Chapter Twenty #2
Downstairs, the basement—or dungeon, rather—opened up into a large space that spanned the whole house.
The lights were soft and golden, mostly salt lamps placed strategically on tiny tables, which also held baskets full of disposable gloves, condoms, a roll of paper towels, and a bottle of cleanser.
Various equipment was placed around the room, including—according to Sasha as she pointed everything out—a St. Andrew’s Cross, spanking benches, a curvy red sex chaise, a few wedges and pillows, and a cage.
A swing dangled in the middle of the room, as yet unoccupied.
Lo-fi music played from a Bluetooth speaker in one corner, the beat gentle and sexy.
There were only a few people down here right now, most of them investigating the furniture and toys as well.
But as the three of them stood there taking in their surroundings, a couple made their way to the St. Andrew’s Cross—two tall beams in the shape of an X, complete with hand and foot restraints at each end.
“Here we go,” Sasha said quietly.
The two white women approached the cross with smiles, laughing as the woman with short dark hair helped the strawberry blonde woman lean her back against the cross.
They were both dressed simply, but the respective shorts and skirt they wore left plenty of skin exposed.
Short Hair secured Strawberry’s wrists and ankles, and then they kissed.
They kissed deeply, Short Hair’s entire body pressed against Strawberry, Short Hair’s hands roaming and exploring. Strawberry released a moan, then they both giggled.
Daphne felt like a voyeur, and her cheeks were flaming hot, but she also couldn’t look away as Short Hair picked up some sort of toy with long, rainbow-hued leather falls—a flogger, according to Sasha—and the couple started kissing again.
Daphne definitely felt…some kind of way.
Of course, she’d watched porn before. Good porn.
The stuff with real people who make their own videos because they love sharing authentic sexual experiences.
So it wasn’t like she’d never seen people she didn’t know making out.
She’d seen them doing way more than what this couple was doing right now.
But live and in person, in a sex dungeon full of people who were there to experience something pleasurable or empowering or beautiful—that was a very different thing than porn.
Daphne’s breath felt short, and there was a very gentle but very distinct hum between her thighs.
Short Hair trailed the flogger’s falls over Strawberry’s thighs, then her arms, before stepping back and using the flogger like a whip. The toy thwacked gently, and Strawberry gasped sharply. Daphne made a sound not unlike a squeak.
“All right, lovers,” Sasha said, turning away from the couple to face Daphne and April. “What do you want to try out first?”
“I thought you said there was no pressure for Daphne to do anything,” April said drolly.
Sasha smirked. “I wasn’t talking to her.”
“Oh, oh, okay.” April laughed and put her hands on her hips. “I’m game.”
Sasha flourished her hand toward the nearest bench—it looked a little like a pommel horse, just without the handles, and had a place where a person could kneel and rest their upper body on the main component.
Which April did.
Daphne’s mouth was suddenly very, very dry.
This wasn’t even sexy.
At least, not in the traditional sense. Granted, yes, okay, Short Hair and Strawberry were making some very distinct noises that were definitely sexy, but that wasn’t what Daphne was even focusing on right now.
Right now, April was fully clothed, yes, but she was kneeling on a spanking bench and sort of…wiggling her ass in the air.
Okay, so maybe this was very, very sexy.
And playful.
And funny.
Daphne was dizzy. She was severely dizzy and might have to sit down. She leaned against the wall on April’s other side for a little support, while Sasha twitched her fingers over the table of toys, finally picking a thick, multicolored feather and what looked like a black leather riding crop.
Daphne didn’t dare ask any questions. She didn’t trust a thing that might come out of her mouth. Instead, she focused on taking in oxygen correctly and keeping her eyes off April’s butt.
April, for her part, continued to shimmy her hips back and forth. “Show me whatcha got,” she said as Sasha approached the table.
Sasha smirked for the twentieth time in the last hour, then locked gazes with Daphne.
Daphne blinked.
April looked back and forth between the two of them, her brow furrowed.
“What?” Daphne finally managed to ask.
Sasha didn’t say anything. She simply held the crop and feather over the bench, offering them to Daphne.
“Madame,” Sasha said with a flourish of her hand. “Or perhaps Ms. Love? Oh, that’s got a certain ring to it, I have to admit.”
