A School for Kinky Stuff

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[<– continued from Ashley and Melody]

It was exactly like that.

Well, ok, not exactly. Anyway, after checking over the website again, I picked out a social event for newbies, and on a Thursday evening Ashley and I caught a bus around to Interbay to find this place. I had the address, but the building turned out to be a nondescript, single-story block of grey bricks nestled under a bridge in a semi-industrial zone wedged between two of the wealthiest residential neighborhoods in the city. There was no sign, only the street address, no windows other than some semi-opaque skylights below the roofline, and just a single unadorned door in front. A hardware store sat to one side and a furniture outlet to the other. A small parking lot in front and another along the side had a few cars in it, and as we waited to cross the street we saw a couple get out of one and walk to the door. They looked so… normal, in their street clothes, blue jeans and sweaters. Not the leather and lace set I was expecting at all.

In short, if you didn’t know, there was nothing to indicate that anything other than some kind of warehouse or something was here. Nothing obviously kinky about it at all. I was relieved. Ashley and I had elected to wear mini-skirts and low strappy heels like we would for any ordinary evening out, purses tucked under our shoulders, and I was half afraid we’d be ejected from the start for not being edgy enough, like bouncers enforcing some kind of kink dress code at a trendy nightclub might do.

Still, the anonymous and industrial aspect of the building was also a little off-putting. Nevertheless, when the crossing light turned green I gathered my courage and we walked over to the front door. I didn’t see anyone along the street giving us odd looks, though I figured everyone who worked or lived around here must know what this building was, so we forged ahead, opened the door, and stepped into a kind of vestibule.

The room was small, with a man sitting behind a small reception desk and then another door beyond. The man looked up and smiled at us as we entered. He was dressed in black from top to bottom, a leather motorcycle jacket over a black t-shirt, and leather chaps over black jeans. Black boots with silver buckles rounded out his attire. His hair was close-cropped, like a military cut, and all grey. With a start I realized he was older than he had appeared at first, probably in his fifties.

“Good evening, ladies, are you here for the orientation?”

Ashley hung back slightly, so I stepped forward.

“Hi. Yes, we, uh, well, I guess we want to find out more about, um…”

He chuckled. “Then you’re in the right place. I just need you to show me your IDs and sign in here. Also, if you want to stay for the Grind afterwards, it’s complimentary for those attending the orientation. Otherwise, it’s $15 for non-members, free if you’re a member.”

Ashley spoke up.

“The Grind?”

She caught my eye, looking a little askance. I couldn’t blame her. What in the hell was a Grind?

“It’s a social mixer, dancing, music, and so forth. A way to unwind, so to speak, after the formal orientation, and meet some of the members in a more informal way. A little bump and grind on the dance floor.” He grinned at this. “But nothing more.”

Ashley and I looked at each other a moment, and then I turned back to the doorman, fishing my ID out of my purse.

“Ok, we’re in. Where do we sign?”

He pushed a register notepad across the desk toward us and held out a pen. I printed and signed my name, filled in my age, and then hesitated over the last two columns, with sub and Dom in the header.

“Um, what do I put here?”

“Just check the box for your role preference, submissive or dominant. If you’re not sure yet, you can leave it blank. It just helps us keep track of the balance of forces, so to speak.”

He eyed me with a bit of a sly smile on his lips. “You look like you could be a Domme underneath there, you know.”

I practically snorted. “Not hardly.” I ticked the sub box and handed the pen to Ashley, who left it blank.

The doorman grinned and shook our hands. “Welcome to the Wet Spot, ladies, and enjoy your visit. I hope we’ll be seeing a lot more of you both. If you ever need anything, you can always come and talk to me. My name is Walter.”

Of course it was. A middle-aged leather-clad kinkster named Walter. What else would this place have in store for us?

We stepped through the inner door to find a well-lit club-like room, complete with dance floor, bar and bar stools, and overhead lights and speakers. There was only one person behind the bar at the moment, apparently setting up for the Grind later. Following Walter’s instructions, we passed through the room and into another smaller chamber beyond. This one was warmly lit, not as bright as the first room, with couches and comfortable looking chairs arranged in a semi-circle facing what could best be described as a red leather throne. Really, I didn’t know what else to call it. It had a very tall back and well-padded armrests, and it sat on a sort of raised dais.

Most throne-like about it, of course, was the rather regal and imposing woman sitting in it. Tall, robust, with jet-black hair in a chin-length circular intermede cut framing her face, she looked like a queen as she surveyed the room. She wore a long black leather sleeveless overcoat, wide-shouldered and open in the front, and beneath that a red leather bustier and tight black leather pants, with a wide belt and shiny silver buckle. Her forearms were encased in calfskin gloves reaching to her elbows, and a silver medallion hung between her breasts. Like Walter, she was definitely older than Ashley or myself, though I put her as probably late forties.

If her dress and demeanor were not enough to mark her as clearly in charge, then the two people chained to the foot of her throne left no doubt.

