Page 17 of Interview with a Sadist
What the hell are you supposed to wear to a BDSM club?
I stand in my closet with my hands on my hips, staring at my clothes as if I’m seeing them for the very first time. This is Philly, and I’ve been to plenty of nightclubs, but this isn’t a nightclub. It’s a club for BDSM and kinkiness, and with that in mind, I can’t imagine what the dress code will be. Formal? No fucking way. Informal? Hell, even that doesn’t feel right. Will everyone be dressed in leather? Will people be walking around with ball gags in their mouths? Would I be turned away if I showed up naked? I have no idea how to proceed, so I decide to stick with professionalism. After all, I’m not going to party. This is for work, so I will dress accordingly.
I end up donning a long black skirt that stops at my knees, with a tucked in white button-up that’s not too loose, but also not tight and sexy. To keep things light, I choose black heels with white straps. These are heels I would actually wear to a nightclub, while my clothes are what I would wear to the office—a good mixture of both that I think will work tonight. After a final review in the mirror, I tie my hair back and give myself a nod of approval.
“Good,” I whisper as I spin halfway around to check how my ass looks in this dress. “Keep it professional, Bree. This is business, not pleasure. Get in, get the info from Nolan, and get out. Just business. This is your job, now go knock it out of the park.”
My apartment is nearly half an hour from The Black Collar club, which is much too short of a drive when you’re trying to mentally prepare yourself for what’s to come. The entire ride over, I keep reminding myself that this will be quick and easy. I’m not participating in anything, there will be no drinking, and I’m not looking to have fun. It may seem like it, but this isn’t a night out. It’s work, and as conflicted as I feel about all of it, I will keep my head on straight and come out of this the exact same way I went in. I’m a conservative girl with morals, and being exposed to a lifestyle such as this will not change that.
By the time I’m parked and ready to exit my vehicle, I feel confident that I’ll be able to walk in, observe enough of the club to write about it, talk to Nolan briefly, and leave. I’ll plan a final interview between him and I at a later date so that we don’t have to struggle to communicate in a loud, packed space, and this whole thing will be over. When I close my door and lock it behind me, I’m full of confidence. I’ve got this.
I walk across the street with my clutch tucked under my arm and see a small line of people standing out front, with a very large Black man in a black tuxedo at the front of the line. The large man has long braids and his back to the door, making it obvious he’s the bouncer. When I approach, I don’t go to the back of the line, choosing instead to walk straight to the front. He sees me coming and glares at me.
“I don’t think I should have to explain that there’s no skipping to the front of the line,” he says in a high-pitched voice that surprises me because it doesn’t fit his muscular body.
“Good evening,” I begin, maintaining my professionalism without letting him know I’m press. “My name’s Bree Barrett. I’m here to see Mr. Carter. I don’t know if there’s a list, but if there is, I’m sure I’m on it.”
The man eyes me for a moment before turning around and whispering something into the radio on his shoulder. After a minute or two, the door to the club opens, and I’m greeted by blaring music and the irritated face of the blonde who escorted me to Nolan’s office last time. Her name was Maddy, if I’m not mistaken, and she scowls like she’s trying to murder me with her blue eyes. She stares for a second before bouncing her eyes over to the man in black.
“Thanks, Kendrick,” she says with a nod, before refocusing on me. “So, this is still happening. Great. Okay, let’s go.”
My smile doesn’t reach my eyes as I nod and follow Maddy over the threshold. Inside, I’m confronted by a sea of people moving from place to place, and sexy R&B music. I expected house music, but this is much better suited for the club’s vibe. The lights are very low, with a few strobes flashing on and off over the dance floor, but the rooms in the first hall are lit with colored bulbs, so when Maddy guides me past them, I can see exactly what’s going on inside, and it takes my breath away. Now that the club is open, there are no curtains or closed doors to hide the truth, and I realize there was no way I was ever going to get the dress code right tonight.
In the room on my right, there are probably twenty people standing in a half-circle. Some of them are shirtless, some only wearing undergarments, and some really are stuffed inside thick, leather outfits that cover them from head to toe. It’s absolutely unreal. I can see them all watching something taking place along the far wall, but I can’t make it out from here, so I pause at the door to try to catch a glimpse of what’s drawing so much attention.
“Don’t be scared. Go in and see,” Maddy says from behind me. I turn to her and see her grinning as she watches me. There’s a look of superiority on her face that I don’t like. It’s like she knows I’m new to this and finds it amusing that I’m awestruck. She looks at me like I’m afraid, and I refuse to let her think that of me. So, just to prove I’m not some scared little girl in a new world, I walk inside.
