06. The club’s second floor

I abruptly sit down at the bar, huffing, throwing my arms over the counter, with a conflicted expression all over my face.

Noah immediately approaches me, drying a glass with calm movements. Sometimes, I keep thinking how he looks much younger than he actually is; although he’s only two years younger than me, his features and the absence of a beard make him look younger.

Yes, it’s true. Noah is cute with his brown hair, honey eyes, tanned skin, and discreet physique, but he’s not my type. He’s more Kate’s type, who has already tried to convince him to play, being her sub — to no vain, of course. Despite working here every night, Noah is not part of this world. Unlike me, he knows how to separate the two worlds he lives in.

I always believed that I was in control… that I could keep this secret safe. For some people, my years-long commitment to hiding my kinky side is bullshit. I’ve been told that I shouldn’t be afraid of judgment or worry about other people’s opinions, but the real world isn’t as simple, beautiful, and flowery as the assumptions of those… they haven’t felt what I’ve felt.

I’ve been judged for my choices, for liking rough things, for enjoying to submit, but I’ve never found acceptance from the people around me. In college, girls judged me and told me to be independent, while men put everything down to sex and one-night stands when BDSM is about commitment and trust, not just about that.

That’s why, when the adult work world opened up to me, I realized that I couldn’t make the same mistakes caused by my innocence and ignorance, and I started to protect myself, hiding my secrets and this inadequate side of me.

And for a long time, I thought I did that very well.

But just like my dreams, Mr. Pollock also shattered my self-trust.

“Soda?” Noah asks, at last, looking at me with his usual innocent face.

“Martini,” I say half-heartedly, leaning over the counter to rest my head on my folded arms.

Honestly, I feel like crap. Ever since Mr. Pollock asked me to make his coffee, I’ve been upset, thinking about everything I could have said or done to avoid such humiliation. It’s not enough that he’s stolen my dream position, but he sees me as an assistant, someone who’s at his disposal to pour a quart of milk and ask how many sugar cubes he wants when he doesn’t like anything sweet.

Argh… I hate him.

The martini is placed on the counter just in time, and I find myself clutching it, taking several quick sips of the alcohol that no longer burns my throat; now it’s like water when I’m thirsty in the middle of the desert. Then I slam the glass back down, picking up the olive stick and bringing it to my mouth.

“One more, please,” I ask, pulling the small olive across my lips.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Noah sighs, cautiously adding as he looks around. “Madame Shamant wants to talk to you.”

What would Madame Shamant want with me out of the blue? It really takes me by surprise since the owner of this place doesn’t get directly involved in what happens here. Of course, there are a few exceptions… I just didn’t expect me to be one of them.

I’ve been going to the Obelisk Club for a good few years, as have many other Doms and Subs who see this as a second home. And I can say with conviction that Madame Shamant is normally a discreet person. Since retiring from modeling, she has decided to live her secret life with a lot of glamour and privacy. That’s why the fact that she’s a sixty-five-year-old ex-model running a BDSM club isn’t something that has really caused a stir in society or aroused the interest of the paparazzi. Nobody knows about it except the old regulars.

Even your name on the set is a nickname.

I savor the olive and finally ask, tossing the stick into the martini glass, “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course, she told me personally.” Noah takes my glass, showing no sign of pouring me another shot. “She asked you to go up to the second floor, Room 13.”

The second floor is where the private and extremely expensive rooms are, only for the most important members. That’s certainly one of the distinct features of this club and the reason why so many people have frequented it for so long… While the first floor looks like an ordinary kinky club, the second one is full of themed dungeons, perfect for the most different scenarios, like Room 13, which is famous among subs who like Impact Play.

“Why there?” I tangle a wave of black hair in my finger, twirling it around and rubbing my thumb against it. “Do you know anything?”

“Nothing but that she asked me to tell you,” Noah confesses with a sigh, then finally starts pouring a new martini. I’m really grateful and open my lips to put it into words, but he quickly adds, “And I don’t know exactly which one, but I heard that one of the VIP rooms has been rented out for the night.”

A shiver runs down my spine, making me wince.

He pokes the olives on the stick and throws them into the glass; this very simple and regular movement attracts my eyes, leaving my mouth dry.

“They’re just rumors, though.” He slides the glass across the counter, stopping it in front of me. “This last one will be our secret, okay?”

I smile and pick up the olives, saving them from imminent drowning in the drink. I bite into one gently and pull out the stick, making them both slip into my mouth, chewing with a smile on my lips.

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[…] I walk up the round staircase to the second floor, glancing at the black doors with the numbers carved in gold. My steps are slow as I pass one by one, searching for my destination.

It’s darker up here, as the only light comes from downstairs, a red neon that dominates the room. From here, I can see the rest of the club through the glass wall that circles the corridor.

I find myself staring at the people below, at such unfamiliar faces, when I finally stop in front of Room 13. A slight shiver runs up my spine, drawing my eyes to the door that’s waiting to be opened. I don’t delay knocking, anxious to know what Madame Shamant wants with me — and in this room, of all places.

If anyone allowed me to enter, I didn’t hear it since the rooms are soundproofed… and even if they weren’t, I doubt I’d listen to anything over the music that, even muffled here, is still loud. I wait a few moments, and just as I’m about to knock again, my hand stays in the air because it’s opening.

Madame Shamant greets me with a discreet smile on her face. Despite her age, the woman really does have flawless skin. Her gray hair is pinned up, and she’s wearing a luxurious dark red robe, a color that catches my eye. She’s still very beautiful; it’s no wonder she was a very famous model in her golden days.

“Come in, darling…” She says, leaving the door open and walking back into the room. “I’m sorry to call you so suddenly.”

“No problem, Madame…” I enter the room, glimpsed by the red lights, a comfortable neon amidst the discreet shadows of the room. The Victorian-style furniture also has details in different shades of red, such as the satin sheet and the crimson pillowcases, burgundy walls, and cherry curtains. I can tell them all because it’s also my favorite color.

And really, this room lives up to its reputation. With a quick inspection, I notice the spanking bench in one corner, with an equally red and apparently comfortable couch, an X-Cross, and a large counter with many types of Impact toys, such as whips, spreaders, clamps, floggers, and others that attempt to steal my attention…

“Vicky, I called you here because someone wants to play with you.” Madame Shamant says suddenly, drawing my eyes to her soft face, to her discreet smile. “He reserved this room especially for you.”

Especially for me? Confusion is probably on my face because she adds, “Since the public play, many Doms have taken an interest in you.”

“Me? A brat?” I say without much emotion or interest. “Everyone knows that I’m not a good girl and that I don’t like to obey… They’re still trying to make me kneel?”

I walk around the room, looking at all the details, the toys that must surely provide a great experience for those who enjoy this kind of play.

“Some men see the fun in truly dominating rather than being easily listened to.” She says with a certain mystery, making me hold my breath. I look over my shoulder to see her slowly approaching, a pace so elegant that it captivates me.

Madame Shamant stops beside me and pulls my hair back behind my shoulders, stroking it as if I were her child.

“Someone that doesn’t like to obey but enjoys the feeling of being forced to do so…”

I purse my lips, apprehension taking hold of me, as Madame Shamant removes her hand from me and picks something up from the counter — a leather blindfold.

“That’s something you don’t see very often, Victoria… You’re a true challenge.”

She holds out the blindfold to me, her still serene smile beginning to disturb me.

“And sometimes, the challenge can be really exciting…” Again, a shiver crawls across my skin. “For you both.”