Page 63 of Brat Baby
I make a mental note to look into what the three-way symbol means at a later time and scroll down. The front page is mostly just advertising the club and the perks of what being a memberwill get you. Which reminds me that I have an email from Club Obsession in my inbox.
Swapping apps, I hunt down the email and click on the link to accept the invitation to be a guest member. My phone does its thing, then a page with a bunch of questions loads on the screen. All the usual things, like name, age, address, emergency contact—I put Oakley for this one—whether I identify as a submissive, switch, or dominant.
By the time I get to the end, I feel like the only thing they haven’t asked me for is my social security number.
I am eventually rewarded with the members-only area. Clicking on a few options, I take a look around, discovering an inbox, events, and my own profile. Eventually, I stumble upon the member forums. It’s not much different from the student forums, with the main categories opening up to subthreads.
The first one is labeled Public Noticeboard, and once it loads, it becomes clear that it is exactly that—a noticeboard. There are posts upon posts of people asking about services, selling tickets to concerts, looking for people interested in going to a football game.
All pretty vanilla, if you ask me.
One of the posts that I find makes me giggle. Someone posted, asking for help in finding a moving company who won’t look at them weird when they transport a medieval spanking bench.
The next one is looking for a dog sitter to look after their pup. Again, vanilla. I click on that one, hoping to see a picture of a smooshy puppy that’ll make my heart turn to goo. Silly pet videos on social media are my kryptonite.
And yep, there is a picture…
Actually, no, wait. That one is definitely not vanilla.
The things I have learned in the last two weeks. Jesus. To each their own, I guess.
Exiting out of that sub-forum, I go back in search of another public option and find Events. The first event that appears is for next Friday, so I click on it. It’s instantly clear that a lot of people are interested in this event, since there is a ton of interaction on the post, lots of likes and comments.
The name of the event is Tears, which is confusing until I read the description.
An event for sadists to show off the pretty tears of their maso subs. All kinks welcome. Come prepared to listen to screams all night long.
I’m fairly certain my eyebrows have disappeared into my hair. Screams all night long? But then I think back to the first weekend with my daddies, and well, yeah. Okay. Cool.
It looks like it’s happening at the actual club, which is all the way in the center of the city.
There are pictures from a previous event, which appears to have been the same theme. Tapping on the gallery, it enlarges so I can swipe through. It takes exactly four swipes before they are on my screen.
The four of them are spread out on four massive black, overstuffed leather couches that have gold studs in the fronts of the armrests. It’s a candid photo, like the photographer was standing off to the side, unseen by them.
All four are laughing, absolute pure joy radiating from each of them. Xavier is sitting to the side in one of the armchairs, shirtless, except for leather straps that wrap around one shoulder and across his chest to the other shoulder.
Darcy and Derek are on a couch, holding drinks in their hands. With his head thrown back, Darcy’s hair looks wild and untamed, especially against the solid black of the leather-looking sleeves he has on. There is a thin piece of leather where a collar would go that connects the two together, presumably tokeep them from falling off. But other than that, his abs, pecks, tattoos, and nipple piercing are on full display.
The black vest that Derek is wearing looks like it was sewn onto his body. The button just below his sternum is hanging on for dear life. His biceps strain while he leans forward, pointing a finger at Xavier with a massive grin on his face. Wait, is he…? I zoom in on Derek’s face. Holy shit, he is. He’s wearing guyliner. Fuck, it really suits him.
Hudson is in profile to the photographer, his legs kicked out in front of him. I can see the black fabric on the shoulder of the arm that is flat across the top of the armrest, only a hint of his tattoos showing. His cheek is pulled tight with a smile, and his hair is perfectly done as it always is.
They look so at ease here, like absolutely nothing is troubling them. How long ago was this photo taken? Do they attend events often? Will they take me to an event? Or will I be confined to the apartment forever?
…Can I take myself to an event?
I tap out of the gallery and scroll until I find ticket information for Tears, and my eyes almost bulge out of my head.
One-hundred-and-fifty dollars? Holy fucking cheeseburgers.
Well, that puts the brakes on that idea.
I start to scroll back up to the gallery but pause when I see the RSVP section and four names in particular. Right there, in the attending section, is Derek, Xavier, Hudson, Darcy.
Hmmm…
My phone pings, and an update that my driver is on his way appears at the top of the screen. Standing, I shove my phone into the back pocket of my denim skirt and then grab my duffel and backpack.
