“Frisco Arrington, is that you?” he growls, blue eyes flashing. “Here I was thinking you’d gotten tired of this scene.”
“Hardly,” Frisco grins, clasping his arm firmly about my waist. “Bo, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Libby Rain. Libby, this is Bo, the owner of Club Om.”
“A pleasure,” Bo nods my way, his piercing gaze scorching my curves. But then he smiles like a gentleman. “I’d like to be the first to welcome you to my little club. Any questions, feel free to hit me up. Or if you need any assistance while scening, I’m more than happy to come to the side of a beautiful woman like yourself.”
I’m not sure what to say, my throat going dry, but Frisco tenses with possession.
“Thanks but that’s not needed,” my boyfriend growls, taking my hand in his big one. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll show you around.”
Shrugging helplessly at Bo, I turn with Frisco and we stroll a bit. I wish I could say I walk with confidence, but the butterflies in my stomach are in full flight as we start our tour, and they only get more intense as we go. The fact that it’s so dark in here doesn’t ease my nerves, either. The only light sources are glowing neon signs and occasional flashing strobes, which illuminate all kinds of kinky activity going on. It’s astonishing.
“They really don’t mind other people watching?” I ask Frisco as we pass a set of sawhorses. Men and women are bound to them, bent forward so as to be fully accessible to their leather-clad companions, who stimulate their partners with everything from feathers to riding crops. Dark techno music fills the air, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the throaty moans and delicate whines rising from the crowd.
Frisco nods. “It’s a power thing,” he rasps as we walk past a blindfolded woman on her knees in front of a large man dressed in latex. She’s giving him a blowjob in full view of the others, who are watching the action with avid interest. “I know it’s hard for people new to the scene to understand, but this is what BDSM is all about. Power dynamics. That’s why people enjoy it.”
I look up at him, but my boyfriend’s composed expression doesn’t give anything away. “What about you?” I ask cautiously. “Did you enjoy it?”
Frisco gazes down me, a little surprised. “Of course,” he replies. “I didn’t come here just to hang out with Bo, if that’s what you’re asking. Shit, I would never let that motherfucker touch me. At the same time, though, I’m not someone who needs kinkiness to have a fulfilled sex life. I’m good with what we have together, sweetheart, don’t you worry.”
I nod, squeezing his hand.
“Patrick, on the other hand…” I say, my voice trailing off. It’s strange being right in the middle of all this, and even stranger to see it from my ex’s point of view. But there’s something interesting about the openness of the club members, and I can’t help but feel a little curious.
We continue to work our way through the main floor, Frisco pointing out the various contraptions and devices and patiently explaining what each of them do. In one of the rooms to our left, with the curtains drawn back, I can see a topless woman splayed out on a table. Her companion is whipping her with a multi-tailed whip. “A cat o’ nine,” Frisco murmurs, and I watch with wide eyes as the leather flicks across her bare skin.
What would that feel like? I wonder.
Past a lineup of dominatrices, we come across a blindfolded man on his hands and knees. The woman standing next to him, looking a lot like Raina Peterson come to think of it, is holding a lit candle in her hand. I gasp, but then watch as she allows a droplet of the hot wax to fall onto the man’s lower back. He jerks in pleasure and pain. More wax trickles down, and I watch the man writhe under the stimulation, crying out with unabated ecstasy.
I’m suddenly very aware of Frisco’s tall, muscular form next to me, and an image momentarily crosses my mind: me, on the floor of his apartment, as he does the same thing to me. How long would I last before I begged him to take me? Would he listen, or would he draw out the titillation until I explode with need?
That’s when it finally hits me. Oh my god, I think, my mouth dropping open. I’m not disgusted by this stuff. I’m actually getting turned on by it.
And it’s true. Under the tight-fitting latex, I can feel a familiar heat creeping into my pussy, and the feeling of Frisco’s hands on me is only making it stronger. It’s a side of sex I’ve never given much thought to before, but now I wonder how that was possible. The realization that I like this is both scary and liberating. “Wow,” I breathe. “Who would have thought?”