“Wait, what?” Daphne said.
“Sasha,” April said warningly.
“Remember when I said you two need to go ahead and fu—”
“Yes, Sasha, we remember,” April said. Her butt wasn’t wiggling now.
“Well,” Sasha said, reaching over April to grab Daphne’s hand. She smacked the toys into her palm, then closed her fingers around them. “Work it out. I’m going to get acquainted with some new friends.”
And with that, Sasha turned and headed back upstairs, her boots stomping emphatically on every step.
Daphne stared after her for a second, her hand still held out over April, the feather and crop barely secured in her fist.
April was still on the bench and resting on her forearms. She turned her head toward Daphne, but didn’t quite look at her. “We don’t have to do anything,” she said.
Daphne remained silent. She ran her fingers over the feather, feeling every individual barb, soft and silky.
She needed a beat for her brain to catch up to her libido, if she was being honest. Sasha had said play wasn’t always about sex—it was about sensation and communication and exploration too.
It was about experimenting with certain roles, certain words, certain feelings.
Daphne set the crop on the floor, but kept hold of the feather.
“Daphne,” April said. “We can just—”
“Shh,” Daphne said, and pressed the very tip of the feather against April’s cheek.
April’s gaze flew to hers then, her eyes wide.
Daphne didn’t look away this time as she trailed the feather down April’s throat and around to the back of her neck.
“Okay?” Daphne asked.
April swallowed hard. Her eyes looked black in the dim light, completely pupilless, and her “Yes” was raspy and breathless.
Daphne stepped closer, her free hand resting on the bench while she flitted the feather down April’s back. She had a top on, of course, but it was lacy, peeks of skin showing through, and April shivered, her eyes fluttering closed. She rested her forehead on her arms.
Daphne swirled the feather over her back, up and down, then side to side, her movements mostly languid, but she’d flick it quickly here and there, enjoying the control she had over this tiny little thing in her hands.
This woman on the bench.
She reached the small of April’s back, the hem of her shirt riding up a little and revealing a strip of skin.
She danced the feather over the sensitive spot, and April released a quiet sound.
Half moan, half hum. Whatever it was, it made Daphne clench her legs together.
She still felt a little dizzy, but she felt something else too—a steadiness she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
A safety.
“Is this okay?” she asked softly, slipping a finger under April’s shirt and lifting, just an inch before pausing.
“Yes,” April said, her voice muffled in her arms.
Daphne pulled her top up slowly, letting each bit of lace scratch against April’s skin as she did so.
April sucked in a breath as the feather touched her bare back, as it swirled and circled.
Daphne used her other hand too, drifting her short nails in opposition to the feather, like a kind of dance.
In the background, she vaguely registered Short Hair and Strawberry amping up a little, their noises a bit more breathy, more desperate, but Daphne didn’t look over there.
She was entranced by her own scene, by April’s back arching and then curling like a cat’s, her hips moving ever so slightly, her lungs working to regulate the feelings Daphne was causing.
It was intoxicating.
Ms. Love.
She smiled at the name, but didn’t dare speak it. Didn’t dare request it. She simply tucked it away, the feelings that it brought, and paused long enough to grab the riding crop from where she’d left it on the floor.
“This okay?” she asked, letting April feel the flat leather tip against the middle of her back.
April lifted her left thumb in acquiescence, and then Daphne watched as that same hand clenched into a fist as Daphne moved the crop lower.
She was gentle, grazing the tool just like she had the feather.
She passed it over the waistband of April’s jeans, slowly traveling past her butt and toward the backs of her thighs.
There she paused.
Lifted the crop a few inches, then brought it back down. April inhaled sharply at the small snap. The impact hadn’t been hard, just a shock, Daphne guessed. Still, she asked if April was good.
April looked over her shoulder this time, their eyes locking.
They stared at each other for a second. More people came into the basement, more noises filled the room, more sighs and spanks and laughter.
But Daphne felt as though she and April existed on some other plane, in an entirely different universe.
“I’m good, Ms. Love,” April finally said. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but to Daphne, it felt like a scream.
The very best kind.
She sucked in her own breath, lifted her chin, and nodded once, feeling more sexy and powerful and safe than she ever had in her entire life. She wasn’t sure what it was, what was happening at all, but she knew she wanted more of it.