Brooke needed to fucking unplug.

There was no one to talk to — complain to, more like — about the relentless noise of grinding gears in her head. After all, everything was going better for her than anyone could possibly ask for. She was the first woman to qualify for the Grand Prix in over 30 years — longer than she had even been alive.

And she was going to be the first one to win. That was according to her, of course… but the bookies weren’t disagreeing.

She had the privilege of spending almost every hour of the day on the racetrack, doing the thing she loved, doing it over and over again until she saw the curve of the track and the deadly proximity of the walls every time she closed her eyes. Soon, she was going to get her reward for all those hours of work, work that was supposedly also play, or had at least started out that way. Even if it all ended tomorrow, her name was already indelibly etched upon history.

There was fucking nothing to complain about, no purchase on her anywhere for anyone to attach sympathy to. And if there had been anyone around her who could find a way to care about the pressure that was making her hair thin and her teeth crack, she had probably already hurled a loud string of wrung-out expletives and mean nicknames at them this week.

It had been a tough year. And she had this genuine ID burning a hole in her pocket, confirming that she was in fact twenty-two, a full adult, who could stay up as long and drink as much as she liked.

Tonight, she needed to stay up. She needed to eke out a few hours that no one else had a claim on, even if it meant she would be even more tired than usual for the claimed hours tomorrow. Sleep was not the kind of recharge she most needed right now… but nor was alcohol. Not tonight.

She tugged the hood of her sweatshirt forward and opened the door of a windowless storefront in a near-abandoned commercial district. The storefront looked abandoned itself, but it had looked that way even when the district was bustling. There weren’t even words over the entrance, just a symbol made of twisting lines and circles. It was easy to miss that they were entwined stick figures.

Brooke stepped into the dark, quiet lobby of the Gilded Dungeon Club.

The first traces of calm she had known in months began to rise up her spine.

“Brooke!” the proprietress greeted her brightly from behind the desk. “Haven’t seen much of you this year! Figured you’d gotten too busy for us.”

“Shh!” Brooke raised an urgent finger to her lips and glanced around. Thankfully, the lobby was empty.

“Oh, I see, you’re not Brooke tonight, are you?” Suzie gave her a wink. “No problem, I know what you need. The only question is… how much not-being-Brooke time do you have?”

“Give me three hours,” Brooke answered immediately.

She’d be burning the candle at both ends, but it was worth it.

Suzie let out a breath through her teeth. “Making up for lost time, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Suzie nodded sympathetically. “I’ll get you set up, start filling out your dance card. It’ll just be a few minutes, feel free to browse.”

She gestured toward the club’s little sex shop.

Brooke let her eyes skim the racks of dildos and old DVDs, taking disinterested note of the new additions, until she reached the clothes.

She could afford to impulse buy now. Why not? Not-Brooke deserved to wear something that wasn’t Brooke’s. She picked out a lacy black bra and panties, and a shiny new pair of six-inch stilettos.

#

Suzie walked Brooke to the changing rooms and lockers, even though she’d seen them both a thousand times. Brooke was pretty sure Suzie just wanted to hang out for a few extra minutes, and she didn’t mind in the slightest.

Suzie was a big part of why Brooke had kept coming back to this particular club. She was a good 15 years older than Brooke and gorgeous to behold, with a bubbly demeanor that somehow complimented rather than detracted from her traditional dominatrix look — all leather and eyeliner and long, jet-black hair.

Suzie guided Brooke to her room and directed her onto all fours on the lightly padded play space in the middle of the floor, strapping her wrists and ankles in place.

“Tighter,” said Brooke. “So I can’t get loose.”

Suzie obliged with one more notch of each thick, buckled strap.

The calm sank a little bit deeper.

“What’s your safeword?” Suzie prompted.

“Mercy,” Brooke confirmed impatiently, to Suzie’s satisfaction.

Suzie opened one of the locked cabinets that lined the walls and began choosing from the goodies that waited there. On the long table beside the play area, she lovingly placed the bottles of lube and massage oil, the crops and paddles and other things that Brooke couldn’t turn her head far enough to see. 

She was glad. It was better, not knowing exactly what was coming.

