The Inner Room (4 page)

Stella did a small curtsey. “Yes, Sir. Right away.”

“I thought there was no alcohol allowed at BDSM clubs,” Marissa said, having heard this somewhere or other.

“Not at public clubs,” Tony agreed. “And yes, as a rule, you don’t want to mix alcohol with BDSM play. But one glass of champagne won’t hurt us.”

“And they squeeze their orange juice fresh,” Dana added. “I always have to have at least one mimosa when we come to the club. The champagne is almost an afterthought.”

“Okay, sounds great.” After all, Marissa certainly wasn’t planning to engage in any BDSM play. And a drink might take the edge off her nerves.

After the waitress left them, Marissa nodded toward the container Tony had placed on the table. “What’s that?”

Tony turned the clasp and opened the lid, revealing a black plastic wand with a red tip, and three glass rods, one with a round flat end like a stethoscope, one shaped like a large comb and one shaped like a dental implement.

“What is all that?” Marissa asked.

“It’s a violet wand kit,” Dana said, her eyes literally glowing with delight as she stared at the toys.

Marissa had heard of this type of BDSM sex toy, but she’d never actually seen one. “That’s like electrical shock, right? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Dana shook her head. “Not if it’s handled correctly.” She smiled warmly at her husband and then stroked one of the glass rods. “At a low setting it feels like tiny champagne bubbles fizzing on your skin. Increase the intensity, and it can be quite a shock.”

Marissa bit her lip. “Yikes. That’s got to hurt.”

“That’s the idea, silly. It hurts
so
good.” Dana grinned but then sobered. “Seriously, though. It’s not really pain, per se. It’s more like intensity. And that’s what we masochists crave the most. Intensity of experience. Pain is just one aspect of intensity.”

While Marissa thought about this, Tony added, “The wand delivers a spray of electrical sparks onto your skin that excite your nerve endings.” He picked up the black plastic wand and fitted the glass rod with the stethoscope end into the head of the wand.

“They operate on a low current, high voltage, high frequency electricity to the body,” he continued. He flipped a small switch at the base of the wand and held the glass head close to Dana’s arm. The glass turned a bright purple, tiny sparks of electricity like bolts of lightning flying from the head. “Oooh,” Dana said, shivering, while Marissa gasped in surprise at the unexpected fireworks. It was really quite beautiful.

“Contrary to what you might think,” Tony said as he held the wand a few inches away from Dana’s arm, “the farther you hold the electrode from your partner’s skin, the sharper the shock.” A small crack of electricity cut the air between them as the wand flashed purple and white, and Dana uttered a small squeal.

Tony removed the glass electrode and set it carefully back into its foam slot. He reached again into the messenger bag and took out a small, thin-handled whip. Instead of the usual leather, the strands were made of some kind of bright blue material, almost like the fiber optic rods of a light sculpture. “This,” he said with a cruel, sensual smile as he ran his fingers through the blue strands, “is how slave Dana’s going to earn her new corset.”

“Oh,” Marissa said softly, the word escaping unbidden from her lips as she watched Tony fit the whip handle into the plastic wand.

“This particular flogger,” he explained, “is made for use with a violet wand. The electrical charge is conducted evenly through each of the forty-five strands of Mylar, delivering an intense prickling sensation on contact. Tonight Dana is going to submit to an electrical flogging, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Sir,” Dana breathed, her eyes shining.

The waitress reappeared with their drinks, and Marissa was glad for the distraction. She felt both agitated and deeply excited by the heady atmosphere of the club, and by the erotically-charged connection that existed between Dana and her Master/husband. Dana hadn’t expressly said she was going to scene with her Master that evening, though Marissa supposed she should have expected it.

The couple moved their heads together until their foreheads were touching. The gesture was somehow more intimate than even a kiss would have been. As Marissa watched them, a vague, undefined longing swept through her, and she thought about Dana’s earlier analogy likening her to a kid with her face pressed up against the glass of a candy store. But this was more than candy, she understood now. For Dana and Tony, and maybe for her as well, this was sustenance of the most basic kind, and she, Marissa, had been unwittingly starved for it all her life.

