Chapter One: Ryan

T he club is packed. I'm not surprised, considering it's a Saturday night and a themed event night to boot. I've been visiting The Vault for years, but every time I climb the stairs that lead up from the well-stocked adult store beneath it, I feel the same thrill of nervousness creep up my spine.

Putting myself out there has never been my forte.

It was easier when I was married. Maddox and I were a team. A united front. I wasn't searching for a partner in the clubs, but rather celebrating and indulging my kinks with my husband in a safe, but still kind of public space. We'd come out to socialise with other kinky people and even if we'd sometimes play with others, I never felt the pressure to find other playmates because I had Maddy.

Then the bastard up and died on me, and I was suddenly a fifty-year-old widowed Sub with no clue how to proceed in life.

I'll admit the life choices I made in that first year were questionable. I closed our (my) veterinary practice and sold our (my) house, unable to live with memories of Maddy etched into every nook and cranny. Then I moved back to Brisbane, where I'd grown up, and immediately missed the country.

But the one big thing Brisbane has that small rural towns don't? A thriving kink community…if you know where to look.

So, after rambling around a shoebox apartment for a couple of months, I bit the bullet and started researching the best clubs to visit. It was hit and miss at first, and the first Dom I did a scene with used his safe-word when the grief of missing Maddy hit me out of nowhere, but I eventually found The Vault hidden in the seedier area of Fortitude Valley, and I've been coming here ever since.

Usually on a night like tonight, when the club has arranged a ticketed themed event, I try to make plans with a Dom ahead of time. But my choice to come here was very last minute, and that makes me even more anxious about being on my own.

The space at the top of the stairs is dimly lit. It's a much larger area than the shop downstairs would have you believe. There's a large central room, with a projector screen showing porn on the right-hand wall, and a queen-sized bed right in front of it. White leather couches line the other walls, well placed to watch either the porn or any couples willing to play in front of an audience. There are a couple of stripper poles between the bed and the couches, too.

Beyond this room lies a catacomb of smaller rooms: some for playtime, some for more intimate porn viewing sessions. There's also an alcove containing a sex swing and a St Andrews cross, and at the very end of one of the hallways, a room for age play enthusiasts, complete with an adult sized crib and change table.

All in all, even though The Vault isn't the fanciest or largest club I've ever been to, it is well-appointed and the clientele are usually respectful of the club's rules.

However, tonight there's a strange vibe in the air. I don't know if I'm just projecting my anxiety, or whether it's the sheer number of bodies writhing under the dim lighting, but I feel on edge as I enter the main space.

I can feel eyes trailing over me, taking in my gold lamé shorts and white mesh tank top. Around my neck, I wear a collar of fluorescent blue glow sticks, and I have a matching bracelet on either wrist. I look like the 90s chewed me up and spat me back out, but that was tonight's theme, so I'm happy with my ensemble.

Well, I was . Now that I'm here, I'm second guessing all of my life choices.

Not many other people appear to have gone as gung-ho on matching the event theme. A few are wearing similar glow stick combinations to me, some wearing glow stick crowns or necklaces, but most people are in "normal" club clothes. Not booty shorts that were essentially stolen from a Kylie Minogue video.

"Oh, honey," a young, flamboyant Asian guy approaches me, his lip curled in amusement, "you went all out, didn't you?"

I sigh and accept his hug when he opens his arms wide, exchanging kisses to each other's cheeks. "Hey, Jake. What gives? I thought everyone was dressing up tonight?"

He snorts and points at his ripped jeans and black t-shirt combination. "I went nineties grunge, darling."

It takes every ounce of control I possess not to close my eyes and groan. "Of course you did."

He tosses his head back and laughs, making his Adam's apple bob. "You're adorable, Rye."

I screw my nose up. I might be submissive by nature, but I don't think I'm comfortable with my young friend calling me adorable. I'm twice his age, for one thing, and more silver fox than cutesy club bunny. Jake takes one look at my expression and snorts.

"You're really haggling for a paddling tonight, huh?" he asks.

