Charlie
I spend the next hour or so at Emerson’s side. Wherever I try to move, he’s there, an affirming hand at the small of my back, and he never misses the chance to introduce me. He does so as his date, not his secretary, with a look of pride on his face.
And after two glasses of champagne, I’m beaming. Every few moments, he checks on me, letting his eyes settle on my face, allowing them to linger for a moment before pulling me closer.
Is this normal? For him to treat me like more than a work date, like a real date? I don’t know what’s normal and what’s not anymore.
I spot the construction worker again, the one who hit on me in front of Emerson and had him so worked up. I barely recognize him in a tux, but that smile gives him away. He’s flirting with a woman at the bar, and by the looks of it, those two will be getting a room at any moment.
Emerson introduces me to the rest of the owners. Hunter and his beautiful wife, Isabel. I see Maggie again, but she seems unable to relax and worries about everything until Garrett and Emerson practically force champagne down her throat.
As they all talk, I remain at Emerson’s side, but my gaze continues to wander around the room. I notice more than once people going down the dark hallway. The bouncer lifts the rope for them before they disappear into the darkness. There’s another black curtain hiding whatever lies behind.
My curiosity is practically killing me. So when Emerson starts talking to the rich man from the poker table, no longer accompanied by the kneeling woman, I excuse myself to use the restroom. I disappear into the crowd and meander my way casually toward the hallway. Being free of Emerson is both liberating and terrifying. I feel like an imposter in a world where I don’t fit. I don’t belong here, and it’s written all over my face.
Eyes linger on me as I pass by. They can tell I’m a fraud.
When I reach the red rope and the black curtain of the forbidden hallway, the bouncer stares at me wordlessly.
“Um…” It’s so loud in here, he probably doesn’t even hear me. “The bathroom?”
I know well enough that the bathroom isn’t down here. His brow furrows at me and I nearly die of embarrassment. I’m about to crawl back into the crowd and try to convince my brain that that didn’t just happen when the bouncer looks up for a second and nods at someone across the room. I barely have a moment to turn around and look when he lifts the red rope and anticipation causes the blood to drain out of my body entirely.
It feels like over an hour that I stand there and gape at him in surprise. Though, it’s probably only a millisecond. Before he can change his mind, I step through the curtain and enter the dark, ominous hallway.
It seems longer than I remember, but it’s probably an illusion from the lack of light. There’s no crowd back here, but a few people linger along the walls, and unlike in the main room, no one looks at me. They keep to themselves, or each other, and not a single head turns in my direction. Gentle light emits from the large windows on either side, and it takes my brain a few moments to register that the people gathered around the hallway aren’t looking at me, because they’re busy…with each other.
I don’t stare long enough to actually see what they’re doing. One man has a woman pressed face-first against the glass as he grinds slowly against her from behind.
Trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, I slink into the darker corners, trying not to be a creep. Moving slowly down the hall, my heart is literally pounding so hard in my chest that I can feel it in my ears. What am I doing here? This is insane.
But my curiosity is too strong, and I’ve gotten this far. One slow step at a time, I make my way farther down the hallway. The first window is open to a room that’s too dark to see anything. It’s a dim blue light, and there’s movement on the other side—the quick, pounding motion of someone being…well, pounded.
My throat constricts as I look away then back again.
And my belly warms.
But I don’t stop, turning my head to the other side, where the woman is being dry humped into the window. I can hear the gentle hum of the man’s voice as he whispers in her ear. I can only imagine what he’s saying…and the filthy thoughts only make me hotter. Beyond the window is what looks like a red room with no one inside. There are a lot of things hanging from the wall, a lot of things I can’t even assign names to; I’m guessing whips, paddles, cuffs…that sort of thing.
Not my taste, so I keep walking. I pass by a couple standing in the middle of the room, giggling to each other as they enjoy the view. The woman smiles at me and the man says hello in a way that makes me walk a little faster. I nod politely and move on.
The room on the opposite side is blocked by a black curtain with shreds of light peeking through. So people who want to use the rooms, without being exhibitionists, can do so. A little disappointing, actually.
Seriously, who am I?
When I reach the throne room, where I once sat before it was finished, I pause. There are people in it. Three people, unless I’m missing one. It’s dimly lit from the inside, enough to see vague figures and movement but not really enough to recognize faces. I then realize that this means we can see them, but they can’t really see us.