Their silent, intense communication completed, Tony and Dana leaned away from each other. Marissa looked quickly away so as not to be caught staring. When she reached for her glass, she saw her hand was shaking slightly. Looking up, she met Dana’s eye. Dana smiled kindly. “I’m really proud of you, Marissa. I know this whole scene is a lot to process for a sub-curious girl like you. Coming here is the first step to a whole new life, if you want it.”

Tony lifted his glass, and the women followed suit. As they clinked, he said, “To the two loveliest sub girls in Manhattan. Now, let’s go play!”

Late Saturday morning Cam jogged up the steps from the subway and headed along St. Mark’s Place. The heavyset woman waving wildly at him from across the street looked familiar, though it took Cam a moment to place her. Janice was an RN at the hospital who, Cam had already figured out, was something of a gossip, her head always leaned conspiratorially close to a colleague, her eyes darting knowingly as she spread the latest rumor. Cam waved back and continued walking. He could still feel the woman’s eyes on him. He briefly considered moving past his destination, but decided at the last second not to. What the hell, he’d give the old girl something else to whisper about at the water cooler.

He went down the three steps that led to the door of the boutique. A male mannequin was featured in the window, decked out in leather and chains, a bright red ball gag fitted over his mouth beneath vacant, staring eyes.

A little bell jingled as Cam entered the small space and Celia looked up from behind the counter, her face splitting into a broad grin. “Hey there, stranger. It’s been way too long. Where’ve you been? I was afraid maybe you’d found a better place to get your gear. Maybe even online, god forbid.”

Celia’s hair was pink today, gelled into a crown of spiky points around her head that matched the metal spikes of her dog collar. She wore a black, very low cut leather bustier and when she stepped out from behind the counter Cam saw the rest of her ensemble—a pink satin miniskirt and high black leather boots. Somehow on her, it worked. She held out her arms and Cam moved into her embrace, leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I would never abandon you, Celia, you know that. You and Cat are my go-to girls for all my gear. I’ve just been really busy, is all. I got a new job and I’ve had to pull a few weekend shifts as the new kid on the block.”

“Okay, then,” Celia said with a mollified nod. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’m interested in a new flogger. Something in leather, not suede. I need something with more sting. And I could use a couple more canes. I broke one the other day.”

“On somebody’s ass?”

Cam nodded. “Yeah. The guy had buns of steel and kept telling me to hit him harder. He could definitely take it, but obviously the cane couldn’t. “

“Oooh, lucky guy.” Celia moved closer again. “You can break a cane on my ass anytime you like, sugar,” she purred teasingly.

“Somehow I don’t think Mistress Cat would approve,” Cam teased back.

“Ah, but she’s out of town. And you know what they say…when the cat’s away…”

Cam just shook his head, though he was smiling. Celia loved to flirt, but she was one hundred percent gay and never scened with men, period. “Okay, okay,” Celia said, pretending defeat. “If I can’t get you to cane me, at least I can get you to buy something. Let me show you what we’ve got. I have some fabulous new floggers by Adam Sands, that Australian dude who does everything by hand.”

Cam took his time examining the floggers, weighing the workmanship and quality of the leather against cost as he tried to make his selection. The club actually provided gear to its Master Trainers, of which Cam was one, but he liked to have his own things, especially when it came to flogging. A good flogger became the extension of your arm, almost a part of you, and an intimate knowledge of its heft, balance and stroke was essential in Cam’s book.

Someday, he thought with a sudden wistfulness, he would find his own sub girl, and together they would choose their own gear, gear they would keep at home. This girl, no, this woman, would be strong and confident, successful in her professional life and happy in herself, but sexually submissive to Cam. She was out there somewhere, he knew she was, and he was willing to wait for her.

He’d had several D/s relationships with women over the years, some more successful than others, none that lasted beyond a few months. He’d pretty much run the gamut, from super intense to nearly vanilla. On one end of the spectrum was Nicole. With her, the BDSM sex had been hot, and there was no erotic torture he could devise that she didn’t fully embrace. It had been great, at first, but after a while Nicole had needed more—more than he was willing or able to give. She wanted him to shave her head and to brand her ass with his initials. She wanted to sleep in a box underneath his bed in shackles. She wanted him to use her as his toilet, and to verbally humiliate her while he pissed into her mouth. While he understood her deep-seated need for such complete and total objectification, that wasn’t what he was looking for, and he had to break things off.

