CHAPTER EIGHT #2
Will’s driving app led him to a cluster of commerce centers not far from the beach. Located in between a warehouse turned laser tag complex and a multi-storied self-storage facility, the club lacked signage save for a modest sign on the door.
Velvet Sands
Under 21 - No Admittance
Discreet, hidden from the main road. Legitimate but designed to fly under the radar of families and church groups headed next door. Several nice cars in the parking lot told Will this was no dive.
He entered through a single door into an alcove, then through a second one into a reception area resembling the lobby of a doctor’s office with multiple chairs and a sliding glass partition separating waiting guests from the host station.
Two couples stood before Will in the queue, which moved with speed.
In minutes, he stood face-to-face with a perky young woman wearing a teal cosplay wig, its pigtails cascading to the floor, and black lipstick. Her smile brought out the shine in her lower lip ring as she scanned the phone pass and asked to age-check his ID.
“Thank you muchly.” She returned the driver’s license.
“I have to ask, for insurance purposes, if you are close to a scheduled heat or rut.” She must have noticed reluctance in Will’s reaction because she quickly added, “Saying yes won’t bar you from entering the club, but we want to ensure the safety of all our guests. ”
“I understand,” Will said, aware of his vulnerability despite the suppressants. “I believe I am safe from that happening tonight.”
The young woman arched her pierced eyebrow.
“Well, just in case, we have private cubbies at the far end of the building for guests who may enter into a premature heat or rut during play. We have staff who supervise the play areas, and if they notice something they’ll act.
They’ll get you to one of the cubbies and help you determine the best way home. ”
Will hummed his acknowledgement, thinking of Greg and the rescue plan in his back pocket.
“This is a waiver all first-time guests must sign before entering,” she told Will, and handed him a digital tablet. She tapped the screen with nails that matched her wig. “Be sure to read all the rules of the club before signing, and let me know if you have further questions.”
Will thanked her and perused the fine print.
Standard do’s and don’ts for any social venue.
No outside alcohol or drugs, no fighting or harassing other guests, and be mindful of the equipment.
By agreeing to the waiver, Will acknowledged full responsibility should he injure himself or another person during play.
The rules applied to everyone: Alphas, Omegas, and Betas.
No worries there, he thought, pressing his finger to the screen. All looking tonight, no touching.
The hostess glanced at the tablet and mashed a button. A loud buzzing noise followed the automatic unlocking of the club entrance to her left. “Play safe,” she said, and winked.
When his eyes adjusted to the low-level lights in the larger space, Will saw that the front lounge of Velvet Sands resembled a composite of the various goth clubs he’d frequented in college.
Dark red walls featured black-framed artwork in punk and haunted mansion motifs.
Some patrons lounged on long sofas as a DJ in the far corner spun the tunes.
The music played softly in the background, creating a sensual and calming vibe that sounded odd paired with the surroundings.
Will guessed the club kept the music audible enough so as not to drown out conversations.
The lounge appeared to be where singles came together to negotiate their hard and soft limits, and one had to understand all the words and consents exchanged.
Ladies wore nice selfie-ready dresses, skin tight and low-cut up top.
A few men wore suits, some jeans and tees like him, and others in leather.
He paced the lounge, taking in the atmosphere and avoiding eye contact.
Despite his casual dress, he turned a few heads.
He hoped for the curiosity to fade so he could remain in the background.
To his relief, nobody appeared to point their noses in his direction to sniff him out.
Not so bad, he thought, but where are the… ah.
Will ventured deeper into the club, past the DJ, and found the playroom located just beyond a bar setup free of alcohol.
Velvet Sands was dry owing to the activities hosted, a policy Will admired.
He wouldn’t want an intoxicated Dom taking advantage of him or anyone else bound or strapped to a wall.
Unlike the front lounge, the play area was well-lit and more populated.
Also much bigger. Will eyeballed the space at about twice the width and length.
Not unlike a gym, it was arranged like circuit training with each piece of equipment set up to accommodate players and voyeurs.
Some of the furniture Will discerned from prior knowledge, like the St. Andrew’s Cross, the rack of whips and floggers hanging on the far wall, and something that looked like a sawhorse.
