The club's darkness is constrained to the corners, tables, lounges, and areas where members can watch from the shadows. The lighting spotlights the stages, beds, and places where participants showcase various carnal art forms. The air has the lingering smell of pleasure, purified air, and members' perfumes and colognes. Music pumping from the DJ booth is a pounding mix of instrumental, dark dance music. The electro basslines reverberate in the chest and poorly cover the sounds of scattered hedonism. It is difficult not to feel overwhelmed by the assault on the senses.
There he sits, calm, halfway in a spotlight and the shadows. His posture is relaxed, and his slouch in his chair hides his frame's lithe strength. It does not hide his considerable height as his legs stretch wide. His large hands rest on top of his muscular thighs that strain the ductile quality of the material of his dark gray dress pants. His fitted white dress shirt is not too tight; his build does not carry useless muscle. His sleeves are rolled up just above his elbows, and healthy veins decorate his forearms, indicating he is far from lazy.
The table beside his chair is empty save for his nearly finished whiskey. The emptiness is not an invitation to join him. Instead, the imbalance of space projects a standoffish power in the busy club. Everyone present is either a member or a vetted visitor, yet he pushes most away from him as if they were total outsiders. Those members closest to his table island are benefactors of his trust. His posture and set-up at his table are an alluring demonstration of dominance.
The spotlight adjacent to him illuminates a stage. The light centers on a dark stained wooden post. Halfway up the length of the post is a thick block angled to support the chest of a body. Large dowels, just the right size to be gripped by hands, are on opposite sides of each other and adjacent sides to the chest rest. A large hole is bored through the top of the post, and the edges along the hole are worn smooth with the friction of chains rubbing against the wood. Metal rings are anchored directly into the floor a few feet from the wooden post. The setup creates a lot of curiosity in the room as club members inspect the dungeonesque stockade.
Patrons quietly converse in small groups as they attempt to figure out the geometry and ergonomics for the victim lucky enough to be confined to the apparatus. Many occupy the couches and tables just off in the shadow surrounding the stage and stockade. It is clear that they are camping to hopefully see the breeding post put to use. Perhaps it will be tonight.
His voice is firm and demands attention, yet he is not loud or boisterous. His baritone register is strong, matching his physical command.
"I am selfish.
"This is your fantasy, but I am doing this for my pleasure. Tonight is the night you will be used on the breeding post. I will savor the viewing of your pain. I will bask in the euphoria created with you, in you, of you.
"You will be my good girl for all to see, all to touch, all to fuck..."
He gestures toward all the eyes that congregate around his table and the stage. The members talk and flirt amongst each other, and some even play with their partners and friends out in the open. They all keep a side-eye on his table to see what he will do next. The four members at the closest table to him sit patiently, openly listening to his words as they cut through the background music pulsing through the darkness.
"I see you wore the outfit I instructed you to wear. Good girl. I like your long, strong legs in those white thigh-high stay-up stockings. They contrast quite well with those black patent leather stilettos. I also enjoy the way that your very short and slutty schoolgirl uniform skirt exposes your flesh at the top of your thighs and the bottom of your naughty ass cheeks.
"It looks like I chose just the right size white shirt; those buttons are struggling to hold together, and your cleavage is spilling out just as I want. Such a naughty-looking vixen, indeed. I am pleased. If you look at the eyes upon you, clearly, the growing audience is pleased as well.
A half-smile appears on his lips, half hidden by a well-trimmed mustache and goatee. His dark eyes burn intently upon his prey as he studies every detail.
"Don't just stand there; come sit on my lap. Let me tell you what is about to happen to my good little fuck toy.
His hand reaches out as a guide to his now open thigh and lap.
"You see the table next to us? They have been given instructions on how I want my good little slut handled. The instructions set is detailed. I hand-selected each person to tend to you to appease your sense of desire.
