Honing The Talent
B Pascal
Chapter 29
Larry was waiting, already in his coat and gloves. He looked impossibly chipper. I found my things and got them on, and we went out to the car.
He made his way down the driveway and back onto the local roads, mostly unlit and without street signs. “So, have a good time? They’re lots of fun, don’t ya think?”
“Nice girls, interesting. Yeah, it was fun. But tiring. Geez, Larry, I’m exhausted. How do you do it? You look you’re ready to find another party.”
“You gotta pace yourself, it’s something you learn to do over time. I had a lot of practice before I graduated, so it might be easier for me. But we should probably get some sleep. I’ve got plans for us later in the week.”
“I’m a little afraid to ask.”
“All shall be revealed in due course. We’ll be home in no time and you can recuperate.”
And true enough, a short time later the gate with the keypad appeared out of the darkness. He parked behind the house and unlocked the back door, punching a code into the keypad to silence the alarm. Once inside, he reset it.
“You want anything to eat before we crash?”
I said no, and we went off to our respective rooms. I was asleep two minutes later.
When I awoke, the sun was high. I looked at my watch and it was pushing eleven. I brushed my teeth, took a quick shower, got clean clothes, and stumbled downstairs.
“I was wondering when you’d show your face,” said a voice when I stepped into the dining room. Larry was finishing his breakfast, looking impossibly bright-eyed. He reached under the table and pushed the button. A few moments later Mrs. Mahoney came through the door.
“Good morning, sir. Some breakfast?”
I told her some scrambled eggs would be fine. And coffee. She disappeared.
Larry said, “We’ll probably take it easy today, unless something comes up that I didn’t know about, but I’ve got plans for us tomorrow. Just so you know. I think my father is due back today, so you’ll have to go through the inquisition. He does it to all my friends, which is why I don’t have them over more often. He wants to make sure that they’re headed in the right direction, and have plans for the future. The good news is that you don’t have to prepare a written document. The quiz is oral.”
I thought he was making a joke, but I couldn’t be quite sure. I didn’t know much about him, but I’d seen the occasional puff piece in various news magazines about him and the company, and they invariably mentioned that he was “driven”. So this was looking to be a fun evening. Not.
Mrs. Mahoney came back pushing a tray. The order for ’scrambled eggs’ had been expanded to include bacon, sausages, home fries, toast and English muffins, some sliced fruit, and various jams. How is it that they didn’t all weigh three hundred pounds?
I ate until I was full, but there was still a lot left on the trays. But I refused to stuff myself just because it was there. I had a second cup of coffee instead.
Larry offered a few options to kill the afternoon, movies, play video games, pool—of course they had a billiards room, doesn’t everyone?—and so on. We decided to watch a movie, then do some serious video game battle. And that’s how we spent the rest of the day. Mrs. Mahoney brought us down a plate of sandwiches midway through the afternoon. I thought that I could become accustomed to this indolent lifestyle.
Mrs. Krugman sent the maid, Martha, down to remind us that dinner was at seven and we shouldn’t be late. Larry told me, “That means my father has returned and he’ll want dinner on time and that we should be there so as not to be disrespectful to the staff. At least that’s the excuse he always gives. I’m about played out, anyway.”
I asked if we needed to put on something fancier for dinner, but he assured me that we were fine. Only when they had guests that he wanted to impress was that required.
And so at the appointed time we went to the dining room and found his mother waiting. We found our seats, and she said, “He’s on a call, just finishing up.” She inquired about our afternoon and what we’d been up to last night. Larry made the party at Amelia’s sound much larger than it was and said it was nice to catch up with his friends.
We were interrupted by a voice entering from the hallway. “I apologize for that, some last-minute crisis that needed someone to tell them what to do. Ah, you must be Carter, Larry’s roomie.”
I stood up and shook the offered hand. Definite CEO vibe, a person who demands respect, who expects things to be done according to accepted practice and doesn’t like surprises. He was looking at me like a lab specimen, determining if I met the minimum requirements for laboratory specimens. He told me he was pleased to meet me and motioned me back into my seat.
