Curtis’s hand on his forearm broke the spell the picture had woven around him. “And this is the reason why Collin needs an agent.” The words were said with a small chuckle, but Andrew could feel that Curtis was moved by the picture as well.
“Collin painted that?”
“Yes. He’s a very talented young man. Now please follow me, Sir.”
Andrew allowed Curtis to lead him to the far end of the room, where he stopped in front of a wardrobe with two doors in a deep mahogany color. The plate read “Curtis Morris” in loopy letters. Andrew watched Curtis opening the doors without using a key.
“Don’t you have locks on these?”
Curtis shook his head. “No. Nobody here steals. This may sound contradictory to you, especially considering the times we live in, but at Whisper the sense of being in a safe space comes from the absence of security measures—at least in here. Outside, things are of course different.”
Andrew thought about this for some time while Curtis changed into black leather trousers and a black leather vest that accentuated his well-defined but not overly muscular arms while it diverted attention from his small—miniscule in Andrew’s opinion—paunch. Curtis was by no means untrained; he just wore his age well. And it made sense to not have visible security measures in a place meant to create a relaxing atmosphere. Given the rigid controls upon entering, Andrew doubted there was no surveillance in place. It just wasn’t visible.
“Are your ready, Sir?” Curtis looked at him with an expectant expression. Andrew took one last look around. They were almost alone, but on a Wednesday night, that wasn’t surprising. The three subs who were currently changing acknowledged Curtis with a friendly nod but ignored Andrew like well-trained boys. They left the changing room, and this time, Curtis led him into the main area of Club Whisper. Andrew had to correct his estimate about Wednesday evenings immediately. Apparently the lack of subs in the changing room only meant they were all too busy in the club area. The place was not packed but fuller than any other club Andrew had ever seen on a weekday. He could also easily see why. If he could afford the fees, he would be here for downtime every day of the week. The huge room gave the atmosphere of a very posh living room where instead of watching TV, people amused themselves with demonstrations of various BDSM techniques.
One was taking place at the moment, and Andrew walked more slowly to take a good look. The Dom wore black leather pants with white laces at the sides and nothing else. He didn’t have to, because his perfectly sculpted body was a joy to watch. The muscles in his arms and torso gleamed under the spotlights illuminating the stage, where he had a naked sub chained to a St. Andrew’s cross. The sub was completely naked and built as well. Not as stacked as his Dom, though the dimples at the sides of his ass, the long, sleek muscles in his back, and the perfectly defined lines of his legs still made him a feast for the eyes. Especially with the angry red stripes decorating his back and ass in a neat pattern of parallel lines. The Dom changed his position behind the boy, lifted his arm with a vicious-looking cane in his fist, and let it come down on the sub’s thighs with more force than Andrew would ever feel comfortable administering. The boy screamed, his back went rigid, his hands balled to fists, but he didn’t safeword. Instead, he sobbed out a broken “One, Master,” followed by “Please, give me more, Master.” And the Dom complied. The only reason Andrew could watch this scene that normally would have been too brutal for his liking was the fact that the Dom kept on checking on the sub in the mirror that hung behind the cross, and the air of absolute control that surrounded the two. Without knowing the pair, Andrew could sense they were used to this kind of play, used to each other. Still, just thinking about doing the same to Curtis had him break out in a cold sweat. He was glad there were so many different possibilities to enjoy the game of dominance and submission.
Andrew was so busy thinking about the caning on the stage, he barely noticed when they reached the bar. It was Collin’s enthusiastic “Oh, you made it, Curtis, how wonderful!” that yanked him out of his stupor. He watched Curtis embrace the young artist when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
“Andrew, nice to see you again. I didn’t think you’d come tonight.”
Andrew turned around to greet Martin, who looked even more intimidating than at the opening. He wore black leather pants that seemed painted on his muscular thighs and a leather harness with a silver D-ring resting on his breastbone. All those muscles made Andrew wish for a moment he had kept his shirt on. It was easy to feel intimidated by somebody as packed as Martin.
