Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Yes,” she says. No questions about whether she can trust me, no questions about what this adult playground might be. Just a simple . . . yes.
Inside, I feel something important grow.
Together, we approach the door. It’s unremarkable, black steel that looks like a service entrance, if anything. The only sign that this could be anything else is the small symbol carved on the bricks above the doorway and the buzzer beside it.
I buzz, and a moment later the door unlocks. The security system is so good that I don’t know quite where the cameras are.
Inside is a single word, embossed on a golden plaque. Dungeon.
The inner door opens, and a guard in all black gives us a look. “Card.”
I reach into my wallet and withdraw the plain black card, handing it over to the guard who scans it before handing it back. Autumn gives me a look. “You’ve been here before?” she asks. “With other girls?”
She doesn’t sound insecure. No, she sounds jealous, and part of me likes that. She doesn’t want me with anyone else because she wants me for herself. But we both have pasts we cannot change. That doesn’t mean I want to discuss them now, though, so I answer honestly and simply, “Once. The membership is a . . .” I stumble, not sure of the English word, and try, “benefit of celebrity?”
“A perk?” she answers.
I nod. Autumn looks to the guard as though confirming my story, but his face is blankly stoic. I have the sense that he could describe us precisely but also has not looked at us directly. I trust that he is well-versed in secrecy and will not speak of our appearance together, especially given the promise I made.
“I feel like with the stress of today, you need a release. Also, some inspiration. There’s a lot of fashion here, believe it or not.” But she doesn’t need to be talked into this. Autumn is raring to go in, so excited she’s nearly buzzing.
We go down the hallway, and I can see Autumn’s eyes roving, gathering in the Gothic aesthetic of the club. At the next door, I turn left with her, leading her into the dressing rooms.
“The dress code is . . . well, you will see when you go inside,” I tell her, letting go of her hand. “There is only one hard rule. Everyone wears a mask.”
Autumn looks over her shoulder at the door to the women’s dressing room and then back at me. “If you have on a mask, how will I know it’s you?”
“Exactly,” I remind her. “You will know, but no one else will.” I step toward the door. “See you on the other side, Princesse.”
She searches my face, looking for any sign of deception in my intentions. She will find none. I want to please her, experience Paris with her, and respect that she wishes to not be seen with me—which in itself is an unusuality that I quite like.
With a decisive but tiny smile, she disappears into the women’s room.
Inside the men’s room, it’s essentially a store meets locker room. There are racks of outfits, with fine clothing ranging from casual wear to tuxedos in every size. In another area, there are racks of kink clothing, leather and latex for both the dominant and the submissive. And last but not least is the specialty clothing area for those who wish to explore a side of themselves that perhaps society and their daily lives don’t allow them to. There, one can find costumes of every style.
I strip off my clothing, locking them in the lockers that are available before looking at my nude form in the mirror. I’m in top condition. I have to be for photo shoots, but right now, all I can think of is what Autumn sees when she looks at me. I’ve sculpted myself, removing all the hair from my neck down, and as I look at my long, thick cock, it looks even longer without the tufts of pubic hair to hide some of its length.
I hope that I’m everything Autumn could ever want.
Considering what would make this the perfect French adventure for her, I go over to the more traditional evening clothes, selecting a slim-cut tuxedo with tails, foregoing underwear and making sure every button is perfect, every crease sharp before picking out my mask. The three-quarters white mask is classically Parisian, Le Fantôme, covering both of my eyes and one cheek while leaving my lips and the right side of my face uncovered.
I leave the dressing room, waiting in the hallway for Autumn to emerge. When she does, she takes my breath away and my unrestricted cock surges in my pants as I take in her luscious curves. She’s chosen shiny patent leather leggings that are open on her inner and outer thighs, similar to garter hosiery, but her pussy is obscured by a red leather skirt that hugs her hips, making me wonder if she’s pantyless underneath.