Mahoney must have been listening at the door, because it opened and she and and a maid entered with serving dishes. “Ah, Mahoney, what delights have you in store for us tonight?”
Tonight, it turned out, was rib roast, with green beans, roasted potatoes and salad. And like every other meal, it was perfect, one of the best roasts I’d ever tasted.
While we ate, he directed the conversation. Mrs. Krugman didn’t contribute much, deferring to him. He asked Larry how his classes were going, how his interests were changing, if he’d taken an interest in any sports, and so on.
Larry, I thought, had developed a style of response that fed him back what he wanted to hear without adding anything that might offer his father a chance to object or criticize his choices or things that he had chosen not to do. It was actually quite subtle. He had learned how to manipulate his father, who was notorious for being opinionated, into agreeing with almost everything he was told. I thought Larry might have hidden talents that I had not yet seen.
He turned toward me. “So, Tom, Larry’s told us a little about you, but I suspect he’s left a lot out. Tell us some more about yourself.”
This was the inquisition Larry had mentioned. I had to hand it to Krugman senior, he appeared charming, interested, delighted, in fact, to be able to learn more about me. But there was something else there, under the surface. This was, I thought, how he bested his business rivals, because he’d learned how to extract information inconspicuously, which he would use later to cut you to pieces.
This was more than just a mild suspicion, it had the feeling of certainty, and I wondered again if I was experiencing the same sort of unconscious mind connection that I’d felt with others. So I picked a few highlights that I knew well and recited them for his benefit, and while I was telling him—I’d finally mastered the ability to speak while using some of my abilities—I looked into his epicenter and tried to understand his goals.
His epicenter was impeccably neat, everything ordered. If it were a desk, all the papers’ edges would be aligned, the pens and pencils ordered, all the same distance apart and facing in the same direction, and the surface of the desk agleam. Nothing superfluous was visible. He was focused on me for the moment. When he was speaking to someone else, the desk would change, replaced by new items.
He was maintaining a mental checklist, marking items that passed muster. I saw ’clean’ and
’respectful’, along with ’good manners’. I was talking now about how I’d discovered I had a facility for languages, and I listed them. I saw him check ’communication skills’.
I paused to gather my thoughts and he took the opportunity to interrupt and ask me about my plans for the future. What was I working toward, my goals?
I’d guessed this would be on the agenda. I told him that it was still early to be making those life decisions, but my current interests were in psychology because I had some curiosity about what drove people, their motivations, as well as why some people veered off the path and became twisted. I said I would probably attend graduate school to learn more about it.
I saw that he hesitated in checking off the question on his list. I got the sense that he approved of my ability to identify what I wanted to do, but distrusted psychiatrists and psychologists. Well, can’t please everybody.
His attention started to wander as something I couldn’t see was poking at his consciousness, but as his focus moved away I saw that I had at least passed muster. He began addressing his wife about some function they were to attend later in the week. It was as if I had ceased to exist. He’d gotten what he needed from me and put me aside and I was no longer of interest.
Mrs. Krugman offered me seconds, but I was full and declined. Her husband shook his head before she asked. She pushed a button under the table, and the maid entered to remove the plates.
When she had cleared the table, Mrs. Mahoney returned with dessert. It was apple pie and most assuredly homemade, with vanilla ice cream.
“Mrs. Mahoney,” he said, “you know all my secrets, don’t you? You always remember my favorite treat when I come back from a trip. Thank you.”
It was really very good, sinfully good, with a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg. Decadent and perfect. As we finished, he patted his lips with a napkin and said to no one in particular, “Much better. Say what you will about four-star restaurants, they can’t compete with Mahoney. Tom, Larry, I’ll be in and out for the next few days so I may not see much of you, and if I don’t, I wish you the best for the rest of the semester. Tom, I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”
I assured him I would, and thanked him for having me. He nodded and was gone.