After pushing my way past a few people, I find that the furthest wall from the door is lined with bondage devices, and each of them is holding someone captive. There’s a set of chains attached to metal rings protruding from the wall with a man and woman bound to each. There are three pillories, each of which houses a woman with her head and hands secured through the holes in the wood. Lastly, there are three beds with short posts on all four corners, where thick ropes are tied on one end while the other end is wrapped around the ankles and wrists of the women who’ve volunteered to lay down. My heart revs just seeing it all, but I’m thrown off by the fact that every bound person looks like they’re enjoying themselves. They all want to be here, even with all of these people watching them be humiliated. What kind of place is this, and what kind of people are these?
“Confused?” Maddy’s husky voice slithers into my ear, and I whirl around to find her standing directly behind me, still grinning.
I clear my throat and turn back to the wall of bondage, watching in horror as people begin to step forward and touch the bound individuals.
“I just don't understand,” I admit sheepishly. “They’re all bound and being touched by strangers. Who in their right mind would want that?”
“What makes you think the people touching them are strangers?” Maddy asks.
“Are they not?”
“Of course not,” she answers, frowning as if she’s offended by the question. “Every person who is bound is there by choice, and the people touching them are the ones who have their consent to touch them. Everybody else in the room is simply a spectator, and if any of them put their hands on someone without consent, not only would their partners and the bouncers handle it, Nolan would break their fucking fingers before tossing them out of here bloody and beaten. I know you're just a reporter who has no idea what this lifestyle is about, but if there’s one thing you need to understand, it’s that nothing in here happens without consent, and that rule is never broken. Ever. So, you better make sure that’s written in bold in your little article.”
Maddy and I eye each other before I end the staring contest and look at the wall again. I try to focus on the fingers of the people who are participating in this little show, and I see that most of them are wearing wedding bands, so the people who are bound are only engaging with their husbands or wives. The realization shocks me, because I never knew such a marriage could exist. It never dawned on me that married people could dive into this lifestyletogether,and find happiness and satisfaction through a mutual interest in bondage and voyeurism. It’s like my eyes are being opened to an entirely new way of thinking that my upbringing kept me from, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“Come on. Let’s go,” Maddy says, practically pulling me out of the bondage room and back into the hall.
On our way toward the dance floor, we walk past another room with onlookers huddling in the middle to watch. While Maddy keeps walking, I take a second to lean into the room and see that the entire perimeter of the space is lined with small cages only big enough for people to either kneel or lay in. Half of the cages contain naked women, while the others contain nude men. Just like before, each cage has a partner interacting with the person inside, while everyone else in the room keeps their distance. Who would've thought that a place like this would operate with law, order, and respect, while also being a forest of kink and debauchery.
I step out of the cage room and continue to make my way down the hall toward the dance floor that I’ll have to cross in order to get to Nolan’s office. I’m not in a rush to ride the sea of people dancing their problems away, so I slow down and take my time, stopping to look into another room in the hall. Like every other room, the colored lights are bright enough to see everything taking place, but it’s not what I see that draws me in, it’s what I hear.
The thunderous sound of leather smacking against bare skin grabs me by the ears as I step to the threshold. Peering inside, I’m once again greeted by a room full of people in the center, and walls covered with large Xs, where people are strapped by their hands and feet. The Xs look like literal torture devices, and the men and women doing the torturing are holding everything from paddles, to floggers, to whips, and canes.
Unlike the other rooms, there's no easing into it, because every person bound to an X is being hit by the person they’re with. The crack of whips and the smack of paddles erupt all at once, followed by the pleasure-filled cries of their partners. I’m jolted each time someone is hit, and heat rises inside me. My body becomes a tea kettle as I watch from the door, wondering what it must feel like to be hit with a flogger, and I grow hotter the more I see. One bound woman is facing the X, so the man she’s with is flogging her backside, and I gasp with each swing of the toy and the moans it pulls from the woman’s throat. She doesn't sound in pain. Somehow, the impact of the flogger brings her pleasure, and I’ve never been more curious in my life.
“Someone looks intrigued,” Maddy says from behind me. I don't even bother to turn around this time.
“There’s just something about it,” I say, still watching the woman with deep red streaks across her ass and back. “I’ve experienced pleasure, but what must it feel like to have pleasureandpain?”
“It’s indescribable,” Maddy replies.