“Would you like a little warmup?” Suzie asked, close behind her ear.

“Yes, please,” said Brooke.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said “please” for anything. The word hadn’t felt missing from her mouth for a second out on the track, but now that she was back here, it felt effortless. Necessary.

Suzie ran her fingers along Brooke’s back, starting with the lightest possible touch, coaxing her skin into shivers and goosebumps, and then dragging her nails over the bumps, satisfying and sharp. Brooke could clearly imagine the bright, raw stripes of pink those nails must be leaving behind, and she sighed and curved her spine upwards like a cat, leaning into the sensation.

Achingly gentle once again, Suzie reached forward between Brooke’s legs, skimming fingertips lightly over her inner thighs, her hip joints, and finally the tuft of her pubic hair. One faint stroke of pressure lit up her clit, and then the touch was gone.

Brooke moaned.

“Warm enough, then?” Suzie smirked.

Brooke held herself back from begging for more, and simply nodded.

“Hold tight, then,” said Suzie. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

#

The fire between Brooke’s legs didn’t fade while she waited for her first visitor. If anything, it grew with every second of anticipation.

The first time the door opened, it was two women who entered, hand in hand with each other. One was sturdily built with her hair shaved on one side, the other willowy with a tiny black dress made of interlaced straps. Both were a little older than Brooke.

“Hey,” the willowy one acknowledged Brooke kindly, but did not introduce herself or ask her name. They understood how it worked here.

“Hey,” Brooke replied in a husky tone, rocking back and forth on her knees. “Do whatever you want with me.”

Willowy smiled at Shave. “You heard her.”

The two of them browsed the table of toys together, and Shave picked something Brooke couldn’t see.

Willowy giggled. “Oh, you’re mean.”

“What?” said Shave. “We’re her first of the night. Someone else will pick something that swirls or buzzes.”

Shave walked around behind Brooke, while Willowy crouched in front of her, smiling.

A sudden tickle ran along the inside of Brooke’s thigh, sending a shockwave of shivers up her back. She took in a reflexive gulp of air and dropped her head to look, in time to see the end of a long goose feather withdrawing.

“Oh, sweetie, you can handle it,” said Willowy. “I believe in you.”

Willowy lay down on her back and slid herself under Brooke, pushing her lacy panties to the side and bringing her face tantalizingly close to the warmth between her legs. Brooke could hear the distant click of her mouth opening, but no tongue reached her, only a cool column of breath, blown right along the valley of her pussy.

A colder, harder shiver ran through her.

The couple alternated back and forth between them, tickling and blowing, heating and cooling her in a relentless deadlock of sensation that built and built and yet never moved forward.

Shave worked her way inward with the feather, until she was brushing it right over Brooke’s clit at regular intervals, tricking her body into grinding convulsively downward, even though her rational mind understood what would happen. The feather bent and gave way each time, never increasing the pressure to the point of usefulness.

Brooke soon lost all sense of time, and all hope that the couple had any plans to satisfy her. After what felt like it could have been three hours all on its own, a light flashed on the wall, signaling them to make their withdrawal. Shave patted Brooke on the ass, and Willowy kissed her cheek and wished her a good evening.

The manners to wish her the same came as easily to Brooke as “please.”

#

Brooke’s next visitor arrived solo. She had a deep tan and a satchel decorated with buttons declaring support for at least one team or player in virtually every sport a person could watch. The look on her face when she entered made Brooke instantly wish that she’d asked Suzie to put her in a mask.

“You’re—”

“No, I’m not,” said Brooke, before this stranger could drag her name into this space.

The woman’s look of recognition shifted, processing Brooke’s expression as well as her features.

“I understand,” said the woman, with a vigorous nod. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Oh my god, it’s going to be so hard! But I won’t. I’m just going to make you feel good… and never tell anyone that I hooked up with the— No. I won’t. I really won’t. Okay?”

Brooke nodded back. There was no more harm to be done by accepting whatever this visitor had come to offer. She would just have to hope she could trust her.

The woman crouched down behind her, stroked her ass and the backs of her thighs gently, and then reached her tongue forward to lap between her legs.

Brooke sighed with relief.