Then there was Coleen, beautiful, vivacious and smart as a whip. She’d seemed excited and eager when he’d first introduced the concept of BDSM play into their sex life. But eventually he’d figured out that for her it was just a game, a fun kink that proved how sexually free and open she was. When Cam tried to take it deeper, she balked and ran, and he let her go, aware she wasn’t the one.

Over the years he’d found himself pulling back from seeking a love match with a submissive woman, or any woman for that matter. It wasn’t that he didn’t want love, but he’d decided to let it find him. When the connection was right, he’d know it. Meanwhile, he had the club, and the satisfaction he derived from training. For now, that was enough.

~*~

Janice and Lawanda were whispering as Marissa approached the counter. They pulled apart when they saw her and Janice hurried away. Marissa took the stack of charts and sat down behind the counter to type in her notes at a terminal. From behind her, Lawanda said, “You’ll never guess Janice’s latest juicy tidbit.”

Marissa snorted. “Come on, Lawanda, whatever it is, please consider the source. According to Janice, the chief of oncology is having an affair with any number of the nurses, Frank down in the mailroom is really a CIA operative, and I’ve secretly been married and divorced three times.”

“Wait,” Lawanda said with mock surprise. “You mean you haven’t?”

Marissa laughed and shook her head. She tried to focus on her work but Lawanda persisted. “It’s about Cam Wilder.”

Marissa didn’t turn around, but her fingers stilled on the keyboard. “Oh?” she said in an elaborately casual tone. Shit, even the guy’s name was enough to make her tingle.

Lawanda laughed knowingly. “Yeah, oh,” she agreed. “The verdict is in on our newest hunk. This isn’t even gossip, it’s just the facts. Janice has proof. She
saw
him on Saturday going into one of those gay sex shops down in the Village. It’s official. The guy is queer as a two-dollar bill.”

“Oh,” Marissa said again, her heart plummeting into her shoes. She forced a small laugh and shrugged. “Just as well,” she lied. “Less distraction for the ladies, right?”

The busy day finally came to an end, and Marissa considered canceling her evening plans so she could take a hot bath and go to bed early. But she was only kidding herself. No way was she going to cancel. She had to see this through. She just had to.

Since Friday night at the club with Tony and Dana, Marissa hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what she’d witnessed. Watching Tony whip Dana with the electric flogger had been an extraordinary experience. Marissa had hugged herself as she watched, barely able to keep from whimpering with longing. Dana had been quiet at first, but as the flogging intensified and the sparks flew, she’d begun to yelp and squirm, and Marissa could almost feel the electric sting of the strands as they whipped over her friend’s bare back and ass. Then Dana had quieted again, though Tony had continued to flog her, if anything harder than before. A stillness had moved over Dana’s body and her face had been suffused with a kind of ethereal glow that was hard to describe.

Finally Tony had set down the flogger and released his wife from the large X-shaped cross to which he had earlier bound her by the wrists and ankles. She fell back into his arms without looking, her trust complete that he would catch her, which of course he did. Though he was the smaller of the two, he was apparently quite strong. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms and carried her to one of a series of sofas set around the room, Marissa forgotten. She’d trailed along, not wanting to intrude, but not sure what else to do.

Eventually Dana had opened her eyes and fixed Marissa with an angelic smile. “Hi,” she’d said. “So what did you think?”

Never in her life had Marissa yearned for something so fiercely, not even in her certainty since elementary school that she wanted to be a doctor. Seeing Dana, someone she knew and loved, transported by the erotic experience, had sealed the deal in her mind. She was done being a voyeur, watching videos and dreaming her secret dreams in the dark. She was ready for more. “I want it,” Marissa had blurted before realizing she was going to speak. “I want what you have.”

“Then you shall have it,” Tony had answered.

And tonight was the night. Dana had called her on Sunday to invite her over for what Tony had called “an exploration of your submissive potential.” Marissa’s heart had kicked immediately into high gear at the offer, but she was on call until six a.m. Monday and so had to decline. In a way she had been almost relieved to have a good excuse. Maybe she wasn’t as ready as she’d thought that night in the club.

