“I don’t have to wear them. I mean, I can mostly see. Things are a little fuzzy, but—”
“You’re wearing them.” He came into my apartment and looked around to see where I’d left them. “I’ve developed a goddamned glasses fetish, thanks to you. Get them on your face. Did you put on the mascara?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m going to try to cry tonight,” I said, picking up my glasses from the coffee table.
“I’m going to try to make you cry.” He took a thin pencil out of his pocket and held it up. “Wait. I want you to wear some eyeliner, too.”
Crap. I was terrible at makeup. I never wore eyeliner, because I had to apply it without my glasses, and I always managed to poke myself in the eye. “I’m not good at putting it on,” I said. “I don’t think you’ll get the desired effect, unless you’re looking for a sexy, black-eyed clown.”
“Good lord. Come here.” He dragged me to my kitchen and turned on the overhead light, and made me sit at the counter. He unpeeled the eyeliner’s factory wrapping and twisted up the black iridescent cosmetic. Okay, so manly, muscular Devin Kincaid was going to apply sparkly eyeliner to my eyes. He tipped up my chin and stood between my legs, and stared at me with his pale blue gaze.
“Close your lids,” he ordered. “And hold still.”
He took my face in his hands, using one of his fingers to hold my eyelid taut. I felt the pencil slip across in tiny movements, and tried not to blink, especially when he hissed at me again to be still.
“Okay. Now open your eyes wide, and look up,” he said.
I obeyed, and he did my lower lid. He didn’t poke me in the eye, not once, and then he lined my other eye with grim-lipped efficiency. When he handed back my glasses, I turned to look in a nearby mirror and saw that he’d done an expert job.
“Where’d you learn that?” I asked, in awe.
“I have many talents.” He squinted at my eyes to make sure the makeup was even, then leaned in for a kiss. His kisses always began gently, and ended in a heat of passion, to the point where he ruined my lipstick, and I had to re-apply.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said, suddenly impatient. “That lipstick’s just going to end up on a bunch of cocks anyway.”
Jesus, the idea of that turned me on. What was wrong with me? What sane woman wanted such things? I took his hand and let him lead me down to his car.
*
Over the past couple weeks, I’d created a mental image of The Gallery based on details Devin had shared with me. I’d imagined a luxe first-floor lobby where I would have to stop and sign papers, and then, upstairs, a huge glass clock face and two dungeon-like floors of unbridled lust.
The reality was even better than my dreams, even more beautiful. We rode up on the elevator with another couple. The submissive was quiet, averting her eyes in her nearly identical black coat, so I stayed quiet too, but I couldn’t help a few sideways glances at the Dom. Like Devin, he was in a dark suit and tie. He was wearing a wedding band, so he was married, but not necessarily to his sub. A lot of kinky people played outside their marriages to have their needs met.
Would I do that someday? Probably not, since I didn’t plan to get married. You didn’t have to worry about love and emotion when you didn’t give your heart to someone. Problem solved.
We arrived at the private floors housing The Gallery, and the elevator opened to a reception area so much more stylish and gorgeous than I’d expected. The lobby ceiling soared, the irregular corners bordered by carved molding. The wall was gray, not the red I’d imagined, and had fine gilt patterns covering the wallpaper. There were iron sconces on the walls, providing just enough light to give the room an air of mystery. And of course, there was the fancy ivory door that led into the dungeon.
While I stood and stared at the opulent surroundings, Devin invited the other couple to go ahead of us. A handsome young man at the podium offered paperwork while the Dom took off his sub’s coat. He called the young man Rene, and I wondered if Rene acted as greeter and bouncer both, because he was as muscular as he was polite and deferential. He gave the sub a quick once over—checking her uniform—then accepted her coat and the Dom’s jacket, hanging them in a closet beyond the fireplace.
I tried not to stare at the submissive. I was so nervous, because I knew I’d lose my coat next, and the most private parts of my body would be bared to everyone’s gaze, just like hers. The sub signed the page of Gallery rules without any shyness or shame, so I tried not to feel those things either. This was a fantasy world, and everyone had to play along to make it feel real.
