I didn’t want to be an officer. I wanted to get in, earn enough for college, and get out and bedone.
Tonight, I have a forty-eight hour pass and money in my pocket when I walk in the nightclub. I know Jace isn’t in Germany this month. He’s off in Italy or some shit. Gene is back in the States for three months. Dad’s currently stationed in the States, too, even though due to his command he frequently travels over here and spends weeks at a time.
No one to stumble across who’s actually related to me.
No one even knows I’m here. My best buds, Gohber and Kenney, they tried to get me to go out with them tonight, but the shit they want to go do is stuff me and my friends did after school when I was fourteen and living here.
Ineedto do this tonight.
This nightclub is far enough from the base that I’m not completely concerned about running into someone. It has the rep I’m looking for, and at this point, if I run into someone here who knows me, they’re likely here for the same thing I am. That means they’ll hopefully take adon’t ask, don’t tellapproach, or risk their own extracurricular activities being exposed.
There’s only so much porn a guy can wank to before he needs to feel the real thing. I know three things for certain about myself—I’m most likely bi, even though I’ve never had an actual sexual experience with a guy, I’m apparently attractive to women, and I apparently need a dominant woman to really enjoy myself in bed.
The five girls I slept with between high school and now wanted me to take charge in bed, and…that’s justnotdoing it for me. The only way I got over with any of them was imagining them taking charge ofme.
The nightclub is located in a three-story warehouse in an industrial area that looks deserted this time of night. No sign to advertise its presence, but you can feel the bass thumping through the walls from inside nearly half a block away. You need to know you’re looking for it to find it. This isn’t the kind of establishment you randomly stumble across when looking for a tourist-friendlyBiergarten.
This is the kind of nightclub that caters to a certain specialized…clientele.
Which is why it’s located where it is.
The music is some sort of EDM electronica shit that I couldn’t care less about. The drinks aren’t too pricey, and the ambience is concrete industrial neon grunge with a touch of leather and latex. Think if IKEA finally hit rock-bottom after coming down from a three-day meth high, and you’re close.
But all of thiswhyI’m here. I joined a website for kinky people and found a local discussion group nestled within its electronic walls. I don’t participate on that website—I do nothing but lurk from the browser of a burner phone I bought specifically for this purpose.
But this club’s been mentioned plenty of times.
There are people from all walks of life and all age ranges, dressed in everything from black jeans to full-on latex and leather dresses and corsets. I catch a few interested glances from women as I make my way across the main space on the lower floor to the bar, but I’m not interested in most of the women I see, no matter how gorgeous some of them are. Besides, once they get close enough to spot the chain collar I locked around my neck just before paying my cover charge and entering the club, they turn and walk away.
That’s fine. I’m looking for a particular type of woman.
The type of woman I’m looking for likely won’t hesitate to approach me, and will likely approach mebecauseof the collar.
I grab a soda and, after showing my red wristband to the bouncer at the base of the stairs to prove I paid the extra cover charge and know what I want, I make my way upstairs. I also know from my research that’s where the real fun can be found.
The particular wristband I’m wearing will actually get me up to the third floor.
The place is a little on the warm side, and a haze of cigarette and vaping smoke creates interesting patterns in the lights. Up here, there’s an actual live DJ playing different music from downstairs, better music, and apparently reading the energy of the space based on how he’s studying people from his raised perch in a corner near the stairs.
There are seating areas up here, black vinyl couches and ottomans sprinkled here and there, and low tables. Curtains hanging from the ceiling and folding, free-standing screens create temporary and flowing spaces and prevent someone standing at floor level from seeing straight through to the far side of the huge space.
Up here, people are wearing more in some cases—full-on latex body suits, leather gimp suits complete with hoods. Or less, in other cases—rope chest harnesses, bustiers without an undershirt on, leaving nipples exposed, or the occasional man in a jock and hood and wrist and ankle cuffs.
And nothing else.
I’m more interested in getting a look at the women who are with the lesser-dressed men. There are some gay couples in attendance, but they’re in the minority, and that’s not really my jam. Although I have already considered contacting a male Top as a possibility, if I can’t hook up with a woman. Not to sound like an asshole, but IknowI can get laid.
What I think Ireallyneed, but I won’t know for sure until it happens, is to get spanked.
And what I also don’t know is how long I’ll be here in Germany before I’m shipped out to a combat deployment.
As I take all this in, my cock thickens and hardens, and I fight the urge to wildly plunge into the space. I know I need to scope things out first. I might not even meet anyone here tonight, but at least now I know I have found the right place and can return accordingly.
It’s still early in the evening, just barely eight. That it’s already so busy bodes well. The group on the website said this Friday would be particularly busy earlier than usual because of a couple of Dominatrixes who’d be showing up tonight.
It’s going to be a demonstration, of sorts.
A rhythmic thudding noise strikes my ear, just under the music. I slowly wind my way around the outer perimeter of the space and follow the noises until I realize I need to make my way inside the maze. I follow the sounds to one curtained “room” and see a woman flogging another woman on an X-shaped frame I know from my research is called a St. Andrew’s cross.
