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Harry stared at the entrance to the club. His heart pounded in his chest, and his palms sweated heavily as his fingers clenched into fists. Part of him wanted to turn, walk away before he got hurt.
There had been a time when he thought there was good hurt and bad hurt. Now, he had scars on his legs, and all pain was a hard limit.
The club had soothing music in the background, people dressed in fetwear, a corner set up with a St. Andrew’s Cross. Harry could see a man bound to the cross and another holding a whip. The sound of the whip cracking through the air made Harry jump and flinch, and he nearly turned and left right there and then.
No. He was going to do this. He wasn’t going to let some arsehole ruin his life and make him too scared to do something he craved.
He made his way over to the bar and ordered a rum and coke.
“Bracelet?” the bartender asked.
“Oh, right, sorry,” Harry said quickly, flustered. He lifted his wrist to show a cheap red paper bracelet, unmarked.
The bartender punched a hole in the end and poured him the drink. “Are you new to the scene?”
“Yes. No. Yes.” Harry resisted the urge to smack himself in the face. “I used to be, but I”—left because my ex was an abusive arsehole who masqueraded as a Dom in order to hurt me—“decided to focus on my career recently.”
“Oh.” The bartender’s response dropped the temperature around him by ten degrees.
“Not like that,” Harry amended hastily. “I’m not ashamed of BDSM. I just worked long hours at my job, and I didn’t have much time between work and sleep.”
“I wouldn’t expect this to be someone’s first stop.”
“I know, um, Luna?” The pretty blond psychologist at the office was also a Domme who managed the administrative business for the club as a side job. “She offered to bring me here, said the background checks and screens here were good.”
The bartender relaxed. “She’s correct. I’m Cedric.”
“Harry.” He had thought about using a play name but decided against it in the end because he doubted that he would remember it during a scene. And he was dearly hoping for a scene.
“If you’re looking for a play partner, you can talk to one of the DMs, such as Tom in the corner over there.” He nodded at the St. Andrew’s cross display, and if Harry squinted, he could see the emerald green of a dungeon monitor’s vest. “They know the people here, and if you tell them what you’re looking for, they can match you with a partner. Does the club have a file for you?”
Harry nodded. He had gone through the paperwork with Luna a few days ago, discussed limits and preferences of things he had never thought he would participate in again. “I don’t think, I think, ah, I’m just going to…look around. I don’t think I’m ready to…do anything yet.”
“If you’re still here in an hour, my shift ends, and I can show you around.”
Harry thought about it. The bartender didn’t look too large, and he had a kind face. But Harry knew well enough that monsters could look beautiful, and he hesitated to agree. “If I’m still here,” he said finally.
He took his drink and left the bar to circle the club. A spanking scene, the Domme wielding a leather paddle, her sub’s arse already pink. Wax play that made Harry’s cock twitch at the thought of someone tying him down and dripping wax onto his chest even though he was terrified of being burnt. Bondage that bored him. Fire play that made Harry’s mouth drop open before he forced himself to look away. He carefully stayed away from anything involving anything harder than a riding crop.
Harry sighed and made his way to the bar to return the glass. It was interesting, and he could feel himself craving the bliss he saw in the faces of the subs, but he couldn’t muster up the will to actually find someone to play with. Was BDSM now just a fantasy for him to jerk off to in the bedroom?
“Harry, right?”
The call of his name stopped Harry as he set down his half-finished drink, and he turned to see a handsome man with the DM vest draped over his arm. “I’m Tom,” the off-duty DM said.
“Luna’s partner,” Harry said.
“Only in the admin sense. I don’t play with Doms.” The man cracked a smile that had Harry grinning in turn. “Luna asked me to help you out if you showed up.”
Harry absolutely wanted to know nothing about that conversation. “I was just about to leave,” he murmured.
Tom hummed. “Of course. But if you decide to stay...”
It hit Harry at that moment that this Tom was the same Tom Cedric had pointed out. The one by the whips. He could have just been there to ensure there were no problems as a DM would, but Harry had a feeling otherwise.
“I don’t like pain,” Harry burst out.
“I know. Not everyone in the scene likes pain and that’s perfectly fine.”
“I don’t think I’m interested in a lot of this stuff.”
“People have their own interests. What do you like?”
Harry thought about his fantasies. “Being controlled. Praise. I don’t do humiliation either. Hand-feeding.”
“Sex?”
Images of Tom inside Harry made him flush, and arousal pooled in his groin. “With protection,” he said firmly. He paused as it hit him what he was doing. “Wait, are we negotiating here?”
“Only if you want to. But, Harry, if you do want to, I’ll be perfectly happy to scene with you.”
“What would you do?”
“How do you feel about being tied up and being my table for thirty minutes? No gag, and you can safeword if needed. Club safewords are yellow to slow down and red to stop. Do you have a personal safeword?”
