This is a retelling of my two stories 'Chance Encounter' and its sequel 'First Night', this time told from the Domme's perspective. While not absolutely necessary it might be enjoyable to read or re read those two stories at some time to get the full flavor of the tales.
*
It was promising to be yet another dull and empty Saturday evening, after another full and demanding week at work. With the latter at least I derive a sense of fulfillment and the expectation of eventual attainment. I've never been able to say the same about my personal life. While I have partaken in more than a few one night, and even multiple night stands, I have never been particularly enamored of them. And none have ever been more than occasionally and momentarily physically satisfying, nor had any ever shown any potential for even beginning to achieve my ultimate hopes and dream. And so it had been quite some time since I had bothered to further indulge in any of them. Though my dream in actuality may be beyond reach I refuse to compromise in my quest of it. Thus my recent but prolonged string of idle nights. With the long and continuing lack of success and progress in my hunt I had allowed myself to fall into a rut.
Shaking off my torpor I suddenly resolved that it was well past time for another visit to the club. It was over two months since my last time there, and while I rarely, and not in a very long time, have been an active participant there, I do like to use the ambience of the place to recharge my batteries, so to speak.
Club O is a fetish club operating on Friday and Saturday evenings in an old converted warehouse in the 'artsy' section of the city. As it advertised it serves as a place for Dominants and submissives of all types and genders to gather and play in a safe and consensual environment, or just to watch and enjoy others doing so. Nowadays I exclusively fall into this non participant group as I no longer have any desire to playact. But I do like to observe, to help get the 'juices' flowing again, to re stimulate my ongoing search for something more meaningful and real.
Almost anything goes at the club short of real physical harm, and there are club monitors to prevent that. Overt sexual activity is also prohibited publically but there are private rooms available for those who do wish to indulge. To discourage unwanted attention when I'm there, I now go out of my way to dress down for these outings. While unattached submissives have to actively offer themselves up for service, as a Domme I don't need to worry about doing that. But I do need to make myself as unappealing as possible to avoid such approaches. Still, I do like to feel feminine, and for work and in most other social settings I do try to dress smartly and attractively. For this type of occasion though I have to limit such to my unseen lacy black bra and panties, which I cover up with a pair of rumpled dark blue sweat pants and a mismatched unadorned gray sweatshirt. Over my white anklet socks I wear a pair of old running shoes. I tie my shoulder length dark auburn hair carelessly back with a tie behind my head. To top it all off I don a pair of unnecessary ugly owl shaped non-prescription eye glasses. Despite such similar efforts in the past I have occasionally still drawn interest from some timorous subs, whom I always politely shoo away. I hope that I won't have need to do so again this night.
Thus prepared I make my way to my car for the half hour drive from my suburban condo to the city. Once there I park in the public lot and then make my way down the side street to the entrance of the club. Although still fairly early there are already a fair number of people in the long entrance hallway waiting to get in, far more on the long slowly moving line for submissives than on the shorter much faster moving one for Dominants, who are always taken care of first. The entrance fee for us is $5 as opposed to the $30 tab for subs, although it is not unusual for a submissive at the front of their line to also pay for a Dominant up front, hoping no doubt to curry some later favor. Dressed as I do this thankfully never happens for me, and I would refuse it nonetheless. Indeed I often draw a number of startled looks from the submissive line as I make my way to the front of my own, many very likely wondering if I am just pretending to be a Domme so as to pay the lower fee and get in faster, something I'm sure no true submissive would ever do. On this night, as always, I dutifully and without delay pay my $5 and enter.
Once inside, although early, I see that the cavernous club is already fairly crowded, although not as packed as it will likely be as the night progresses. As usual there is a wide diversity of appearances, from those wearing many different types of leather or latex, as well as many of the submissive persuasion being either naked or sporting only some form of chastity device and/or a range of collars. More than a few patrons however remained dressed in every day clothes, with only their attitudes and affect proclaiming their orientation. None however were attired quite like me, which served my purpose perfectly.
The club is set up in multiple distinct sections, some with a large number of bondage equipment, crosses, stocks, horses, tables and winches. Others with animal cages of varying sizes for incarceration, and still others with whipping posts and the attendant necessary paraphernalia. At the far end there is a mud wrestling pit which always seems to draw a large enthusiastic viewing crowd, although I always avoid it. Interspersed between all of these areas are at least a half a dozen bars, from which the club makes most of its money, all surrounded by a number of easy chairs and tables, and a private platform and whipping post. These are usually utilized by Dominants to congregate for a restful interlude and to trade notes and share experiences together, with submissives there only to serve them and as examples. I usually try to find an empty such area to spend my entire evening soaking in the surroundings alone.
