“Please come with me,” says Osira, leading me to the outdoor deck.
Oh. My. God.
I’ve never seen so many beautiful people gathered in one spot. Gorgeous women. One looks familiar. I think she’s a movie actress. Lots of hot guys. Many older men . . . but really really good-looking older men. George Clooney and Daniel Craig-types. Oh, yeah.
Many younger men with muscles under expensive shirts open to the waist. Ladies of all ages, all stunningly decked out in dresses.
But . . . and this is the weird part . . . surrounding the well-dressed ones . . . there is a subservient group dressed like Osira at the door. Almost nonexistent clothing, with what little they wear either latex or leather with studs.
This group stands and waits along a dim aquamarine-lit wall until someone motions for something.
Oh wait. Oh my God. Some of them have no bottoms on at all. Holy shit, this is a fetish party!
One man in a suit sits on a couch talking with two other people. He’s petting the head of a beautiful purple-haired naked girl lying on the floor. She’s wearing nothing but a collar. Her ass is amazing, on full display as I walk by.
In another area, three ladies chat, their drinks on a board resting on the back of a naked man on his hands and knees. He’s also blindfolded with a ball gag in his mouth and a big tail inserted in his butt, motionless as a piece of furniture.
Most of the staff are girls, but holy shit there’s a black boy, about twenty . . . wearing a black bow tie, white dress shirt, cummerbund, and . . . nothing else.
His cock is huge, slapping both of his legs as he walks from table to table serving drinks. A woman takes her drink with one hand and lovingly pats his member with the other.
I’m aroused and frightened at the same time. I have simultaneous urges to both run away and dive in.
“Jayd!” says a voice I know.
I turn to see my hostess. “Lorena!” Osira bows and returns to her post at the door.
Lorena hugs and kisses me on the cheek like I’ve known her for a thousand years. “So glad you could make it. Let me assign you an attendant. Would you prefer male or female?”
Now, there’s a question I’ve never been asked before. “Attendant?”
“Yes. Some in the community call them slaves, but I insist on the word attendant. Oh, but you do know about attendants, don’t you?”
“Um, sure. I know there’s a thing in BDSM.”
“It’s all consensual. They want to serve. They wish to serve. They volunteer and sign contracts. They get off on pleasing, so don’t feel bad. It’s a craving inside of them. Now, male or female?”
“Um, male,” I say.
Lorena nods to somebody out of sight of me. A man right off the cover of an erotic romance novel appears out of nowhere. He wears a black necktie.
And nothing else.
Holy fuck me! Chiseled pecs, a square chin, black hair, some stubble, and a cock that goes on for days.
I realize my mouth is open. Not to mention my pussy . . . as in open for business. This man is seriously gorgeous.
“Jayd, this is Cock Toy, your attendant for the evening.” She pats him on the cheek. “He is here to serve you in every way. All I ask is that if you want to touch the part of him that he’s named for, please take him into a play pen.”
“Play pen?”
“Yes, those.” She gestures around the room.
I look around. Amongst the sea of couches, there are several spots in the large room with two shoulder-high makeshift walls of purple-beveled glass. Only one is being used at the moment. A man stands with his hands on the top of both walls as a tuft of hair bobs up and down over the top of the walls.
For a split second, I consider taking my “attendant” Cock Toy to one of the empty ones and just sucking him silly.
Easy, Abigail. Control yourself.
“For a drink, dear, may I suggest the Blush of a Rose? It’s made with Belvedere vodka and fresh juniper juice with rose petals from a sweet variety grown in Japan. Our guest bartender tonight is Anatole Ceres from New York City’s restaurant Svangard. It’s his specialty.”
“Sounds, um, amazing.”
Cock Toy bows and walks to the bar. I can’t help but admire the muscles in his butt as he walks. At the bar, he stands next to the black boy with the dangling torpedo.
Oh, I get it. I was hit by a car and died. I’m in heaven, right?
“Lovely playthings, aren’t they?” says Lorena. “Now you see, dear, all that I missed out on.”
“But it’s your party. You control all this, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I don’t have that body of yours. Come sit with me on the balcony.”
The place is so huge, we almost need a bus to get there. But once we do . . .
Holy wow!
The view is stunning. Twenty-two floors up above the Port of Miami, the sun is setting behind the city across Biscayne Bay. Shades of indigo and lavender blend with fiery reds and oranges in a thousand different shades.
I gasp at a hand on my ass. I turn to see it’s Lorena.
“Oh, you’ll do fine,” she says with a smile and a puff on her cigarette-less cigarette holder. “Just fine.”
Before I have time to process that, Cock Toy arrives with my drink and hands it to me while keeping his eyes oddly downward.
“Wall,” says Lorena.
He bows and returns to the wall, assuming a spot in between a tall black girl with a big Afro and a heavily-tattooed short plump girl with short hair.
“I’m not sure I get all this,” I say.
“Primal urges,” she says. “There are two deep social urges within humans. One is to command. The other is to serve. A very small percentage enjoy both, but most who find this lifestyle prefer one over another. I enjoy both.” She raises her glass. “Cheers, dear.”
I take a sip of the drink. Yikes. It’s delicious. Sweet, tart, and smooth all at the same time. “That’s delicious.”
“At three thousand a bottle, it should be.”
“This is an amazing place you have here.”
“I own the building. It was a gift to me from a lover.”
“So, you wanted to talk to me about a job.”
“Yes, Jayd, there are people . . . . . . very wealthy people . . . . . . who pay large sums of money to young women like you.”
I gasp. “Oh my God, are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”
“Don’t act so shocked, dear. You’re much more intuitive than that. You had at least a hunch that was going to be the offer. And yet, that’s not the offer.”
“It’s not?”
“No, dear. I’m not a madam, and I do not run a whorehouse. What I run is far more intelligent, and dare I say humane?”
“What do you run?”
“I’m a matchmaker. I run a submission academy for young women who have run away from their lives.”
I inhale sharply and put my hand up to my mouth. “Did you just say submission academy?”
“Yes, my academy specializes in giving submissive young women the structure they need. They experience fulfillment. Many respond to the BDSM lifestyle, many don’t. My mission is to help them find themselves. Many go on to be famous people. Are you familiar with Carlita Amore, the founder and CEO of Amore Cosmetics?”
“Yes, I have some of her eyeshadow.”
“She started with me. She was a runaway from the streets of Chicago. Addicted to heroin, abusive boyfriend, near death. Then she found my submission academy, where she learned that her natural desire to submit for pleasure doesn’t have to be at the hand of people who wish to destroy her for money, as her pimp boyfriend and dealer were both doing. Under my tutelage, she kicked the needle and the losers. She found herself under the command of a strict but sensitive Dom. By channeling her submissive side into a loving relationship, she found that in the real world she was powerful and dominant. So she used that newly-discovered side of her to build a company from the ground up, a company whose products you actually purchase. How do you like them apples, dear?”
“Wow.”
“So, no, I’m not a madam. But I am a business woman. I take money from billionaires who wish to be paired up with submissive women for a variety of relationships, both monogamous and polyamorous. Both benefit.”