The couple went inside without a backward glance, and Devin led me forward. “Good evening, Rene,” he said, addressing the boyish gatekeeper. “It’s Ella’s first time.”
“Wonderful,” he said.
“Time to take off your coat,” Devin told me. His eyes were avid and smiling, and I remembered that he hadn’t seen me in my uniform yet, aside from the photo of the collar I’d sent. Was that on purpose? Had he wanted to see me the first time here before The Gallery’s ivory door, kind of the way a groom didn’t see his bride until they were at the altar?
No brides. No altars. This wasn’t like that. I undid the buttons and let Devin lift my coat away. I might have felt embarrassed, or at least cold, if he hadn’t made such a flattering sound of approval. He tweaked one of my nipples, and when I squirmed, he patted my ass.
Rene inspected me with less appreciation. I was pretty sure the gorgeous young man was gay. Poor guy, having to inspect sexily attired female subs all night long. Actually, his orientation probably made it easier for him to deal with all the naked lady parts. He nodded at Devin and had me sign the page of rules I’d memorized from perving over them all week. I wasn’t nervous anymore, I was excited. I scrawled my signature and handed the paper back.
“Welcome to The Gallery,” Rene said. “Oh, and would you like me to look after your glasses while you’re inside?”
“No,” said Devin. “She’s going to wear them.” He winked at Rene. “I want her to see everything that’s coming to her.”
The man’s impassive regard didn’t break, but I saw a blush rise in his cheeks, and maybe the hint of a dimple. He took our coats and gestured toward the ivory door. “Enjoy.”
Devin opened the door and guided me up a set of stairs into a dungeon much larger than any I’d ever seen. Both stories were busy and full of activity. A watch face with Roman numerals took up an entire wall, its gold and silver gears on display. It wasn’t blue, like in my dream, but a luminescent white, and it wasn’t keeping time. The hands were motionless, stuck at seven forty-five.
I touched my collar, feeling at home here, and appreciating the fact that Devin had allowed me time to look around. Now that I’d taken in the massive clock and the variety of fetish furniture, I started to see the people: Doms in crisp white button up shirts, ties, and pants, and subs who were all dressed like me, except that some had dark hair, or red hair, or blue hair, and some wore fetish jewelry.
“What do you think?” Devin asked. He grinned, because he knew I loved it. “Are you ready for some pain?”
“Yes, Sir.” My voice shook a little, from excitement and anxiety, not fear. “This place is beautiful, just…in every way.”
“Not always. But most of the time.”
He showed me around, or maybe he just wanted to let the other Doms get a look at me. The players who weren’t involved in deep scenes greeted him, and looked me over. I was happy to see there was no real “type” here. The subs came in all ages and sizes, and so did the Doms. Devin was definitely the most handsome, with his blond hair and piercing eyes, and a lot of the women seemed into him.
Don’t be jealous. He’s not your boyfriend or anything. He’d saved my life once, and given me many orgasms, but I had no right, or desire, to claim him as my own. While I studied the faces and tried to remember the names, I checked out the various areas.
There was a section with sofas and chaises, where couples w
ere having sex, and another area with various types of racks and bondage equipment. One area had medical tables and spanking benches, and trestles and beams with lots of attachment points. As if all of that wasn’t enough, there were chains and structures hugging the wall, with cordoned-off spaces for more dangerous scenes, like whipping. Someone in the corner was throwing a snake tail, which made a terrifying hiss-crack noise that echoed off the walls and into the second level. People watched from the balcony above as the sub shrieked and twisted, her arms held over her head in chains.
I stiffened at the sight. She seemed to be in agony, and there were no safe words allowed here if it became too much. I looked at Devin, but he seemed more amused than concerned. “She lives for whips,” he murmured in my ear. “Hardcore, huh?”
I nodded, wondering if Devin was into whips. He hadn’t talked about them, but who knew what he’d do to me now that I was here? I’d try anything once, since I trusted him, but to my relief, he led me away from the whip couple to the area predominated by spanking benches and tables.
“Since it’s your first night here,” he said, “I thought I’d let some of these Dominants have a whack at your sexy ass. They’ll be excited to learn what a masochist you are.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said.