This woman’s technique was the opposite of the two who had come before her. She was unreserved, generous to the point of being relentless. If Brooke had not been so thoroughly aroused already, the vigorousness of this woman’s tongue would have been too much, but as it was, she couldn’t get enough of it. She pressed back toward the woman’s face, enveloping her tongue a few times between grinding her clit against it.

Sighs became gasps, became cries, as a long-delayed orgasm wracked its way through Brooke’s body, making her knees shake and her elbows buckle under her, until she was panting for breath through the floor padding under her face.

#

Other visitors had neither restraint nor generosity on their minds. At least, not generosity in any of its most obvious senses.

A man and a woman, another couple by the looks of them, took one look at the table of toys and went straight for a riding crop and leather-wrapped paddle.

“Poor darling,” the woman tutted, snapping the crop against her hand. “These items are here for a reason, aren’t they? She obviously came here to be punished for something, but her time’s more than half done, and nobody’s risen to the occasion yet. Look. Not a mark on her!”

“Is that true?” the man asked Brooke, standing close enough to her that it strained her neck to look up at his stern, steady face.

“Yes,” Brooke answered, giving free rein to the meekness that had worked its way into her voice tonight.

The man crouched down beside her, lunged one of his knees supportively under her hips, so that she couldn’t collapse to the floor, and brushed the surface of the paddle along her ass.

“And is there anything in particular that you need to atone for?” he asked.

Brooke heaved a long breath in and out, feeling like she was expelling pockets of stale poison from deep in the bottoms of her lungs.

“I’ve been pretty mean to a lot of people,” she said.

The man gave her a cautious snap of the paddle across both cheeks of her ass.

Brooke laughed, sincerely. “Oh, no, a whole lot meaner than that.”

He spanked her again, much harder, sending her weight careening forward against his knee. If there had been any old breath left in her lungs, the impact purged it thoroughly, and she gasped hard to refill herself.

“Yes,” she said. “That mean. Maybe more.”

“I see,” said the man. “I’m going to give you a set of five for free. But if you need more — and only you know that for sure — you’re going to have to beg for them. Understood?”

Brooke nodded.

The blows came down, full force, each new explosion of pain following right on the tail of the last.

Brook wasn’t completely sure she was strong enough to inhabit her body all the way to the end of five, yet as soon as those five were over, she launched directly into begging.

“More, please, please, please, I deserve it.”

The man obliged her.

“Is that all you need?” the woman asked, as Brooke caught her breath after the second set. “This blunt instrument treatment? Or do you think your crimes require a more targeted approach?”

She snapped the crop against her hand again.

“Both,” Brooke groaned.

“Then help me find that target,” the woman said, crouching down in front of Brooke with the crop extended in front of her. “What’s the worst thing you’ve done in the past week?”

“Week?” Brooke repeated. It would have been easier to share the worst thing she’d done in her life. There was something so much more thorough, more honest, about telling on the person she had been so recently.

“I screamed at the boy who cleans the uniforms for not getting a wine stain out of my undershirt,” she confessed.

“What did you scream at him?” the woman quickly caught onto the gap in the story.

“I told him that just because no one ever saw his underwear didn’t mean the rest of us weren’t getting any action. And I called him every version of ‘stupid’ I could think of.”

“I see,” said the woman. “It doesn’t sound like you deserved his help getting out a difficult stain that you made.”

“I really didn’t,” Brooke agreed, curiously close to tears.

“I think you should carry that stain with you a little longer,” said the woman, running the crop along Brooke’s exposed ribs, to the right of her spine. “Where was it? …Here?”

She snapped the crop.

Brooke rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t find a way to spill wine on my back.”

The woman smirked and moved the crop to trace a line right between Brooke’s hanging breasts. “Here?”

Another snap.

“Closer,” Brooke goaded.

The woman smirked wider. “Left or right?” she asked.

“Left.”

The woman peeled the left cup of Brooke’s lacy bra to the side and trailed the crop down to the nipple. The crop pulled away and made contact again with a righteous, reddening smack.

#

Suzie must have known exactly what she was doing, when she selected which visitor would go directly after the disciplinarian couple.

She was a large, muscular woman with a kind, round face, who rubbed Brooke down with an entire bottle of massage oil, soothing her fresh bruises and old muscle strains with firm, sure hands.

