That had been a good two years. We came here every other week. Bree sat on that couch now, her rum and coke chilling in her hand. I was going to propose to her here, can you believe it? She drew the line at getting married in Hellfire, though. They were more the beach wedding kind of people.
Yet this was where her ex had met her new Dom. While Bree snuck off to the bathroom to rid herself of the two drinks she had at dinner, a man named Igor swept in and offered to make a woman’s dreams come true.
It took two months for Bree to realize the love of her life was carrying on an affair behind her back. When she finally caught on, she felt like such a fool that she immediately threw herself into a world of risky and loveless encounters, with this club at the epicenter. I started with orgy night and didn’t look back. Bree knew that going through an uncountable number of partners in one night wouldn’t heal her heart, but it was the closest she ever got to therapy.
What was she doing here?
The real question to ask myself. An employee in a black dress and mask walked up to every guest, asking if they had signed up for that night’s club-sponsored key party. The few who took her up on it were asked their sexual predilections, and people readily gave them, albeit with the occasional flush of the cheeks. If you pay close enough attention, you quickly figure out who is queer. Some people were only queer at the club and led dreadfully closeted lives out of it, but Bree didn’t judge them. She did, however, appreciate knowing what she was getting into when she hooked up with someone who would never acknowledge her at the Santa Monica Pier.
Bree finished her drink and left it on the platter of a passing waitress. Before anyone could ask her if she was interested in that night’s party, she changed couches, restless.
Turned out moving from one side of the room to the other was fate speaking through her small body.
As soon as she settled into the corner of the leather couch, she looked up and caught the eye of another woman sitting not too far away.
Bree had to double-take. It wasn’t every day she saw someone who immediately piqued her interest. Not in the way that made her fingers twist together and sweat dot her brow. My tongue is dry. My throat is constricted. Bree looked away again before she roused suspicion. Once another woman stood between them, speaking with her friend, Bree stole another look.
Was it strange to describe this stranger as an angel? Her unblemished skin glowed beneath the small chandelier, and her golden hair pulled back to the nape of her neck was as sweet as a halo. Yet her outfit was far from angelic. As black as Bree’s soul in the wake of a bad breakup, and as revealing as one of the women who made their living twirling around the many poles in the club.
I love a woman who leaves little to the imagination. The blonde’s black baby doll lingerie didn’t do much to contain her breasts – the poor, poor spaghetti straps practically strained against her smooth shoulders. The sheer skirt fanned around her stomach and thighs, but Bree’s keen eye spotted a pair of black boy shorts beneath it. It’s always too much to ask them to be going commando this early in the night. Those women popped up in the back toward midnight. Bree may have been friends with half of them.
Yet what made this stranger exceptionally eye-catching was the mask on her head. Black lace stretched across her eyes. While it was far from a blindfold – let alone anything to mask her identity – Bree quickly caught on that it wasn’t the intent behind the mask. The bunny ears standing straight up from her head were a nice touch. Usually, Bree didn’t go for the cosplay-lite aesthetic. One never knew when a woman with cat ears and whiskers was having fun or really thought she was a cat. I can deal with one. Not so much the other. Bree wasn’t a mistress as much as she was a tough, commanding girlfriend. Hey, someone for everyone, right?
Yet something about this woman’s demeanor didn’t scream “Make me your fuck-bunny, mistress!” She was so natural in her attire that Bree assumed this was the woman’s preferred aesthetic. One Bree could easily get behind. Literally. I’ll get behind her any night.
Small, red lips pursed as the woman looked around. Was she waiting for someone? Ready for a conversation? This was Bree’s chance. Get up and strike a conversation with her. Isn’t that what you know how to do? Make her fucking day. Hell, fuck her. That’s what places like these are for. Few women dressed like that unless they were looking for a good time. The bust of the lingerie may have been opaque, but Bree could still see the stranger’s nipples. Taking bets now that they’re pink. Sometimes Bree was pleasantly surprised, but she wanted to believe that this woman’s pert areolas were the same color as the lip she bit in anticipation.
One of the servers stopped in front of her. At first, Bree assumed her sweet stranger wouldn’t know what was happening. Instead, to her further pleasant surprise, a black satin pouch clicked open to reveal not only an ebony Hellfire membership card, but one of the room keys those in a more submissive position procured for the party.
Not only was this woman aware of the key party, she was a participant. The only reason to give the staff her key was so it could be redistributed to a “random” person in about another hour when the festivities were to begin.
The staff woman went over a few things that Bree could not hear over the conversations and music playing around her. She knew one thing, though…
As soon as the server in black stood up again, Bree flagged her down. The woman in mask and bunny ears hopped out of her seat and went straight to the ladies’ room. The server asked Bree a question, intruding upon her fantasies.
“Miss?” the server sweetly asked.
“Oh. Yes.” Bree shoved her hand into her jacket pocket. She pulled out her wallet, which held the essentials – her ID, a credit card, a tip for Kyle, and her Hellfire membership card. “I’m interested in the key party. I should have one free admittance on my card, still.”
With that fake customer service smile everyone on staff carried, the server took Bree’s membership card and slid it through a reader on her company phone. “You absolutely do, ma’am. Do you already have a key, or are you…?”
“I’m a player, thank you.” Even if her goal wasn’t to get into bed with her blonde bunny, she was far from the type to let someone else take control. That’s how these parties worked. The ones who gave up their keys in turn gave up their control. The keyholders held so much more. Bree wanted a key. She wanted to unlock the door. She wanted to take control.
She was pretty sure her intended lived to give up that control, too.
Chapter 2
AMELIA
Nerves rattled Amelia’s body as she made her way through the club. While it was far from her first time coming by herself, it had been a long, long time since she last had an empty arm – and an empty heart.
The bartender said nothing as he made her a Manhattan. If he noted the absence of her husband, he didn’t say. Of course, everyone who was paid by this club was also paid to keep their mouths shut. They made no judgments. Out loud, anyway. I wonder what kind of shit they see on a regular night here. So much adultery. So many dangerous situations. Amelia’s husband once said that Hellfire was where one came when they wanted to condemn themselves with hedonism. He always said it with a laugh and a light slap to her ass.