Page 134 of Naughty Dreams
“This is a local group, catering to middle and working-class incomes. Miami had more high power, high dollar players,where I was more likely to be recognized when I didn’t want to be.”
His gaze coursed over DJ. He’d worn black jeans, too, though his were stressed to silver gray in places and strategically torn in others. The fabric was shot with silver threads that worked with his pewter studded black belt. His shirt was blue, a flowing fabric. It had only one button, a silver and blackfleur de listhat held the shirt closed a few inches above his waistband. The open upper part showed his ichthys, and a strand of jet beads. Very Jim Morrison, Steve would have said.
Roy curled his finger in the ichthys chain. “Anything makes you nervous tonight, you tell me. There are no wrong moves here, DJ, except dishonesty and disrespect. Got it?”
“I have been to places like this before.”
“You haven’t been the way you’re coming to it tonight.” Roy’s gray eyes were metallic in the shadows of the SUV. “As a submissive in the company of a Master. It’s my job to make sure you know the rules, and you stay safe.”
“That last part is always your job.”
His mouth eased. “Yes, it is.”
Roy left the vehicle and came around, checking their surroundings before putting his hand on the door and opening it. DJ stood beside him and looked up at the building. “These places always look so skeevy and abandoned. Where you’d go if you were making a drug deal, or dumping a body.”
Roy’s firm mouth twitched with a faint smile. “Zoning relegates them to skeevy locations, but outside appearances can be deceiving. Not for all of them, but this one is definitely not skeevy, I promise.”
They came to the scarred metal door, where a bald man in a Dr. Who T-shirt and blue jeans was checking IDs. When Roy showed his, the man checked a list on his tablet. “You’re a guest with permanent privileges, and your plus one is vetted, courtesyof Master Logan,” he noted. “Welcome back. Would you like your sub to have your stamp?”
“I would. Thank you.”
The man turned to the podium next to him and plucked a stamp out of a small basket. He had several stamp pads.
“Do you think you could give me the silver ink?” DJ asked. “It goes better with my outfit.”
The Dr. Who fan raised a brow. “Sorry, mate. The color of the ink indicates your status. There’s a suggestion box if you want to offer it for future events.”
“Great. Where would that be?”
Without cracking a smile, he pointed to the trash can on the other side of the door. Roy bit back a laugh as DJ sent him a narrow look.
“Word to the wise,” the bald man said. “This is a place that knowsexactlyhow to handle smart asses.”
He pressed the stamp to the top of DJ’s hand. The ink showedTsin glow-in-the-dark orange.
“Have a good time, gentlemen.”
He opened the door for them. Roy and DJ stepped into a stairwell, tinted by the red light of the exit sign. The music from the fourth floor vibrated through the walls.
DJ lifted his hand. “What doesTsmean?”
Roy gripped it, stroking the skin around the wet ink. DJ liked the look on his face. Especially when he heard what it meant. “Taken sub,” he said. “Keeps anyone from bugging you. Then I don’t have to remove someone’s spleen.”
“Ooh. A lover who will cause bodily harm and risk prison to stake his claim on me. I like it.” DJ batted his lashes and ducked the open palmed swat at his head.
Roy tugged him closer with a finger under the studded belt and bumped their hips together. “On the first two floors, there’s a variety of scenes. Fire and whip play are on the third floorbecause of their space needs. We’ll cruise through all levels. Stop at any scene you want to watch.”
It sounded good to DJ. When Roy opened the steel door to the first floor, a wash of heat hit him. Light came from naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling. They swayed from the air movement caused by fans, while human movement created a flickering dance of shadows. Dozens of people in various stages of dress, including nothing but collar and/or cuffs, were engaged in power exchange play from end to end of the warehouse floor. There were raised platforms and walkways, as well as a few cubicles for those who wanted a more private space while remaining within the miasma of sensual input.
A bar set up against the wall served sodas, water and snacks. It was identified with a large neon sign and an arrow. Restrooms were marked in a similar way.
DJ smelled sweat, sex, perfume and cologne, but the fans kept it from being overwhelming.
Roy let DJ choose the direction, staying at a relaxed stroll at his side. With his close presence and his hand brushing DJ’s hip or back, the nervous edge to DJ’s feelings settled into a better kind of adrenaline fuel. In this intriguing environment, he could pretend that the world outside didn’t exist, or think about what he’d lost.
He saw a woman with a tattoo of butterfly wings on her back. She was rotating in a slow circle, suspended with a harness created by red rope. It was tied around her upper body, legs and arms. As her Master turned her, he caressed her flesh between the diamond-shaped openings. Her eyes were half closed, her lips parted. The ends of her long black hair nearly swept the floor as her head dropped back.
Suspended and restrained in your world
