kink_bingo fill: Fetish Night (masters doms slaves & subs)
My introduction to Ascent’s monthly Fetish Night was to have Derick tug my shirt off over my head, press a leather chest harness into my hands and point me in the direction of the bar.
Sudden-but, okay. I could take things in stride.
I was still fiddling with the harness straps when Rusty wandered over to see how I was doing. An amused smile quirked his lips as he caught sight of me, and without a word he reached over, plucking it from my grasp and flipping it over. I stared at him for a second, then sighed.
“This is going to end badly for me, isn’t it?”
Rusty chuckled as I pulled the harness over my head, settling the circular ring over my sternum. Despite being the club owner and a lifestyle S&M practitioner, he wasn’t dressed differently from any other night. Casual black slacks, a crisp blue dress shirt-nothing to indicate the dominant personality that had Rick dancing to his every tune. I had seen said co-owner earlier, and Rick had donned a pair of cuffs and a sleek leather collar for the night, an apparent indication that he was taken. He’d also had a harness on, though it had been more elaborate-and looked better on him-than my own borrowed one. More straps, more buckles and rings, and it had disappeared down beneath his jeans, which was a place my mind absolutely refused to go.
“You might get some teasing tonight,” Rusty admitted. “Some people can’t help but poke fun at the newbies. But, remember, employees are only for eye candy, not for playing with. Anyone tries to touch you in a way you don’t like, just call one of the bouncers. Or me.”
He glanced toward the entryway, where the noise was enough that I could tell there was already a long line waiting to get in.
“Most people are respectful about this sort of thing. There are…unwritten rules. It’s all mostly manners, really. But we’re a mainstream, popular club, and it’s rare for similar venues to have something like this. It’s members-only to keep things safer and easier to monitor, but membership isn’t hard to get here. We respect people for who they are, accept them as they are, and most show back respect in kind.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And the ones who don’t?”
He offered me a toothy grin, throwing his reply over his shoulder as he headed back up to the VIP lounge. “Well, that’s where Svits and Jared’s gratuitous usage of violence comes in.”
I made it to the bar just as the front doors opened, sliding into place next to Brass. He seemed a lot more confident than I felt, and he definitely looked more at ease in the harness. Staff didn’t have to wear the black leather chest piece, but none of them really seemed to mind-they knew the bouncers were there to fend off any unwanted attention, and Rusty didn’t tolerate advances on his crew. If we had a problem, with anyone, we would have the backing of management.
Fetish Night was actually a whole weekend, starting on the last Friday of every month and running through Sunday. I’d only been working at Ascent for two weeks, so this was my first-and Rusty blessedly put me on VIP duty, sparing me the crush of people at the regular bar. I didn’t want to stare, but I knew I would have my head on a swivel most of the night, watching people, taking in the new scene and setting. It seemed as though mostly the S&M crowd had come out to play; I noticed some faces were regulars during the rest of the month. It wasn’t that they weren’t welcome normally-just that they seemed more comfortable when everyone else around them was doing the same thing. Leashes and leads, collars and cuffs were all in steady supply.
Aside from the wealth of leather-clad clubbers, there were others from all aspects of what ‘Fetish Night’ stood for. I spent a good half-hour chatting with an easy-going transvestite, mixed up a margarita for a beautifully-attired crossdresser in four-inch stilettos, and got a generous tip from a guy clad head-to-toe in latex after he good-naturedly ribbed me about my obvious lack of exposure to the scene. I’d started the night wondering, but as time passed I came to enjoy the open atmosphere of unconditional acceptance.
“Having fun yet?”
I glanced up as Rick dropped himself onto a stool across the bar from me, an easy smile on his lips. The tan skin of his bare torso gleamed under the flashing lights of the club, evidence that he’d been doing his fair share of mixing. I could never completely quash my appreciation of Rick’s body; especially since he usually went shirtless at the club, even on regular nights. The glint of silver off the barbell through one of his nipples always drew my attention; the black stud through his right ear and the intricate shark tattoo on his arm always good stopping points for the roaming eye. I knew that if he turned, I could see the black tribal ink that covered his lower back, and dipped down beneath his jeans. Often he’d have a healthy layer of welts across his shoulders as well, a blissed-out look in his eyes indicating that he and Rusty had played earlier.
I pulled a glass over, filling it with a beer from the tap and passing it across. He might present like a dark god of kink and masochism, but Rick had absolute shit taste in drinks.
“I am,” I admitted. There was a lull in patrons so I felt I had some time to chat; a couple of people were over at Derick’s side of the bar, and I had only a moody drunk nursing his fourth whiskey on my end.
