The Darker Side of Pleasure (11 page)

Jillian’s stomach tightened. “Oh.” She paused. “Cam, I don’t think we’re ready for this.”

“I’m ready for it. Look, it’s just a discussion group. Nobody will be playing or anything. Come on, baby. I really want to do this.”

Obviously he did. But why was he pushing so hard? Was he beginning to become obsessed with this BDSM thing? Sure, she’d been enjoying it, but why did they have to get so extreme about it? She wasn’t sure she liked where Cam seemed to be going with this.

She played with her fork, pushing the remains of her meal around on her plate. “I don’t know…”

“Just give it a try. If you’re really uncomfortable, we’ll leave. Okay?”

He sounded so reasonable, and he wasn’t leaving her much room for argument. As long as she had an out, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to just go and listen.

“Okay.”

Cam leaned over and gave her cheek a quick kiss. “You’re the best. I love you, Jillian.”

She groaned. What in the world had she just agreed to?

The place was called The Underground. True to its name, it was in the basement of an industrial building downtown. They parked, and Cam directed her to a dark purple door set into a long concrete wall. There was no sign saying what was behind that door. Just the door and a huge bouncer type of guy standing out front. Cam handed him an invitation he’d printed from the dungeon’s Web site, and the bouncer let them in. Not a word had been exchanged.

“That was a little creepy,” Jillian whispered to Cam as he led her down an interior flight of concrete stairs.

He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. They approached another pair of purple doors. Cam pulled a door open and music flooded out, the same light trance tones of Enigma she and Cam listened to while playing. Inside, the place was lit with dim red and purple lights. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust. She was surprised to see that they were standing in front of a normal-looking reception desk. A plump woman in a red leather corset sat behind it. Jillian guessed her to be in her forties. She looked like she could be anybody. A teacher, a banker. Somebody’s mother.

“Hi, there,” the woman said in a perky tone. “You must be here for the discussion group. Just go to the chairs at the back of the room and take a seat. Enjoy.” She smiled warmly.

They passed behind the table and Jillian tried not to goggle at what she saw.

The place was mostly empty, with just three men in black leather vests who seemed to be cleaning and testing equipment. Everywhere Jillian looked were giant wooden crosses, a pair of big, boxy wooden frames with eye hooks set into the tops and sides that she imagined were for some sort of bondage. There were several metal cages on the floor in various shapes and sizes. Long lengths of chain hung from the ceiling here and there, some with leather cuffs dangling from the ends. In different corners were benches and tables covered in what looked to be leather, or maybe vinyl. There were several items she couldn’t identify.

The floor was covered in a dark red carpet and the walls were painted black. As Cam led her across the center of the dungeon, Jillian felt incredibly vulnerable in this strange place.

At the back of the room was a half-circle of folding chairs surrounding a low stage. Several people already sat there. One heavily carved wooden chair with a plush red velvet seat sat empty directly in front of the stage.

“What do you think?” Cam asked her once they were seated.

“It’s a little overwhelming.”

“I think it’s awesome.”

Obviously Cam wasn’t nervous about this at all. He was excited. She wished he wasn’t so into this. Just being here was making her feel shaky inside, an odd combination of nerves and what she could only identify as sexual excitement. She didn’t like that it excited her, but she couldn’t help it.

More people filed in and filled up the remaining chairs. After a few minutes a couple stepped onto the stage and the music stopped. The sudden silence was a small shock in itself, leaving Jillian’s ear’s buzzing.

The couple looked to be about her age. The man was tall and thin, with a dark, close-shaved goatee. The woman was tiny beside him. Her dark skin glowed beneath the stage lights. They were both dressed in black, with the man in dark jeans and a leather vest. The woman was dressed much as Jillian was, in a short black skirt and a lace top. But she wore a thick leather collar around her neck, set with metal rings, and boots that buckled all the way up to her knees, with such impossibly high heels Jillian wondered why she didn’t just topple over.

The man came to the center of the stage and said in a deep, booming voice, “Welcome to our play space. Our learning space. Our place to explore ecstasy unknown in any other walk of life. Welcome to The Underground.”

CHAPTER SIX

C
AM FELT
J
ILLIAN SHIVER BESIDE HIM AS THE
man onstage began to talk. He slid an arm around her shoulder and focused on the speaker.

“I’m Vincent. This is my girl, my submissive, my slave, Nya.” The petite raven-haired beauty with the smooth coffee-colored skin nodded and smiled.