My gaze still bounces from the dark hallway to the people in the room because, even though I know it’s made for watching, it feels strange and wrong to just keep staring.
Plus, there’s the awkward sensation of being aroused…in public.
My thin, cotton thong is currently soaked, and every slide of friction when I walk sends sparks up my spine. I have a strong urge to touch myself, which I’m obviously not going to do. Not because it wouldn’t be appropriate here, I mean…look around. But I just can’t. I couldn’t. No. That’s too weird.
Still, I stop at the throne room and force myself to look. I don’t know what to do with my hands as I stand here and stare, so I lock my forearms together at my waist.
There’s a woman sitting on the giant throne, and another is kneeling in front of her—just as Garrett illustrated for me. She’s definitely doing what I think she’s doing with her face buried between the other woman’s legs.
My mouth goes dry. It feels so wrong to be watching this, but I can’t look away.
There’s someone standing next to the throne, but I can’t quite make out if it’s a woman or man. They’re just stroking the woman in the chair’s shoulders and head. Every few moments, the woman covers her face or lets out a giggle so loud I can make it out over the sound of the music in the main room. She looks almost euphoric, full of smiles and moans, shifting back and forth between embarrassment and pleasure.
The intensity between my legs has grown painful, and I feel myself starting to sweat. I squeeze my thighs together, briefly wondering if I could make myself come without actually touching myself at all. My thighs rub together subtly, and it’s like trying to scratch an itch through three layers of wool.
“Enjoying yourself?”
I let out a gasp and move to jump away, but a strong hand wraps around my middle, hauling me against his body, his lips next to my ear.
“Relax, Charlotte.”
“You scared me.”
“You seem a little jumpy,” Emerson replies with a teasing grin.
I feel like I’ve been caught masturbating or watching porn. Shame washes over me like being doused in ice-cold water.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be back here,” I whisper without turning toward him. He’s holding me in place, so we’re both watching the threesome in the throne room.
“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t allowed to. I was hoping you’d find this area.” So he did gesture to the bouncer to let me in. I figured, but I’m curious as to why. Last time we were here, Emerson wanted me nowhere near this lifestyle, but now it feels as if he’s urging me into it.
“It feels so strange to watch,” I whisper.
“They want you to watch.” His deep, velvet voice warms me right back up.
We stand in silence for a moment, watching the show in the throne room, my body still humming with arousal.
“No one can see you here, Charlotte. Doesn’t it feel liberating? To know you can do anything you want.”
My lips part and I try to force in a breath, even though my chest feels like it weighs a ton. My body has turned into a ticking time bomb, ready to explode, and I want to scream with this need I’m feeling.
Emerson’s body is hard against mine and he’s still holding me around my waist. In the dark room, the man has moved to the front of the throne with the ladies. He leans over and kisses the kneeling woman. Then, he keeps moving until he’s standing behind her.
A subtle gasp escapes my lips when I realize what he’s doing: pulling up her dress and undoing his pants. And then even in the darkness there’s the unmistakable motion of his hips as he enters her.
I turn my head, trying to look away. But a strong hand holds my chin gently, turning my head back to the window.
“Watch them. You know you want to.”
I do want to. But the ache between my legs is almost unbearable. My knees begin to buckle, and Emerson holds me tighter.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers in my ear.
“Nothing,” I stammer, forcing my voice to stay level.
“You can touch yourself back here, Charlotte. No one can see you.”
“No,” I snap. “I can’t.”
My hips shift, and I feel something hard against my lower back. As I brush along the length of it, he groans and squeezes me tighter, driving his hips into me.
I take in a sharp inhale, my vision growing blurry. He’s hard.
Emerson is hard, and he’s rubbing his erection against me.
“You feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me.”
Me? Not the display of sex all around us? The orgasm cries and sounds of bodies slapping together?
Knowing the effect I have on him drives me to shift my hips back just slightly, and he responds with a growl in my ear.
Maybe because it’s dark or because this is just how his business is, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels…right. We’re not crossing a line…just sharing an experience. It’s natural and normal, and I’m not ashamed.
His hand glides down my arm until he catches my fingers in his hand, and I’m confused by what he’s doing until the other hand gathers my dress, pulling it up until I’m exposed. I can hardly breathe or think when he leads my own hand to the front of my panties.
“Touch yourself, Charlotte.”
