I’d heard of White Rabbit before, but as I’m not someone who can afford that kind of high-endunderthings, I didn’t know much about the company or its female founder.
But once I began my research, I stayed up nearly all night long, completely locked in.
The forum I found was likely breaking rules of some sort, anonymous users sharing firsthand accounts of what they experienced within the walls of The Rabbit Hole, but I’m forever grateful for their rebellion—and their honesty.
I devoured that forum like every word was meant for me.
The stories they told of kinks and fantasies coming to life, of primal desires and taboo secrets. Ideas, suggestions… things I’d never heard of and probably wouldn’t have even considered had me on the edge of my seat. Even when I finally logged off and forced myself to go to bed, my sleep was restless, my dreams overcome by the things I’d read about.
Things I now wanted for myself.
Women in this forum described the kind of fantasies I’d never dared to entertain—and definitely never allowed to fully form within my wildest imaginings. Like being chased through the woods by a man I trust, or reprimanded and punished, then worshipped beyond comprehension. I didn’t know I was allowed to want these things in real life, to entertain these ideas outside of BookTok and Facebook reader groups.
“Come on,” Mo says as we approach the pillared portico. “I’ll be by your side the whole time, okay? You don’t have to worry.”
I want to tell her I’m not worried, want to confide in my best friend that though this may have been her idea, I’m excited, exhilarated even, but I can’t find the words. They’re lodged like alump of cement in my throat, and my hands won’t let up on this poor beaded clutch.
I’m a bundle of nerves and energy, a livewire waiting to blow.
Two masked men guard the entrance of the home. As we reach the top step, one of them steps forward. His bald head is shiny, reflecting the light from the lantern hanging high above us. The top half of his face is covered, his eyes hidden behind a black mesh mask. I’ve no doubt he can see us, but making out any of his features is impossible.
My heart pounds as my mind conjures images of what it might be like to be chased by this man.
What does he look like beneath that mask?
“Identification and invitations,” he says, voice deep and gruff.
Mo releases my hand to retrieve the invitation and her driver’s license from her purse.
My heart works overtime as I wait with bated breath for these men to decide we aren’t invited after all and rip this night from my grasp before I’ve even had a chance to glimpse what secrets lie waiting for me just beyond the door.
The man looks briefly at her proffered documents and nods. As he hands everything back to her, he turns toward me.
Below the bottom edge of the mask, his thin lips are pressed into a fine line, and a scar runs from the corner of his mouth down his chin to his Adam’s apple.
I swallow hard as I focus on that Adam’s apple, then Mo squeezes my arm. “Sutty,” she whispers, “you have to show your ID now.”
I blink, snapping out of it, then open up the borrowed purse and dig around for my driver’s license. My clear lip gloss falls out, clanking onto the smooth travertine at my feet. I bend quickly and the bouncer does the same—
Our heads smack together and I gasp, pulling back quickly. “Shit. Sorry.” I rub my head, wincing as pain blooms in the center of my forehead. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” A startling laugh slips out of me, then my pulse cranks into overdrive.
My nervous laughter morphs quickly into shallow intakes of air.
No matter how many breaths I take, they’re too damn quick. No air seems to reach my lungs.
Oh god, what’s happening?
I drop the clutch and reach for Mo, clasping her arm with a death grip as I struggle to make sense of what’s happening. I can hear people murmuring around us, gawking at the show as they wait their turn to go inside. I’m causing a scene but I can’t make it stop.
I can’tbreathe.
The other bouncer steps forward out of the shadows, stopping immediately in front of me and eclipsing all else.
I gasp, shoulders rising and falling on quick intakes of breath that never seem to draw in enough oxygen.
I’ve never had a panic attack. Is this a panic attack?
“Shh.” Softly gripping my chin between his fingers, he tilts my head up. “Eyes on me.” When I lift my eyes to meet his, they’re hidden behind the same black mesh as his partner’s mask. “Put your hands on my chest. We’re going to breathe together.” His voice is firm and demanding, but somehow soothing. Calm.
