Page 8 of Mark & Don't Tell

The employee hands over the lone wristband. Vic slips it on, eyes drifting to meet mine briefly. Jaw clenching, he looks away and brushes past me, slipping through the door. I pull in a shaky breath, both relieved and a little sad at his departure.

“A white wristband?” Jane asks.

Bless her endless curiosity.

“Voyeurs get white, as they don’t participate, and sometimes people are simply curious.”

Disappointment floods through my system. My mysterious stranger isn’t here to play.

The employee continues, “The wristbands will help you find partners who may have similar interests, but there should always be a discussion before engaging. I think you’ll find everyone at After Dark to be more than courteous. What’s the name on the reservation?”

To ensure proper preparation and time to fill out the questionnaire and signing of all the documents, the only people allowed in are those who reserved a spot ahead of time.

“Daria.”

The guy nods at me and pulls up our files. His face gives nothing away as he reads through whatever he sees, but he starts to grab various glowing wristbands. “You read how these work?”

Jane and I both nod.

“Good, so as a reminder, these are a guide. Aside from the white which indicates a person is only here to observe, they help suitors easily identify hard limits. The red one”—he holds the glowing band up for both of us to see—“means that you’re not into blood play. The fewer bands someone has, the fewer limits they have. Red for no blood play. Blue for no heavy impact play.”

Jane glances at me when I notice her little stack doesn’t include blue.

“Whatever you’re into,” I tell her with a smile.

“For you,” the guy says to me, “if you’re into spanking, that’s something you’ll need to let your partner know, but the blue notifies them that you’re not into whips or paddles. Purple means no primal.” Jane gets a purple, but I don’t. “Yellow, no piss play.” We both get one of those. “As you should have read in your packet, After Dark doesn’t allow any feces play for health reasons. And green...oh wait, you guys were both okay with breeding kink.” He looks over the file again, and Jane and I trade nervous glances.

“Guess we’re really besties now,” she says.

I laugh and grab my bands, tugging them on. “I’ve never felt closer to you. Or more embarrassed.”

The guy tuts. “I know it can be overwhelming, but the most important thing to remember is everyone has their own interests, and there’s nothing wrong with liking something your friend may have a hard limit for. Understood?” He studies both of us to make sure we really get it.

“Understood,” I say with a nod. “This is our first time.”

His features soften and he smiles. “It’ll be fun, and if you have any trouble at all, just look for the people wearing red vests. Those are employees, and they are there for whatever you need...aside from pleasure, of course. They’re working, not playing.” He checks the computer screen again and nods to himself. “Okay, you’re all set. You can go into the playground whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” I turn toward the door the tattooed guy went through, my stomach fluttering with nerves.

“Are we doing this?” Jane asks, a little breathless.

“We’ve come this far,” I tell her. “May as well enjoy ourselves, yeah?” The wristbands are lightweight, but as I step forward, they feel heavy, like all my secrets are bared for the world to see.

When we get inside, though, any trepidation disappears because the dimly lit playground is full of people wearing wristbands. Steady, sensually thrumming music pumps through the room, not aggressive or overpowering, just enough to set the vibe. The walls are painted a dark purple, and long, black-velvet curtains act as partitions for the makeshift booths scattered along the edges of the room, with leather chaise lounges or couches instead of booths. Some of the curtains are pulled closed, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess why.

Others are open, and the occupants of a few of the booths couldn’t care less that I can see everything they’re doing. Or, perhaps, that’s the point. A woman is clasped against a man’s chest as his fingers work between her legs. Our eyes collide, and her mouth parts, almost like that’s all she needed to tip over the edge.

Holy. Fuck.

I tear my gaze away and take in the rest of the room. A long, elegant bar with glass shelves held up by golden pillars sits on the far wall, and a few patrons sit on stools, but most everyone else is wandering around, searching for a partner—or two.

There’s a hallway that leads to more of the club. From what I remember, private rooms and additional public-style settings—closed-off rooms with glass walls, where people can watch whatever fun you get up to.

Moving on from the hall, I take in the rest of the main floor. Most of it is meant for mingling. Aside from the booths, there are high-top tables scattered around the room, a wall full of a selection of toys—all contained in new packaging because safety first—and more leather couches and oversized chairs.

I’d wonder if the owner has a leather kink, but it’s obviously easier to clean.

A big stage in the middle of the room showcases a man wearing only boxer briefs being tied up, the vibrant green ropes crisscrossing over his dark skin in beautiful patterns. The woman working on him moves him around like he’s a doll, and he happily lets her have control of his body. I recognize the ropes as a Good Vibes product and take a few more minutes to really understand the dynamic.

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