Other visitors came to Brooke for pleasure — their own.

A young man with a half-grown goatee, perhaps even a year or two younger than herself, had his jeans on the floor within three seconds of entering the room, the beginnings of an erection already on display.

“Um, hi,” he said, apparently deciding it would be polite to make eye contact and a little small talk before getting down to what he was really there for. “How’s your evening going?”

Brooke glanced around at the restraints, the red marks, the lacy lingerie still pushed to the side, with her pussy and left breast exposed.

“About how I’d hoped, so far,” she answered. “How’s yours?”

“Not bad, not bad.” The man bobbed his head with his words, and then cinched his brows together in thought. “Have we run into each other here before?”

“Probably,” Brooke lied. “I’m around a lot.”

“Huh.” He bobbed his head some more, not entirely satisfied with this answer. “I feel like I’d remember details if we’d done a session. You just… you look so familiar.”

Brooke licked her lips and looked him up and down, anxious to move past this dangerous topic of conversation. “Maybe I’m about to blow your mind so completely that you’ll remember it your whole life. Even before it happened.”

That got a laugh out of him, and another swelling twitch of his cock. “Maybe. Let’s see.”

He brushed her hair behind both ears with his fingers, and guided her lips to the tip of his cock. He hardened the rest of the way on contact. Brooke pulled him in deep, enjoying the trickle of precum down her throat, and his soft moan of pleasure. He tilted his head back, no longer scrutinizing her face.

#

“Is my time up?” Brooke asked reluctantly, when the door opened and Suzie popped her head in.

“Not quite,” said Suzie, stepping into the room and beckoning her husband, Josh, behind her.

A thrill ran through Brooke’s body. Her last orgasm felt like a million years ago. Her nerves were so primed, so ready after the spanking, the massages, the service. And she honestly couldn’t say who she’d looked forward to seeing more when she’d been a regular here, Suzie or Josh. He had a similarly bubbly, comfortingly normal presence, which contrasted with his muscular physique and perennially bestubbled jawline.

“Been a while,” said Josh, crouching to bring himself eye-to-eye with Brooke. “Think you can still take me?”

“Yes!” Brooke exclaimed, more eager than she could remember feeling for anything in months.

“Easy,” Josh chuckled. “I believe you.” He circled around behind her. “Or at least, I’m going to give you every chance to prove it.”

He unzipped. She could hear him rubbing himself for a moment to slicken up, before probing for her entrance with his tip. As soon as the angle allowed, Brooke thrusted backward, impaling herself on him with a groan.

“How are you still so hungry after three hours?” he asked, giving her a few too-gentle starting thrusts from his end.

“All appetizers,” Brooke grunted. “Nobody can serve a main course like you.”

“Flatterer,” Josh chided, but gave himself to her a little deeper.

Brooke reflexively tried to reach for her clit, forgetting her wrist cuff. Josh and Suzie both chuckled warmly.

Suzie sat down in front of Brooke, unzipped her own leather pants, and reached down to rub herself with a luxurious sigh. “Is this what you want?”

“Mmhmm,” Brooke sighed and tossed her head back. Josh caught her by the hair and drove into her harder. She cried out with intense but elusive pleasure.

Suzie cried out with her, flaunting her access to her own hand.

“Please,” Brooke begged. “Please touch me!”

“All right,” said Josh, reaching around pressing his fingers against Brooke’s clit. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Brooke moaned and shuddered on her knees so violently that Josh had to let go of her hair and hold her across the chest for support.

“Oh god, keep going, keep going, please!” cried Brooke.

“Yes, please do,” said Suzie, breathy and wide-eyed.

Josh pressed and pounded until, one after another, almost like popcorn, all three of them hit the bursting point. Josh grunted and leaned hard against Brooke, even while holding her through her own ecstatic shudders.

Suzie reached out and stroked Brooke’s face while humping her own other hand.

“I guess…” Brooke panted, “I guess I should clear the room.”

“Are you sure?” Suzie asked, stroking Brooke’s hair. “It’s not quite closing time yet.”

Brooke smiled weakly. “I guess I could steal another hour.”

***

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