I glance around the play area of Sensations club. Currently, it’s devoid of people but stuffed with bondage furniture. Implements hang on one entire wall, and my gaze is drawn to them more than to the benches, cages, and crosses in the middle. I picture the lighting low when the club will be open later for play, bodies in various stages of dress, the scents of coconut oil and sweat filling the space.
“Glynis?” Daphne Morris’s voice pulls me from my reverie. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just browsing.”
Her quick laugh and warm smile put me at ease. Daphne is the receptionist who checked me in moments ago. I’m here to participate in a survey about impact play. Me … Glynis Coleman. Mild-mannered, history teacher at Our Lady of the Angels Catholic high school by day. Expert-level masturbator with wild fantasies of alpha Doms who flog me senseless by night.
“Come on.” Daphne’s voice beckons. “Asa is waiting for you upstairs.”
Asa Baker, one of three Doms who own this club, chose me as a survey participant. Those three men, along with several other Doms who work for them, are conducting an experiment on impact play, designed especially for total newbies like me.
As Daphne unlocks a door at the far end of the club, and leads me up a carpeted stairwell, I recite the names of the participating Doms that I can recall in my head. They were listed in the multitudes of literature we were required to read. Slade Taylor, Dakar Garcia, Asa Baker, Cairo Estevan, Dallas Taylor, who is apparently Slade’s cousin, and Hunter Preston. There were a few more, but my mind has gone blank.
I don’t know them from Adam, and none of them know me. I have no clue what will happen tonight. In the stairway, the lighting is low and red. So red, it reminds me of old stories about Victorian boudoirs, where illicit love affairs took place. I stifle a giggle as I imagine Mr. Asa Baker dressed in nineteenth century clothing. Of course, I haven’t met him yet, so I have no clue what he looks like.
“His room is at the end of the hall.” Everything up here is still red, and I’m hoping his room isn’t, too. It’s a bit much, but I suppose they had their reasons for decorating it this way.
“Do they live here? The Doms, I mean.”
“Yes, but not on this floor. They have suites on the top floors.”
We’re in a warehouse that, from the outside, almost looks abandoned. Clever idea to disguise a BDSM club and exclusive apartments this way, especially in such a conservative town.
“These are private play areas certain Doms have use of.”
The closer we come to the end of the hall, the more anxious I grow. As part of the extensive application process, we had to submit photos of ourselves, clad only in underwear, as well as a face shot. The purpose of this, I was told, was so the Dom who chose us would know ahead of time if we had any physical limitations he needed to be aware of. My only consolation is that at least Asa Baker already knows I’m not tall, thin, or have legs up to here.
“Here we are.”
No more time to obsess over my lifelong crappy body image, or twenty-eight years’ worth of wishing I was taller, thinner, or sexier. The moment of truth has arrived. Either he’ll take one look at my pushing-size-eighteen body and change his mind, or all my fantasies will finally come true. I sincerely hope it’s the latter.
Daphne opens the door, and I need to blink a few times because of the low light before I’m able to see anything inside the room. Fortunately, it is not red. It’s decorated in dark wood tones and emerald green. Great combo. The effect calms me, as well as intrigues me.
“Come in.” The voice belongs to a man who steps out of the shadows, and whose appearance forces a soft gasp from me.
Holy Mother of God. I expected someone in decent shape, but not this muscled, tall god with close-cropped dark hair, expressive dark eyes, and a five o’clock shadow. A wicked grin graces his chiseled face. No way in freaking hell did this gorgeous man choose me for this experiment. There has to be a mistake.
“It’s all right,” says Daphne, her voice coaxing and gentle. That’s the only thing grounding me right now. Whatever they pay her, it’s not enough. “Go inside.”
She’s not coming with me? I sigh, square my shoulders, and cross the threshold. The door closes behind me, and I need to blink again before my gaze focuses. The light in the room is dimmer than I first realized.
“Yes. That’s me.” Fuck. I can’t do this. He’s too perfect. I’ll make an ass of myself.
“Twenty-eight years old, and a high school history teacher.”
“Yep. How old are you?” Oh, for fuck’s sake. I did not just ask him that.
A soft chuckle sends delicious shivers down my spine. “I’m forty. Are you afraid?”
The expression on his face turns to concern. “Of me, or of the club itself?”
No sense in holding back now. I have nothing to lose. “Not of you. Of the fact that you’re … you’re so beautiful, and I’m … well, me.”
His expression softens as he strolls toward me. It’s only then my brain decides to fully work, and I realize he’s wearing nothing but leather pants. There’s a dark dusting of hair on his chest. I long to touch it. And he’s barefoot. There’s something irresistible about that fact. My pussy is suddenly wet, and my clit throbs. Wow.
“You assume it matters what you look like.”
Right… “It’s mattered to everyone I’ve ever met.”
“You haven’t met me before.”
He’s no more than six inches from me when he stops walking. Musky cologne wafts past my nose. I’m actually sweating. I’ve never been this close to such a gorgeous human being. It’s impossible not to stare at him. “Those are really sweet words, but every guy I ever dated, or thought I might go out with, has had something to say about my weight.”
The sexy grin widens. “They must be assholes, then.”
I try not to smile, but the corners of my mouth lift on their own. “Thank you for saying so.”
“For the record, I think you’re lovely.” He touches my hair, and I sigh. It’s such a simple gesture, but under the circumstances, quite intimate. “I love this color. Is it natural?”
I’ve been asked that a lot. Natural redheads are in the minority. “Yes.”
“It’s stunning. And I love the color of your eyes. Like a lake in the summertime, under a cloudless sky.”
