The Story of Owen: One Man's Submissive Journey by Claire Thompson

to gain access.
    Owen did this and stepped back, shrugging toward Mistress Sylvie with an uncertain smile, praying he hadn’t fucked this up somehow. To his relief, he heard the scraping of a lock and then the door was pulled open. A tall man dressed entirely in black leather, from the cap on his head to the boots on his feet, said brusquely, “Tickets?”
    Owen handed the man the two tickets. He wore small gold hoops in both ears and a snake tattoo curled along the side of his neck. He examined the tickets and stepped back with a nod. “Right this way.” The man led them down wide, crumbling concrete stairs, their footsteps echoing against the walls. At the foot of the stairs were double doors painted shiny black. The man opened the doors and gestured for them to enter.
    The sound of a pulsing disco beat reverberated through the concrete floors of the dimly lit space. The walls were also painted black and hung with sconces shaped like candles that flickered in the gloom. Young men wearing unlaced black leather combat boots, black thongs and nothing else weaved through the crowds with trays of cold drinks. People were mingling in clusters, some on their feet, some on their knees. There was lots of leather and skin, as well as rope and chain.
    There were partitioned areas where private scenes could take place, but there was plenty to see out in the open as well. As they moved toward the long bar at the back of the spacious room, Owen took in the naked man suspended upside down from ankle cuffs, his legs spread wide, angry red lines left by a whip striping his body. Another man was lying on a bondage table, thick rope across his thighs and chest. Two women, dressed alike in red satin gowns with plunging necklines were holding lit candles over the man’s body, dripping wax over his torso and groin.
    Mistress Sylvie and Owen each ordered a glass of iced tea at the bar. Just as the server handed them their glasses, a man appeared beside them. He was tall and thin, his face gaunt with deep set gray eyes and a full head of dark hair. To Owen’s annoyed surprise, the man dropped to his knees and bent his head to kiss Mistress Sylvie’s right foot.
    “ Maîtresse! ” the man exclaimed, looking up at her with what could only be described as adoration. “How wonderful to see you. It’s been far too long.”
    “You are right, Rick. It has been too long.” Mistress Sylvie touched Rick’s shoulder and bestowed a queen’s smile on the man. Owen experienced a spasm of jealousy he knew was absurd. “I am here with my friend.” She nodded toward Owen and Rick fixed his cadaverous gaze on Owen, giving him a thorough once-over with his eyes.
    “You are a lucky man, indeed, Monsieur, to be counted as a friend of the lovely Mistress Sylvie.”
    Owen was saved from having to reply as another man approached, his arms opened wide in welcome. “Do my eyes deceive me? Is that really you, Sylvie, come back to grace us with your charms after all these years? I had thought perhaps you had returned to France.” The man gripped Mistress Sylvie by the shoulders and kissed her on each cheek, and she responded in kind.
    The man had long, curling black hair that fell to his shoulders. He was dressed in a white shirt and black leather pants, his feet shod in square-toed black boots.  “It’s good to see you, Harry, or should I say Master H.,” Mistress Sylvie replied, smiling. “I’m here with my friend, Owen.”
    Master H. turned to face Owen. He had a hawk-like nose and snapping black eyes. Though not especially tall, he had a barrel chest and heavily-muscled arms. He stuck out his hand, catching Owen’s in a strong grip. “A pleasure to meet you, Owen. Welcome to Chains .”
    “Thanks,” Owen said. “I’m a friend of Alana and Jerry. They weren’t able to come tonight but they send their regards.”
    After a few minutes of small talk, Master H. turned again to Mistress Sylvie. “Your timing is perfect. Master John was