Chapter Three

Bronson

The furniture delivery was late.

A couple of years after opening, the club was ready for upgrades. We’d purchased good quality dungeon items back then, many made by one of our owners, but increased membership made a need for more stations on the floor and setting up a few more private spaces as well. With Talon’s and Alex’s omegas having arranged a double date for dinner and dancing, two of my partners were out for the evening, and the others were somewhere else.

Another advantage of the amount of time we’d been open was the ability for there to be only one of us on the property at a given time if necessary. We had well-trained staff who picked up most of the day-to-day work that we’d done at the beginning. Finally, after some bumps in the road where we all worked so hard to get things going and keep them going that we found little time to enjoy the club ourselves.

But now? We had a renewed pact outside of our written contract with one another. A gentleman’s agreement that we’d all have the chance to practice our kink—as many vanilla types called it. We preferred to call it living our true selves.

Which was why I was so excited about the delivery I was waiting for and so frustrated that it was late. The dungeon furniture was already here and would soon be in use. After over two years, we were finally setting up a new area that touched my heart and mind. A little room. Until now, daddies and mommies and their littles would have to go to the private room themed for them.

A single room, booked out months in advance. And it was charming, no doubt about it, with its crib and changing table and a collection of toys suitable for various ages. But there were far too many people who wanted to make use of it. We hadn’t been sure if it would draw enough interest when we first opened, and it would not be something that could just land right in the middle of the stations.

I clicked away on my phone, trying to track the delivery to no avail. The company we’d purchased from was relatively new but offered items unique to our needs, so we’d taken a chance. Something I was beginning to regret. We’d paid up front, as was common with custom orders, and I was responsible for the decision both to use them and to pay what seemed to at least a couple of the owners to question whether they were overcharging us.

Perhaps my eagerness to see the room finished and ready for use had led me to make a foolish choice.

As a daddy, I had spent years in “made-do” situations. None of the clubs I’d frequented locally offered little rooms, but since I did not have a permanent little in my life, I hesitated to set up a nursery or playroom in my own home. Such a place should meet the needs of both daddy and little, in my opinion. While the club was open to most facets of the lifestyle, it was not at all unusual to see a little perched on a caregiver’s lap anywhere, but there was so much more to it.

Once I received the furnishings, we would have a full playroom where both committed partners and singles looking for a scene could pass an evening together.

I roamed the main floor, taking in the various stations and areas, all overseen by the dungeon monitors and others tasked with ensuring that everyone was safe and happy. Whatever happy meant to them.

On a large sofa in a darkened corner, a dom cuddled his sub, aftercare in progress. The submissive curled close to the male who’d marked him with the whip strokes crisscrossing his back. He shivered as lotion was applied gently to the red stripes, his eyes half closed, still lost in subspace.

I was not an impact player, usually, although a spanking to a naughty little’s backside could be part of play to both our satisfaction.

“Bronson?” A domme whose mommy preferences had led her to apply for the position of little room manager came to my side. “I hear there’s a truck unloading in the back.” She was looking extra fetching today in her poodle skirt and black leotard topped with a fuzzy pink cardigan. The uninitiated would never dream what a strict mommy she could be.

“Selena, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day. Is it our special delivery?”

She grinned, her high tight black ponytail bobbing. “I think so. Want to go and see if it is?”

“You know it.” Linking arms with the woman whose 1950s persona had her in high demand with the littles who came to the club, we walked inside. “You sure you’ll be able to concentrate on working when it all comes together? It’s going to be awfully tempting to sit down and do a puzzle with a winsome little girl.”

“Four nights a week, I’ll be working. The others are mine to do with as I please, and the free membership doesn’t hurt at all.”

We cut through the kitchen on the way to the back door where we found a pair of workers unloading multiple boxes marked simply furniture . The equivalent of naughty movies coming in a brown paper wrapper.

“I can’t wait to see!” she cooed. “Can I take charge?” Her eyes sparkled, fingers flexing as if she held a flogger ready for a naughty bottom. Not all littles required a gentle hand. “I promise to see it all set up just the way you laid it out.”