Page 36 of Shades of Red

Sucre. They’ve named a kink club Sugar. And the inside is so decadent it seems pretty fitting.

Pastel strobe lights bring the space to life in splashes of pink, blue, and purple. Indie French music drifts through the air, softly enough to lull you into a trance-like state. Multi-colored chandeliers hang from the ceiling, each piece of crystal a different shade and shape reminiscent of bright, tempered sugar sweets. The walls are a pale blue with high ceilings. From the looks of it, there’s an upper floor as well.

And the scenes happening all around me? I’ve never seen people be so free with their bodies. There’s skin everywhere in every hue. Tits, pussies, and cocks are out on full display in all areas of the large club. I feel overdressed and too morose in my all black ensemble. I have the innate urge to strip down and play with the rest of the deviants.

I see things that my imagination never would have thought to conjure. A man is dressed in thin strips of white leather on his hands and knees while a woman rests her bright pink stilettos on his back. She’s got a pink whip in her hand that she occasionally flicks at his bare ass. She laughs every time he flinches, and from the stiff length of his erection, it’s clear he enjoys it too. Women aren’t the only ones to serve here. The men do as well.

I hear alternating screams of pain and pleasure, and I have to swallow down the desire burning in my throat. There’s a girl strapped to a white X being hit with some sort of whip made of multiple strands of white leather. She cries out with every lash. I can almost picture how her tears would taste.

There’s someone about my age dangling from the ceiling, red ropes criss crossing over his naked body like cherry licorice. He’s facing the floor and being fucked between his spread and tied thighs, taking a well-built man’s cock in his ass with moans of ecstasy. From a closer glance, the hanging boy’s cock has been tied up like the rest of him with thinner rope. I suppress a small shiver of discomfort at the sight. To each their own, but having my favorite appendage tied and useless is not my fucking kink.

I hear a sharp cry to my left, and I look over to see a man pounding into a very red and swollen cunt. He’s got one tattooed hand wrapped around his girl’s throat, choking her until her lungs are starved and her face turns pink. His other hand is tugging on a metal ring piercing on the girl’s labia, spreading her open from one side.

I can’t help but watch as the man slides his shaft from her gaping hole before forcing himself back in. I feel my cock jolt in my pants when I see his dick is full of metal, piercings covering the entire underside of his shaft and a big silver ring attached to the tip. The girl whimpers as every ridge of the metal scrapes against the abused flesh of her pussy. It looks like she’s being tortured, and she’s loving every minute.

I don’t think another tattoo is the only thing I’m getting the next time I visit Claude at the salon de tatouage.

“What’s your flavor?” a sultry and familiar voice asks from behind me. I can tell she’s the one who answered the door. I turn to see a gorgeous woman with ebony skin that looks iridescent beneath the flickering pastel strobes. Most of her curvaceous body is wrapped in matte red leather, and she’s wearing red stiletto boots that go all the way up to mid thigh. She’s as stunning as sin. If the devil was a woman, she’d look like her.

I swallow hard as I try to take my eyes off her ample tits shimmering in the light. “Are you offering?” I ask, my voice so hungry and desperate that I hardly recognize it as mine. Everything I’ve seen has left mycock aching and weeping. If I don’t fuck something soon, I’ll explode.

She laughs, the sound deep and throaty. “I don’t think I’m what you need, boy. I’d let you lick my boots and maybe even my pussy if you’re lucky, but I wouldn’t do anything to help you with that sizable package trying to burst through your trousers right now.” She steps closer to me before grasping my chin in her hand and studying me. Her nails are pointed like claws, and they bite into my skin.

“I know what you need, boy. I can see it in your eyes. But you have to admit it to yourself first.” She releases me and crosses her arms over her chest. “So I’ll ask you again: what’s your flavor?”

I don’t let myself think it over. I just say the first word that comes into my mind. “Pain.”

“Mmm, delicious,” she answers with a nod and a smile on her full lips. “Yours or someone else’s?”

I clench my fists at my sides, wanting and dreading the chance to speak my depraved desires aloud. “Someone else,” I admit at last. “I want to give pain.”

“You want togivepain?” she asks with another laugh. “Not take it or force it?” Her smile is warm as her dark eyes sparkle with mischief. “My, aren’t you the sweetest little sadist I’ve ever seen.”

I wait for the guilt, for the defensiveness that boils over when she attaches a name to my darkest secret. Instead, I feel only rightness and belonging. The wordsadistsuits me as well as the color black, and I want to wrap myself in the word and make it mine. “I’m not very experienced. I don’t know how to do all of this,” I tell her with a gesture around the room.

“Anyone can see you’re as green as a pistachio macaron,” she chuckles. “But don’t worry,mon joli. Madame M will help.”

I suppose I’ve gained a mentor in my corruption as Madame M scans the room, her pointed nails clicking against the red leather of her corset. “There are pain sluts, of course, but almost all of them arealready claimed by masters. And the ones who aren’t,” she looks at me with a teasing smile, “well, it’ll take a little more thanyouto tame them.”

She nods over to a small group of girls talking quietly in a corner. “We have a few unattached submissives. Not all of them enjoy pain, but many of them can take it for the right Dom. Are you dominant?”

I give her a blank stare. “Umm, I don’t know,” I mumble, feeling like I’ve been thrust into another challenge without knowing any of the ingredients.

“Do you get off on power?” she explains, her expression warm rather than impatient.

My lips curve into a predatory smile. “Doesn’t everyone?”

She scoffs before smacking her hand into the soft flesh of my abdomen. “Of course not. Otherwise people likeuswouldn’t get to have any fun.”

Judging from her statement, Madame M is dominant too. It seems as though I am in good company.

“You’re lucky that our numbers are uneven at the moment,” she continues. “So you can take your pick. Boy? Girl? Both?”

“Girl, I think,” I reply, a little thrown to have submissives offered to me like items on a menu.

“Beau will be disappointed,” Madame M says with a sigh. “You’rejusthis type. But don’t worry, we can work on you,” she adds with a wink. “Most of the submissives without collars are free for use. See anyone who catches your attention?”

I let my eyes roam over the vast room, looking for any uncollared girls. A pretty blonde girl holds my stare, and I have to repress an instinctive cringe of repulsion. I might be ruined on blondes for life. There’s another girl with short black hair, tall and lithe, with porcelain skin and emerald eyes. There’s a pretty sort of sadness in her eyes that draws me in, but more than anything else—she’s the only one in thegroup wearing red.

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