Vincent stepped off the stage, then helped Nya to do the same. He settled into the big wooden chair. Nya knelt at his feet and he laid a hand on the back of her neck. It was a proprietary gesture, yet tender at the same time. It was something Cam understood very well, that feeling of treasuring his woman.

Cam glanced at Jillian, but she sat quietly staring straight ahead, her face an unreadable mask. He turned back to tune in on the discussion.

“Here at The Underground, we feel that submission is a gift given willingly and with love. It should be accepted as such. Our slaves and bottoms are to be played with, tortured, titillated, beaten, but always with love, and with their safety and well-being in mind.”

Vincent spoke for a few minutes about the dungeon’s play party rules. All Cam could think about was getting started. Without being too obvious about it, he glimpsed some of the play equipment from the corners of his eyes. He could imagine strapping Jillian down to one of the leather-clad tables, cuffing her wrists and ankles to the corners.

They didn’t allow sex at the club, so playing here would only be a prelude. Not a problem. He could control himself; he had no doubt of that. The self-control was part of it, and something he wanted to explore further. Since they’d always played in private so far, he’d never had to think about it much. This would be good for him, make him stronger.

Vincent was still talking. “As a top, it is your responsibility to see to it that your sub is well cared for. Not only physically, but emotionally.”

Cam liked that theory. Ever since Jillian had begun to submit to him sexually, he’d felt even more protective of her. She seemed somehow more precious to him than she had before. He was liking the whole idea better and better, and he hoped Jillian would learn to like it, too.

Cam slipped an arm around Jillian’s slender waist and asked her quietly, “What do you think?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I mean, they sound very organized.”

He nodded. “That was one of the things I liked about what I saw on the Web site. They seem to keep everything under control. I think that’s important. But I was talking more about the idea of playing here.”

Jillian bit her lip. “I don’t know. It’s all so…strange to me.”

“Yeah, me too, but that’s part of the attraction, I’ve got to admit.”

Even during this quiet discussion, a sense of hushed expectancy filled the air. And the vibe was distinctly sexual. His pulse raced in his veins, his heart thudded in his chest. He loved it already.

How the hell had Cam talked her into going to this? Jillian sucked in a long breath. Just being in the place made her feel shaky, but she had to admit it was a surge of sexual excitement as much as it was nerves.

She scanned the faces of the other people there. She was surprised at how normal everyone looked. Some were dressed in black leather gear, but most were wearing casual street clothes, with the occasional collar around someone’s neck.

She focused again on Vincent’s voice.

“Tonight we’re going to talk about the psychology of BDSM. That’s right, the psychology. Because this lifestyle is about a lot more than just what we do physically. Most of it, in fact, is about what goes on in our heads.

“A lot of people have trouble in the beginning accepting this side of themselves. Some of you are probably wondering how you can actually like pain, like having your power taken away from you. But the pain
is
pleasure, and as a bottom you don’t give anything without your consent. Therein lies your power. It’s the power to say yes or no. To give only what you want to give, and because you
do
give, it’s not taken away. There is power in the act of submission itself.”

Jillian liked that idea. It was a conclusion she’d come to on her own, if not in such a formal manner.

“Some of you may be wondering how you can possibly enjoy hurting anybody. But it’s fun.” His eyes twinkled and he grinned as most of the group laughed.

“Again, the pain is pleasure. And it’s more than that, isn’t it?” He paused while a few people nodded in agreement. “It’s about the exchange of energy. We feed off it. It’s endorphins for the bottoms and adrenaline for the tops. It’s chemical. But it’s also largely mental. Let’s talk about that. Who wants to start?”

A woman with long red hair raised her hand and Vincent nodded at her.

“For me, a big part of it is the preparation. Bathing, making myself pretty. It puts me into that head space. And I can’t play without the head space. But the one thing that really puts me there is the collar. All a top has to do is put that collar around my neck and I start to go down. Down into sub space.”

God, Jillian knew that feeling, understood exactly what she was talking about! Her body grew warm all over.

The redhead went on. “It’s all about symbols for me. And there’s something about the formality of it that I love. The collar, the low lights, a commanding tone of voice. It feels…ancient, somehow. I get this feeling of participating in something very primal. Very deep. Does that make sense?”

Jillian’s limbs went liquid and weak as several people nodded and murmured their agreement with the woman. Yes, she knew exactly what she meant. Maybe part of what frightened her about this was the sensation of falling into that head space, of being helpless against it. It didn’t feel safe to be that vulnerable in a public forum like The Underground. But maybe that was part of it, allowing herself to feel vulnerable.