Out of the Dungeon (27 page)

Roman grinned at Jason. "You weren't up for
that?" he asked.

Jason shrugged. "I don't have anything
against pony play, but I'm not interested in trying it. Besides,
Keri collects subs, trades them, dismisses them. They're toys to
her, objects. It's very dispassionate."

"And you're looking for passion," Roman
surmised.

"Of course. Why should I accept anything
else?" Jason blushed again.

Roman liked him even more, as an image of
Jeff's earnest face flitted across his inner vision. "You
shouldn't."

"The thing is," Jason paused, looking for
words. "It's kind of incestuous. I mean, Keri's probably played
with or had sex with pretty much everyone in this room. The
Dominants team up and run the subs sometimes, with silly party
games, or humiliation play, and what not."

Like the Angel party
, Roman
thought.

"They've all pretty much been with each
other, in some form or another, and little alliances are constantly
being formed. But the alliances eventually cause petty little
spats, and that leads to the swapping of partners
yet
again.
"

Jason pointed out a pale, slim woman with
short cropped red hair and a boyish figure. "See that girl, the
redhead in the emerald green dress with nipple holes?"

Roman nodded.

"Her name is Dangerous, or at least that's
what she calls herself. She's been the owned sub of every Dominant
here. She's been a pony, she's been the center of a bukkake circle,
she's been whipped, flogged, collared, dogged, sense-deprived,
petted, fisted, and basically turned inside out. When she ran out
of male Doms to experience, she made an announcement online that
she wanted to explore her lesbian side, and now she's working
through the Dommes. She's not a slut, and she's not stupid. But
whatever she's looking for, it's not here. You know? Well. Maybe
you know, maybe you don't. But I stand at the side and I watch. And
let me tell you what I'm not going to do. I'm not following in her
footsteps. I'm not baring my everything to everybody in the hope
that I'll find something that doesn't exist. If that makes me
passionate, then yes, guilty as charged."

"Good," Roman said, and raised his glass as
if offering a toast. He stared into Jason's eyes, and Jason stared
back. And, for just that moment, Roman recognized the feeling of
something amazing ready to burst into life like a phoenix
rising.

"Jason, are you bending Roman's ear with all
the local gossip?"

They both startled, and then laughed. It was
Tim, the door guy.

"Someone has to," Jason said.

"He's very kindly filling me in on
everybody's names," Roman said. "But so far he hasn't told me a
single deep, dark secret. I'm very disappointed."

Roman lowered his brows and tightened his
lips and turned his stern Master face on Jason, who looked like he
might melt against the bar.

Tim grinned. "Jason's a good tour guide.
Voyeurs collect a surprising amount of information."

"Is that what you are, a voyeur?" Roman
asked, feeling real disappointment.

"At the moment," Jason said lightly, with a
quick grin. "I'll watch until I see someone worthy of more."

Tim snorted. "Whatever. He's a scared rabbit.
I can introduce you around if you want, Roman."

"I appreciate the offer," Roman said. "But
I'm doing all right. If I want to engage more, I will. No
worries."

"Yeah, I suppose," Tim said. "You're probably
good at that. Your club still going strong?"

Roman felt his left eyelid twitch. Not
something he wanted to talk about. He put an edge into his voice.
"I sold the club. For personal reasons."

"Aw, man. That's too bad. What happened?"

"Tim," Jason interjected. "He said it's
personal. Jeez."

"Oh, well, sorry," Tim said. "Didn't mean to
offend."

"No offense," Roman said, winked at Jason,
and mouthed,
thanks.

Jason shrugged. And then the three of them
seemed stuck in some kind of stand-off, the silence stretching
until it became awkward.

"Well, anyway," Tim finally said, "if you
want a particular introduction, let me know."

"I will," Roman said, and turned to face
Jason, dismissing Tim with his back.

"He knows you," Jason commented, as Tim
weaved past them toward the center stage.

"He thinks he knows me," Roman said. "I
assume you heard about a fucking machine built locally that's now
at the Museum of Sex in New York?"

"Oh, yeah," Jason said. "They called it
Imminent Domain, or something like that. It was built by Sir Master
Lord Charlie. He's the guy over there wearing the wizard hat."