“How about tomorrow night, then?” Dana had persisted, and again the longing had surfaced, as powerful and persistent as before.

Still, she forced herself to respond cautiously. “Um, what exactly are we talking about?”

“Whatever works for you,” Dana had replied breezily. “Tony and I are very comfortable scening with others, but we get it that you’re new to all this. If you just want to see what it feels like to maybe be tied up and spanked, we can do that. Or we can go further. It’s totally up to you.”

“At the club?” Marissa asked hopefully.

Dana shook her head. “Sorry. Open invitation night is only once a month.”

“Oh.” Marissa was surprised by how much this news deflated her. She wanted to go back. She wanted to be immersed in the heady, intense atmosphere of the luxurious, exotic surroundings of The Power Exchange. When they’d dropped her at home late Friday night, she’d masturbated in bed to images of herself in one of those punishment circles, naked and chained to a cross, a strong, faceless man whipping her until she begged for mercy. She’d moaned aloud when the man had pressed his naked body to hers, his erect cock hard against the small of her back. He’d released her from the cross and pushed her to the floor, where he’d mounted and fucked her until she screamed once more for mercy. She’d come hard, there alone in the dark.

“It’s better to take this first step in a private space, rather than a public club,” Dana had assured her. “It’s one thing to fantasize, but it could be you just like the
idea
of erotic torture and submission. Physically it might not be right for you. This is a way to dip your toe in, if you will, to see how your body reacts to what your mind thinks it craves.”

That made sense to Marissa, and she had genuinely liked Tony. Plus, Tony and Dana were clearly in love. This wasn’t just an excuse for the husband in a relationship to touch another woman, at least she was pretty sure it wasn’t. Just the same, she’d said, “I can keep my clothes on, right?”

“We’ll figure it out when you get here,” Dana had replied evasively, but then she’d added with a laugh, “Don’t worry, girlfriend. Whatever we work out, it will be with your full and complete consent. See you at eight. Be there or be square.”

Dana and Tony lived in a nice apartment building right off Central Park West in the seventies, complete with a doorman, who checked his iPad for Marissa’s name before granting her access to the marbled lobby. The elevator stopped on their floor and Marissa stepped out, feeling as nervous as a teenager on her first date. She rang the doorbell at number 1218 and stepped back.

A moment later the door opened and there stood her friend Dana. “Welcome. Come in, come in.” She pulled Marissa into a hug and then let her go.

Marissa took in the clean, elegant lines of the living room, with dark hardwood floors, minimalist leather and chrome furniture and a huge flat screen TV against one wall. The Manhattan skyline unfolded in a breathtaking view outside a huge picture window. Marissa’s entire apartment would fit into this one room, she realized. Both Dana and Tony were attorneys, Tony a partner at his firm. Clearly law paid better than medicine, she thought with an inward shrug. “What a gorgeous place,” she said sincerely.

“Thanks. We like it.”

Tony appeared from what must be the kitchen. He was holding a bottle of red wine and three glasses. “Hey there, Marissa. Welcome.” He moved toward a sofa with a coffee table set in front of it and put down the wine. “Come sit down. We’ll share a glass and talk about expectations, okay?”

Dana and she moved to sit down. Dana was wearing a white loose-flowing shift, her small, high breasts braless beneath the sheer fabric, her feet bare. Tony was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt. Marissa was glad she’d changed from her work clothes into a silk batik tank top and white slacks.

Dana and Marissa sat on the sofa, and Tony sat across from them in a chair. He poured the wine and handed each woman a glass. Marissa took a sip. It was delicious, and she took another, letting its warmth move through her. After a bit of small talk, Tony put down his glass and stood. He moved around the table and, as Dana shifted to the side, sat down between the two women.

Marissa’s heart picked up its pace as Tony turned toward her. He reached for her hand, and Marissa let him take it. “Nothing that happens tonight will happen without your full consent. Dana and I have talked it over, and we would like to introduce you to a little light bondage and maybe a spanking or a flogging, depending on your comfort level. Does that sound good to you?”