A whimper escapes my lips. I resist, trying to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let me go. When my fingers reach my clit, even over the cotton of my thong, pleasure radiates through me. At this point, I couldn’t pull them away if I tried.
“It’s okay. Don’t feel ashamed.” His lips are touching my ear, and I relax against him, letting my head fall back onto his shoulder as he slides my panties aside and presses my fingers against my clit. I don’t even bother fighting anymore.
The man in the throne room has picked up speed, slamming into the kneeling woman at a steady rhythm. Their moans and cries are audible now, and it only urges me deeper and deeper in this steady current toward my climax.
“That’s it, Charlotte. Good girl.”
His words spur me on, sending bolts of lightning through my body. My own fingers rub my clit in fast circles, and it feels so good; it’s a relief. Emerson’s hand rests over mine, but he isn’t touching me. Instead, he grips my hip with one hand and grinds his erection against my backside.
Any thoughts about this being inappropriate are far away from here—outside of this moment and this dark hallway. Because right now, there’s only one thing I want, and that’s to come. I don’t even care that it’s in public anymore.
“You are so fucking beautiful. Make yourself come, baby.”
And his words don’t stop, like a river of praise I’m coursing down, heading straight for a cliff. My eyes don’t leave the throne room for a second, and when my orgasm comes crashing into me, I nearly crumble to the floor. My free hand grips the fabric of Emerson’s suit as he wraps his arms around me.
“So perfect.” His lips brush my ear, then my cheek, and trail down to my neck. I can’t even hear anymore—my ears are ringing, and my skin is buzzing. The orgasm just keeps knocking me down, wave after wave after wave. His hand finds mine again, and I feel his fingers carefully brush my delicate skin. But he doesn’t stop as he runs his fingers deeper into my panties, and I stiffen in his grasp when he reaches the evidence of my orgasm.
He moans darkly against my ear. Then, he pulls his wet finger out and lifts it to his mouth. I turn to look up at him just as he slips it past his lips, licking my arousal off of his finger.
“Emerson,” I whisper, and our eyes meet. It’s a long, heavy moment as we let everything that just happened swim in the tension between us. Does he feel bad for crossing this line? Do I?
No, I don’t. I keep waiting for shame or regret to hit me, but it doesn’t. Instead, I’m…excited. I feel like I’m on the edge of something big, and I don’t want to turn back now.
The threesome in the throne room has come to an end, and when I look back at the window, one of the women is standing just on the other side of the glass. Her gaze catches mine for a moment, and I stare at her with my mouth open. There is something oddly familiar about her, like I’ve seen her somewhere before. Then, she gives me a small wink and sly smile before pulling the curtain closed.
As soon as Emerson ushers me out of the dark hallway of sin, I scurry off to the bathroom. Suddenly, this dimly lit main room is just too freaking bright. I feel like everyone can see what I just did. They know that I just masturbated in public while watching Pornhub Live back there.
The bathroom is also dimly lit, which is a blessing. I was afraid it was going to be bright florescent lights in here. I wash my hands at the sink. Even the bathroom is fancy with ornate gold mirrors and shiny black stone counters.
While rinsing my hands, I glance up at the woman in the mirror’s reflection. Do I seem happy?
Happier than I was with Beau, certainly. But something is missing. What, I don’t know.
Just then, a woman comes out of the stall and takes her place at the sink next to me. When I glance up, I’m frozen in place, realizing it’s the same woman from the throne room, and I suddenly know why she seemed so familiar. It’s Madame Kink.
I almost didn’t recognize her without the black leather and whip, but it’s definitely the same sable-haired Dominatrix from the blog who told me everything I needed to know about Emerson Grant and the SPC. In fact, she’s still teaching me everything I need to know. Her website has gotten more clicks from my browser than probably any other user.
She might as well be a celebrity to me at this point, and I just watched her get publicly railed while she was going down on another woman.
When she notices me, her eyes graze over my body, and she looks up at my face and smiles.
“You are stunning,” she says, and my mouth falls open. Me? This woman, this…goddess, is telling me that I’m stunning.
“Thank you,” I mumble, feeling stupefied.
As she dries her hands, she keeps her eyes on me. And I know I should leave, but I can’t seem to move. Then she looks at me with a bright smile.
“Isn’t this place amazing?”
I nod, not quite knowing how to respond. And she continues.
“I mean, to have a place where we can just be ourselves, enjoy what we want to enjoy without feeling bad about it or catching judgment.”