Roman looked. There was, indeed, a person in
that direction wearing a midnight blue cone-shaped hat decorated
with gold stars and silver moons. "Sir Master Lord? That's a little
overdone, as far as titles go."

"You think?" Jason said, and then laughed.
"I'd just call him Charlie, myself."

"So long as he's not Sir or Master or Lord to
you, I should think that would be appropriate," Roman said.

"Except then he'd be offended, because I
wouldn't be respecting his status as a Dominant."

"You're giving me a headache," Roman said.
"What I was getting at was until recently I owned a club in New
York City, and Tim was apparently a customer while on the trip to
bring the fucking machine to the museum."

"Ah, so you're just visiting us," Jason said,
and now it was his turn to look disappointed.

Roman saw that disappointment, and it was
intriguing. But then his phone bleeped. A text message from
Vanessa.

How's the party in MN?

Not exactly what I'm used to,
he
answered.

Why not? Vanessa asked.

Not much class, he replied.

Maybe there's heart, which is better than
class,
she answered, and that answer made Roman smile.

"I'm being rude," Roman said to Jason. "I
apologize."

"No problem. I'm going to use the restroom
and go outside for a smoke."

Jason walked away, and Roman's phone
rang.

"This is Roman," he said into the phone.

"Hi," Vanessa said, and there was a hitch in
her voice that sounded suspiciously like tears.

Roman turned away from the bar and softened
his voice. "Hey, baby mama, everything okay?"

"I'm an emotional wreck," she said. "Make me
laugh. Quick."

"Okay, I'm at a local BDSM event," Roman
said, "and so far I've seen a scary pixie riding a human pony, a
wizard hat, and nipple clamps over black electric tape. Which,
frankly, I have to tell you, dulls the sensation."

"Hmm," Vanessa said, with what might have
been half laugh and half sob. "You'll have to demonstrate that
sometime."

"Now here comes a tall, skinny guy with a
long, skinny braid trailing down from the back of his head. His
hair has a tail, like, remember the eighties? And there's a woman
behind him, holding the braid like a leash."

"Sounds kind of hot," Vanessa said.

Roman looked again. "It is. And the woman
holding the braid isn't thin, but she's curvy in all the right
places, and she's wearing a red and black corset, and they look
perfect together."

He looked around the bar, at the people
milling around, walking from station to station, and was struck by
the utter lack of attention to personal appearance. Talking to
Jason, seeing what Jason wanted him to see, Roman had missed taking
in the general weirdness of people.

"Some of these people have 1970 hidden in
their closets."

"There are worse things to keep in the closet
than 1970," she said.

"If they'd kept these clothes in their
closets, I'd agree with you," he laughed. "But they let them out.
There's some 1960 around here, too. And a stellar carbon-copy of
Sandra Dee."

"Grease lightning," Vanessa squealed. "It
sounds fun. Is it supposed to be a costume party?"

"No. It's supposed to be a fetish event. I
must be an utter prick," he sighed into the phone, "because I
wouldn't encourage half of these people to hang out at my club. And
I'm not kidding."

"You are a total prick. Or so I've
heard."

"Yeah, but I'm safe," he said. "You know the
term 'basement dweller' right? The thirty-five year old guy who
lives in his mom's basement, plays video games and jacks off to
internet porn all night, then sleeps all day. Never gets out to get
a haircut, hasn't bothered to get new glasses since1982, and hasn't
shaved in three months. His clothes are bad, his teeth are bad, and
no doubt his breath is terrible. You getting a picture of
this?"

"Not a pleasant one," Vanessa said.

"I keep them out of my club, and I certainly
keep them out of my dungeon. They can stay in mom's basement,
that's fine with me. Anyway. They find some BDSM stuff online,
maybe stumble into a chat room for locals. We let them in because
we like fresh meat. Fresh meat is fun, and bringing a newbie in and
raising him up to be a good little sub is the ultimate trip. The
fear on their faces, how hard they have to work to swallow their
pride as they swallow your cock, how you bend them and push them
and teach them. It's the combination of embarrassment and desire
that sends me right to the edge. It's what I saw in Dare. It's what
I see in you. Helping newbies find their place in the community is
an important part of the whole scene."

