Chapter Nineteen #2
“Oh, mate,” Joel says, his south London accent more noticeable now. “You can wear whatever you want here. We’ve seen it all. Pyjamas to ball gags, jumpsuits to jock straps. Anything goes. Besides, tonight is freedom night.”
“What does that mean?”
“There’s no dress code, no theme, and no special rules other than club’s standard guidelines, and wristbands.”
“Wristbands?” I ask. I’ve read the club’s rules no fewer than five times in the last few days, but this is the first time I’m hearing about wristbands.
“Traffic lights,” Joel says and gives a backwards nod to the doors behind him.
“When you’re ready to go through, my colleague Nadia will ask you what colour wristband you want.
Red is you don’t want to play. Yellow is you’re potentially open to something happening but not a sure thing.
And green is a green light. You’re here to play. ”
“Okay,” I say slowly, waiting for some inner voice to chime in with the colour I should go for. But no such answer lands.
It’s no small comfort when I feel Roos’ hand find mine. She gives my palm a big squeeze. “And you can change your mind at any point in the night. You can change wristbands. Whatever and whenever you want.”
“And if it gets too intense in there, you can always come back out here and have a chat with me.” Joel’s smile still hasn’t slipped.
“Okay,” I say, and even I can hear more confidence in it.
“Is it your first time?” Joel asks. It’s the question I didn’t want to get tonight.
I wanted to walk into QISS with my head held high and a confidence in my stride.
I don’t want to look inexperienced or out of my depth.
But the way he asks it, in a gentle, warm tone, doesn’t have me feeling defensive.
“At a club, yes,” I say honestly. “I’ve played before at some house parties, some munch meet-ups, but never in a place like this.”
My eyes roam the black-painted walls, and they linger on the golden chandelier above our heads.
“Don’t let it intimidate you.” Joel leans closer again. “It’s a shame the owners aren’t in town. If you met them, you’d know just how down to earth this whole set up is.”
“The owners?”
“Javier and Dana,” Joel replies as he opens a door on his right that I didn’t even know was a door in the black wood panelling.
He steps inside and returns with two golden coat hangers.
“They have clubs here and in Barcelona and London where they split their time. To look at them, you’d never know they were the couple behind a sex club empire, but that’s how they like it.
Their whole goal with QISS was to create safe spaces for queer kinksters, and that includes no attitudes or superiority. ”
“Maybe we can come back one time when they are here.” Roos gives my hand another squeeze and it prompts a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach. “I’d like to meet them, too.”
“Oh, you’ve already got plans to come back to Amsterdam?” Joels asks me.
“They’ve got plans to maybe stay a while,” Roos jumps in before I can try and nip this conversation in the bud.
“Maybe,” I say.
Roos’ head snaps to me, but Joel and his perma-smile save me when he reaches out for our coats and hangs them up. He gives each of us a golden key with a number that corresponds to the coat hanger.
“It’s also for a locker in the changing rooms, which are for all genders.
” He nods at me, and amongst the many weird, unwanted things I’m feeling, I feel a quick rush of relief, of validation, knowing this is one space where I don’t have to confront my gender dysphoria each time I need a piss.
“There are private changing and shower cubicles, and in each locker are a number of personal items you may need before or after play. Everything you need during will be in the playrooms. Or” – he looks knowingly at Roos – “on the stage.”
“This sounds fancy,” I say. “Don’t I… How much do I need to pay for the night?”
Roos squeezes my hand again and kisses the top of my head. “Don’t worry.”
“You’re here as my guests,” Joel interjects. “Jesus, the sound of me. I don’t get commission if you later become a member or anything. I just really like working here and, well, playing here too.”
“No chance you can play tonight?” Roos pouts at him. A zing of jealousy elongates my spine, and I wait for it to intensify, but there’s something about watching it that makes it seem to shrink. Or maybe it’s the answer Joel gives.
“Not tonight, schaatje.” He cups the side of her face. “I’m on duty until closing time.”
