Raw Ch. 08

I nodded.

"I want to hear you say it out loud."

"Yes, Sir."

His eyes grew dark for just a moment. But he blinked, and they were back to normal. He handed me the doctor's note from his pocket. "I think you should read this now."

I sat up and unfolded the small sheet of paper. In an elegant handwriting not expected from a doctor were the words 'Velvet Rope Exhibition,' a Canadian address, and an international phone number. Under that was a personal message: "Hope you can make it on such short notice, Sir Malcolm. From what Lady Becca has told me, she would enjoy it. --ML."

"ML?"

"Mistress Lydia."

"Are you shitting me?" Somehow, I managed to keep my voice at a whisper. Albeit a very loud whisper.

He shook his head.

"Wait...My shrink is a dominatrix?"

"Yes."

"And you knew it?"

He just smiled.

I loved his smile. His lips. His mouth. Especially when he... I shook my head to clear my thoughts. "So after our discussion last week, you what? Called in a favor?"

He looked to the ceiling and mimicked whistling. He didn't have to admit it aloud. I knew. How clever—and compassionate—of him to have a kinky friend in the profession assist me. He knew I'd be comfortable opening up to her.

Suddenly, I narrowed my eyes at him. "And you know her name in that context because?"

He cleared his throat. "Well..."

I sat upright, and his arm fell from my shoulders. "Yes?"

"I hardly think this is the time or the place—"

"Oh, it's the perfect time and place." I downed the last of my beer and glanced around. We were the only ones left in the room, and the clock on the wall showed we still had plenty of time before we needed to head to our gate. "I tell you what. You answer my questions, and I won't object to a single thing you want to do this weekend."

His eyes lit up, and he leaned closer to me. "Are you trying to bribe me?"

I pursed my lips for a moment. "I'd rather call it seducing."

"That's a dangerous wager. Are you sure you're willing to hold to your end of the bargain?"

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask you."

"The lady has a point. I'm going to need some liquid courage."

I tried to take slow, deep breaths as he went to get us another round of drinks. As much as I loved this man—and as much as we'd shared about our own lives with each other—there was still a shadow in his past that I yearned to know about. Now that I'd agreed to marry him and knew I wasn't going to be committed, I could no longer put off the inevitable.

When he returned, Malcolm sat across from me so that his back was to the rest of the narrow but long room. He put a glass of beer in front of me and took a long drink from his own. Then he cracked his knuckles and let out a sigh.

"Lay it on me."

I arched one eyebrow at him. My glass was cold as I wrapped my hands around it. It felt good in the otherwise warm room. Or maybe I was just warm because I was nervous. I wasn't sure if this was a need-to-know or want-to-know situation. Problem was I wouldn't know that answer until I'd already opened Pandora's Box.

"Tell me about France."

"That," he said, pausing to take another sip of beer, "is not a question."

I almost teased him, but the lack of a smile on his face told me I'd touched a nerve. I slouched a little in my chair. It was too late to turn back now. "Can you please tell me about your time in France?"

He leaned his arms on the table and ran one finger through the condensation on his glass. His eyes were trained on the table now, but I could see the light had suddenly had gone from them. "It's a part of my past I don't like to dwell on."

I opened my mouth to say that it still mattered to me. He held up one hand as if he knew I would object. I clamped my mouth shut and waited. After a long couple of minutes where he just sipped his beer, I worried that he wasn't going to answer my question. Well, it had been worth a try.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat. "I will tell you about France because you deserve to know. We're going to be married. There should be no secrets between us. But first, I need to backup."

"Okay." My voice was so soft I don't think he even heard me. And he was only a dozen inches away.

He took another drink. For courage?

"I was young when I was introduced to the lifestyle. Second year of college at UIC, struggling to get by on Ramen noodles and a part time job at the campus bookstore. My dad was out of the picture. My mom worked two jobs to pay the mortgage and my tuition. When a classmate asked if I wanted to make a little extra money, I jumped at the chance without asking any questions. Isn't that crazy?"

I nodded, even though he couldn't see it.

