I hit "Send" before I can talk myself out of it. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment, but it's done. No taking it back now.
I lean back and close my eyes, running a quick mental check-in with myself, just to be sure this isn't one of those impulsive spirals that hint at something darker.
But no, I'm good. Not anxious, not edgy, not even overly horny—just curious. Focused. Clear-headed. I glance at the pill box on my nightstand. Tuesday morning and night are both empty.
I'm okay.
Still, I keep clicking around the website. There's a blog post about safe kink practices, a surprisingly detailed guide to consent, and pages of articles on everything from flogging techniques to psychological aftercare.
Somehow, I end up deep-diving into a piece about rope bondage and full-body shibari, and when I check the time again, it's way past midnight.
Shit.
I've got work tomorrow.
I snap my laptop shut and slide under the covers, hoping I can fall asleep quickly.
But the moment I lie back and stare at the sliver of moonlight cutting through my curtains, my brain switches gears.
That faint blue glow reminds me of the lights at Club Delco—dim and pulsing, the kind that seem to breathe with you, drag you into that headspace where nothing exists except touch and want and sensation.
That old heat stirs low in my gut, creeping downward.
I shift in bed without meaning to, legs parting, hips tilting ever so slightly as the images rush in—legs spread, backs arched, the clink of cuffs, the bite of leather, the taste of sweat and skin and everything in between.
Damn it.
I try to will it away. I need sleep. But I've never been great at ignoring what I want, especially when it floods in like this.
The thoughts keep coming. Someone's breath is in my ear. A firm grip. That blissful gasp when a hand closes around a throat just right.
My heart starts to race, and suddenly I'm drowning in memories: dark rooms, shadows against bodies, groans echoing off tiled walls in some too-fancy hotel bathroom where we absolutely shouldn't have been doing what we were doing.
But I'm not spiraling. Not anymore. Those thoughts don't make me hate myself like they used to. Now, they make me throb with need.
The ghost of a familiar taste lingers on my tongue, like a half-remembered dream, and before I can stop myself, my hand's already drifting beneath the covers, sliding into my briefs.
When my fingers wrap around my cock, the contrast of cold hand and hot skin sends a gasp slipping out before I can catch it. I want to take my time—play with the rhythm, tease myself until I'm desperate—but I'm too far gone for that. It's been too long, and the need is too sharp.
I smear the precome over the head, just enough to smooth the strokes. Tight grip, twist at the top, a flick of my finger on the downstroke. I can feel it building fast—my thighs twitch, my hips jerk upward, chasing that friction.
But then it's too much. I stop, spit into my hand, and go back at it—sliding wet and fast, pumping harder now. My free hand trails over my chest, brushes my nipples, and I let my mind run wild. Imagine it's someone else—her—touching me like that, grasping at me, pulling me deeper, faster.
I come with a low, drawn-out groan, spilling over my fingers and into my underwear. My whole body clenches, then goes slack, twitching slightly with the aftermath. Sweat beads at my hairline, trickles down the side of my face. I'm a mess.
I wipe my hand on the fabric of my briefs, kicking off the comforter so I don't end up marinating in it. I should get up and change. Wash up. But my limbs are heavy, my eyes already closing as the tension drains out of me.
Sleep drags me under fast.
Even with the late night, I wake up before my alarm. Weirdly refreshed. When I reach for my phone, a little red icon catches my eye—an email. I swipe it open and almost do a double-take.
It's from Club Delco.
Sent just an hour after I'd reached out.
Subject: Welcome to Club Delco
From: Cedric Mark, Membership Coordinator
Hello Gabriel,
Thank you for your interest in Club Delco. We are currently welcoming new applicants. Attached are our club information sheet, membership rules, and application form.
If you'd like to proceed, simply fill out the application and return it to us by email.
Please note: if approved, members must provide a valid photo ID, keep a credit card on file, and submit monthly negative STI test results from a clinic or physician. A positive result does not disqualify you, but may involve additional safety protocols.
Feel free to reach out with any questions.
Best regards,
Cedric Mark
Membership Coordinator
Club Delco
I almost downloaded the attachments right away, but then I shifted my legs and—oh. Right.
I remember last night. I'm still in the same damn briefs. Dried come and spit, making everything stick uncomfortably.
Gross.
I get out of bed and make a beeline for the shower, scrubbing off the aftermath with slightly more urgency than usual. After I'm clean and changed, I finally sit back down and open the attachments.
The info sheet is long, but I'm mostly scanning for one thing—the cost. The website didn't say anything about it, and I'm guessing a place like Beverly Hill's Most Exclusive BDSM Dungeon doesn't come cheap.
By the time I get to the section on membership fees, my heart's racing way too fast for 6 a.m. But it's not as bad as I feared.
Still pricey. But maybe worth it.
Maybe.