I get back in the car and study him for a second. “You sure you’re up for this?”
He rolls his eyes and makes a tsh sound with his tongue. “I may be new to all this, but I’m a big boy. I can handle myself,” he assures me. I bristle a little, resisting the urge to tell him to watch his tone. “Besides, two days from now, I’m going to be bent over Harley’s lap, getting spanked with god knows what and then fucked into next week. This is no time for me to be a prude.”
I’m not about to argue with that, so I simply nod and put the car back into drive. The nearest kink club, Ball and Chain, is just outside the city limits in a large, nondescript building.
“Huh, this is not what I was picturing,” Byron says, looking up at the building as we get out of the car.
“What were you picturing?”
He shrugs. “More like a regular club, I guess? I thought there would be lights and music, maybe a line outside?”
I chuckle. “Kink clubs typically try to be more discrete than that. And there’s never a line because any reputable BDSM club has a list of prescreened guests. No need to wait in line.”
“Oh. I didn’t get prescreened, though.”
“No, but I did, and tonight you’re mine,” I tease, shooting him a wolfish grin and enjoying it way too much when his eyes go wide and his cheeks darken.
“I’m not sure I read the fine print on this one,” he mutters, and I laugh.
“Don’t be afraid, my little lamb chop. I only bite after careful negotiations.” I snap my teeth at him playfully.
“Good to know.”
I put a hand on his lower back to guide him inside. Not that he can’t make it to the door on his own. I’m sure he’s perfectly capable, but old habits die hard.
I greet the doorman with a friendly handshake. We’ve met on several occasions when he visited the club I used to frequent in New York, and we struck up a long-distance friendship.
“Marshall, it’s good to finally see you in my neck of the woods. How’s Vegas treating you so far?”
“Hotter than hell. But otherwise, not so bad.”
“Glad to hear it. Have a good night, and give me a call soon so we can grab dinner and catch up.”
“Will do.” I pat his shoulder as we pass, leading Byron down the hallway to the main room of the club.
He looks around in awe. The main room of the club seems to be fairly tame, as I expected. Plenty of subs are kneeling for their Doms, some acting as a footrest or simply existing happily at their Masters’ feet. Several people meander in various states of nudity, but no obvious sex is taking place.
I’m sure most patrons use the bar mostly for water or soda. I’m impressed by a large sign behind the bar warning of the danger of playing while intoxicated. Many of the patrons come here at nights not to play but just to relax, and then they’re more likely to have something stronger to drink.
I nod toward the bar. “Are you thirsty?”
“Maybe just some water?” His look with the slightest hint of helplessness goes straight to my dick. My fingers flex against the small of his back.
“Go sit down there.” I point at an empty booth a few feet away. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
He nods and licks his lips, heading straight for the spot I indicated, and I buy us a couple of bottles of water.
Ziggy
I slide into the booth. My eyes are glued to Marshall as he walks off to the bar. He knows how to fill a pair of jeans, that’s for sure. Holy cow, those tight denims hug his ass in a way that’s probably illegal in a few countries. I make a mental note to catch a glimpse of the front as well.
Not that I’m interested in Marshall’s package or anything. Let’s call it professional curiosity. I am a porn star now after all. Or don’t I get to call myself that until the first shoot? Semantics. It’s only a matter of days now anyway.
I’m strangely looking forward to it. Harley seems like he knows what he’s doing, so all the hallelujahs for that. Trust me, the best equipment or even packaging in the world can’t compensate for not knowing how to use your tool.
Once Marshall is out of sight, I take in my surroundings a bit more. Across the aisle from me, I have a full view of a booth where a sub is kneeling under the table for his Dom, his face pressed against the Dom’s crotch. He seems blissed out, sporting a happy, almost goofy smile, his eyes heavy lidded. The sub, not the Dom, though his smile is satisfied as well.
Next to them, a man is on his hands and knees, his back almost perfectly straight as he balances a bottle of water and a glass on it. His Dom is chatting with another guy, also a Dom, judging by the power he radiates. They basically ignore the sub, and I frown.
“It’s humiliation kink.” Marshall puts down my water in front of me and takes a seat. “He’s using him like a piece of furniture, and the sub is not allowed to move or talk unless it’s to use his safeword.”
I twist off the cap and guzzle some water down. “Why would someone like that?”
Marshall studies me intently. “Why do some men get off on bottoming and others on topping or no anal sex at all? Why does one man fly high if you so much as touch his nipples, and others could take it or leave it but go crazy when you suck on their earlobe? We’re all wired differently. The challenge is to find what makes you tick.”
Hmm, fair point. I shrug. “I’m easy. I like sex. All sex. As long as a guy knows what he’s doing, I’m not hard to please.”
Marshall lifts an eyebrow. “Not hard?”
I wave my hand dismissively. “Unintended double entendre. All I’m saying is that I’m easily aroused, and it doesn’t take much to make me feel good.”
“I’d pegged you as more of a high-maintenance guy.”
“In the bedroom? No. Personal hygiene, a strict condom policy, and knowing how to use your dick. That’s all I’m asking for. Outside the bedroom is a whole different matter.”
Marshall studies me a bit more, then changes the subject. “Have you had a chance to read through the scripts for the first scenes you’ll be doing?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I meant it as a joke, but Marshall’s reaction to that expression makes me realize I’d better be careful throwing those two words around casually.
“Tell me what the first scene looks like.” Marshall’s voice rumbles with authority. I’ve never been a “yes, Sir” person in my life, but I have to admit he’s getting to me when he talks like that.
“Bondage,” I respond promptly. “Harley will experiment with me with tying me to a bed and then fucking me.”
“You’re saying that as if you’d be more worried about tomorrow’s weather forecast.”
“I’m from California. The weather is not something to get stressed about, since it’s always hot. It’s just a matter of degrees between hot and hella hot. Much like here, actually. But no, I’m not particularly worried about the scene. I mean, what’s there to fret about? It’s just some ropes or some shit. He’ll tie me to a bed, hopefully, fuck me real good, and then we’re done.”
Marshall doesn’t say anything, but his eyes radiate displeasure. I squirm a little on the bench, forcing myself to stay still. My dad used to employ that tactic when I was smaller: say nothing and stare me down. Until I learned better, he’d get me to spill whatever I had done wrong every single time.