Rusty was a little ways away, lounging on one of the couches and looking over the railing at the dance floor below. I was a little surprised that Gilbert wasn’t around; despite being in a relationship with Rick and Rusty and thus not needing to, he usually tended bar, especially on nights the club was packed. Derick had mumbled something about Gil having had a ‘bad experience’ and waved his hand at me to drop the subject earlier, but it still made me curious.
Rick looked at me, and I was a little surprised to see relief in his eyes.
“Some people we’ve tried to hire before couldn’t deal,” he said in explanation to my quizzical expression. “They were okay with me and Rusty, but when they were surrounded by it all…” He shrugged. “Can’t have staff that’s awkward with the customers. Bad for business.”
I nodded, and opened my mouth to reply when Moody Drunk decided that he didn’t particularly enjoy breathing.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” he slurred, sidling up to Rick. His hands were far too grabby, draping an arm across Rick’s bare shoulders, but while I tensed the club owner just looked irritated.
“Taken,” he said shortly, curtly. I’d been under the impression that the small lock fitted in his collar would be enough of a deterrent, a symbol of being owned in the scene, but apparently Moody hadn’t picked up on it.
And even when Rick spelled it out for him, he seemed unconcerned.
“That’s okay,” he nodded, the words tumbling from his mouth drunkenly. Mentally, I tried to remember just how long ago it was that he had started drinking. “Bet your top wouldn’t mind renting you out, huh? Sharing…”
Said top was actually watching the exchange alertly, eyes slightly narrowed. I’d never seen Rusty well and truly pissed off before, but his gaze was dark and fixed on the drunk pawing at his lover; the closest I’d ever seen to him being angry. He didn’t move, didn’t get up from his seat-knowing Rick could handle himself-but his attention was certainly no longer on the dance floor.
“He would,” Rick said. “And even if he didn’t mind, I would.”
The drunk snorted. “You’rea sub, pretty. You don’t get say.”
Rick raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry for your subs, if you feel that way.” He shifted on his barstool, turning away. “Now, please leave me alone.”
The refusal had been polite enough, and certainly clear. But Moody seemed disinclined to pay it any heed. His hand dropped down Rick’s chest, groping for a grip on one of the straps of his harness; his other hand sliding along Rick’s exposed abdomen.
“C’mon, you know you wanna get on your knees for me-”
Across the room, Rusty jerked to his feet, and at the end of the bar Jared took a half-step forward-but Rick had already had enough. He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, twisting around and taking him down to the floor, slamming him against the carpet. The VIP area stilled, everyone watching the exchange but no one pitying the drunken man.
I peered over the bar, drying off a glass as I watched Rick clench his hand in the front of Moody’s shirt.
“I am submissive to him,” he said, voice deathly soft as he tilted his head in Rusty’s direction. “Not to you.”
Moody nodded frantically in understanding, and one side of my mouth quirked up in amusement. I glanced at Brass, who shared the look with a grin. Whether it was Rick or Gil, our employers always seemed to attract the worst sort of drunks.
As soon as Rick climbed off the man, Jared was there: grabbing him roughly by the front of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. He didn’t get very far, however.
“Wait.”
Rick had been on his way over to Rusty, but his lover seemed to have other ideas. Rusty walked over, standing in front of Moody; giving the man a slow, calculating once-over.
Then he pulled back his arm and socked him square in the jaw.
“Don’t ever touch what doesn’t belong to you,” he hissed as the man doubled over. It was startling to see tremors of rage shaking the usually-composed Czech’s body-but the surprise lasted only for a second. I knew that, if anything in this world could make Rusty angry, it would be someone trying to hurt one of his lovers.
Jared hauled Moody out with just a little more force than was actually necessary, bunny-hopping the man in front of him when he didn’t move fast enough for the bouncer’s liking. I waggled my fingers at his back, glad to no longer have to put up with his moping and lack of creativity in drink choices.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Rusty was murmuring, drawing my attention back to the lounge. He had one hand hooked around the back of Rick’s neck, the other cupping his lover’s cheek. Rick rolled his eyes, a little exasperated.
“Yes, of course. It was just one idiot drunk, Rusty.”
Rusty muttered, “Good,” and then he was curling his fingers in Rick’s hair, pulling his head back; kissing him hard and fierce in a blatant gesture of claiming. And Rick just melted in his grasp, the tension in his shoulders draining away, his body molding against Rusty’s in submissive compliance.
When he pulled away Rick’s gaze was glazed, dazed, and Rusty’s lips curled in a smirk. He murmured something that might have been ‘mine’ and then was pulling Rick away, the two of them disappearing back toward the stairs that led up to the third floor. Rick went without any encouragement, following Rusty like a puppy on a leash.
