Page 51 of The Breaking Point

“Pineapple!” I squeaked.

The door guy narrowed his eyes at me. Then, to my utter astonishment, he let me inside.

I couldn’t believe it. As another man escorted me down a long hallway, I half expected someone to jump from the shadows and demand why I was there.

And then I was inside the club: the Scarlet Rope.

The difference between the hallway and the club itself was stark. The club was dimly lit, but as luxurious as the rest of the building was nondescript. The foyer had a chandelier straight out of a fairy tale. There were velvet settees and couches scattered about.

And there were all kinds of people, some dressed in next to nothing, while others were in suits or slinky gowns. Many patrons wore masks. When I came inside still wearing my trench coat, I felt strangely exposed.

“Your coat, madam,” a man said to me.

I blinked. Then, with shaking hands, I handed him my coat, clad only in the red lingerie I’d just purchased.

Nobody seemed concerned about my near nudity. I caught a few people—men and women both—shooting me appreciative glances, but that was it.

I was grateful for how warm the club was. It’d have to be, given how scantily dressed everyone was.

I took a deep breath. I’d come this far. I couldn’t lose my nerve now.

I considered getting a drink but then thought better of it. I wanted to keep my wits about me. I had no idea what really went down in this place and needed to be careful.

“I’ve never seen you around before,” a woman remarked.

She was wearing a thong and nothing else. Her breasts were large, the areolas sparkling in the low light. I realized that she’d put glitter all over her torso.

“Um, it’s my first night,” I stammered.

The woman smiled, her teeth flashing. “Oh, I can tell a virgin when I see one.”

I flushed. She could tell that just by looking at me? But then I realized she just meant I was a virgin for coming to the club.

“A word of advice,” the woman said. “Be choosy. You don’t have to say yes to the first person who talks to you. I didn’t let anyone touch me during my first three visits. Scope things out. Take your time. There’s no rush.”

I thanked her for her advice, not wanting to admit that I had zero intention of letting anybody touch me.

I didn’t even know where I’d start, for one. How did I just go up to a person and ask them to have sex with me? The mere thought almost made me laugh out loud.

I was a good girl. I didn’t have sex with strangers. Hell, I didn’t have sex at all! I was still a virgin at the ripe age of twenty-two. I hadn’t even wanted to sleep with Will, my ex-boyfriend.

You know why you’ve been saving yourself. But I pushed that thought aside. Brady had already told me in no uncertain terms that nothing could ever happen between us.

I was soon arrested by everything happening around me. The Scarlet Rope was unlike anything I could’ve imagined. I thought it was maybe some sleazy basement dungeon, but it was ... classy.

The nudity, the sex, the air of mystery and desire. It all gathered together to create this aura that I found fascinating, even if I wasn’t brave enough to embrace it for myself.

As I passed through one of the main hallways, I was able to watch some of the scenes that anyone in the club could also view. The scenes ranged from straightforward, penis-in-vagina sex to BDSM to orgies to roleplay.

One scene had six participants, three men and three women. The women seemed to be the Dommes in this scenario. Theyeach were equipped with whips that they used liberally on their subs. The men were on their knees, begging for more, the dominatrices giving their subs catlike smiles.

One Domme yanked on her sub’s hair so hard that it wrenched his head back.

I couldn’t quite make out what anyone was saying, but it didn’t really matter. You could see what they wanted on their faces and the way they moved their bodies.

Another Domme pushed her sub forward into her pussy. He began lapping at her as her head went back in ecstasy.

I blushed to the roots of my hair. I was probably as red as the lingerie I’d impulsively bought.

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