Glen Cove

Chapter 3: Are You Lost?

The lighting is dim. It takes me a few seconds to adjust.

"Remember, stay close," Alexandre whispers over my shoulder.

"I heard you the first time you said it." A bit disoriented, I'm not sure where to look first. "And I can handle myself."

The room is full of people, and furniture, but not normal furnishings by any means. Nope, one look at all the beds, benches, chairs, swings, and pieces that I'm not even sure what they are, confirms this is a b**m club.

A blonde woman wearing a red and black corset, with red matching panties trimmed in black and red boots that cuff at her thighs, walks up and stands in front of me.

"Are you lost?" Her eyes roam over my body.

"No, I um . . ." I shake my head, then glance around for Alexandre, unsure of which way he went. "No, I'm not."

In her hand, she's holding a dog leash. It is connected to a black-spiked collar around the neck of a short-haired young woman, who is wearing black gloves that run past her elbows. A skin-tight leather bustier covers part of her ample breasts.

"Say, hello, Sophie." A grin spreads across blonde's lips.

The brunette woman in black crawls up to me on her hands and knees. She's attached to the other end of the leash the blonde is holding. Raising her nose, the brunette sniffs the air. The blonde in red loosens her hold on the chain leash, and the woman on the ground advances forward, sniffing at crotch level.

My eyes widen, and my heart pounds in my chest.

I take several steps back, avoiding direct contact.

The woman in black barks at me, and I stumble backward.

A strong arm encases my waist, keeping me on my feet.

I inhale a ragged breath, then turn around, coming face-to-face with Alexandre, who's trying to stifle a laugh.

He releases me with a grin still playing on his lips.

"Come." He heads off down the open path. "You must keep up."

A cry booms in my ear, and I jump.

Turning to my right, I spy a man strapped down on a spanking bench, who is scantly clothed. A woman with a whip stands over him. His buttocks are exposed and are a bright shade of red and whelped. When the whip comes down again against his reddened flesh, I flinch and gasp.

I don't understand. Why would someone subject themselves to such treatment?

Not far from the restrained man is a woman tied to a similar bench. Her back and bottom have red streaks but she's not bruised. And her face, it has a look of sheer bliss, which confuses me even more.

A cold breeze blows down on me, and goose bumps erupt across my body. I hug my arms to my chest and shiver.

Looking up, I realize Alexandre is watching me with keen eyes.

"Ma petite chere, did you find something of interest? Is there something you would like to try?"

Gazing doe-eyed up at him, I shake my head.

"No," I say. Placing my hands in front of my body, I wave him off. "No, I don't want to try that."

He chuckles softly. "You must stay close so that I can hear you if you run into any trouble. The clientele is a rough disciplinarian group tonight, so you must be firm if approached. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I think so." I follow on his heels, watching the activities around me, unsure of where or what to look at next.

A loud noise erupts nearby.

Alexandre takes hold of my arms, drawing me into his lean frame, and spins our bodies a half-turn.

Two men whiz past us, exchanging blows.

"Are you okay?" He holds me close.

I nod, clinging to his shirt. "Is it always like this?"

"No, it is not. However, tonight, seems to be the exception." He guides me to an empty bench. "Stay here and do not move. I must address this escalating issue."

Quietly, I sit and watch Alexandre and some other men break up the fight. Just as he starts walking back to where I'm sitting, another argument breaks out, but at least, it only seems to be a minor dispute - a verbal one instead of physical.

Rising, I glance around the room, but Alexandre shakes his head, then motions for me to sit, so I plop back down on the bench.

A man and woman dressed in matching leather outfits approaches. They look comfortable, at ease with what they have on, or should I say, what little they're wearing.

"Care to join us?" asks the man. He's holding a riding crop in his twitchy hand.

"No, thanks." Rising, I shake my head, then quickly walk away.

"If you change your mind," he says, "you're welcome to join at any time."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Standing in an empty area next to a post, I exhale the breath I was holding. From a safe distance, I continue to watch as the man ties the woman to the bench, restraining her hands with rope.

The intricate knots he uses, makes it look more like a form of art that uses her body as a blank canvas. Once tied, he lightly skims the ends of the riding crop up and down her body, then with a snap of his wrist, he brings the flogger across her butt and the back of her thighs.

Again, she, like the other person I saw earlier, has a look of pure joy dancing across her lips. I shake my head because, for the life of me, I can't fathom why she wants to be tied or even whipped for that matter.

An arm wraps around my waist, pulling me backward.

"Alexandre, I don't like it when youÑ"

My feet leave the floor, touching only air.

A rough, calloused hand slides under my dress, cups a butt cheek, then squeezes.

"What are you doing?" I cry out. "Stop that."