We spent a few more minutes over coffee, chatting with Mrs. K, then she, too, excused herself.
When she was gone, Larry said, “Well, you got through it, and did a pretty good job of it, too.
I can read him pretty well, and you passed the test.”
“Thanks. I couldn’t help but pick up on the way you phrased your answers, selecting which things to share and how you did it. It was... interesting.”
“Hard-learned lessons. It wasn’t always like that. It’s easier now that I know how to do it. It makes life less contentious. So what d’ya want to do tonight?”
I had no preference, so we watched another movie or two, and hit the sack. To tell the truth, last night was catching up with me and I was glad to get under the sheets.
It was a reasonable hour when I got up, and I felt more rested. After breakfast, neither of us was in the mood for another movie or a video game, so Larry decided that he needed new shoes and dragged me along. We wound up in a high-end mall—I could tell because of the number of Cadillacs, Volvos and BMWs in the parking lot—and he took me to an exclusive men’s shoe store.
I almost exclaimed out loud when I saw the price on the first pair of shoes in the display window, but Larry didn’t hesitate.
They addressed him by name as soon as we entered, and they seemed to know his size already, so he pointed to something that he thought he liked and they ran off to extract it from the bowels of the store. When they returned he tried it on and decided that he didn’t like the way they looked and homed in on another style.
After several iterations, he found something he liked and told them he’d take those. They didn’t ask for money or a credit card, so the family obviously had an account there and they just handed him the bag and said how pleased they were to see him again.
Back in the car, we headed home because we couldn’t think of anything else either of us needed. After five minutes, Larry spoke. “So. About tonight. I’ve been a little close-mouthed about it, partly because I wasn’t sure if you’d like it or not. Do you remember back at school I made an offhand comment about clubs and special interests? Do you recall?”
I told him I did, vaguely.
“I was being cryptic because the club is... well, let’s call it private. It’s invitation only, and you have to be known to people before you’re invited. It’s not exactly illegal, but it’s the kind of a place where your presence, or worse, your participation, could cause awkward ripples in your business or your personal life.
“So you got some hints about what my high school was like last night. People were, well, open and non-judgmental about who does what with whom, and where, and how often. It worked out pretty well for most of us. It turns out that a lot of people like for that to happen in their adult lives as well. Sometimes they make their own arrangements, boyfriends and girlfriends outside of marriage, or a pickup in a bar, or maybe it’s just someone unattached who decides they want a night out to throw out all the rules.
“This club we’re going to... It doesn’t have a name, it doesn’t look like a nightclub, it looks like someone’s house, and everyone just calls it Drew’s Place because it sounds like an everyday thing if someone asks what you’re doing tonight, and you say ’Oh, I’m going over to Drew’s place for a couple of hours.’ No one would suspect, if they didn’t already know what Drew’s Place was.
And it’s gender-neutral, so no one knows if you’re referring to male Drew or female Drew.”
“I’m still a bit hazy here, Larry. You’re being circumspect.”
“Yeah, okay, sorry. It’s force of habit, we’re not supposed to talk about it, so the word doesn’t get around. So Drew’s Place is where you go when you want to get laid. Man or woman. And before you ask, there’s more women than men, I’m not sure why. The age range is all over the map. I’d guess that most of them are in their thirties and forties, still young enough to have a strong sex drive, and old enough that maybe they’re not getting enough at home.
“So when the mood strikes, they go spend an evening at Drew’s Place. There’s an entry fee and maintenance fees, like a condo, but don’t worry, it’s taken care of. You can usually find somebody there who’s into whatever kink you’re into. First time can be a bit intimidating, but you learn to read the unwritten signs, and people will help if you say you’re a newcomer.”
I said, “How did you happen to frequent this place if you were so busy doing the same thing in school?”