A young man and young woman, both twenty-somethings, sat demurely on their knees before the throne, facing out to the rest of the room, eyes cast downward. They wore padded metal collars around their necks, and the collars were fastened by light chains to rings set into the ends of the armrests. They were not nude, though I had the sense that if this were a members-only event they might be. Nevertheless, their dress could best be described as revealing. The girl wore a sheer, gauzy halter and similar miniskirt, and sheer cloths bound to her upper arms which dangled to the floor, while the boy wore rather brief shorts and copper upper arm bracelets. Both had their arms behind their backs, and I wasn’t entirely sure, but I thought their wrists might actually be bound. A little frisson of excitement shot through me, and I thought yes, I should be here, I’m doing the right thing. Ashley, on the other hand, seemed in a mild state of shock.

It seemed the queen’s eyes missed nothing, noting our arrival among the others already seated in the chairs and couches. She smiled warmly in greeting, softening the initial impression, and waved us to a free couch. We must have been the last to arrive, as the door shut softly behind us, and a hush fell over those gathered. I took a moment to note the many interesting and unusual devices around the periphery of the room, some looking like implements of torture right out of a medieval drama, but then the queen spoke and my eyes, like those of everyone else, snapped to attention.

“Good evening, everyone. Welcome to the Center for Sex-Positive Orientation, known colloquially as the C-Spot. I am Mistress Catherine, and I am the owner and manager here.”

Mistress, eh? A part of me found the title pretentious, but then again, there was little question who was Top Dog here, and Mistress Catherine had just declared herself in that role. Everyone was now quiet, though I noticed that Ashley could not tear her eyes from Mistress Catherine, her mouth slightly open. I shifted slightly and took her hand in my own, and instantly Ashley gripped my hand tightly as a castaway at sea grips a life buoy. She relaxed ever so slightly when I gave her hand a squeeze.

“You are here because you are curious about sex-positive culture, or you’ve heard about BDSM, or perhaps you’ve already been involved in the scene for a while but want to learn more, become more skilled, learn how to practice the art more safely. Perhaps you seek the company of others of like mind and want to be able to play in safety. Some of you may simply be curious…” and here Mistress Catherine looked directly at me, “and are not yet sure where your path lies.

“Well, friends, tonight we will take the first step on a journey to help you discover all of these things. BDSM, or sex-positive culture, is many things to many people, and here we will touch on a few of these things. But first, let me introduce a few of the staff and volunteers here at the Spot. Master Nicholas…”

As Mistress Catherine called his name, a man stepped forward from his position where he had been standing behind most of us. She continued to talk about him, something or other about how long he had been a member, how knowledgeable he was, how we could call upon him if we had questions or problems, etc, but frankly, I don’t remember most of the rest of what was said. When Master Nicholas stepped into view, my breath was taken away, and, I suspect, so it was for all the other women in the room.

He wasn’t perhaps classically handsome, although he certainly wasn’t plain, either. A rugged face that had seen a few years and a few miles, yet he still wore a ready smile and had a playful twinkle in his blue eyes. I figured him for about forty or so, but he could have been older and not shown it, as he seemed quite fit and trim. Not muscular, not an athlete, but definitely someone who kept himself in shape; no beer belly on this one. I suppose he could even have been younger, for that matter, but the extreme self-confidence and the way he carried himself bespoke a level of experience that generally only comes with a number of trips around the Sun. A full head of brown hair, with a few blond shades to match the natural tan of his face, indicating a man who spent time outdoors. Unlike some of the other men in the room, he was not dressed in leathers or anything at all classically aggressive. He wore simple blue jeans which, if I can be frankly honest, nicely showed off the ass of a man who clearly did not spend all his time sitting at a desk. He had a khaki button-down shirt with dual breast pockets and the sleeves rolled up, revealing a set of forearms that a girl could easily imagine herself held by. He didn’t need clothes to proclaim his station; every fibre of his presence called it out.

Ashley gripped my hand even tighter. Yeah, she felt it too. The attention of every woman in the room was riveted on Master Nicholas.

Over the course of the next hour much was said about safe, sane, and consensual, and about safewords and respect and practical matters for anyone participating in activities that skirt the edges of public acceptability. Mistress Catherine and Master Nicholas and the others who spoke recognized that for some people, being outed as a BDSM fan could potentially jeopardize careers, family relationships, and friendships, and so it was a little bit like an AA meeting: outside the club or private play you don’t mention the shared interests of those you might meet here. You respect their privacy. Of course, for some it becomes a 24/7 lifestyle choice, but that is their decision. Other topics covered practical matters of not getting hurt or hurting others when playing, or scening as it was sometimes being called. We were introduced to the dungeon monitors, and that word sent a brief chill up my spine. Dungeon? As in, torture and imprisonment? Well, looking around at the equipment in this room, I guess that seemed the best word for it. The monitors were staff and volunteers whose job it was to ensure that everyone played by the rules, that no one was being hurt — or hurt beyond what they wanted, anyway — and that every scene, even if it was a role-play, ultimately was mutually consensual. The monitors were there for the safety of the submissives, ultimately.

