Page 3 of Monstrous Urges

Off the fucking rails…

It started earlier, after Fumi came into my office and immediately noticed the black look on my face after my inadvertent lunchtime peepshow involving Steven and the co-ed. As usual when it involves even the slightest whiff of my personal life, I clammed up. It works on most people. Not Fumi.

Eventually, she dragged it out of me. After that, it was a quick escalation from her calling Steven a “baby-dicked piece of shit”, loudly, to us ditching work a few hours early and going to get cocktails.

That’s how we got onto the mortifying subject of my sex life, or rather the complete lack thereof. That’s how Fumi—my good friend but also my employee—bluntly told me I needed to go out and “get good dick”.

And that’s how we got talking about Club Venom.

Venom, which is run by Dante, the husband of Gabriel and Alistair’s sister Tempest, is a private social club that caters to New York’s most powerful, wealthy, usually criminally connected, and deviant. Mix two parts Eyes Wide Shut with one part Prohibition speakeasy vibes, throw in a heaping dash of luxury and opulence, and stir.

It’s a playground for the dark and devilish. A place where those with specific tastes can come to indulge their appetites. Except, to call Venom a “kink club” is like calling Buckingham Palace a “nice townhouse”.

It’s honestly like nothing else. The guests wear masks. Anonymity is encouraged. Upon arrival, you’re invited to choose from a selection of wristbands of different colors, all signifying interest in different kinks, and highlighting if the wearer is a sub or a Dom.

I’m technically a member, but certainly not for leisure purposes. Crown and Black has built a lot of its client base on the more…colorful types in New York: Mafia dons, Bratva pakhans, and the like. The type who almost certainly are members of Venom. Plus, given the club’s anonymity, security, and ban on cellphones, it’s a perfect place to hold business meetings with people who make their money in less than legal ways.

…If you can ignore the fact that there may be an orgy happening thirty feet away.

I’ve been a handful of times, always thankful for the mask to hide the heated look on my face when I’m there. Fumi, of course, knows that I’m a member for work purposes, and suggested that it could be the perfect place for me to “find some good dick”—as if hook-up sex is what I need to get over the mental image of seeing my couch violated so callously.

But that’s a hard pass. Is the idea of going to a place that indulges certain darker fantasies appealing to me, given my hidden tastes in said dark fantasies?

Yes. Then again, I also think tigers are pretty neat, but there’s zero percent chance of me taking a stroll through the jungle looking for one.

The desires and tastes I have and keep locked down tight and deep aren’t the sort of desires I tell anyone about. Not my friends, never my relationships. Besides, mask or no mask, the idea of being recognized at Venom is almost crippling for my anxiety.

But then Fumi started telling me about Venom’s new web portal: a way for existing members to seek each other out outside the club—specifically, members who have an interest in the sort of venomous, dangerous kinks that I keep buried under the floorboards.

Members who want to chase or be chased.

Primal kink.

Something dark and throbbing teases my core as my hands tighten on the wheel.

I’m almost there.

I waited until Fumi went to the restroom before I snuck out my phone and checked out this web portal for Club Venom. Signing in was easy. I’m already a member, so I was pre-approved. Answering some simple questions about myself and my preferences for a partner was just as easy, as was snapping a quick picture of me from lips to waist—with a few buttons of my blouse undone to give a generous glimpse of the girls—and uploading it to my profile. As was choosing a stupid and admittedly kind of cringe username: “SecretSlut”.

I mean, I’m not. But dress for the job you want.

An hour later when I glanced at the app again, my heart skipped. I had twenty message requests.

Most of them even had decent opening lines. Which would be great if I was on Hinge, or OkCupid, and looking for a nice dinner out with a mild-mannered professor of Psychology at NYU with a penchant for getting his dick sucked by co-eds on his girlfriend’s new couch.

But, that’s not what I’m looking for on the Venom site.

Not. Even. Close.

“Let me fly you wherever you want tonight.”

“I want you to be my dirty girl.”

Even a bolder one who had actually clearly read my profile and knew what I was looking for:

“I want to chase you, baby.”

I kept glancing at them whenever Fumi was preoccupied. I even almost responded to one or two. But then I saw his initial message, and after I managed to pick my jaw up off the floor, that’s who I replied to.

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