“How long did you have to practice those lines before you had them memorized?”
The grin disappears in a nanosecond, and its place is something dark that sends my heart pounding. “I can see I have my work cut out for me. I assume you didn’t ask that to be rude, but rather because you don’t believe you’re beautiful.”
Guilt washes over me. Not an unusual emotion, given my upbringing, but in his presence the magnitude is heightened. “I’m very sorry. You’re right. That was incredibly rude. Forgive me. I’m not used to compliments, and I tend to lash out as a protective mechanism.”
His hand moves from my hair to my chin, cupping it. “Thank you for the apology and the explanation. Glynis, I’d love to work on turning your perception around. I want you to see what a sexy, alluring woman you are.”
“How many women applied for this survey?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Curious to know what else you had to choose from.”
“We placed ads in ten publications, and had over two thousand applications. Seventy percent of those weren’t local enough to make one night in this building practical for them. We had decided not to pay for travel expenses. Of the remaining thirty percent, we rejected more than half because of their answers on the questionnaire.”
I recall that. It took me over an hour to complete, and was as intense as any exam I’d taken in college. There were no subjects left untouched, from hard limits and fetishes to habits during masturbation. I blushed the entire time.
“That still left us with about two hundred and fifty people to wade through. Our final selection included only fifty. To give you some perspective on this project, we’ve been conducing it for three months. Ten of us hand chose five participants each. You’re the final one I chose.”
I swallow hard as the reality of what he just said finally hits me. “I don’t know what to say right now.” That’s an understatement.
“Tell me you’ll allow me to try.”
“Of course.” Good luck, dude.
“By morning, you will see yourself in a different light.” He takes my hand, and his touch sends shivers down my spine. “Come and sit with me for a moment. Now that you know what I want from this night, let’s talk about your expectations.”
My legs tremble as I walk toward a sofa with him. It’s one of those Victorian pieces with the rounded backs and wooden trim. Very pretty, but the sight of it nearly forces a laugh from me as I recall my earlier reverie. Now that I’ve met Asa, I can’t imagine him dressed in a waistcoat and breeches. He’s perfect just the way he is.
He sits in the middle so I have little choice but to sit right next to him. The sofa is not large by today’s furniture standards, so we’re thigh-to-thigh. I brush my hand over the walnut edge in an effort to create the illusion of distance between his body and mine. “This is beautiful. How old is it?”
“Somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred and fifty years. I had it recovered recently to match the colors in this room.”
The fabric is emerald green velvet, with tufting at various points in the cushions. “Very nice.”
“When you’re done admiring the décor, let me know. We’ll talk about what you want from this night.”
If his voice wasn’t filled with humor, or his dark eyes sparkling with mischief, I’d conclude he was mocking me. “I’m done.”
“Good.” He leans back, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, so I have a view of the bottom of his left foot. His toenails are trimmed, and the skin is soft-looking and clean. He takes good care of his body. “Your application indicated your particular fantasy involves floggers.”
“Tell me about those fantasies, Glynis.”
That voice! What is it about the tone that entices me to spill all my dark, dirty secrets?
“Well, let’s see… I was raised in a strict Irish Catholic family.”
“You, too? The Catholic part, not the Irish.”
I laugh. “Oh my God. That’s perfect. You understand already.”
He rests his hand on my arm. “Yes, I do understand. When I was in eighth grade I asked my teacher why, if God gave us hands and sexual urges, was masturbation a sin.”
I’m laughing hard now as I picture him at fourteen, asking such a thing in any classroom of the school where I teach. “What was your teacher’s answer?”
“Are you kidding? They practically called the police. You’d have thought I asked if I could bring a weapon to school and use it on everyone. My parents were not amused.”
“It’s a legit question. My students test me in that respect everyday.”
“What’s the most embarrassing question one of them has asked you?”
“We were studying the average nineteenth century household, and a discussion began surrounding the lack of a wife’s right to do pretty much anything. The girls, and some of the boys, were up in arms about the fact that a man could beat his wife if she fell out of line. One of them asked me if they meant beat her, as in beat the crap out of her. Well, I was trying not to scare them half to death, so I told them I imagine it was more like spanking her, the way parents used to spank their children not so long ago.”
“What was their reaction to that?”
“Big mistake on my part. Huge mistake. Too often I forget they’re still teens with raging hormones. The discussion devolved into kinky sex, and I had to shut it down.”
“That must have been uncomfortable for you.”
His hand moves up and down my arm, slowly, seductively. Goosebumps break out over my entire body. “So how did a nice Catholic girl become a teacher who fantasizes about being flogged?”
So many answers race through my mind that it’s difficult to choose one, so I try to summarize it instead. “I don’t really know. There’s no defining moment I can point to. I’ve had these fantasies since before I hit puberty. You can imagine the guilt. I’m sure it’s no mystery that I chose to teach in a Catholic school to atone for them.”
“But do you really believe that? That you’re wrong to want this?”
“No,” I whisper. Tears well up, and I try to stop them, but without success. When he gently brushes them away, the tender gesture only makes me cry harder.
“It’s all right.” His voice is soft and reassuring. “That’s why you’re here. Let’s play, Glynis. Let’s help you explore those fantasies in a safe environment. There’s no one here but us. No one else ever has to know about this.”
I’m nodding like one of those bobblehead dolls. “Yes. Yes, that’s what I want.”
When he leans over and kisses me, I’m so shocked I stop crying. His lips are warm and soft. It’s a sweet kiss, nothing crazy, but it sends my arousal to insane heights. After he releases it, I’m positive this is going to be the most exciting, erotic night of my entire life.
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