I made my way over to my favorite area and bar and was very pleased to find that the cluster of easy chairs there were still unoccupied. This was likely not only because it was still early, but this area was a bit off to the side and was nearest to the entrance/exit which made it the least popular site, which was exactly what I wanted.
As I passed I noticed that Trina was located in her usual spot, blindfolded and naked with her hands tethered above and facing her whipping post, her sign 'Punish me , if you please' next to her with her flogger attached. I had met and gotten to know her a bit quite a while back when we were both leaving the club at the same time one night. It turned out that she is not really a true submissive but rather a closet masochist. She comes to the club periodically to anonymously satisfy those insistent urges, but the rest of her life, both socially and otherwise, is purely and happily vanilla. She is not into severe pain, and trusts that the attendants of the club will not let things get out of hand as she allows herself to be helpless, and for the most part they apparently do.
I understand her need, but I am not a sadist and I do not enjoy inflicting pain of any kind, especially corporeal, and so I have never availed myself of the opportunity to administer any to her, even for her own gratification. But there was one time when I observed an overzealous Dom applying his strokes to her for far too long and far too aggressively, so I felt compelled to go and grab his arm in his next mid swing, saying 'It's enough'. He turned to me snarling and I was ready to stand my ground when another Dom took hold of his other arm and added, 'As the Lady said. It's enough". And that was that. The only other thing heard was Trina whimpering a thank you. I've never known if that was for stopping it or for the whipping itself, but whichever it was, maybe both, I was glad that there were other non-sadistic Dominants around keeping an eye out for her.
As I approached the bar I was happy to note that it was manned by the usual bartender. From past times he knew my reserved proclivities well and offered only a respectful nod as I ordered my White Zinfandel. When he set it down in front of me I handed him a twenty, which included a generous tip, drawing another silent nod, this time with a hint of a smile.
I settled into one of the comfortable chairs in pleasant solitude, hoping that it would continue as such. Dressed as I did this usually proved to be the case, although it rarely slowed down the traffic to the bar. I began to take in the scene progressing around me which was the usual panoply of fetish phantasmagoria. I am not really into humiliation and degradation, and even less so S&M. For me it's all about loving command and control, and willing, adoring submission in return, and there was little to none of that in this setting. But I do try to use the surrounding spectacle to help rekindle the fire deep within me, that is only allowed to smolder vainly most of the time. This night however, as I sipped my wine and viewed, the spark just didn't seem to be there for me and the vibe seemed all wrong. I had always understood that for most of those here, while they have these inclinations, do come solely to play with them for this short period of time. Yes, there are undoubtedly some who consider it more of a lifestyle orientation, but even for them this was little more than an overt game. And I wanted, needed so much more. While I realized from past experience that I was never going to find that here, I was slowly coming to the sad reality that I was unlikely to find and achieve my dream anywhere. Continuing with my wine I forced myself to come to this unsettling and sobering conclusion, which I had obviously been avoiding and denying for far too long. And this led me to an even more startling and depressing one, that I was now more turned off than turned on by this artificial surrounding circus. Finishing my drink I knew that I immediately had to take my leave from here, probably for the last time.
It was then that I saw him, standing about 20 paces away, staring at me almost as if in terror. It took me a few moments but then I knew him as well and my own heart stuttered a beat. It was Raymond Post, a senior executive and Vice President at the company where I worked. While he was not directly my boss I had recently worked for him on a project and had enjoyed it immensely and had hoped to do so again some time in the future. He was always fair and friendly in his authority and was very well liked and respected. But now he looked totally like a fish out of water. As our eyes remain locked together I could sense him desperately trying to decide whether to run and hide, or to face the facts of our mutual recognition. I wasn't sure which of the two myself I would prefer. After several more seconds he began to walk over to me, and my heart really began to hammer.
"Good evening Miss Kelly." he respectfully addressed me, if a tad formally.
"Mr. Post." I responded.
"May I join you?" he continued, somewhat more timidly.
Wary but now intrigued, and realizing that this would not be my usual anonymous rejection if I said no, I looked around at the empty chairs around me and then offered him a smile. "Be my guest."
He sat down on a chair angled next to me, propping himself only halfway back and sitting bolt upright. After an awkward period of silence he began, as if to explain.
