I checked my appearance one last time in the rearview mirror, adjusted my mask, and got out of the car.
The club's entrance was understated, with a sleek black door and a small silver "S" etched into it. I pressed the buzzer, and a panel slid open, revealing kind eyes that assessed me briefly before the door opened.
A woman stood there, elegant and poised, with silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a chignon. She wore a simple black dress and no mask.
"Welcome to Sassy's," she said, watching me pass through with shaking knees.
I nodded, unable to find my voice.
"First time?" she asked gently, gesturing for me to step inside further.
"Yes."
"You're in excellent hands. Let's get you checked in."
Inside was nothing like I'd imagined. No dungeon aesthetic, no intimidating equipment visible. An upscale lounge withtasteful lighting, expensive furniture, and well-dressed people moving quietly through the space. Everyone wore masks, creating an air of mystery that was comforting rather than sinister.
The woman led me to a discreet desk and checked me in, confirmed I'd read all the safety protocols, and reminded me of my safe word.
"Red stops everything immediately," she said gently. "Don't be afraid to use it. The good Doms actually appreciate clear communication. They want you to feel safe."
She handed me a small card:Your Dom will arrive at 8:00. You may wait inside Room 7 and prepare yourself, or you may wait in the lounge. The choice is yours.
I chose the room, needing privacy to calm my nerves.
I stood in the hallway outside room seven, hand on the doorknob, and froze.
You can still leave.
The thought was loud, insistent.
I could walk back down that hallway, tell the woman at the entrance there'd been a mistake, get in my car, and pretend this never happened. Go home. Crawl into bed. Forget I'd ever considered doing something this reckless.
I turned the knob and stepped inside.
The room was beautiful in its simplicity. Soft lighting created pools of warmth. A padded bench sat at the center, elegant and functional. Silk restraints were laid out with care on a side table, obviously expensive. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket beside two crystal glasses.
No intimidating equipment. No cold metal. A space designed for trust and sensation.
I set my purse on a small table by the door, my hands shaking so badly the clasp rattled. The time read my Dominant would be here in two minutes.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Pressing a hand to my chest, I tried to slow my breathing.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. It was the breathing exercises I'd learned during labor with Casey. A hysterical laugh burst out at the irony that they'd come in handy now, in a situation so completely opposite to motherhood.
What am I doing?
I sat on the bench, then stood. Paced to the window. Paced back. Sat again.
My palms were sweating. I wiped them on my dress and then immediately regretted it. What if he wanted to hold my hands? What if they were clammy and gross?
Stop. Breathe.
I looked at my phone again.
One more minute.
The silk restraints gleamed in the soft light. I reached out and touched one. The fabric was impossibly soft against my fingertips. I imagined them around my wrists. Holding me. Making me helpless.
