Page 36 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“Restraint. Impact.”

“Hm. You are a beginner, you say?”

“Yes.”

“What about pleasure?”

“Is that not part of it?” I ask.

“Not always.”

I consider this. I don’t know that the idea of suffering would appeal if I didn’t think there was a passage through it to something sublime and redemptive. What I crave is the journey to that place. Sufferingandrelease.

“Ideally I’d like it with the pleasure, too. But only after I feel something…” I clear my throat. “Difficult.”

“For a beginner, I would recommend the table. And a woman Domme.”

“Sure,” I say, nodding. This all sounds good to me. I don’t know what “the table” is, but even if it has spikes on it, I’ll probably take it. “Is that okay? I know I’m not a member.”

“You are Signore Hayes guest. You may have whatever you wish. And to be clear, your wish is to submit?”

“Yes,” I say, the word coming out in a harsh whisper.

He sends a text on his phone. Moments later, a woman in a masquerade mask, black satin corset, arm-length latex gloves, and thigh-high boots reaches the landing where I wait.

“She does not speak English. She has the details. Tell her a safe word.”

The first word that comes to mind is Trinity, but I have a feeling she may be too much on my mind that I’ll call out her name on accident.

“Sacrifice,” I say.

“Si.” The guard has the Domme repeat the word. We go over it once more before she gestures toward the stairs, and I follow her to the dungeon.

12

GIBSON

Iknew something was wrong at St. Peter’s. I’m not a moron. I read people for a living. What I never expected was the call from The Dungeon guard saying Christian was making use of one of the Dommes. Again, I don’t pay these people, but the community is welcoming to newcomers. They love new meat, and the club operates twenty-four-seven.

I debate leaving it alone. Giving him his privacy. Letting him explore—whatever the fuck he feels the need to explore.

But I’m not the type. Too controlling for my own good.

I dress casually in black before making my way down to check on my wayward assistant. “Do you know what he’s doing?” I ask Luca, the guard at the door.

“I suggested the table.”

Seems harmless enough. “He has a safe word?”

“Sacrifice.”

The word makes my skin prick. I’m not sure I like the sound of this.

We all have our reasons for whatever kink we embrace, some more concrete, and others vague, but submission and sacrifice make strange bedfellows. Yes, I’m concerned about him. Not thathe’ll be hurt, but that being dominated by someone who doesn’t speak his language may do more harm than good.

There are only three couples in the dungeon—it’s just past noon on Thursday. One couple is making use of a swing and a dildo. Another is a same sex couple—two women—one strapped to the more complicated punishment bench, restrained, gagged, and plugged while her Domme slaps her ass lightly with a riding crop.

And then there’s my Christian—face down on the milking table, his wrists and ankles tied down, his cock limp and dangling through the hole.

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