He was thinking not just about Vanessa, but
about his new friend, Jason.

"I'm not a newbie," Vanessa said. "And I
don't know how many people do chat rooms these days. Everyone's on
FetLife. Well. Everyone but you. Where are you going with
this?"

"You are a newbie. You've always hung on the
sidelines of everything, at least until Suede."

"Well, yeah, I guess. And you see where
jumping in got me."

Roman chuckled into the phone. "There is
that," he agreed, realizing that Vanessa having a baby was going to
keep her foray into BDSM stalled for the foreseeable future.

He looked around the club, attempting to
count the people he type-cast as basement dwellers. He got to half
a dozen and stopped counting. "The point is, this place is full of
basement dwellers."

"Oh, we're back on that subject, then?" she
asked. "Why is it your business, anyway?"

"I can't help it. These people tag themselves
online as Sir Lord Master Thunderwhip or whatever. They must think
sex flies around BDSM events like raindrops. So maybe they show up
at this party and bumble their way around with a single-tail or a
flogger, and they might cause harm to some unsuspecting pretty
little girl who's just learning the ropes, who thinks that if she's
a sub, she has to sub to anybody who comes along and gives her an
order. And that scares the hell out of me."

"But it's not your community. You don't know
what safety measures they have in place."

Roman acknowledged that. "True. But if it
were to become my community…"

"What? Are you staying there?"

"Whoa, don't panic. I didn't say that." But
was he thinking it? Gigi wanted him to stay. She'd cleaned up the
woodshop, what, so he could make a living? So he'd have something
to keep him occupied, keep him around? "Would you come here, if I
did?"

"I don't know. I guess I'd consider it. My
dad wanted me to know that Minnesota is a good place to raise
children. Good schools, less crime."

Roman laughed. "He's probably right. Wait,
you told your parents?"

"I had to tell someone who wasn't going to
freak out and scream at me that I'm stupid and crazy."

"You told Suede?" he guessed, and heard
Vanessa sigh into the phone.

"Yeah. Had to explain why I wasn't drinking.
Seemed best to get it over with. I started texting you right after
she texted me that I was fucking crazy. She's going to be super
supportive, I can tell."

"I'm sorry," Roman said. "All of this is
really changing your life."

"Yours, too," she said. "And thank you for
not freaking out."

"Gigi really wants me to stay," Roman said.
"The idea is totally crazy."

His eyes found Jason, who'd just come in from
outside. "Then again, there's no reason I couldn’t."

Vanessa laughed, but it was a nervous laugh.
"What, we all just up and move to Minnesota? Are you inviting Jeff,
too?"

"Why not? I mean, everything else about our
lives is going to be different no matter what. And it's peaceful
here. We could at least think about it."

Suddenly music blasted through the club, and
a drag-diva was on the stage tapping into a microphone. "Is this
thing on? Is it? Give me a holler if it is."

A roar went up. Roman stuck a finger in his
non-phone ear and said, "I think the party's starting. Can I call
you in the morning?"

"Yeah, when you're sober," Vanessa said, and
Roman swore he could still hear her laughing, even after she hung
up.

J
ason came up to
Roman. "The party's starting," he said, leaning close to talk into
Roman's ear. His breath carried a hint of alcohol and the pleasant
puff of a recently smoked cigarette. "I'm going to grab my lounge
chair. Join me if you want."

Roman nodded, but didn't move. He watched
Jason set his drink and cigarettes on a low table and settle into
the chair.

The music had faded and the emcee was
yammering on, but the sound was distorted, and it would take some
attention to follow the pattern. Roman looked at Jason, the voyeur.
Roman was never content in the voyeur role, and he wasn't going to
sit alone and passive to watch this night unfold.

He got a fresh drink, then walked over to
stand behind Jason's chair. He set his drink next to Jason's
cigarettes, then placed his hands on Jason's shoulders, tightening
his fingers and releasing, giving Jason's muscles a slow firm
massage. Jason tipped his head back and looked up at Roman. Roman
searched Jason's eyes, looking for the need, the want. Looking for
permission.