“Well, sometimes there’s a lot of drama attached to sex in school. Some girls want it to be romantic, with commitments. And sometimes they’re not into the kink that you like, don’t want anything to do with it. So in those cases we went to Drew’s Place. And just so you know, they’re a little paranoid about somehow winding up being involved with hosting underage sex, so they vet prospective members up the wazoo, till they’re absolutely positive they’re of legal age.
“It’s not really a swinger’s club, because there aren’t that many couples, and there’s no requirement that you bring a member of the opposite sex with you. So maybe you call it a sex club, except that there are no paid performers. Everyone’s an amateur. Well, maybe non-professional is a better word. Some of these amateurs could teach the pros a thing or two. Oh, and there are paid staff, bartenders, bouncers, cleaning staff. They don’t participate at all. Strictly hands off. Somebody makes a move on one of the staff, they’re asked to leave and not come back for six months.
One of the staff makes a move on one of the members, they’re shown the door immediately and blackballed.
“Just so you know, there are locker rooms where you can leave your clothes, and showers, and they provide condoms and lube. Condoms are preferred for sex unless someone asks you to do otherwise. If you want to bring your own sex toys to use on yourself, that’s allowed, just don’t share. Anybody can say no if someone approaches them for sex and they’re not in the mood or if it’s some particular thing they’re not turned on by, no hard feelings. There’s lots of folks around, so if somebody says no, just find someone else.”
“I gotta tell you, sometimes I feel like I grew up in a religious commune, unaware of what the world’s really like. So, did you ever go to Drew’s Place and run into someone you know? One of your friends. Or a teacher! Did you ever run into a teacher? Or somebody who owns a local business?”
“It happens. Not with a teacher. Not yet, anyway. I did see a nurse there who worked in my dentist’s office. She was being spitroasted by two guys. That’s the other thing. Yeah, it could happen, you see somebody you know there. The rule is you don’t let on that you know each other, and you never make a reference to the encounter if you come across them in real life. You remember that movie Behind The Green Door? Like that. Everybody pretends it never happened.“
“Well, I’m both titillated and terrified. I can’t tell if I’m going to go running in the door or hide in the car.”
“You’ll be fine. First time is always a bit awkward, but after that it’s no different than going to a popular club for drinks. You get used to it.”
I thought, but didn’t speak, “Easy for you to say.”
We were back at his place and I felt at loose ends. Larry had gone off to do something, leaving me alone. I wandered into the library and read one of the daily papers, then picked up a book and read for awhile. When I checked my watch I found that it was close to dinner time. I put the book back and went to take a leak, washed my hands and combed my hair.
At dinner I found that it was just Larry and me again. He didn’t know where either of his parents were. I gathered that that was the norm, and he was used to it.
“So I figure,” he said over coffee, “we’ll head over there around nine. Not much happening before then, except maybe on the weekends. It’s less than a thirty minute drive, so if we get there by nine-thirty things should be picking up. Okay?”
I nodded assent, still a bit unsure about this. I got plenty of sex on my own, and even some kinky stuff, too, so that part of me was questioning why I needed to go to a sex club. But there was another part of me, the younger self still fascinated by Penthouse and Hustler and the lives of people who actually got to exercise their libido whenever they wanted, that said, “Sex club! Hell, yeah! Fucking everywhere, all the fetishes known to mankind in one place! Count me in!“
We had an hour to kill, so I lay on my bed and thought about those parts of my talents that I was still trying to understand. Specifically, I gave some thought to that suspicion about some unconscious link to people I was talking to that gave me hints about their feelings, their motivations, their secrets that they kept hidden from the world.
I’d had this happen a number of times, nothing specific that I could point to, just a sense that I was reading something in their—I was about to say epicenter, but I wasn’t yet sure—their minds that gave me a clue to what they wanted. What I was sensing was not specific, just something that gave me a clue to their feelings. Some people might call it empathy, but I thought it was something more specific than that.
I turned that around in my head for some time, looking at it from different angles, but got no closer to an insight than I had when I started. I was interrupted by a tap on the door.
“Carter? You awake? It’s time to go.”
