Lanie saw something she wasn’t prepared for. A man in a dapper suit was leading a naked woman around by a leash. She was on all fours, her toned, bare ass up in the air as she crawled at his feet like a dog. She was wearing a collar and a black mask over her head.
They walked away and rounded another turn in the hallway, the strobe light flickering dreamlike, turning their gait into something herky-jerky, like a film that was skipping.
Lanie turned to Brayden. “What the hell is this place?” she said, her voice strangled.
His eyes were dark and his voice was calm, but firm. “Trust me.”
“This is some kind of sick…fetish house.”
Brayden’s lips curled into a bemused grin. “Come.” He placed his hand on her lower back once more and ushered her onward.
She didn’t know what kept her walking forward.
This was too strange. This wasn’t the kind of place she should be on a first date.
If that’s what this even was.
Did he expect her to have sex with random strangers here? Was this a brothel? Something even more perverse?
Lanie shook her head imperceptibly as she walked past a room with an open door, and inside, she glimpsed an older, heavyset, nude man with a droopy mustache having his genitals whipped by a leather clad woman holding a belt with fringes on it.
The man had a huge erection as she whipped her fringy implement across his penis.
Lanie turned away and gripped Brayden’s arm.
Was he going to ask her to do something like that to his dick? She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. No.
That was beyond the pale.
Finally, they stopped at a door with the number seven on it, and Brayden pulled out a silver skeleton key and opened the door.
Lanie was praying that there wouldn’t be anyone else in the room. Whatever else this might be, she didn’t want to see anyone else.
But the room was empty, thankfully.
Brayden hit the light switch, and a swirling overhead light spun different colors across the room in a slow arc.
The room was upholstered in silk, all sashes and flowing curtains, only there were no discernable windows. Along the wall, there was a couch, red, plush. A chain hung down from the ceiling, and also a swing near the back wall.
There was something that looked like a large treasure chest against the left wall.
And there were mirrors placed judiciously around the room, making the room appear larger than it truly was.
“I don’t like it here,” she said.
Brayden smiled as he closed the door and locked it behind them. “You haven’t had a chance yet to appreciate it.”
“Why did you bring me? This is a sex club. Right?” She challenged him to answer, folding her arms.
“I told you not to ask questions,” Brayden said, shaking his head, as if mystified that she would continue trying to understand where they were. He walked to a small round table upon which a chilled bottle of champagne sat, along with two long, fragile glasses. “Have a drink,” he said, pulling out the bottle and pouring it to fill each glass.
Then he put the bottle back into the bucket of ice and carried the glasses over to her.
The light swirled, but she was growing more accustomed to it now.
Dimly, she could hear the music from outside the room, the pounding bass.
“Is there a dance floor nearby? Where’s the music coming from?” she asked. “Oops,” she smiled, giggling a little. “I wasn’t supposed to ask questions. I forgot.”
“Drink,” Brayden said, stifling a grin. He downed half of his champagne in one gulp.
Lanie sipped at the bubbly liquid and found it to be quite smooth. She was grateful for the taste and feel as it slid down her dry throat. She drank quickly.
Brayden nodded his approval. “I’ll get you another glass,” he said, walking back to the table and pouring.
She admired his shoulders, the way his cheek looked in profile, the strength of his posture. He was so in control of himself, so in command of the situation.
Of her.
It relaxed her a little to know that
They walked away and rounded another turn in the hallway, the strobe light flickering dreamlike, turning their gait into something herky-jerky, like a film that was skipping.
Lanie turned to Brayden. “What the hell is this place?” she said, her voice strangled.
His eyes were dark and his voice was calm, but firm. “Trust me.”
“This is some kind of sick…fetish house.”
Brayden’s lips curled into a bemused grin. “Come.” He placed his hand on her lower back once more and ushered her onward.
She didn’t know what kept her walking forward.
This was too strange. This wasn’t the kind of place she should be on a first date.
If that’s what this even was.
Did he expect her to have sex with random strangers here? Was this a brothel? Something even more perverse?
Lanie shook her head imperceptibly as she walked past a room with an open door, and inside, she glimpsed an older, heavyset, nude man with a droopy mustache having his genitals whipped by a leather clad woman holding a belt with fringes on it.
The man had a huge erection as she whipped her fringy implement across his penis.
Lanie turned away and gripped Brayden’s arm.
Was he going to ask her to do something like that to his dick? She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. No.
That was beyond the pale.
Finally, they stopped at a door with the number seven on it, and Brayden pulled out a silver skeleton key and opened the door.
Lanie was praying that there wouldn’t be anyone else in the room. Whatever else this might be, she didn’t want to see anyone else.
But the room was empty, thankfully.
Brayden hit the light switch, and a swirling overhead light spun different colors across the room in a slow arc.
The room was upholstered in silk, all sashes and flowing curtains, only there were no discernable windows. Along the wall, there was a couch, red, plush. A chain hung down from the ceiling, and also a swing near the back wall.
There was something that looked like a large treasure chest against the left wall.
And there were mirrors placed judiciously around the room, making the room appear larger than it truly was.
“I don’t like it here,” she said.
Brayden smiled as he closed the door and locked it behind them. “You haven’t had a chance yet to appreciate it.”
“Why did you bring me? This is a sex club. Right?” She challenged him to answer, folding her arms.
“I told you not to ask questions,” Brayden said, shaking his head, as if mystified that she would continue trying to understand where they were. He walked to a small round table upon which a chilled bottle of champagne sat, along with two long, fragile glasses. “Have a drink,” he said, pulling out the bottle and pouring it to fill each glass.
Then he put the bottle back into the bucket of ice and carried the glasses over to her.
The light swirled, but she was growing more accustomed to it now.
Dimly, she could hear the music from outside the room, the pounding bass.
“Is there a dance floor nearby? Where’s the music coming from?” she asked. “Oops,” she smiled, giggling a little. “I wasn’t supposed to ask questions. I forgot.”
“Drink,” Brayden said, stifling a grin. He downed half of his champagne in one gulp.
Lanie sipped at the bubbly liquid and found it to be quite smooth. She was grateful for the taste and feel as it slid down her dry throat. She drank quickly.
Brayden nodded his approval. “I’ll get you another glass,” he said, walking back to the table and pouring.
She admired his shoulders, the way his cheek looked in profile, the strength of his posture. He was so in control of himself, so in command of the situation.
Of her.
It relaxed her a little to know that
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