That and the cross were the only devices not in use at the moment, and Will resisted the temptation to drift over to one for closer inspection.
Near the center of the great room, several patrons formed a semicircle near a spot dedicated to suspension play.
Will edged closer, coming into view of the spread backside of a submissive folded in half and hanging from wrist and ankle restraints chained to a thick wooden bar.
A cable and pulley system attached to the high ceiling supported the contraption.
The submissive, presenting female, wore only a black thong, high heels, and a matching blindfold.
She let her head rest back, sending her long blonde hair cascading in a shining fall.
Her Domme wore a dark gray pantsuit tailored to her petite frame.
Will admired her pageboy cut and bright red lipstick, and the way she wielded her current implement of stimulation, a long-handled pinwheel.
Speaking in a quiet voice, her words audible only to her submissive, the Domme gave presumed orders for her charge to hold still while she rolled the wheel’s multiple pins over her bare flesh.
“It’s called a Wartenberg wheel.”
Will fixated on the scene before him, watching for the submissive to twitch under her Domme’s ministrations. It didn’t register that the deeper, gruff voice was addressing him until it accompanied a nudge to his shoulder.
The rest of Will’s senses kicked in after the contact. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, soured by the stench of an obvious Alpha scent. Cedar and smoke, like a campfire. Somewhere in the world, an Omega with a light marshmallow scent would salivate for this, but he wasn’t the one.
Will turned and tilted his gaze down at the shorter, barrel-chested man grinning up at him.
Shirtless with distended nipples surrounded by loose coils of dark hair, Will’s admirer pointed his can of soda at the playing couple.
“That’s Mistress Eden,” he said, a hint of awe in his voice.
“You came on a good night. It’s not often she puts on a demonstration in the public space. ”
“She’s a regular.” Will considered Greg’s description of his clients involved in the Lifestyle, which Mistress Eden didn’t match. She appeared young and vibrant, not really fitting Will’s vision of a dominant in her outfit. Then again, he came to learn.
The man shook his head. “If you haven’t heard of Mistress Eden, you are new to the scene. She writes books, has a podcast. She’s a damned Domme goddess.”
“Yes, on both counts,” Will said, his focus on the suspended woman. “I am new here, and this Alpha is mesmerizing.”
“Hey, now. Don’t assume all dominants are Alphas. We got all kinds coming here to play.”
Will nodded. Rookie mistake, but it wasn’t like the crowd showed any interest in him at the moment.
He watched the Domme demonstrate further on her submissive, impressed by her focus.
Nothing surrounding them distracted her from the hanging woman’s pleasure, and by extension her own.
Will tried to picture Ray in a similar position, applying the prickly spikes of the wheel tool over another person’s skin while they hung in restraints.
The absence of sight no doubt heightened the other senses.
Amplified scents, sharper sensations encouraging ripples along the flesh.
Will felt his own skin heat. Could he trust a Dom to care for him like this, with or without an audience? He wasn’t afraid of heights or steep drop amusement rides. Dangling from strong rope seemed doable, provided his Dom guaranteed him a soft landing.
“My name’s Brad.”
Will’s bubble of concentration burst. He turned again to find the shirtless man sticking out his free hand. He wore a leather cuff adorned with rows of spikes.
He didn’t move. “I’m Bill.” He wanted to cringe. His fault for not thinking in advance of a fake name more removed from his real one. “Are you waiting in line to be disciplined?”
Brad sputtered out a laugh, drawing attention from the people flanking them. Will backed up a step at their irritated expressions, but Brad ignored them. “Oh, hell no, I’m no sub. Can’t you tell?”
He was getting loud, and Will feared a reprimand for enabling the conversation. Shaking his head, he backed away to a tall cafe table and Brad followed him there.
“I asked you a question, newbie.”
Excuse me? Will bristled at the remark, and he scanned the play area for the quickest path to the front. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, coming alone. “I-I’m sorry,” he said. “It was wrong of me to assume anything.”
“I’m not wearing a collar.” Brad stabbed at his throat with his forefinger. “That’s usually how you can tell the Doms from the subs. That’s BDSM one-oh-one right there.”