I got up and put on my shoes. Larry was waiting by the foot of the stairs, holding my coat.
I said, “Thank you, Lawrence. That will be all.” He swatted me on the shoulder with his gloves.
“Wise ass. Let’s go out the back way.” We went past the kitchen and through an entryway to the back door. The car was where he had left it.
He drove down to the gate where he keyed us out and took off down the road. “After tonight, Carter, you’ll have a story to tell your grandchildren.”
“What kind of family do you think I’m going to have, Larry? My grandkids gathered around my rocking chair, saying, “Grandpa, tell us again about when you had sex with a bunch of strange women.’”
“Okay, then, you’ll only tell it to the new guys in your club.”
“I thought this was supposed to be hush-hush.”
“Right. Forget I said anything.”
We passed through some more heavily settled housing areas, and a small town center. After a few turns that I would never remember, Larry slowed down on a street with some classic old houses widely separated, situated on sizable lots, and turned into a driveway between two brick gateposts supporting old-fashioned lantern lights. He drove down a winding gravel driveway to a parking area hidden in the back of the house, not visible from the road.
“A lot of the people around here have no idea this place exists. The homeowners tend to keep to themselves because they like their privacy. Visitors are careful to drive discreetly and to keep the outside noise to a dull roar. This way.”
There was a modest doorway lit by a small lantern on a post by the door. Larry pressed a doorbell, and in a moment the door was opened by a heavily muscled fellow who looked at Larry and said, ’Welcome back, sir. You have a guest, I see.”
“Yes, Chambers, I do. He’s visiting and I promised to show him the sights.”
“Do you affirm that he is of legal age and here of his own volition?”
“I do.”
“And you, sir? Do you also swear to that?” he said, addressing me.
“I am of legal age, here of my own volition.”
“Then welcome. Please come in.”
He stepped back to allow us in. Larry led the way. We went down a flight of stairs and found ourselves with locker rooms for men and women, and showers at either end of the hallway. On the way down he told me, “Since you’re a guest you didn’t have to be vetted for age. It was enough that I vouched for you, but you saw that they were careful to check that you affirmed your age. If it ever came out that someone had lied about their age, or about coming here willingly, the member would be blackballed, even if the member didn’t know.”
“I missed something here, Larry. They made a big deal out of verifying the ’legal age’ of your guest. So how is it you were here while you were still in prep school?”
“Oh. Yeah, that. Well, it turns out I missed a year of school when I was younger. A medical thing. I’m better now. But the upside was that I was a year older than everyone, so by the start of senior year I was ’legal’. Lemme tell you, they checked and rechecked my bona fides, but in the end I got in. There’s something to be said for being the young guy—correction, the young ’legal’ guy—at these things. The women were all over me.”
In the men’s locker room Larry said, “Find a locker that isn’t locked and has a key in the padlock. You lock your clothes in the locker, and the key is on a lanyard that you wear around your neck. You see that stack at the end of the lockers? It’s a kind of sarong that looks like a towel, with Velcro that holds it in place. You wear it around your waist if you want. It has a little pocket, where you could put your key or condoms. Not everyone bothers to put one on, since it’s going to come off pretty soon anyway.
“Oh, and if you want something from the bar, you give them a code instead of money. It goes on my tab. My code is ’Diode’. They ask me to settle up when it reaches a certain amount. I’m not here that much so I don’t think I’m anywhere near my limit.”
I was down to my underwear now, and a little self-conscious about getting fully naked, but I did it. I made sure to go get a sarong from the pile and put it on. It went from my waist to my knees. I went back and put the padlock on the locker, then the key around my neck.
“C’mon, let’s go get you a drink. It’ll relax you.”
In the hallway I saw two women laughing at the entrance to the women’s locker room. Both looked to be in their forties. One was fully dressed, either having just arrived or about to leave, the other was completely naked and completely relaxed.
We climbed the stairs and went further down the passage, turning left into what turned out to be the bar. There were two bartenders, one male, one female, both fairly young and attractive, and both fully dressed. I remembered Larry’s warning, but I wondered how many times they got hit on in the course of a month.