My doubts were falling away. Ashley was right; this place seemed to be addressing the concerns I had. This was far better than answering a stranger’s personal ad! It also seemed that there was something of a community of regulars among the club’s membership, people who got to know each other quite well and became tight friends, and this appealed to me too.

Poor Ashley, though. She came here to be my moral support and provide me with courage, but this wasn’t her thing. I had to hand it to her, though; she was bearing up quite well, taking it all in and not running for the door, screaming. I squeezed her hand in appreciation, and she squeezed mine back in response.

At the end of the hour, after a number of questions and answers, Mistress Catherine invited everyone to stay for the Grind, as a chance to get know each other and some of the members of the club. She encouraged everyone to apply for membership if they wanted to continue beyond that, and stressed that the Grind was a dance and social mixer, nothing more; there would be no scenes or playing in the dance room itself. All scenes would need to be brought back to one of dungeon rooms of the club, including the one the orientation was held in, and these rooms would be restricted to members and their guests.

I turned toward Ashley. “I want to go speak with that Master Nicholas character. Do you think…”

“Well, you’re not the only one. Look.”

I looked back, and of course Ashley was right. Another woman was already fawning all over the guy, and his attention was fully focused on her. Of course she was drop-dead gorgeous. Of course she had a figure right out of Hollywood. Of course she was dressed to the nines, with her hair and make-up perfect. I wanted to kill her. I wanted to slink away. I wanted to cry out, Look at me! Look at me! I wanted to go home and pull my pillow over my head and cry myself to sleep.

I didn’t know what I wanted. I had listened to Master Nicholas speak for perhaps fifteen minutes during the orientation, and that was the extent of what I knew about him, other than that Mistress Catherine clearly placed a lot of trust and respect in him. I shouldn’t react so strongly to a guy I’d just met, and to whom I hadn’t even spoken two words. There were other men here.

Ashley was studying my face. “Come on, Liv, let’s go dancing for a bit, and then later we can go get some drinks. He’s just a guy.”

Dear Ashley. She was right, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay for the Grind right now, no matter how much the club intrigued me.

“That’s ok, Ash. Thanks for coming with me tonight. We don’t have to stay. Let’s head over to Ballard Ave and see what’s happening there. It’s still pretty early.”

She gave me a funny look. “Are you sure? I think this place could be kinda fun.”

Now I had to give her the funny look. Just then a male voice spoke up.

“Your friend is right. It can be fun here. Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

It was Master Nicholas. I hadn’t even heard him coming up behind me. I froze in place, and Ashley practically laughed. She took my arm and turned me around to face him.

Those blue eyes. Staring up into them — he really was tall — I was momentarily at a loss. I only hoped my mouth wasn’t hanging open, but it might have been. After a moment I breathed again.

“Hi.”

“Hello. I’m Nicholas. And you, I take it, are Olivia.”

The surprise must have registered on my face.

“Don’t worry, I’m not some super-stalker. I help out here, remember? You signed in at the door when you came in. I make it a point to know who is in the club.” He turned to Ashley. “And you must be Ashley.”

Now the full force of that gaze turned on her, and Ashley stood rooted as I was. He really knew how to turn on the high beams.

“Welcome to the Spot, ladies. We really are very glad you came tonight, and I hope that we’ve at least piqued your interest in what we have to offer here. I also hope that you will choose to stay for the Grind.”

So saying, he left us rooted to the spot and walked through into the front room, where I could see that the lights were already down low and the music was starting. From the corner of my eye I saw the other woman, the one who had been paying him so much attention, giving us the glare of a death wish before she stalked past and followed Master Nicholas into the Grind. Ashley gripped my arm.

“Are you sure the Ave will be as much fun as this, Liv?”

Blinking a few times, I looked at her.

“I thought you were only here because of me?”

“I thought so, too. But now I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know yet about all of the ropes and bondage and so on, but the people here seem to really care for each other, and there’s something attractive about all that, you know? What harm can there be in checking it out? It’s got to be a safer bet than taking some drunk home from the Tractor — not that I would do that, of course — and the men here don’t seem shy about what they are about. They don’t seem to need to find themselves — they’ve found themselves. The women, too, for that matter. Wow, Mistress Catherine is hot, don’t you think?”

I laughed. “Yes, she is. I suppose, too, there’s something about having a couple of… what do you call them, slaves? Pets? Subs? Gosh, there’s so much to learn here. Anyway, having a couple of personal subs chained to your chair has got to be a real boost.”

Ashley looked into my eye. “Yes, I suppose so. Or being one of those subs. They sure didn’t seem to mind.”

[continue on to The Grind –>]


© Lace Winter and lacewinter.com, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lace Winter and lacewinter.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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