Chapter 8
Isabelle
Victoria, smartly dressed in a vintage forties sundress with her hair pinned up, walks into my house, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. She plonks herself down on the sofa and hands me my burgundy paper cup of salted caramel latte.
It's my go-to morning coffee on the weekend. Vic and I have had the same order every Saturday morning for the past two years.
"Tell me about work," Victoria drawls, arching an eyebrow and taking a sip of her drink. "Any nice men?"
I laugh, knowing that it’s always her first question. I decide to tell her about James and Daniel.
"Daniel is smooth and charming," I reply with a little grimace, and Vic catches it instantly.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
“And...?” she smirks, urging me to continue with a roll of her hand.
"And James is undeniably gorgeous…but he’s quiet. I've caught him looking a few times, but I’m not wanting to start anything with a colleague, Victoria! Talk about shitting on your own doorstep!"
Victoria leans back, her own coffee in hand.
"Sounds like things haven't changed much since you left. You’re still continually weighing up your options. But we need to find you a new club up here. Not one filled with creeps and pervs. A woman like you shouldn’t go to waste.
You know your regulars miss you back home? They wish you well, but they miss you."
She pulls out her phone and starts firing off a few messages. "We'll find you a decent one. I’ve asked Dominic if he knows a good one up here," she grins confidently.
After more catching up and sharing stories from back at the club, Victoria's phone chimes. "Dominic suggests Purgatory," she reads out, scrolling through the message. "He's done some digging with other contacts. Says it's a nice place, good reputation, and, most importantly, safe."
I nod, feeling a thrill of excitement at the thought of a new club to explore. "Let's check it out," I say, raising my coffee cup in agreement.
Yes, Miss
With my curiosity piqued, I switch on my laptop and open up a browser, finding Purgatory's website. I’m pleasantly surprised.
The club seems upscale and classy, with a focus on BDSM and fetish play.
As I scroll through the photos of the club and its events, I can’t help but feel a familiar tingle of excitement and anticipation in my stomach.
I turn to Victoria, showing her the website.
"Looks promising," she agrees with a nod of approval.
"I'm going to give them a call," I say decisively. "See if I can visit and have a walk around before deciding if I want to join there."
Victoria gives me an encouraging smile. "Good idea. You should definitely get a feel for the place before committing."
As I dial Purgatory's number, my mind races with thoughts of what kind of submissives frequent this club. One thing is for sure though; I don’t want a place filled with sycophantic subs begging for my attention.
Victoria chuckles at my train of thought as I tell her.
"But darling," she teases, "I do enjoy my little Gollums." She’s referring to the male submissives who would crawl and creep to you, all 'yes, mistress' and 'let me lick your boots, mistress'. They were too easy, too predictable for my liking.
Alexandra Ravensbrook
Even worse were the Gollums who pestered you until you’d tell them they were disgusting, pathetic, and to fuck off; but they got off on that, literally.
What I wanted was a challenge—someone who would resist at first but ultimately submit because they knew deep down that's what they really wanted.
Watching as they finally let down their guard and enjoyed being dominated.
I wanted to work for that and be rewarded myself. Otherwise, where is the satisfaction?
The receptionist at Purgatory answers my call, and after introducing myself, she informs me that they do indeed offer tours for potential members. We agree to a tour tomorrow.
As we disconnect, Victoria smiles mischievously. "Well, darling, looks like we have ourselves an adventure."
“Well, before any of that, I have plans for us today.” I wink at her and look down at her shoes. “Have you brought trainers or boots?” I frown, picturing her trying to stand on grassy sidelines in those heels.
“You know I don’t go anywhere without at least four-inch heels. Anything that requires hideous trainers or wellies is not my scene.” She slumps back, bringing her feet up onto the sofa cushions, her heels scattered on the floor.
Yes, Miss
“Not even thirty muddy, sweaty men, running around, full of aggression and grunting away?”
“Isabelle, you sound as though you’re up to something. Spill and I may just possibly wear your nice sequin Converse trainers.”
“James has a charity rugby match for a local hospice today. I thought it would be nice to go and support a local charity.”
“My ass you did!” she laughs. “I want to support the charity,” she says in a high-pitched mocking voice. “No, Isabelle, you wanted to go perv on James looking glorious and sweaty. What time does it start?” she sighs, looking exasperated.
“In about an hour,” I say, laughing at how well she can see right through me. “Local playing fields.”
“Go get me your Converse!” she huffs as we make our way upstairs to get ready.