"We were bouncers at a strip club on Friday through Sunday nights. I pocketed over three hundred in cash that first weekend. After a month, I had over a grand saved."

He took a pause for a long drink of beer. I wanted to reach out and grasp his hand, to give him some encouragement. But I didn't want to break his train of thought, either.

"My job was to stand in the lobby with my buddy and check IDs. Sometimes there were special events like Ladies' Night or Chip 'N Dales that they asked us to work during the week where we took cover charges. I'd been there a couple of months when they asked me to work a private party one Friday night. The club was mostly just a big room with a stage and a stripper pole surrounded by tables and chairs. But the private parties were down a hall separated by a red door. One guy stood on the club side of the door and handed out special passes. My new job was to stand on the other side and take the pass back as the guest left."

I was leaning on the table myself now, sipping my beer. I studied a couple who entered the tavern. They started toward us, but the woman pointed to the bar. Thankfully, they sat at the far end by door, and I returned my focus to Malcolm.

"From the few times I had been in the main showroom and had seen men go through the red door, I had assumed the private rooms were for lap dances. But now that I was on the far side, I could hear everything in the first two rooms. Men begging someone to spank them. Whipped. To have more pain inflicted. I'd never experienced anything like it. And these were businessmen. In suits. A couple even wore wedding rings. I was too chicken to ask the other bouncer what was going on. So I set my mind to telling the boss I preferred to do main-door duty."

"I'm guessing there's a 'but'?"

Malcolm nodded. Then he shrugged. "I was paid five-hundred dollars that night. That was more than I'd made in two months at the bookstore. When they asked me to do the same job the following week, I couldn't refuse. I needed the money."

I barely stopped myself from quipping that that was the same excuse people used for why they became strippers, prostitutes, or drug dealers. As lucrative as they were, they weren't jobs you wrote home to mom about. Yet, I didn't hold his decision against him.

"I had so many questions, but I knew I couldn't ask anyone there at the club. Especially when I was warned that I should keep my mouth shut if I saw anyone I knew as these gentlemen were paying a high price to keep their indulgences private."

Part of me wanted to hurry him along, but I knew he had to tell his story at his own pace. And he seemed to think this backstory was important to his travels in Europe. Though I did keep an eye on the clock over his shoulder so we didn't miss our flight.

"My classmate never asked what was going on in those rooms, and I didn't question if he knew. I did a little research online instead, although it was a little difficult at that time. The Internet wasn't as vast with information as it is today, especially with things as hush-hush as women beating men for pleasure. But I got the gist of what was going on. After my third time bouncing the private hall, the ladies befriended me when the club closed for the night. They looked like your normal, everyday strippers, although they pranced around mostly in leather rather than lingerie. They showed me some of their tools. Explained what they did."

He took a swig of his beer and ran his hand back through his hair. His brow was creased, his eyebrows pinched together. He was concentrating or worrying about something. I prayed I hadn't made a mistake by insisting he open up to me.

"One of them took me under her wing. Gave me a personal introduction into the role of a Dominatrix without being on the receiving end of the flogger. She had broken English and called me 'mon chéri,' or 'my darling.' She was always inviting me up to her studio where she held private sessions. I accepted once and was able to watch while a blindfolded, grown man crawled around on his hands and knees in only his underwear. She led him by a dog leash and smacked his ass with a riding crop. All while he called her Mistress and begged for more, and she called him 'bon garçon' or 'good boy.' I'd never seen anything like it."

I sat up straight and took a deep breath. I didn't like where this was going. Should I stop him?

"I found no pleasure in this." He wasn't looking at me, and I wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure me or just state a fact. "She had become a friend on the inside, though. I felt comfortable asking her questions without worrying that they would fire me. I hung out with her and some of her friends—both male and female—when I wasn't studying or working two part time jobs. As the semester was ending, she asked if I wanted to spend the summer with her and the girls in France. I considered my options and figured a chance like that didn't come up too often. I mean, I had the money now."

"Sir?"

Both Malcolm and I jumped, noticing the bartender standing next to our table.

"Can I get you a refill?"

