Page 21 of My Lord
“Yes, leave your handbag there. It’s perfectly secure.”
She did as advised, and we walked along a corridor adorned with photographs of sixties icons. I explained that the photographer, a rather famous gentleman, was the owner of the club. Like Veronica, he wanted somewhere to indulge in his fantasies and since he couldn’t find a suitable environment, he created one. The club had been in operation since the sixties and its patrons ranged from rock stars to film stars with the odd prince, or princess, thrown in. She paused beside a rather raunchy photo of Princess Annabelle, the Queen’s sister. Although sadly deceased, she had been nicknamed theParty Princessin her day.
Another door was opened for us and Gabriella paused. I squeezed her hand. We entered on a mezzanine level and below us was a dance floor. The music was pounding so hard the floor vibrated. Writhing bodies in various stages of undress were dancing to sounds produced by a famous DJ usually found in the clubs of Ibiza.
“This way,” I said. I led her around the mezzanine, stopping on odd occasions to greet an acquaintance but never introducing her. She enquired why. “Trust me, you don’t want half these people to know your real name. Think of an alias, quick.”
She giggled and I loved the sound. I pulled her along behind me as she reeled off some names.
“I know, Henrietta, that’s a posh English name, isn’t it?” She even added aposhEnglish accent.
“It’s perfect, I can just see you as a Henrietta, although they generally have buck teeth and live in jodhpurs.”
We came to another door and I paused before opening it. “I just want to show you what happens here. That’s all, okay?”
She nodded enthusiastically and I opened the door. There were rooms with glass-panelled walls on one side of a long corridor. We stopped at the first to see a St. Andrews Cross. The room was empty, not in use.
“What happens there?” she asked. I explained that someone would be secured by their ankles and wrists.
The following room had racking against one wall. In the centre of the room was a bed and a blindfolded naked woman was lying face down. Her male partner, also naked, was straddling her legs and rolling a pinwheel over her back.
“This is sensory play,” I whispered, although knowing they couldn’t hear me.
“I don’t know that we should be watching,” she replied, nervous again.
“They can’t see us.”
Beside the woman was a range of toys, a feather tickler, and skin scratcher. Her back was peppered with small red marks and yet she writhed on the silk sheet enjoying every second.
“Is that painful?” Gabriella asked.
“Yes and no. I find it boring to be honest.” I smiled, and we moved on to the next window.
A couple were fucking rather vigorously, he was behind her, kneeling, while she rested on all fours. He looked over to us and smiled, and Gabriella darted back out of view.
I chuckled. “You’re meant to watch,” I said, pulling her back to my side.
I moved her to stand in front of me and held her wrists at her side so she couldn’t cover her eyes. She leaned back, resting against my chest. The man watched her and while he pumped into his partner, I could feel her breath quicken.
I leaned down slightly, my mouth to her ear. “Can you see his cock, Gabriella? He pulls out so far because he wants you to see it. She’s slick with her orgasm, his cum.”
The man pulled at the woman’s hips ramming her back onto his cock with every thrust. She threw back her head and, with her eyes closed, panted. Sweat beaded on both their foreheads, his chest was wet, and strands of her hair had stuck to her face.
“I can’t…I don’t…” Gabriella never finished what she wanted to say.
Instead, she fell silent as she watched the couple orgasm. She gripped the material of my trousers as she tried to catch her breath. When the couple were done, the woman slumped to the bed, stretching like a cat, and the man sat back on his heels smiling with satisfaction. He wrapped his hand around his cock and gently massaged the last of his cum, letting it drip on her thighs.
The glass frosted over, the show over. Gabriella stayed silent for a moment.
“That was erotic,” she whispered.
I kissed the side of her neck, licking up towards her ear. “Are you ready for more?” I asked. She nodded.
The next room contained a man in a bondage suit strapped to a bed while two women tortured him, all in the name of sexual pleasure, of course.
“I’m not sure…” she said, and I could see her wince as his bollocks were whipped.
“No, not for me, either,” I said, laughing.