"That's not a saying."

"Next you'll be telling me to stop trying to make fetch happen," he winks.

"God save me from ridiculous young brats," I roll my eyes towards the ceiling, but I'm unable to prevent the upwards twitch of my lips behind my salt and pepper goatee.

Jake hip checks me and I follow him through the crowd of people, nodding at a few I recognise, but realising that the majority are new faces. It's strange, considering the community itself is somewhat underground, and The Vault is one of the smaller clubs in the vicinity of the city.

"Frank advertised tonight's event on Red Hot Pie," Jake rises up on his toes so he can speak the words directly into my ear. The fact that his warm breath ghosting over my skin makes me shudder is a sign that it's been way too long since I last played with anyone. "The store's been struggling. He thought getting fresh blood in might help revive it a bit."

Nodding in understanding, my heart goes out to Frank and Antonia. They own the adult store downstairs as well as the club itself, and they've become good friends over the past year or so. It sucks to hear that the business isn't doing well.

"Hopefully the plan pays off for them," I muse, allowing my eyes to drift past the bed, where two men are worshipping a curvaceous brunette between them, to the wall where the porn is playing. It's het porn tonight, which doesn't surprise me. One of the smaller, private viewing rooms will be showing gay porn.

Still, I can appreciate the sight of the large spit slicked cock currently pistoning in and out of cherry red lips on the projector screen.

"I hope so, too," my friend agrees, "it would suck if they had to close."

Even though the contract I signed three weeks ago means I won't be able to be a regular anymore, the thought of never being able to visit my friends in the community in our favourite hangout makes my stomach twist and churn with anxiety.

"Yeah," I agree solemnly, "it would."

We lean against a wall near the occupied couches and chat quietly as we watch people interacting. I've already spotted a couple of promising looking Doms, assuming they're willing to play with another man. I know I could always find Lisa and beg her to strap me to the cross and lash my back the way I know she enjoys the most, but I'd much prefer a man to take control tonight and push me over the edge of orgasm. I'm antsy and I need sexual release as well as the endorphins of subspace.

One of the new Doms catches me watching him as he slowly wraps a rope bunny in a complicated shibari pattern. I'm mesmerised by how sensual and methodical his movements are, and how beautifully they move together as she anticipates every strap and twist of the silky looking rope.

Once she's fully trussed, completely naked bar for the criss-crossing emerald pattern over her beautiful Black skin, I watch him bend her over. He threads the fingers of one hand through a section of rope on her back and tugs her until she's arching back to meet him. With his free hand, he pulls a condom from his pocket, tears the foil square open with his teeth, then rolls the latex sheath over his rigid cock, locking his eyes with mine as he sinks inside his play partner.

He forces her to hold her pose as he fucks her slowly, but my attention is focused solely on him. She cries out her release and bucks in his hold, and his eyes shift from mine as he releases the rope to grab at her hips and fuck her with wild abandon.

It's that wildness which makes my cock stir to life. I want that sort of energy directed my way.

And so, after they've finished and cleaned up, and he has presumably taken her into one of the quiet rooms for some aftercare, I seek him out.

"Wanna play?" he asks me, cocking his head to the side as we stand facing each other in a quiet hallway, rows of doors on either side of us. Muted moans and sounds of others enjoying themselves occasionally filter out, but I don't pay them any mind.

I nod. "I'd like that, yeah."

He makes a show of looking me up and down. I try not to fidget beneath the appraisal. I know I look ridiculous in what I'm wearing, and I'm at least a decade older than him, too. But I need this tonight. "Limits?" he asks.

"I don't do humiliation," I tell him, quirking my lips into a self-deprecating smile. "Well, no more than wearing this outfit out tonight." He snorts, and I feel the tension in my shoulders loosen. "No CNC, no watersports, no scat play. Also, my knees aren't what they used to be, so I can't kneel for extended periods of time." I cock my head. "You?"

The Dom nods contemplatively. "I can work with that."

