Salvation

Jolynn Enwright looked at herself in the mirror and ran her hands along the curve of her hips, over her ass, and wondered exactly what she thought she was doing. She picked up the black invitation and ran her finger lightly over the embossed lettering.
You are cordially invited to attend a special event at Maximilian’s After Hours.

That was it. No further information. It prevented any inadvertent entries into the most private club in town. Every weekend, Maximilian’s held an event that very few people knew about. Those who knew weren’t talking. Membership in the exclusive After Hours club at Max’s could only be gained after an exhaustive and somewhat intrusive background check. You had to be an experienced dominant or submissive, and you had to have a personal referral.

Unfortunately, the invitation wasn’t exactly intended for Jolynn. At least, she didn’t see how it could be meant for her. She didn’t know anyone who was into BDSM, and she sure couldn’t offer a personal referral. The invitation was probably intended for Michael, but was slipped into her post box by mistake. She wasn’t about to let a little thing like a mistaken delivery keep her from getting a peek at the hottest BDSM club in Phoenix.

Jolynn figured she was due for a little mindless entertainment of the sexual variety. Six months earlier, Carrie had left her to move back to the Midwest, claiming stress over their dual career relationship. At the time, they both had held high-ranking positions at Enwright Security. Enwright as in Jolynn’s brother, Michael. He’d built his company from the ground up and now Jolynn was the vice president of electronic surveillance.

It wasn’t the job that sent Carrie packing; it was the different direction they each wanted to take their relationship. Looking back on things, Jo realized they’d both been trying to introduce an element of excitement to what clearly was a relationship already on the rocks.

Jolynn took one last look in the mirror. A short black skirt that barely covered the tops of her thigh-high silk stockings, a white camisole and lace bra that let the dark peaks of her nipples show through if the light was right, and fuck-me heels. Her make-up was perfect and her long black hair was bed-head tousled. She’d worked enough undercover assignments for Michael to know how to fit in any scene. She tucked her identification, cash, and condoms along with the invitation into a tiny envelope of a purse. She was as ready as she’d ever be. She hoped there wasn’t a secret word that went along with the invitation, but she was willing to take the chance.

*****

Marcus stepped into their shared office.

“Hey, baby,” Max said in his gravelly voice that grabbed Marcus by the balls. Too bad Max was straight, Marcus thought for maybe the thousandth time since they’d been friends. Which was a very long time, indeed.

The M & M’s they’d been called when they were boys. Nearly inseparable until high school graduation when Marcus joined the Navy to become a SEAL and Max had gone to college to learn business management. Six years later, the two friends pooled their money to start Maximilian’s. Two years of hard work and rocking reviews for the nightclub earned them enough money to buy the whole building where the club was located. They reinvested their money every step of the way, until they could afford to renovate the basement into what they’d affectionately referred to between themselves as the dungeon, but eventually marketed as Max’s After Hours.

Neither of them had imagined that the bondage magazines they fantasized and masturbated over as teens would grow into such a profitable business.

“Max,” Marcus said, shaking his head at the memories. “Tell me again why I’m here?”

The running of the club was Max’s gig and he drew a salary for those duties, in addition to his owner’s share of the profits. Marcus spent very little time at the club during operating hours. He spent most of his time working under a special contract for Enwright Security. He could be a very scary guy.

“Remember I told you a couple of months ago I was offering a class?”

“Right, something about BDSM for Dummies,” Marcus joked.

“Very funny. I realized that even though everyone who comes here has already experienced being a Dom or sub, there are too many players that just don’t understand the pleasure of the complete control and surrender. They think it’s all about restraints and spankings. No one takes the time to explain it, to teach their partners about the intimacy.

“I thought if I offered a class to a small group, they could help mentor others. So, we’ve met a couple of times but I need a Master to run the scene, with or without bondage, your choice. A skilled Dom, Marcus. There’s no one better than you.”

“Fuck, Max. You know I rarely play anymore. I didn’t think you did, either. I don’t even have a partner and this little demonstration you planned wouldn’t be as effective with just any sub. That’s the whole point you’re trying to make. Dom/sub works better when the participants have deep feelings for each other. The Dom needs to care about his sub, know what makes him tick, and exactly how far to push him or her.

“Too many people think submission is all about giving the Master pleasure. For me, it’s about stripping away the subs defenses, creating raw feelings of need and fulfillment, about the total surrender of control. As the dominant, you feel flush with power, and your true satisfaction comes from taking your sub to the very limit of his control, past even where he thinks he can go, and then watching him come apart with the pleasure.”

For a long minute, Max’s fast breath was the only sound in the room. He wet his lips and blew out a shaky breath before speaking. “Fuck, Marcus. Okay, can you tell that to the class? That’s exactly what I want them to understand.”

Marcus looked at Max a long time. His friend’s face was flush with desire, his inner submissive streak glowing a mile wide. His words had reached past Max’s consistently hetero preference and had yanked him up by the short hairs. Fuck.

Feeling a bit breathless himself, he asked, “I don’t have a sub any more, Max. Who did you have in mind?”

“I could do it. You know, just this once,” Max said, wetting his lips again.

“You mean just show the beginning of a scene? Otherwise we’d need others.”

“Not this time, Marcus. Just us, this time. I can do it.” Max’s eyes were gray swirls of desire, his lips were parted, and the front of his jeans bulged. “Please, Marcus, I want to.”

Shit. Max had already assumed the role of the submissive.

If he took Max into the class and gave him a scene, made Max his sub, their friendship might suffer. As much as Marcus wanted Max, they were friends first, business partners second. Anything more would be risking the most important relationship Marcus ever had.

Marcus blew out a breath. “I’ll talk to the class. We can open a scene. Then you and everybody else in there can go find what you need in the club.”

Max smiled. “Supplies and costumes are in my closet. We start in fifteen. Wear the leather, Marcus. The subs in the group will love watching you in it. I think I better get us a drink.”

Alone, Marcus slid the supple leather pants over his well-muscled thighs. He and Max had always been able to share clothes. Both men were tall with broad chests and muscular frames. He closed his eyes and thought about the picture the two of them would make on the stage. His own naturally dark, olive-skinned complexion, dark brown hair and eyes would contrast nicely against Max’s honey gold tan, with the long blond curls and smoky gray eyes.

Marcus fought against the feelings that threatened to bubble up. He needed to remember this wasn’t a real Dom/sub relationship, just a quick scene to demonstrate. He couldn’t let the emotions get in the way. He pulled his hair back and bound it, then crossed the leather straps over his chest. Leather wrist cuffs and a half mask completed the outfit.