“Next time.” Roos give a little shrug and then she looks at me. “Shall we?”
I nod, immediately curious how reassured I will continue to feel when Joel’s everlasting grin is behind us.
As if he can read my mind, Joel calls out to me as Roos starts to open the double doors.
“Mari, remember, I’ll be here all night.
I make a mean cup of tea. And I smuggled in some hobnobs from my last visit to the UK. ”
I return his smile. “Thanks, Joel.”
And then I let Roos lead me through the double doors.
*****
It’s only after we’ve got our wristbands – green for Roos and yellow for me – and Nadia has reminded us of the key rules regarding consent and communication and how to play safe, that I realise we haven’t seen anybody else since we arrived.
“Are we, like, really early?” I whisper to Roos as we leave Nadia – a smoking hot brown-skinned woman in a floor-length fuchsia pink latex dress – to walk up the majestic staircase that wraps around the tall room’s walls.
“No, we’re right on time,” Roos replies. Her tone matches her body language. She’s calm, very noticeably so. It’s almost like I can feel the stress leaving her body with each step up the soft red carpet on the stairs. This place means something to her.
“But seriously, where is everybody?” I ask as we reach the top of the staircase.
To our right is a dark corridor. I squint to see a few doors on either side, but I couldn’t say exactly how many.
To our left is another set of double doors where a tall figure stands, wearing a suit that matches Joel’s.
“You’re about to find out,” Roos tells me, and she leads me towards the double doors. “Hello, Bo. This is my friend, Mari. It’s their first time.”
The dark-skinned Black person in the suit nods at me and then flashes a half-smile my way. “Hello, Mari. I’m Bo. They/them and the person you come to if you need any help this evening, and Roos is, well, tied up elsewhere.”
Roos and Bo laugh softly at this, and I guess I’m more overwhelmed than I expect because my awkward chuckle comes a second or two later.
“Is it busy tonight?” Roos asks.
“Busy enough. You’ll have an audience.”
Bo’s familiarity with Roos prompts another poke of jealousy, this one sharper than the last. It pops the bubble that Roos and I were living in when it was just us, her bedroom or my hotel room, and a fling that was free of all outside influences.
However, that’s an illusion. We’ve never been free of outside influences. Very specifically, we’ve never been free of Lex. Xe has been there from the start of whatever we are, and xe remains there now, locked in a box in a shelf in my mind.
Funnily enough, my distaste at thinking about Lex again eclipses any discomfort I feel about Roos’ history at QISS, and my determination to be rid of such thoughts is very effective at fixing a smile on my face.
“I’m excited to see what she looks like up on that stage,” I say, and I’m rewarded with a proud look from Roos.
“Enjoy.” Bo opens the door for us, and we slip inside.
The first thing that hits me is the silence.
Or rather, the barely perceptible hushed noise that lingers in the room.
It’s a sharp contrast to the blaring music and shouting chatter that have filled the spaces where I’ve played before.
They’ve been more akin to house parties or late night after-parties.
But this feels more orchestrated, more deliberate. It sounds like anticipation.
After my ears adjust to the low murmuring and one voice raised above all others, I find the source of the person speaking louder than the others.
It’s a femme-presenting person, standing tall and straight in the middle of the stage.
They are dressed how you would imagine a typical Dominatrix to be attired.
It’s almost comical how much their black leather trousers and latex corset would suit the first image result for anybody who Googled the word ‘FemDom’, complete with a cane in their hand and a cat-like eye mask on their face.
“Who’s that?” I whisper to Roos, who is looking around at the round tables that fill the space in front of the stage.
“That’s Mother Maria,” she tells me. “She’s our host. And she’s utterly formidable.”
I nod and swallow, feeling a sudden gravity.
“Let’s sit.” Roos nods to a vacant table on the right-hand side of the room, a little closer to the stage than I would perhaps like.
