I lean back against the handrail at the entrance to the club, waiting for people to finish in the changing room. Beside me, a person I hardly know kneels quietly, stunning in a corset and bare shoulders. I stroke their hair gently, feeling very daring, and they lean into my hand. People arriving for the event look at us sidelong.
“If we’re not careful, people will think you’re mine,” I say, not sure if what I am doing is alright, if I am allowed to take liberties with them tonight. They smile up at me.
“Would that be a problem?”
“…no, I suppose not,” I say, and keep petting them, working my hand into the top of their plait, pulling gently, enjoying the sense of being in charge, in control, this feeling I have never had before.
When the others are finally done changing, and we have left our bags in the cloakroom, there are still contacts to be put in and makeup to be done, and I find myself standing by a cage with the same beautiful sub. Still shy, but hungry for more of that feeling, I wind their plait around a bar of the cage, and pull, and watch their eyes widen and their knees go weak. I set my fingernails into their chest, above their corset. Gently, gently scratch. They bite their lip and look at me as if I am the whole world.
It is only a few minutes before the others return, glittered and beautified, and I scratch their chest one last time and unwind their hair from the cage.
“Thank you, sir.”
I am hard so fast it feels almost like a blow.
“Correct answer,” I say shakily, for lack of better words.