“Hello, Martin. Nice to see you as well. Our decision to come here was quite spontaneous, but I can’t say I regret it.”
Martin laughed. “I hope not! Richard and I put a lot of effort into the club. Speaking of the devil!” He looked at somebody approaching from Andrew’s left, and when he followed Martin’s gaze, Andrew had to concentrate to keep his mouth closed. The man coming toward them was as tall as Martin and also as packed. His black skin glistened under the soft illumination from above, and his gaze seemed to burn holes into Andrew. He wore clothes similar to Martin’s, minus the harness, but it was the air of absolute authority surrounding him that caught Andrew’s full attention. A leash was wrapped around his left hand, leading to a beautiful blond man who followed Richard at the perfect distance, his gaze respectfully cast down. He completed his master in a way Andrew had rarely seen in a Dom/sub couple, and he suddenly found himself wishing from the bottom of his heart to get the same with Curtis. Even though Andrew knew it was bad manners to stare at someone else’s sub, he couldn’t take his eyes off the blond. There was no mistaking it. He was the man from the picture in the subs’ changing room.
“Uhm, Andrew, this is Richard Miller, the other owner of Club Whisper. Richard, this is Andrew Granger, my guest tonight.” Curtis’s voice wavered between amusement and a tiny bit of worry, which prompted Andrew to stop his staring. He looked at Richard, who extended his hand with a stony expression. Andrew took it, inwardly shaking his head at himself.
“I’m sorry, Richard. I didn’t mean to stare at your sub. It’s just, he’s the man from the picture in the subs’ changing room, isn’t he?”
Musical laughter resounded from behind Richard, and his strict features softened considerably. “You can’t blame him for being a little shocked, Master. Thank God I left the wings at home.”
Martin and Curtis started laughing and were joined by Richard after a short moment. He made a small step to the side so his sub could come forward. The man extended his hand on his own, and Andrew was still too confused to think about proper protocol and shook it.
“Hi, my name is Dean. Are you the macaron man?”
“Hi, I’m Andrew, and yes, I’m the macaron man. Unless Curtis is having a secret affair before ours really started.”
Dean’s smile broadened. “I like him,” he said to Curtis, who was standing close to Andrew now. Richard cleared his throat.
“Boy.” There wasn’t any heat behind the word, but Dean lowered his hand to his side.
“Sorry, Master. Hi, Curtis, hi, Collin.”
Collin escaped from Martin’s arms to hug Dean, which made a very nice picture. Both subs wore leather shorts that could have doubled as belts and nothing else.
Richard threw his hands in the air. “There goes high protocol again. I blame your boy, Martin.”
The amused twinkle in the huge man’s eyes belied his sharp tone. Dean seemed to know his master very well, because he went on tiptoe to kiss his chin. “You can go all high protocol on me during our scene, Master. I promise I’ll be naughty.”
Richard moaned and kissed Dean in earnest. “You’re a bad, bad boy. Just the way I like it.”
When the kiss ended, Richard turned to the others. “Let’s order some drinks and sit down. Andrew looks as if he could use a break.”
Andrew followed Curtis back to the bar, where a slim, androgynous-looking man was waiting for them. He had his long, shimmering black hair in a messy bun at his nape and wore a very short red vest that accentuated his flawless body. Curtis, Dean, and Collin hugged the man over the bar counter, while Martin and Richard nodded at him. Curtis dragged Andrew forward. “Andrew, this is Leeland Drake, another friend of mine. Leeland, this is Andrew.”
Andrew shook the slim hand while Collin did the talking for him. Apparently all of Curtis’s friends knew everything about their disastrous first date. Andrew didn’t know if he should be offended or not. “He apologized, and Curtis is giving him another chance, isn’t that great? Also you lose the bet, but I think you hoped you would do so, which I think is totally cute of you and now you can’t punch his nose in, especially not here, though we’re all used to it somehow, but not in the way you do it.”
