Page 14 of The Player's Club
The woman didn’t seem fazed. “You can do that, of course, but I can’t admit you without signing these papers either.”
Torn between wanting to stay and being cautious, I decided to sign the papers with a fake name. They hadn’t asked for my ID, which had surprised me. Maybe me having the password from Mac had automatically made me a little more legit.
Or maybe all of this was just a bunch of theater to scare people into keeping quiet.
Once I finally gained admittance to the club, I desperately needed a drink to calm my nerves. I kept looking over my shoulder as if the woman would discover I’d given her a fake name and throw me out on my ass.
I grabbed a shot of something and, after drinking it, nearly coughed it back up again. “What the hell was that?” I hissed between wheezes. A few people near the bar shot me looks. A woman wearing a black leather getup and a mask covering her face flashed a wry smile.
“Those are called fireballs,” she said, raising a beautifully waxed eyebrow. “First one?”
“What’s in them? Gasoline?” I grabbed a glass of water to wash down the acidic taste of whatever that had been.
“Pretty much.” The dominatrix—because she looked almost exactly like what I’d expect a dominatrix to look like—gave me a once-over. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“It’s my second time,” I explained. Looking down at my dress, I realized I was actually overdressed this time. “Do I stand out that much?”
She smiled and held out a hand covered in a lacy glove, bright red nails shining from underneath. “Delilah. Nice to meet you . . .?”
“Roxy,” I said, realizing I’d been stupid not to give a fake name when I’d met Mac the first time.
I glanced around the bar, watching everyone mingle and drink together. Or if they weren’t talking, they were touching—kissing, caressing, their hands moving into dark unknowns.
“Do you have any tips?” I asked, feeling awkward watching a couple nearby get hot and heavy as if it were totally normal to hump in public.
“For one, don’t look so freaked out.” Delilah’s smiled. “Try to relax. You look like you’re about to get into trouble.” She leaned toward me. “And don’t feel guilty about liking whatever it is you like. When I first started coming, I used to feel ashamed, but life’s too short for that kind of bullshit. Just go have fun. You’re in a safe place with no judgment.”
I wanted to believe Delilah. And I hoped I could grow comfortable—but I was clearly out of my depth. I felt especially out of place as I wandered around, watching different “shows” through the glass.
One was a BDSM experience between five different people: three guys and two women. As I stopped to watch, one of the women was being whipped. The other was gagged and bound while the two men fucked her in her pussy and her ass.
I felt my body respond to the scene, my nipples peaking against the fabric of my dress. When I caught the heated glance of a masked man nearby, I nearly ran in the opposite direction—because I wanted to respond? Or because this entire thing scared the bejeezus out of me?
I watched a few other shows, including one that seemed to be a role-play room based on the woman wearing what looked like a Catholic schoolgirl outfit. The man wore a sports jacket with elbow patches and horn-rimmed glasses. It must’ve been a role-play of student and professor.
I watched as the professor took off his tie and used it to bind the student’s hands as she kneeled on the desk. He flipped her skirt up, revealing that she wore nothing underneath, and spanked her for her naughty behavior.
The moans the woman issued made goose bumps litter my skin. I felt like I was drunk and floating far away. Everything about this place was intoxicating, like a wicked dream I couldn’t believe was happening. I could almost swear I was drunk, although I’d only had that one terrible fireball shot earlier.
When a couple tried to get me to join them, I demurred and made my way back to the bar. Delilah was still there, but now she was surrounded by people, like a queen holding court.
Delilah spotted me, ushering me to sit beside her. “Now, boys, behave yourselves,” she purred, patting my knee. “Roxy here is new, and she’s a little shy.”
I could feel the men’s gazes on me, hungry and interested. But at the same time, I didn’t feel intimidated. Sitting there with these men watching me was strangely empowering, knowing they couldn’t do anything unless I gave them express permission.
“Did you go have some fun?” Delilah asked. She ordered me one of her favorite drinks, handing me the pink-colored cocktail with a smile. “You look a little flushed.”
“Just taking it all in.” I glanced at the men, who’d given us some space but were still watching. “Why do I feel like a gazelle about to be pounced on by a leopard?”
Delilah laughed. “They’re all bark and no bite. Believe me. But if you’re interested in any of them, you’ll have to be obvious about it. We don’t play hard to get around here. Either you want something, or you say no. And if you say no, the other person has to respect it.”
Her eyes darkened. “If some guy gets handsy with you,” she continued, “yell the safe word. You’ll have a dozen people coming over to pound the guy and throw him out.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The safe word?”
“Did you not read the contract?” Delilah clucked her tongue. “It’s ‘turkey.’”
I nearly choked on my drink. “Turkey? Like a Thanksgiving turkey? That’s not very sexy.”