“But, to answer your question, they usually don’t use the pony unless it’s something egregiously bad. The last time I saw it used, the sub had done something to cause another sub to get hurt because she was jealous the girl hooked the Dom she herself wanted. She paid for it and still didn’t get the man.”
“How do they know how long to put her on that thing? Or do they just make it so lengthy a session she’s bound to be badly hurt?” And my words are exactly right: she’s bound for the express reason of hurting her.
If he notices the pun, he chooses to ignore it. Obviously I’m not making light of the situation. “They look at her body, her weight, her age, and how toned her muscles are, and they estimate how long she’ll likely be able to stay on her toes. Then they double that time for the punishment. That way, no matter how strong or how stubborn, she will get the pain.”
“Ah.” I cringe, my muscles contracting in sympathy. “Such devious minds.”
“That punishment is as old as the hills. The most inventive tortures were conceived in the Middle Ages. Some are still used.”
“Are Doms ever punished or is it just the poor women?”
“First of all, some men are submissives and some women are Dommes, though admittedly it usually skews the other way. And, yes. Though Doms are not usually punished, I have been witness to a few. There was one just recently that a friend told me about.”
He looks at me, one brow raised, as if challenging me to ask about it. Normally, I wouldn’t, since I like to be difficult with difficult people but I desperately want to know. “Okay, I’ll bite. What did he do?”
“Ignored a safe word. That’s probably the worst possible offense a dominant could commit. Because he was a longstanding club member who had lost his temper and acted uncharacteristically irrational, the owners gave him a choice rather than just kick him out: he could either forfeit his club membership or accept a whipping by the club’s most vicious sadist. The caveat was that he would not be permitted a safe word, since he tried to deprive a submissive of the right. He chose the punishment and it was quite severe, so I’m told.”
A violent shudder reverberates through my body and Ian sees it, smiling gently. “Come. Let’s go see some more. That is, if you’re up for it?”
I nod. In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. This club was really like a chamber of horrors. Why would anyone choose to do these things?
“Ian, why would that man choose the whipping over losing his membership? Aren’t there other clubs around? Is the membership that valuable?”
“To some it is. There aren’t any other private clubs like this one in the area. The public ones are not as safe, or clean, or interesting. He knew he was in the wrong; it was worth it to him to take the whipping and continue. It’s a community here and people feel free to be themselves within these walls.”
We walk past a woman being spanked on this obnoxious looking bench. Her skirt has been flipped up her back and every passer-by could see all she has to offer. Apparently no one believes in underwear here. Another shiver runs up my spine.
He pauses to give me a long look. “Have you seen enough or would you like to continue?”
“Is there a lot more to see?”
He laughs. “Yes, lots more, but frankly, I’d just as soon not show you. Come on. I’ll take you back to your friends.”
Relieved, I nod. “Okay, thanks, Ian.” As we’re walking back upstairs, my hand in his big, warm, masculine one, I realize that I’m suddenly depressed: I’m going to leave this place and he’s going to stay. And do things. With women. The idea makes me sick to my stomach.
Just before we reach the bar, he pulls me to a stop. “Poor thing, you’re so pale. This outing probably wasn’t a good idea for you.” He looks at the bar. “But your friends look like they’re having a good time.”
I follow his eyes. It was true: both Mariah and Naomi are talking with men and looking as if they are having a grand time of it. “Mmm, I guess I’ll be going home alone tonight,” I laugh but he doesn’t join in. Instead, his eyes sparkle with some secret devilry but before I can read it, it’s gone.
“Are you living here now?”
“No. Just staying for a few weeks before I go visit my parents and then on to New York.”
“New York?”
“Just for a quick trip. I’m not sure where I’ll end up—somewhere with a good doctoral program, I suppose.”
“Any chance it will be here?”
I shrug. “It’s not impossible but it’s unlikely.”