I shook my head, amused, and dumped Rick’s unfinished beer down the drain.
They wouldn’t be back any time soon.
Sudden-but, okay. I could take things in stride.
I was still fiddling with the harness straps when Rusty wandered over to see how I was doing. An amused smile quirked his lips as he caught sight of me, and without a word he reached over, plucking it from my grasp and flipping it over. I stared at him for a second, then sighed.
“This is going to end badly for me, isn’t it?”
Rusty chuckled as I pulled the harness over my head, settling the circular ring over my sternum. Despite being the club owner and a lifestyle S&M practitioner, he wasn’t dressed differently from any other night. Casual black slacks, a crisp blue dress shirt-nothing to indicate the dominant personality that had Rick dancing to his every tune. I had seen said co-owner earlier, and Rick had donned a pair of cuffs and a sleek leather collar for the night, an apparent indication that he was taken. He’d also had a harness on, though it had been more elaborate-and looked better on him-than my own borrowed one. More straps, more buckles and rings, and it had disappeared down beneath his jeans, which was a place my mind absolutely refused to go.
“You might get some teasing tonight,” Rusty admitted. “Some people can’t help but poke fun at the newbies. But, remember, employees are only for eye candy, not for playing with. Anyone tries to touch you in a way you don’t like, just call one of the bouncers. Or me.”
He glanced toward the entryway, where the noise was enough that I could tell there was already a long line waiting to get in.
“Most people are respectful about this sort of thing. There are…unwritten rules. It’s all mostly manners, really. But we’re a mainstream, popular club, and it’s rare for similar venues to have something like this. It’s members-only to keep things safer and easier to monitor, but membership isn’t hard to get here. We respect people for who they are, accept them as they are, and most show back respect in kind.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And the ones who don’t?”
He offered me a toothy grin, throwing his reply over his shoulder as he headed back up to the VIP lounge. “Well, that’s where Svits and Jared’s gratuitous usage of violence comes in.”
I made it to the bar just as the front doors opened, sliding into place next to Brass. He seemed a lot more confident than I felt, and he definitely looked more at ease in the harness. Staff didn’t have to wear the black leather chest piece, but none of them really seemed to mind-they knew the bouncers were there to fend off any unwanted attention, and Rusty didn’t tolerate advances on his crew. If we had a problem, with anyone, we would have the backing of management.
Fetish Night was actually a whole weekend, starting on the last Friday of every month and running through Sunday. I’d only been working at Ascent for two weeks, so this was my first-and Rusty blessedly put me on VIP duty, sparing me the crush of people at the regular bar. I didn’t want to stare, but I knew I would have my head on a swivel most of the night, watching people, taking in the new scene and setting. It seemed as though mostly the S&M crowd had come out to play; I noticed some faces were regulars during the rest of the month. It wasn’t that they weren’t welcome normally-just that they seemed more comfortable when everyone else around them was doing the same thing. Leashes and leads, collars and cuffs were all in steady supply.
Aside from the wealth of leather-clad clubbers, there were others from all aspects of what ‘Fetish Night’ stood for. I spent a good half-hour chatting with an easy-going transvestite, mixed up a margarita for a beautifully-attired crossdresser in four-inch stilettos, and got a generous tip from a guy clad head-to-toe in latex after he good-naturedly ribbed me about my obvious lack of exposure to the scene. I’d started the night wondering, but as time passed I came to enjoy the open atmosphere of unconditional acceptance.
“Having fun yet?”
I glanced up as Rick dropped himself onto a stool across the bar from me, an easy smile on his lips. The tan skin of his bare torso gleamed under the flashing lights of the club, evidence that he’d been doing his fair share of mixing. I could never completely quash my appreciation of Rick’s body; especially since he usually went shirtless at the club, even on regular nights. The glint of silver off the barbell through one of his nipples always drew my attention; the black stud through his right ear and the intricate shark tattoo on his arm always good stopping points for the roaming eye. I knew that if he turned, I could see the black tribal ink that covered his lower back, and dipped down beneath his jeans. Often he’d have a healthy layer of welts across his shoulders as well, a blissed-out look in his eyes indicating that he and Rusty had played earlier.
I pulled a glass over, filling it with a beer from the tap and passing it across. He might present like a dark god of kink and masochism, but Rick had absolute shit taste in drinks.
“I am,” I admitted. There was a lull in patrons so I felt I had some time to chat; a couple of people were over at Derick’s side of the bar, and I had only a moody drunk nursing his fourth whiskey on my end.
