Chapter 8
Simmons
Endless hours later, my record player on and my glass refilled with some Jura, I’m stuck in a doom scroll loop. I lie in my library, legs slung over the arm of my sofa, wearing nothing but the suit I was born in, feeling somewhat sorry for myself.
A message appears at the top of my screen from Burt.
He owns Nyctra and has become a long-term friend.
His exclusive club across town had been a sanctuary when I had received my first post at the university ten years before.
I had signed up to try a rope class that was being held there, prompted by the cashier, Thom from Menotté - Cuffed.
When I saw him there, I found out he was actually the owner of the cafe at the time, and he made a beautiful-looking piece of submissive furniture whenever our paths crossed at the club.
Burt had been the one doing the rigging and used me as his student that night.
I was already flirting with the possibility of becoming a Dom, and wanted to take part in the demonstration to learn more about how my own sub would feel if they were bound by rope at my hand.
I quickly learned that it wasn’t a kink for me, but could still appreciate the artistry of it.
Burt had taken me on as an apprentice of sorts after that night.
He was a master of his skill, one that had taken years for him to do so.
He was from Sweden, having lived here far longer than his birth country, though.
At 6 feet 7, he was a Viking of sorts. One that many subs had let dominate them.
He had a strong reputation and commanded respect within our community and many other communities nationwide.
With it being a Friday night, I have no idea what he would need from me, given that he was usually in the pleasure pit by this time of the night.
Burt: I have a favour to ask
Simmons: ?
Burt: Theres an event exhibition on in a couple of weeks, could you attend it on the clubs behalf? I wouldn’t usually ask but as you’ve done one similar I thought I’d ask before I have to rearrange my trip home to see mama
Having covered a couple of these types of events in the past, I knew I could do it, but Burt had always been with me.
It had been years since I had attended one now that I wasn’t his apprentice.
Burt had been planning his yearly trip back to see his mama for months.
He must not have known the dates for the exhibit ahead of time.
Burt was too organised for it to be any other reason.
Simmons: Send me the info
Burt: Mwah, thank you darling. I will email it now with ticket, info, and the boy who will interview you
Boy? Interview?
Simmons: I thought it would just be like any other exhibit? Mingling, etc. I can’t do an interview Burt
Burt: Yes you can and you will. Please, I’ll bring back your fave from mama’s
Yeah, okay. I could be swayed. An interview should be nothing. I knew enough about the club and Burt that I could probably be okay with it.
Simmons: Deal. But send me it ASAP, I want to know what I’m really getting myself into
Burt: Already done. I owe you babe
Just as I read the text, an email pops up.
Sitting upright, I click on the lamp beside me and set my glass down.
Opening the email, I find the ticket for VIP access, hotel details about check in and how to get to the event.
It was for a latex exhibit that Burt frequented every year.
There were always new businesses looking to work with clubs or book an event at Nyctra.
There were some events to enjoy over the weekend too, one being a bondage wrestling match I had seen before. It was very… tasteful.
Licking my lips at the image, I had to admit that I was the perfect candidate to do this event for Burt.
Latex was a kink that I couldn’t explain.
I loved wearing it, loved seeing others in it, and the thought of mixing with like-minded others for a full weekend had my dick perking up from its lazy perch against my thigh.
There was information listed about the interview at the bottom of the email.
The interviewer was an award-winning blogger.
They would send out the list of questions regarding the club and its exclusivity the night before the interview.
He liked to remain anonymous so there would be no mention of names other than the blog name itself, The Flaming Hot Scot.
Anonymity wasn’t uncommon in our communities, and as a professor, I liked it too.
This blogger’s rules were definitely A-okay with me.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I search the blog name online, clicking on the first page that popped up.
At first glance, it’s… elegant. Not what I had expected at all.
Not that I thought a sex-based website couldn’t be, but I had expected it to be flaming red or covered in tartan?
God knows what I thought it was going to be to be honest.
It’s white with a banner of tartan that is black and grey with only a tiny line of red through it.
It seems to be a mix of reviews on toys, interviews with clubs, upcoming events, and sex education too.
All in all, it was really well done. I scroll for an hour before I stretch off the couch and head up to bed.
I find myself grabbing my phone after a shower so I can continue reading his website.
The man behind it seemed not just intelligent but also kind of bratty.
His reviews have me chuckling in the dark more than a few times.
I might have even made a purchase based on the honesty of one certain toy he had ranked flaming hot for a Scot.
The exhibition couldn’t come soon enough.
With everything going on at the moment, a weekend away with the possibility to flirt with this anonymous bratty blogger was just what I needed to reset and have a little fun.
I wondered if he would wear latex to the interview.
A flicker of the man from the airport ran through my mind at that thought and had me reaching down past my waist to my crotch.
God, his skin. The paleness of it. Perfect for latex.
But he was a stranger. It was weird to have thought about him again after months had passed since the 10-minute encounter with him.
Groaning, I move my hand and roll over. I had to get a grip and stop dreaming of the impossible.