“Yeah.” I feel so lame because I literally can’t think of a single smart thing to say. She steps toward me, letting her fingers dance down my arm to my wrist, where she takes my hand in hers.
“Emerson Grant is a fucking god, and he spent the whole night obsessed with you. And you look so nervous.”
Hearing his name come out of her mouth sends a shock of ice down my spine. She spoke about him like she knows him or like she wants him. My Emerson.
“I’m not nervous,” I lie. I wish that were true. I wish I was the sexy, confident type of woman she is. The kind Emerson wants.
“Good. Don’t be nervous. Just be yourself. That’s the beauty of this place. Emerson’s given us somewhere to finally be free.”
“Us?” I ask.
“Yeah…you don’t think this place is just for men, do you?”
I don’t respond as I let my mind wander back to everything I saw and experienced tonight. And I realize…she’s right.
In the car on the way home, Emerson is silent, which is now awkward, considering everything that happened tonight. While he drives, I take a moment to stare at him, noticing how much he’s changed in my perception since we met. I no longer see a man out of my reach. I see a man who makes me feel worthy in a way I didn’t know I needed—didn’t know I deserved.
And I think about what the woman in the bathroom said. Is Emerson really seen as a god? And was he really obsessed with me all night?
A month ago, I might have said she was wrong, that she had me confused with a different type of woman, the kind who could please a man like Emerson.
But I’ve changed, and I don’t feel that way anymore.
He catches me staring. Glancing my way, he asks, “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”
“Yes,” I reply. I’m not sure if he means in general or specifically the time we spent in the hallway. The answer applies to both.
“If you’d like to go back, your membership fees are waived. You’d have to go through the inputting process, though. Provide clean test results, sign some waivers—”
“I don’t want to go back without you.”
Our eyes meet for a moment, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. Am I being too clingy? Hoping for too much? Or does he feel the same way? I want things with Emerson I don’t understand. Things I didn’t expect. And it’s not sex—although I wouldn’t turn that down.
More than anything, I want his attention. I want to live in this world with him and I want him to be my guide—not just for one night. I want to be the only woman on his arm…to be his. I’m setting myself up for heartbreak, I know it.
Emerson and I are in this strange limbo where we don’t cross lines, but we don’t deny ourselves indulgences either. I don’t know what we are and I’m still not quite sure what I want. All I know is that when he looks at me the way he is right now, I want whatever I can get.
As we pull up to my house, he gets out to open my door.
“Thank you for taking me,” I tell him, and before I walk away, I lean close and press my lips to his cheek. I wish I could thank him for the hallway moment, but I don’t quite feel comfortable saying, ‘thanks for making me touch myself,’ but I wish he knew how big of a moment that was for me. Tonight felt like a turning point, and he may never know that.
Before I can pull away, his hand grasps the back of my neck, holding my face only inches from his. “Just for tonight,” he breathes as he touches his lips to mine, and with those three words alone, I understand what this is. Tonight feels special, like it exists outside of our regular Monday to Friday, nine to five, reality. That just for tonight, he can touch me and make me come and kiss me, and it won’t have any effect on the rules and lines we’ve put in place.
I wish he’d kiss me deeper, but his lips only graze mine, so I feel his beard on my face, and I wish it was enough for me, but it’s not. I want more. But like the stroke of midnight for Cinderella, this little dream of mine has to end too.
All too soon, he lets me go, and I step backward to gaze up into his eyes.
“I’ll see you Monday, Charlotte.”
“Yes, Sir,” I reply, and he freezes for a moment, my gaze locked with his as my words echo between us. I didn’t really mean to say that, but it just came out, and obviously, it had an effect on him. It’s written all over his face. I wonder if he’s thinking about that first day. The day he thought I was his new sub, when he told me to kneel and address him as Sir, because it’s exactly what I’m thinking about.
Quickly, I pull away and walk toward the gate that leads to my small guest house in the back. Even as he drives away, I ponder that look on his face and how it felt in that small, minuscule moment. Calling him Sir, like his ‘secretaries’ before did. How when I asked him if he wanted me to be like that for him, he didn’t exactly say no.
I can’t stop thinking about it all night, my body still buzzing with excitement.
The next morning, I wake up with a new sense of purpose. Because I know that come Monday morning, everything will be different. Because I want everything to be different. So I barely leave my room all day, researching and reading and trying to fully understand what it is that Emerson wants.
No, what I want.