At the bar, the female bartender raised her eyebrow in a ’what-will-you-have?’ gesture, and Larry ordered a martini, and I a beer. She ran down the list of beers available, and I saw that I had underestimated the quality of the beverage service. I picked a familiar beer and she went off to fetch the drinks. When she returned with them on a small tray, Larry thanked her and gave his code. She made a notation in a ledger and went to serve another naked customer.
“I think,” I said, “that working here would cure you of prurient interest in the human body pretty quick. There’s some fit people here, but damn, sometimes people really let themselves go.”
We leaned against the bar and watched the clientele. There were some younger people, and by younger I mean thirties, but a lot of older ones, too, and the older we got, the more we sagged and drooped.
“There’s a fair amount of self-selection that goes on, older people screwing older people, and younger younger. But there’s also a surprising degree of mixing of ages. There are some guys, of course, who always want younger women, but you’d be interested to see that some younger women get off on the idea of fucking an older guy. Or several. Don’t know why that is, maybe you’ll explain it to me someday.”
“I think it will take a fair amount of research. I’ll let you know if I need an assistant.”
Off at a table in the corner a woman in her forties, maybe older, was riding a guy sitting in an armless wooden chair. Occasionally they’d stop for a moment and take a sip of their drinks.
Passing the doorway a couple of women dressed only in the half-sarongs, also in their forties, I guessed, looked in and smiled as they saw us. One made a comment to the other, who laughed, then they disappeared down the hall.
“You finished your beer? Let’s take the tour.”
We set off down the hall. The next room had a number of chairs and couches, half of them filled with mostly naked people, talking. “This is a relaxation room, mostly for people to rest before they go back to it. You can fuck in here, but it’s frowned on. This is where you rest and relax while you’re getting ready for round two. Or three.”
Across the hall was another room with a variety of couches, padded chairs and ottomans. One older woman was lying back in a chair with her eyes closed and a man in front of her was on his knees, his face buried in her pussy. On the couch an older man was getting his dick sucked by a woman in her forties.
On another chair a woman, pale and a bit saggy, was bent over holding on to the chair arms and getting fucked from behind by a short, older man with an impressively long dick. On the side tables were bowls filled with condoms, and bottles of lube were scattered around the room.
“The rest of it’s upstairs. The attic is interesting, but we’ll get there. Follow me.”
Up the stairs we went, passing an older man descending the stairway naked, who nodded to us pleasantly, his dick swinging back and forth like a pendulum as he walked.
“Let’s start at this end,” said Larry. At the end of the hall was a large bedroom containing several beds, all occupied, some with two couples on the bed. One woman in her thirties leaned over her bed sucking the dick of a lucky older guy, while a younger man stood behind her, pumping his cock into her pussy.
“Straight-ahead fucking here, the occasional threesome, but no kinks. That’s elsewhere. If you want to participate, you stand off to one side and wait till you make eye contact with the woman, then you point a finger at yourself, then at her, looking hopeful. If she wants you to join in she’ll nod her head or say something to you, if she’s not in the mood, she’ll shake her head.”
We went down the hall to the next room. This room seemed to be more mechanically inclined.
In one corner was a specially built reclining chair with supports for the legs which spread them far apart. The chair ended just shy of someone’s hips, leaving pussy and butt exposed. The upper end had a reclining neck support which allowed the head to be tilted back so someone could comfortably fuck a throat. The hands were left free to give a handjob if the opportunity arose.
Suspended from the ceiling was a fucking sling, really a harness that supported a woman—I suppose it could take a man, too—either supine or prone. You could get it swinging back and forth so you wouldn’t even have to move position to fuck her. Of course, her head would be moving, too, so a guy could just stand there at the other end and have his dick slide in and out of her throat with no effort.