We both looked at our mostly-empty glasses and pushed them toward him with a 'thank you.' Once we'd received full glasses in return, I waited for Malcolm to pick up where he'd left off.

"It was surreal. There I was in a foreign country, not knowing a lick of the language, and only knowing the members of my traveling party through a stripclub that was a disguise for a dominatrix lair on the weekends. We stayed in a rented place of a friend-of-a-friend and ate at a local bistro on a regular basis. By day, they took me sightseeing. At night, we hit up the club scene. This was their normal routine every summer. My lady friend, she was originally from Paris, so she was my official tourguide."

I felt the jealousy creeping in. I wished I'd known him then. To have experienced France with him.

"Mostly, I sat in a booth and drank beer while they danced and found conquests to take home for the night. I could hear them in their respective rooms, spanking and whipping their newly found partners or just having sex if they hadn't secured a willing stranger to dominate. It grew tiresome. I realized I wanted nothing of that lifestyle."

Well, he definitely wasn't a switch.

"One night, I faked being sick to stay home alone. Everyone else had gone out already, so I was lying in bed naked, just staring out the window at the stars that I could see over the rooftop of the buildings nearby. I wondered what my classmates were doing back home in Chicago. What I would be doing if I were home. My friend scared the shit out of me when she came in, flung back the sheet, and grabbed my cock as she sat down. When I yelled at her, she climbed on top of me and tried to convince me that I was hiding my inner desire for her to dominate me. Why else had I come on this trip if not to indulge my fantasies with her?"

I had to bite my lower lip to suppress a giggle. Malcolm rolled his eyes at me. I was just glad no one else was around to hear this mostly one-sided conversation. So much for me asking questions.

"Needless to say, she did not get what she wanted that night. And I was livid. Not to mention a little horny since she'd been stroking me the whole time. Once she'd given up on me and left to find her friends, I got dressed and went out on my own. I had gotten to know the area well from our afternoon jaunts, and I'd remembered a club that she'd pointed out numerous times but we'd never visited. I figured I'd be safe going there on my own."

We both took long swigs of our beer as if we'd both been talking. I tried to imagine him wandering the streets at night. A young, good-looking, horny American boy let loose in Paris. I leaned on the table with my arms crossed, curious as to where he was leading me next.

"The place I was heading to was in the opposite direction of where we'd gone the past couple of weeks. It was a straight shot up the street and had a red door. My confidence waivered, though, when I realized many clubs surrounded the place we'd rented. Clubs that only opened when the sun went down. And at night, even a red door looked black. After I realized I'd been walking too long and must have missed the club, I decided to pop into the nearest place and at least grab a drink."

I gave him a smile, which he returned before he stared back into his beer. Good for him for not giving up and running back home. I'm sure that was the last place he wanted to be anyway.

"I remember sitting at a table by myself just watching all of the people drinking and talking and dancing, picking up only a couple of words here and there. A tall man approached me and asked if I was alone. He said it in English, but he had a bit of an accent. If I'd had to guess, I would have said Russian. When I pretended I hadn't understood him, fearing that he was trying to pick me up, he sat down in the empty chair next to mine, leaned in real close, and said, 'Do not worry, I am straight.' Then he laughed and shook his head. I'll never forget what he said next. 'You, my fellow American boy, stick out like a tennis ball in a bucket of golf balls sitting here by yourself. I am Jesse. Welcome to the dark side of France.'"

My mouth went dry. I think my heart stopped for a moment, too. I should have seen that one coming.

"He told me he had immigrated to America to attend college, but now that he'd graduated, he was traveling the world. He didn't say where he'd come from originally. At first, we just drank and talked of life back in the states. He'd been abroad for a year now, and he kept bringing up all of the foods he missed. I would forget that he wasn't American, but then he would speak fluent French when the waitress came to fill our drinks or other women stopped by to say hello."

I remembered Jesse being very formal when speaking to me. It made a lot of sense now. As if he had studied so hard to make sure he spoke the language correctly that he'd overdone it. Even to the point of pronouncing each word instead of using contractions.