The room is dimly lit – candelabras mounted on the wood panelled walls are the only light apart from those directed at the stage – and I hope the audience is mostly in the dark for Mother Maria.
Not that I expect the evening to be like a comedy night, where the performer picks on members of the crowd, but still, I adjust my wristband, ensuring its yellow colour is visible to anybody who checks.
“Ah, Roos,” Mother Maria’s smooth, deep voice purrs as we take our seats. “I was hoping you’d come.”
Roos stands and curtsies to Mother Maria, her head bowed down.
My jaw hangs open again, but then Roos nudges me, and I jump up and do the same.
“You’ve brought a friend. They’re a very pretty thing.”
So much for being in the dark.
“They are very pretty. And very orange tonight.” Roos raises her voice so she can be heard.
I glance around at the tables near us. I see a real mix of people.
Young and old, Black and Brown and white, all genders, and all expressions of not just genders but kink and style and creativity.
A few of the spectators catch my eye and smile.
One masc looking person wearing a chest harness raises a glass to me.
“And you?” Mother Maria asks. She has a stern expression on her face, making her features seem cartoon-esque with their hard edges and long lines, accentuated by the way her dark hair is pulled back in a tight bun.
Closer up, I can tell she’s a fair bit older than us.
In her forties or fifties, maybe. She reminds me of Cruella Deville, who I have a tattoo of on the side of my thigh.
I used to think it was because she was a style icon, but now I’m starting to think it’s because I have a serious kink for strict, imposing and slightly evil women.
Roos holds up her wrist and smiles bashfully. “I’m green.”
“Would you like to come up then? I’ve not had any takers so far.” She glares pointedly at the crowd, and people shift in their seats, but I don’t think it’s with discomfort.
Roos glances at me. “Are you okay if I do?” Her voice is strained, but not in a painful way. More like she’s finding it hard to keep her tone low and calm. Like she has more energy vibrating through her than she knows what to do with.
“Of course,” I say. And even though I’m not sure if I am okay with this, I want it for her. I think she needs it, and right now, I want her to get what she wants.
“Okay,” Roos exhales, her relief audible. Then she walks towards the stage.
Mother Maria moves to greet Roos, and I see then that the cane is not for show. She walks with a slight limp. I think back to the ramp at the club’s entrance. QISS is truly accessible. A place for all. This realisation has me relaxing in my chair a little more, ready for the show.
While Mother Maria and Roos talk in hushed tones for a minute or two, I’m approached by a petite serving person in a waistcoat that cinches their middle and makes their hips flare out.
Maybe it’s the lighting, maybe it’s seeing Roos and Mother Maria together in their skin-tight black outfits, or maybe it’s the fact I’m sitting in my first fucking sex club, but I’m suddenly aware of the server’s body, all the other bodies around me, my body.
“Can I get you something to drink?” they lean in to ask. Their voice is smoky and deep.
“I…I…” I stutter as I turn to look at them.
“Roos has a tab tonight. I’ll put it on that,” they explain with a kind smile. “Guests are permitted two alcoholic drinks per night, to ensure safe play.”
“Oh, right. Vodka, lime and soda, two ice cubes, please,” I say and sit back in my seat.
By the time my drink is in front of me, Mother Maria has started talking to the audience again.
“Roos here is submitting to us tonight. To me and to you. She wants you all to watch her submission. And she welcomes those disciplinarians in the room to come up after I have warmed her up and take your turn with her. She has lots of ideas for what she wants, so please ask her first. She will tell you, and she will let you know her limits and her safe word.” She extends her hand back to Roos, who takes it and joins Mother Maria at the front of the stage.
“But first,” Mother Maria says with a little more volume, “Roos is going to get undressed, and I am going to inspect her.”
I don’t realise I’m holding my breath until I go to inhale but find my lungs already full.
So. This is really happening.
And I can’t take my eyes off the stage as the woman I think I’m falling in love with unzips her bodysuit and peels it from her frame.