I don’t really want to get drunk. What I want is sex. That’s the high I prefer.
Pretty sure though that Eva is here to get plastered. She’s in grad school, and taking it seriously so she can be like me and join her family’s business… and grad school is no joke. I don’t envy her. Like I said, the last time I cried like I did today was when I was in school. Eva doesn’t cry, though. She gets shitfaced.
“This shit is great.” I turn down one more shot, but she gets another, downing it in one gulp before relaxing in her chair with a cigar. All right, I admit it. She’s damn hot, especially when she’s throwing her weight around and acting like a bigger big shot than me. Personality wise, that’s how Eva Warren is. Butchy, commanding, and not afraid to get in someone’s face if they give her shit for who she is. There aren’t many lesbians in our circles. Something she’s all too familiar with.
I like her not because we’re similar in age, but because she’s hilarious and knows how to make a girl feel better after a shit day at work.
“The Andrews will forget about it soon enough, Kat.” She’s the only one who can get away with calling me that. I’m pretty sure any lesbian can refer to me as a kitty and get away with it. I ain’t sleeping with them, but come on, what girl doesn’t like to feel special by non-threatening people? Eva kicks ass, but she’s one of the least threatening people I know. Well, as long as you’re not a man trying to fuck her over. “They know you’re good for it. As long as you don’t blow the public presentation, they won’t give a shit. Everyone knows they wanna sell that place. Even my brother thought about buying it until he heard the Mathers were lifting their legs on that hydrant.”
“Thanks for the visual.” Last thing I need to imagine is Ian unzipping his pants and pissing on the side of The Grand. Prematurely. “You don’t get it, though. It was so embarrassing. I don’t know how I left those papers on my table like that. I must have taken them out when looking for something else.”
“Probably. When you get nervous, you can be forgetful.”
“Aren’t most people?”
Eva shrugs, lining up our empty shot glasses and counting them with her fingers. Over half of them are hers, because that woman can hold her liquor. Not me. I’m flushed after two shots and that glass of wine. Think I’ll order a martini to nurse for a while.
“I know what you need.” Eva wags her finger across the tiny table. “You need a honey for tonight.”
Well, duh, why does she think we’re here? We could get a drink anywhere. I could’ve driven to her family’s house out of town or to her in-town apartment if I wanted to shoot the breeze and drink. Instead we’re at The Dark Hour, because this is where people like us come if we want to take out our problems the healthy BDSM way.
The place is crawling with men. Most of them, whether they Dom or sub, aren’t bad to look at. The Doms wear their cut suits made of fine Italian materials or shit as good. You can smell their cologne from a mile away, and it smells amazing. Their hair is pressed. Some of them are here with their lovers. I can see James Merange and his long-term girlfriend Gwen. They’re regulars here like me. They’re having dinner with another couple, but from my vantage point up in the balcony I can see Gwen’s hand making a run for James’s cock beneath the table.
Dude’s got a nice one. I’ll give him that.
There are a few other people I recognize from the rich world of the elite I was born into. Stock traders, bankers, businessmen, politicians, movie stars, pretty much anyone with the pedigree or paychecks to qualify for a place like this. The Dark Hour takes its safety and confidentiality seriously. You’re not getting in unless you make multiple zeros at the end of your bank account. Basically, not unless you’ve got some serious prestige to lose if word gets out. Collateral damage.
We understand that. We don’t care. We need a place to party and fuck like anyone else.
Those are the Doms, anyway. The submissive men come from a very different walk of life. Sure, some of them are rich. Others are guys who are working their way up. Others are professional subs who make their living off performances. There are so many Doms in this world that the club encourages subs of lesser means to join and make regular appearances to basically get laid. It’s a great gig if you’re poorer and looking for a hot sugar mama or daddy. The club doesn’t discriminate. Gay, straight, bi… it’s all good as long as you’re respectful about it.
There’s one guy I’ve got my eye on. Guy’s ripped in that male model sort of way. Probably is a male model. He’s wearing leather pants, shirtless, sitting cross-legged on a pillow with his shoulders slightly slouched and a simple collar around his neck. The kind that says he subs but has no permanent partner. I assume most of those guys are gay, since they usually are, but this one has put out his feelers on a couple of women already and I’ve got a good feeling. In my pants, that is.
All I want is a hot guy to crawl on top of and ride until I forget how much today sucked. I don’t even need to whip him, unless that’s what he really wants. Maybe that’s what I’ll put out tonight. “Hey, you,” I’ll say, “I’ll give you a great handjob and wrap my pussy around your cock if you shut up and let me.”
Eva follows my gaze down into the main gallery. “Someone wants to get laid,” she says. Cigar smoke filters past my nose, but I’m too lost in my fantasies of Mr. Handsome down there. I bet he has a big one. I’ll make him eat me out until I’m wet enough to take all of him. “Can’t say I blame you. If I weren’t cramping like a bitch I’d be out of here already.”
Too much information, but that’s Eva. You should hear her story about the time she went down on a… never mind. “I would ask if it’s that obvious, but…”
“You asked me here, didn’t you? If you say let’s go to The Dark Hour, I will assume that you’re looking for some cock to ride. After hearing about your day? I’m shocked you’re not already getting out your crop and smacking some ass down there.”
“I need to gather up the energy to do that first.”
Eva finishes up her cigar and stands, straightening out her suit and checking her impeccable hair with her hands. If I were into girls, I’d be into someone like her. Sometimes I grumble that I can’t force myself to be bisexual. Eva and I would be a hilariously kinky and troublemaking couple. Now that gay marriage is legal? Can you say bigger power couple than the Andrews? Ugh, now I’m thinking about today again.
“Stick around, Kat. I’ll scope out some pretty boys for you.”
“Not too pretty. I like muscles on mine.”
“Muscles and a big cock. Should be easy enough to find. Hang tight.”
I don’t think she’s going to actually find me anyone, but Eva saunters off, half-drunk but putting on the air of sobriety. She needs the alcohol if she’s going to survive this club by herself. Although with my luck, she’ll find a woman and leave me in the dust. If Eva can sniff out someone willing to get Topped by her, she will find them.
That martini I’ve been thinking about is mine within five minutes. I attempt to enjoy the peace I now have in an otherwise loud club. Helps that Eva and I got here early and secured our quaint VIP space upstairs. Looking back down into the main gallery, I see a nice party has started. Business dealings are over. Now people are plastered enough to holler at every blowjob and spanking they see.
More high profile people are arriving. I focus on a familiar face, and soon recognize up and coming actress Stephanie May. If you don’t know her, she was an indie darling for a few years before a big director casted her in a moderate success. She got a few accolades, and because she’s a hot skinny blonde she gets lots of offers now. There’s talk she’s going to be in the adaptation for one of those YA dystopians. Don’t ask me which one. The only books I have time to read anymore are business insiders and the occasional erotic short on my tablet. Last time I read anything with substance was, I dunno, Gone Girl? Fuck, what happened in that book?