I frown a little, not liking that he avoided the question, but the desperation to submit and find subspace pushes me onwards. "Standard traffic light safe-words?"

He shakes his head. "If you're going to safeword, I want to hear you say ‘Grenade'."

I bite my lip. It's certainly not a word I would casually drop into conversation, but I don't love it. Nevertheless, I can't think of a reason not to agree. "Okay," I tell him. "Where do you want me?"

I follow him into one of the private rooms, which is small to the point of feeling cramped. It's the size of a glorified storage cupboard, containing a plastic seat and not much else.

"I want you to undo my pants, get on your knees and suck my cock," he demands, and I hesitate.

I did just tell him that I can't be on my knees for long, but I suppose I didn't tell him that it was completely off the table, so I can only hope that this won't be a long session on the floor.

"Yes, Sir," I answer when my hesitation goes on for just a touch too long. Then I do as he's requested, unbuckling his belt and hitching his jeans down before I sink to my knees in front of him.

"Condom?" I ask him, confident with my question considering the fact that I watched him use one earlier.

He shakes his head. "I'm negative."

"I'd be more comfortable if—"

"Do you want to play or not?" he snaps.

I swallow roughly.

I should use my safe-word. I should walk away. My instincts are telling me I'm making the wrong decision by not following through.

But I'm older than most of the people here tonight, and the majority have paired up already anyway. If I don't seize this opportunity to be dominated, there's every chance I'll leave the club even more frustrated and caught up in my head than when I arrived.

With my heart hammering, I open my mouth and he thrusts into it without warning, his fingers sinking into the greying hair on my head, gripping and tugging it painfully. Tears spring to my eyes, caused both by the rough treatment and by my instant regret.

There's submission and then there's this.

This doesn't feel right.

I tap on his thigh, realizing too late that with my mouth full, I can't speak the safe-word.

He ignores my efforts.

Not for the first time tonight, I'm overwhelmed by how badly I miss Maddy. My sweet, patient Dom. He'd been ruthless when necessary, but he'd always known what I needed and how I needed it. I'm still making mistakes without his guidance.

The tears in my eyes spill over and I hit this guy's thigh a little harder.

"Fuck," he stops thrusting and yanks my head backwards, any sign of the meticulous man who had slowly wrapped a woman in rope earlier in the evening completely vanished. " What ?" he spits at me.

"Gr-grenade," I stammer, and his eyes go wide with disbelief.

"The fuck?" he demands, yanking my head harder.

"Grenade," I repeat, louder this time. "Red light."

"You're a fucking cock tease," he complains angrily, and I flinch back.

"Please, let my hair go," I request, feeling my whole body start to tremble.

I've never come across a situation like this before, and I'm realising too late that I've been careless. I should have told Jake where I was going. I shouldn't have gone into a private, closed-door room with someone I've never played with before. I should have backed out when the warning bells first started ringing in my mind.

"You're going to finish me off first," he says. "It's the least you can do."

I gape up at him, my knees starting to twinge with pain. But that's the least of my concerns.

Fifty-one-fucking-years-old, and I'm about to become (or have I already become?) a victim of sexual assault.

"I said no," I raise my voice, hoping that the sound might carry into the hall. I know the number one club rule is to never open a closed door, but maybe someone will break it if they can hear that I'm in genuine distress. "I safeworded!"

I should have anticipated the slap, but it takes me by surprise.

My cheek stings and my eyes water all over again as my face snaps to the side. The movement, though, brings me hope. Through blurry vision, I can see that the door is open a crack. I lunge sideways for it, managing to slip my fingers into the crack between the door and the doorway, slamming the whole thing open with as much force as I can muster while my would-be (actual?) assailant trips over his own pants.

"Help!" I call out, trying to scramble back to my feet despite my stiff, protesting knees. "Red light! Help! Anyone?!"

"How dare you?!" the guy behind me demands, and I feel his fingers take a handful of the mesh at my back, tugging me backwards.

I stumble, falling in his direction, hoping that he'll break my landing.

This was not how I imagined tonight going at all.