes me a red-lipped smile. I don’t
see her eyes because they’re covered in a black-feathered mask. She, too, wears
a floor-grazing tail.
“Well, well, well.” The drunken slur of a man’s voice originates
from behind us. We turn to see an older patron with a greasy forehead and a
tumbler of gin and tonic staring at me with a stupid grin on his crooked mouth.
“Are we initiating today or what’s the deal with this one? Is she a free for
all or what?”
Dane’s open palm presses into my hip
followed by the dig of his fingertips.
“She’s with me, Donny. Move along.” The low growl of his
words elicits an eyebrow raise from the drunkard.
Donny pushes between us, and for a second I’m sure he’s
going to cop a feel on his way through, but to my relief he doesn’t. He’s just
smashed.
“Did he touch you?” Dane’s lips reach my ears, his voice
throaty.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Good.” He releases me and straightens his collar before
smoothing his hand down his front breast pocket. “This is a classy
establishment, I can assure you of that, but there are some who were
grandfathered in and given lifetime memberships. And some of them refuse to
adhere to the policies.”
“It’s okay.” I want him to take my hand. Being protected and
watched over,
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