Rusty was a little ways away, lounging on one of the couches and looking over the railing at the dance floor below. I was a little surprised that Gilbert wasn’t around; despite being in a relationship with Rick and Rusty and thus not needing to, he usually tended bar, especially on nights the club was packed. Derick had mumbled something about Gil having had a ‘bad experience’ and waved his hand at me to drop the subject earlier, but it still made me curious.
Rick looked at me, and I was a little surprised to see relief in his eyes.
“Some people we’ve tried to hire before couldn’t deal,” he said in explanation to my quizzical expression. “They were okay with me and Rusty, but when they were surrounded by it all…” He shrugged. “Can’t have staff that’s awkward with the customers. Bad for business.”
I nodded, and opened my mouth to reply when Moody Drunk decided that he didn’t particularly enjoy breathing.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” he slurred, sidling up to Rick. His hands were far too grabby, draping an arm across Rick’s bare shoulders, but while I tensed the club owner just looked irritated.
“Taken,” he said shortly, curtly. I’d been under the impression that the small lock fitted in his collar would be enough of a deterrent, a symbol of being owned in the scene, but apparently Moody hadn’t picked up on it.
And even when Rick spelled it out for him, he seemed unconcerned.
“That’s okay,” he nodded, the words tumbling from his mouth drunkenly. Mentally, I tried to remember just how long ago it was that he had started drinking. “Bet your top wouldn’t mind renting you out, huh? Sharing…”
Said top was actually watching the exchange alertly, eyes slightly narrowed. I’d never seen Rusty well and truly pissed off before, but his gaze was dark and fixed on the drunk pawing at his lover; the closest I’d ever seen to him being angry. He didn’t move, didn’t get up from his seat-knowing Rick could handle himself-but his attention was certainly no longer on the dance floor.
“He would,” Rick said. “And even if he didn’t mind, I would.”
The drunk snorted. “You’rea sub, pretty. You don’t get say.”
Rick raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry for your subs, if you feel that way.” He shifted on his barstool, turning away. “Now, please leave me alone.”
The refusal had been polite enough, and certainly clear. But Moody seemed disinclined to pay it any heed. His hand dropped down Rick’s chest, groping for a grip on one of the straps of his harness; his other hand sliding along Rick’s exposed abdomen.
“C’mon, you know you wanna get on your knees for me-”
Across the room, Rusty jerked to his feet, and at the end of the bar Jared took a half-step forward-but Rick had already had enough. He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, twisting around and taking him down to the floor, slamming him against the carpet. The VIP area stilled, everyone watching the exchange but no one pitying the drunken man.
I peered over the bar, drying off a glass as I watched Rick clench his hand in the front of Moody’s shirt.
“I am submissive to him,” he said, voice deathly soft as he tilted his head in Rusty’s direction. “Not to you.”
Moody nodded frantically in understanding, and one side of my mouth quirked up in amusement. I glanced at Brass, who shared the look with a grin. Whether it was Rick or Gil, our employers always seemed to attract the worst sort of drunks.
As soon as Rick climbed off the man, Jared was there: grabbing him roughly by the front of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. He didn’t get very far, however.
“Wait.”
Rick had been on his way over to Rusty, but his lover seemed to have other ideas. Rusty walked over, standing in front of Moody; giving the man a slow, calculating once-over.
Then he pulled back his arm and socked him square in the jaw.
“Don’t ever touch what doesn’t belong to you,” he hissed as the man doubled over. It was startling to see tremors of rage shaking the usually-composed Czech’s body-but the surprise lasted only for a second. I knew that, if anything in this world could make Rusty angry, it would be someone trying to hurt one of his lovers.
Jared hauled Moody out with just a little more force than was actually necessary, bunny-hopping the man in front of him when he didn’t move fast enough for the bouncer’s liking. I waggled my fingers at his back, glad to no longer have to put up with his moping and lack of creativity in drink choices.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Rusty was murmuring, drawing my attention back to the lounge. He had one hand hooked around the back of Rick’s neck, the other cupping his lover’s cheek. Rick rolled his eyes, a little exasperated.
“Yes, of course. It was just one idiot drunk, Rusty.”
Rusty muttered, “Good,” and then he was curling his fingers in Rick’s hair, pulling his head back; kissing him hard and fierce in a blatant gesture of claiming. And Rick just melted in his grasp, the tension in his shoulders draining away, his body molding against Rusty’s in submissive compliance.
When he pulled away Rick’s gaze was glazed, dazed, and Rusty’s lips curled in a smirk. He murmured something that might have been ‘mine’ and then was pulling Rick away, the two of them disappearing back toward the stairs that led up to the third floor. Rick went without any encouragement, following Rusty like a puppy on a leash.
I shook my head, amused, and dumped Rick’s unfinished beer down the drain.
They wouldn’t be back any time soon.