Page 40 of Under His Skin

“Yes, understood.”

Finally, Tracht was allowed to walk into the main club area.

It wasn’t a club the way Alex would have understood it, with a large dance floor and bodies packed tight. Everybody gave each other a respectable amount of space, only getting close when there were clear signals. Tracht thought the rules were even stricter than the last time he’d come here, although maybe he was already chafing under the knowledge that nothing he did this night would compare with torturing Alex.

First things first. He needed tools, and while he waited by the rental counter, he lamented that he hadn’t thought to bring anything along from the ship. He hadn’t expected the proceedings to last this long, or to be barred entry from the Sigrun entirely.

“What would you like, sir?” the clerk asked. She was much more submissive than the attendant at the front, keeping her eyes averted and her posture straight. Like the other employee, she was shirtless, although somebody had stuck two round, black stickers over her nipples, as if that gave her any modesty.

He almost requested a cane, but then considered the frustration of not being allowed to use it properly, so he settled on the much “safer” flogger. Alex was usually in tears after a few strikes from the cane, but he could handle the flogger for much longer. It didn’t bother Tracht either way how Alex felt specifically, and if he wanted Alex sobbing the entire time he usually chose the cane.

The problem here was that once somebody started crying, he’d have to slow down.

The clerk handed him the flogger without even allowing him a selection of options, but Tracht saw that all of the ones hanging on the wall behind here were identical anyway. He inspected the flogger and noted the softness of the faux leather and the rounded edges.

Was there even a point in using a tool like this? It would barely sting.

Tracht thanked the clerk and headed further into the activity spaces.

The club had been renovated since the last time he’d been there, repurposing some of the large open space into smaller themed areas. One room had been designed to look like a school classroom, while another resembled a doctor’s exam room. Some spaces were bare save for the large bdsm furniture. The central area had comfortable seating for people to chat.

He saw men and women in various states of undress sitting at the feet of others, which immediately reminded him of evenings with Alex, a movie playing while Alex sat on the floor with his head pressed against Tracht’s thigh.

It was quite pathetic that he couldn’t go a single evening without thinking of Alex. Tracht tried to remember when he’d last gone longer than a day without seeing Alex, and the only thing that came to mind was that nasty affair with the Nilsens two years back. He grimaced and ignored the itch around his neck.

He desperately needed that distraction, but a quick look around the area showed that most people were already paired up, or in the very least hanging around with friends. Years ago, when he still came to places like this, Tracht had put in the effort to seduce young men away from their companions. The thrill of getting somebody to go against their smarter instincts had been part of the appeal.

Right now, he just wanted to get started. He scanned more until he saw a young man sitting by himself in front of one of the pain play areas, looking rather lonely and dejected. His wristband revealed that he was looking for domination from any kind of person.

With easy confidence, Tracht approached him. Maybe he was alone because of his looks, which were below average at best. His shirtless torso was skinny and bony, only a few kilos away from looking underfed. Alex wasn’t a beauty, true, but most of that owed to Alex’s nose and scar rather than a problem of genetics. This poor man didn’t have the same excuse.

“Good evening,” Tracht said, smiling. He saw the young man startle at the attention, but after a brief once-over, he smiled back shyly.

“Hi,” the man said, ducking his head. His shaggy hair fell over his eyes in a displeasing manner.

Which reminded Tracht: Alex was due for a haircut.

“I’ve been told that doms are not mind readers, so I thought I would ask: are you interested in being flogged?” Tracht motioned to the empty room behind the young man. “Seeing as how you’re waiting in front of this lovely St. Andrew’s Cross.”

“Yes!” the man said eagerly. “I mean, yeah, I’m into that. Oh god. Please. I was starting to think I shouldn’t have come tonight.”

There was a joke in there, about coming, but Tracht didn’t bother to make it. “I’m itching to make use of this flogger. I love to see a young man, shirtless and chained up, with my marks all over his back.”

That got him another enthusiastic nod. “That sounds great! Ah, I’m Giorgis.” He extended his hand, but then pulled it back before Tracht even had the chance to shake it. “Gah, sorry. I know, I should be avoiding your gaze and being submissive. Which I am, I swear. I just forget how to act sometimes.”

Tracht told himself to just keep smiling. In a few minutes, the man wouldn’t be able to say anything anyway. He’d be reduced to sobbing for more.

“Shall we, then?” Tracht motioned towards the St. Andrew’s Cross. The sign on the wall next to it said that no session was to last longer than twenty minutes, and all locks would automatically open after the allotted time.

Twenty minutes was barely enough time to even get warmed up. Alex could easily last twenty minutes of flogging without shedding a single tear, if Tracht didn’t add other tortures.

“Oh, my safeword is Tracht,” Giorgis said.

Tracht froze. Had Giorgis recognized him? “Excuse me?”

“Y’know, like that judge? She’s all over the news right now. Which, fair if you don’t watch the news. I wish I could ignore the news, it’s so depressing. But anyway, she’s also my boss’s wife? I mean, I don’t work for Mr. Lysander directly, but I work for Lysander Corp, and it’s not a great job, and honestly when I was trying to figure out a safeword I had the news running and I couldn’t get over how much of a boner-killer everything about her was.”

“Your safeword,” Tracht said in clipped tones, “is red.”

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