Swallowing, I shoot a look at the footrest. “Ah, is that…would that make the scene…better?”
Madam smirks at me. “For me, it would. My footrest doesn’t have an opinion. It’s just a piece of furniture I am using for my own pleasure.”
Oh, right. Well, then.
I nod, not sure that I should actually be nodding, but I’m very intrigued by this woman. “Okay, yes, I consent.”
“Excellent, please take a seat.” She presses the button again, and holy shit, I really hope this conversation doesn’t last long because this is way too much. The distressed male moans make me clench, and I have to bite my tongue in an attempt to keep my emotions hidden away.
I don’t think I am successful, though.
I take the seat that puts me at the other side of the coffee table, hiding as much of the footrest as possible from view. When I sit, I all but sink into the leather, the couch so much softer than I thought it would be. I try to keep my posture straight, but it’s almost impossible, so I settle for crossing my feet at my ankles and ignoring the way the seam of my jeans is pressing just right.
When I’m settled, that’s when the moaning stops, but is replaced with someone gasping for breath, whimpers breaking the sound.
I absolutely do not squirm in place.
“I understand that you know Derek, Hudson, Darcy, and Xavier,” she starts off, adjusting her feet on the footrest because it is arching repeatedly under their weight.
Okay, so we are diving straight in. “Yes.”
She raises an eyebrow at me but continues. “And you met through that sugar dating app they are fond of?”
I nod and try not to wiggle under her scrutiny. There is nothing wrong with being a sugar baby. “Yes.”
“And as a part of your relationship with them, they set up contracts with you that enforced a dominant submissive relationship between the five of you?”
“Yes. Initially, just for the first night, then the weekend, then for a six-month period,” I reply, wanting to make sure I answer as fully as possible. “However, I called off the six-month contract after the night I came to the club.”
“How, exactly, did you do that?” Madam asks, head tipping to the side, her tone that mix of polite and questioning that makes your stomach squirm. “Was it in writing?”
Feeling like I might be walking into a trap, I hesitantly tell the truth. “I used my safe word.”
That eyebrow raises again. “You used your safe word to end your entire contract with them?”
“Yeah,” I reply, my heart slowly sinking into my ass. “I mean, yes. That’s what they told me to say if I wanted things to end.”
Madam stares at me for so long, I start to think that maybe I broke her, but then she raises her arm and presses the button for an incredibly long time. The footrest starts off with a startled noise, but then the moan goes on and on, long enough that it starts to sound a little panicky, short, sharp breaths in between noise.
The noises don’t stop when she lets go. Instead, the breathing is heavy and gibberish that I think is supposed to be words, but I’m starting to suspect the guy might be gagged so he can’t actually talk.
“Emery, safe words are only for scenes. Not for contracts.” The way she says those few words is like she is talking to a toddler. “To end a contract, you actually need to end the contract. Your current contract with them still stands. It’s not over until you provide them with a contract termination. In writing.”
Frowning, I try to remember what the contract said, but all I can really remember is that the term said six months but they said they wanted longer. “They told me that sayingredwould make it all end. It would be over. The only time I ever used it was in the elevator.”
Madam mutters something under her breath, then she moves her laptop and glasses to the cushion beside her, lowers her feet to the ground, and stands. “Come with me, I need a drink.”
As she walks away, I stand to follow, only flinching the tiniest bit when the moaning starts up again. The fabric covering the footrest starts to move and twist, until there is a very distinctive humping motion going on, and I quickly look away, cheeks burning while more heat pools right behind my clit.
This is a mindfuck of a conversation.
I trail behind Madam over to the bar and watch as she pulls two glasses out with a single hand, while her other one continues to hold down the button on the remote.
“Um, I’m only eighteen,” I admit before she can pour anything into my glass.
Madam side eyes me. “I know. I have background checks performed on all new guest and member requests. As soon as Derek added you to his account, a file was created.”
My mouth drops open.