In another corner were a couple of fucking machines, including a Sybian. A shelf had a variety of attachable implements, ranging from small, smooth cylinders with a thread in one end, to enormous, larger-than-life dicks that made me wonder how someone would fit one of those inside her.
There were only two people in the room, a guy watching a woman, presumably his wife, being fucked by a machine that was pumping a dildo into her cunt while he rolled her clit under his fingers. She looked happy.
We left them to their devices and moved on. The next room was surprisingly small. There were several chairs lined up against one wall, and the other wall had holes cut in it. Below the holes were throw pillows. A couple of women were seated in the chairs, chatting and sipping drinks.
“Is that what I think...”
“Yep. Wait a moment, let’s see what happens.”
A minute or two later, a dick tentatively poked its head through the opening, then extended fully through the hole as its owner got settled. One of the women nodded to the other to bring it to her attention. They looked at each other, then shrugged and did rock-paper-scissors. One of them was the winner, put down her drink, and went over and knelt down before it. She wrapped her lips around it and hummed happily as she worked.
“There’s another room adjacent to this one where the guys go. Nobody knows who’s on the two ends of the dick. That’s part of the excitement. Let’s move on. One more room on this floor.”
This one was different. There were no beds, no chairs or couches. It was just mattresses on the floor, side by side, filling the room. Each mattress had sheets, and there were lots of pillows scattered around. There was a group of people in the middle, fondling and touching each other, then moving around to find new configurations. One woman was lying on her side being fucked from behind while she exchanged tongues with another woman facing the opposite direction. As we stood there, a woman excused herself and pushed past us, joining the group on the mattress.
“This is a free-for-all room. If you’re in here, anybody can join in. If you don’t like what’s going on, get up and leave. Being in the room is your assent that anything goes. Except for rough sex, that’s kind of a no-no on this floor. That’s upstairs. Let’s go.”
We took the stairs up to the third floor. There a single door stood beyond the landing at the top of the stairs. We went in.
All the walls had been removed, making a large, open area, dimly lit. The windows were tinted so heavily you could not see through them. There were occasional poles throughout the area which I thought were structural, meant to support the roof. But they’d been repurposed, with ropes and handcuffs dangling from the ceiling, and eyebolts in the floor.
There were several ’altars’, padded vinyl tables about three feet high, with straps for arms and legs, leaving the victim helpless. Against one wall were several fucking machines on movable pedestals. Another wall had a variety of whips, ball gags, vibrators and restraints. The third wall was spotlit, black except for a large, red circle in the center. At the diagonal points of the circumference, like an imaginary ’X’, were restraints for wrists and ankles.
“Well, you can probably guess what goes on here. It’s always a surprise to me how many women—and the occasional man—get their jollies from being abused and tortured. But there’s almost always someone here being worked on. They keep coming back, so they must like it.”
It was sparsely populated now, but it was early. I always had the sense that BDSM folks were more of a late-night crowd, so things would probably pick up later. One woman was confined to an ’altar’ in the far end, strapped down, immobile, while a fucking machine on a pedestal had been moved into position and was plunging a sizable dildo into her pussy while her partner assaulted her tits with a black leather whip.
“I know who he is,” Larry whispered in my ear. “He’s a teacher at one of the private schools in the area, not the one I went to. He runs the debating club.”
I had to smile at that. Everyone’s public and private lives were so different.
“Okay, well, that’s the tour. I don’t know what you’re in the mood for, but this should cover most of the bases. I don’t know what I’m in the mood for either, but I’ll find something. We’ll find each other and figure out when we’re done, okay?”
He headed downstairs, and I followed shortly thereafter. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, if anything. Public sex felt a little strange to me. I’d done all right with an audience at that Kappa party with the threesome, but there may have been an alcohol factor involved there.
I poked my head into the ’free-for-all’ room and it seemed to have the same number of people, but different actors. Maybe too much for my first time. I went on to the first room, the one with multiple beds, and some of them were still at it. It didn’t look like there were leftover holes of the gender I preferred. Okay, I’ll wait awhile.