"I quickly learned he was a regular to this club and was quite well-known, including well-liked. After I'd had a few shots with him, he asked me what I was doing here by myself. I figured I'd probably never see him again, so what the hell. I spilled my story over another beer."

"Do you regret that now?"

Malcolm just tilted his head to the side in reflection. "I told him I wasn't into a female dominating me, and he asked if I was more into dominating a female. I couldn't really answer, as I had never looked at sex that way. It was just two people having sex for pleasure. Jesse produced a business-type card at that point and said to come to the address printed on it the next night at five o'clock. Alone. Then he left me to ponder what had just happened as he wrapped his arm around a woman's shoulders and led her down a dark hallway next to the bar. I finished my drink and left the club."

I knew I didn't need to ask if he went to the next night. I had already imagined how the pieces fit together now. But I still wanted to hear him tell the rest of his story.

"The girls were all mopey the next day. I don't know if my friend had told them what had happened between us, or if they hadn't scored at the club. Or maybe it was just the rainy weather making them act moody. I stayed in my own room and out of their way until the evening when I caught a cab and went to the address Jesse had given me. It was in a more residential area. It looked like your brownstone. He answered the door and invited me in like an old friend. He didn't try to hide what was going on. He said that he was hosting a dungeon party and he just wanted me to be open-minded."

I pressed my lips together. Where had I heard those words before?

"I remember entering what we'd consider a living room and being seated among other men and women on couches while a couple stood in the middle with a single chair. Over the course of the next couple of hours, the man used various implements to sexually arouse and pleasure the woman to the point that she achieved orgasm multiple times, including through intercourse. I'd never experienced someone else having sex right in front of me, with the exception of watching a porno. When it was over, I was highly aroused myself. As if knowing how the voyeuristic show would affect me, Jesse approached with a brunette woman and showed us to a room down the hall. Before leaving us, he told her I was new to this and to be gentle with me."

"Was she a switch?" I was getting a little uncomfortable now, especially hearing that this Jesse character had set up my fiancé with another woman just to have sex. Not that he was my fiancé at the time. But what I knew of the man now, it sounded like Jesse had always been a bit of a player, just shy of sleazy.

Malcolm nodded. "I wasn't familiar with the term at the time, though. I won't go into the details, but that was my first experience being a dominant. I spent the rest of the summer hanging out with Jesse—much to the chagrin of my traveling partners. When I went back to school in the fall, I took a class to learn French even though I'd accomplished my foreign language requirements for studying to be a teacher. I continued to work at the club bouncing with my classmate, though I noticed my French lady friend was no longer there for the weekend specials. I drove past her studio once and saw her talking to someone out front, so I knew she'd stayed in town. I didn't know if she'd gone strictly private to avoid me or for other reasons."

I didn't say it aloud, but I thought, "All the better to get her out of your life. She sounded like a bad influence. Good riddance."

"I went back to France the next two summers and stayed with Jesse. I'd gotten good at speaking and understanding the language by the second summer, and he instructed me in the methods of BDSM. He introduced me to many seasoned veterans of the scene, and we hung out at their favorite clubs. We went to conferences. Dungeon parties. I ran into the ladies once, but they acted as if they'd never known me."

"When was it your mother passed away?"

"During my senior year. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer that third summer while I was gone. She started chemo so she could make it to my graduation, but the cancer had reached stage four. She died shortly after Christmas. She was my last living relative since I had no idea where my father was and they were both only children, or at least that's what she told me of my father. I never knew my grandparents on his side, and both of her parents had passed when I was young."

"I'm sorry." I finally reached out and took his hand. He squeezed mine and gave me a sad smile.

"After I graduated, I returned to Paris and got a job teaching English as a second language. It wasn't what I had gone to school for, but it was a way to make an easy living and continue honing my role in the bedroom. I abstained from the sex part and concentrated on the mental and physical aspects. But I found it difficult to hold down a permanent job and party on the weekends. It wasn't like the first three extended visits where I could recuperate all day. I lasted two years like that before I was so exhausted I just wanted to come back home. Jesse, too, admitted he missed American living. It turned out that he still had a place in Chicago, so he offered to rent me a room."