“Murphy had been a Dom for a decade at that point. He’d never considered taking on a sub fulltime until he met me. His brother Rafe is a counselor. After my meltdown I spent time talking to Rafe alone, and with Murphy. While all this soul searching stuff was going on, I fell in love with Murphy.” She sniffled. “Totally, completely in love with the gentle giant who had such a code of honor that he didn’t touch me at all.”
“How long did that last?”
“Six months. Murphy took me to clubs where I could see other kinds of play. Play where a Dom administering pain was a preface for sexual pleasure for the sub. Without getting into too many details, it made me hot. And wet. Two things I’d never felt when the whip scored my skin. When he saw my reaction, he knew I was ready to experience the difference with him. It changed my life. So, the long answer to your question is no, Murphy would never abuse me. He gets me. He loves me. We give each other exactly what the other needs.” She sniffled again. “You can open your eyes now.”
Ainsley looked at Layla.
“Be honest with me. Why are you interested in experiencing any of this? I see a look of revulsion in your eyes, Ainsley.”
“It’s more confusion than revulsion. I don’t know why some of this appeals to me so much.” She glanced away with embarrassment.
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Layla asked.
Yes. “I’m relieved your story has a happy ending. I never understood why you just quit your job so abruptly.”
“Maybe it seemed fast on the outside, but things hadn’t been going well at the bank for awhile. I was more than ready to walk away and start my life over with Murphy. Our relationship might not be the norm, but it works for us. What is normal? And who the hell has the right to define what it is anyway?” Layla smiled slyly. “And yes, I am happy. And I want you to be happy too.”
Ainsley doubted she’d ever find happiness in a man whipping her on a regular basis.
Judgmental much? You’re just scared of the unknown.
“Let’s go. You’re driving.” At the door, Layla said, “Oops, I forgot one thing.” She handed Ainsley a gold wristband. “Since you’re still on the fence about what you want, at least try and act like you deserve to wear this tonight.”
Ainsley squinted through the windshield at the building across the street. Rawhide Bar was burned into a gigantic wooden sign and outlined with rope-like neon tubing. “This is just a bar.”
Layla sighed. “What were you expecting?”
“A buzzing neon sign with an arrow pointing the way to a dark and dirty sex club, hidden in an alley. Scantily clad, red-lipped women smoking cigarettes and eyeing their next sexual conquest while the greasy bouncer swigged from a flask.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but the Rawhide Bar has been here for over a hundred years.”
“It has? How’s that possible?”
“The Rawhide is two separate entities. The club portion harkens back to the days when a brothel operated out of the hotel side. Of course, they couldn’t call it a brothel, so they called it a gentleman’s club. The owners charged a membership fee, and the city provided the Rawhide with its own charter that’s still in effect today.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Cody and Trace’s great-grandfather was the founder. So when the boys of this generation decided to bring back the club aspect in a discreet and exclusive manner, it was all perfectly legal because the charter never expires as long as an original family member owns the building and business inside.”
“I wondered how a place like this survived in a smaller town like Gillette without rousing local suspicions. So neither their father nor their grandfather ran any type of club from here when they were in charge?”
“The Depression hit them pretty hard. Then the country went to war. I guess they had a bi-weekly poker club for a few years in the 50s and 60s, complete with cocktail servers who dressed like Playboy Bunnies. Who knows what else went on in the private rooms? They turned the hotel side into a flophouse in the 70s and 80s during the oil boom. Then after the energy bust, that side sat idle until Cody and Trace’s dad retired and moved to Arizona.”
“And yet the Rawhide Bar survived?”
“Mostly because it is a regular local bar that anyone can wander into and buy a drink. The club part is completely separate.”
Ainsley pulled her coat around her skimpy clothes. “And who makes up the majority of the members?”
“A few locals. Most are from out of town. Some from out of state.”
“How do potential new members hear about this place?”
“It’s not easy, since members have to sign a bunch of privacy and nondisclosure forms. Clientele recommendations come from managers of clubs like this in other parts of the country. Some members will talk to Murphy about someone they think might be a good fit for the club. Then Murphy investigates them. If he has enough interested parties, we host a guest night. In the last two years we’ve gained thirty new members.”
“No problems with Jim Bob blabbing at the town diner that he saw Betty Sue getting screwed silly by a man who wasn’t her husband?”
Layla laughed. “Not in the six years we’ve been here. But there are stringent rules, because a place like this is so hard to find, especially in rural America. The members are very protective of this place and the people they’ve connected with here. I know several female members who trust a Dom with a flogger or a whip, but they haven’t exchanged last names. First names only. No sharing of personal information unless it’s mutually agreed upon. And then only if Murphy is aware they’ll be meeting outside the club. There isn’t a lot of bullshit because all the members are here for the same thing.”
“Which is?”
“Sex with varying levels of kink. Sex without strings.”
Ainsley met Layla’s curious stare. “What?”
“Nice job distracting me and stalling for time. I bet I sounded like a tour guide, breaking down every single thing and providing historical footnotes.” Layla struck a pose. “And here we have a spanking bench covered in the softest cowhide. Look at the manacles, lined with rich Cordovian leather. Only the best at the Rawhide Club.”
“Did you notice the words to that TV ditty are kinda dirty?” Ainsley belted out, “Head ’em up, move ’em in, move ’em out…Rawhide!”