Human furniture? He had never fantasised about it, but suddenly, he desperately wanted it. It was different enough from all his previous experience that he had no bad memories associated with it. “No personal safeword, sir.” Harry winced. He hadn’t meant for the “sir” to slip out. “I would like that scene, Tom,” he amended.
Tom smiled, pleased at Harry’s acceptance.
Bondage, to Harry, wasn’t the most interesting thing in the world, and rope bondage over clothing wasn’t enough to make him aroused.
But this wasn’t about arousal or sex.
As Tom manoeuvred Harry into position, ensuring there was enough slack to prevent the rope from cutting off his circulation and support to keep his arms from growing tired, he could feel himself slipping into the headspace he honestly hadn’t felt in years. Even when Pencil Dick and he were together and still good, Harry hadn’t been able to quite reach this headspace. Perhaps a part of him had subconsciously realised things were going to go wrong.
Harry almost felt ignored as his arms supported a tray with a paper plate and a plastic cup of water. It wasn’t heavy, and after he got the hang of it, he stopped worrying about the tray tilting and his arms wobbling
Tom didn’t ask him verbally if things were all right, but Harry would feel brief checks as Tom caressed his arms or checked the rope. He didn’t feel the need to say yellow.
This was nice. Part of him wanted to curl up at Tom’s feet, rest his head against the man’s knee and feel the man pet and soothe him, but this was also nice. He liked feeling useful, and service was better than all the vanilla sex he ever had.
Once in a while, someone would pass and murmur praise about how pretty of a table Harry made, and Tom would agree. He blocked all attempts to touch Harry, not that many tried. The club had a reputation of only allowing experienced members except on beginner nights, and they knew not to interrupt scenes.
Harry relaxed as Tom made appreciative noises over the food. Thirty minutes were up too soon, and Harry wanted to protest, insist he could go for longer. But Tom hushed him before he could. “Maybe later when we get to know each other better, darling.”
He sighed and nodded in agreement.
“Do you have any allergies?”
“No, Tom,” Harry murmured, his mind too hazy to wonder why Tom was asking.
“Do you like fruit?”
“Anything but pineapples.” Harry made a face at the thought of his tongue going numb.
Tom laughed. “Give me a moment.”
Harry drifted off again, hearing but not listening to the quiet, short conversation happening over his head. Tom picked Harry up with unexpected strength and cradled him in his arms, moving them over to an empty couch. Harry snuggled up against Tom, enjoying the feeling of being held.
Moments later, he felt something press against his lips and opened his eyes to look. A small piece of cut melon. Harry opened his mouth and gently bit down on the fruit, careful to avoid Tom’s fingers. His tongue flicked out, catching the drops of juice remaining on Tom’s fingers.
Harry swallowed and frowned. “Where did that come from?” He couldn’t remember Tom leaving him.
“We employ waitstaff.” Another piece of fruit, apple this time.
Harry wasn’t hungry; Luna had forced him to eat dinner before coming, even though he was too jittery to even sit at a table. This wasn’t about food, not exactly. He loved being taken care of, if only for a few hours, had missed it terribly especially after months of stress and long hours at work.
He took another piece of fruit out of Tom’s hands, always so careful to not bite his Dom.
His Dom. No, that was just a dream. Tom was only his for the duration of the scene, and Harry was absolutely not interested in anything longer.
Tom brushed his lips over Harry’s forehead and rubbed the thumb of his clean hand over Harry’s pulse point at his wrist. “Shh,” he murmured. “Don’t think. Just feel.”
It was impossible not to obey, and Harry let himself focus on the food and Tom petting him.
Minutes or hours after the fruit was gone, he slowly came out of the haze and looked around. The number of people club had significantly decreased, and he tried to sit up.
“Are you back with me?” Tom asked.
Harry nodded and yawned. “What time is it?”
“Late. Let me call Luna.”
“Why?”
“I assume you want to go home.”
Home. Right. Because he was absolutely not going to spend a night with a stranger he had only just met a few hours ago.
“Thanks for the, um, the scene. It was fun.” Harry almost smacked himself at that. Fun? Really.
Laughter lit up Tom’s eyes. “I had fun too,” Tom said. “Visit again later, and we can try something else.”
Harry smiled at that and scooted off the couch. “Thanks,” he said, and he bolted to find Luna before he could say anything else ridiculous.
Going to work after the weekend was almost mundane. Harry wondered if anyone could look at him and just know somehow that he had been to a BDSM club, but no one gave him second glances or told him he was “glowing” despite how giddy Harry felt every time he thought about that night.
“Harry, my office,” his boss called out from over the railing.
The happiness vanished instantly. What could he have done that would cause McGonagall to summon him? The office meetings were rumoured to be absolutely terrifying.
He grimly made his way upstairs and knocked once on the door before entering. His eyes focused on the other person in the room, a very familiar face from Friday night that he had never expected to see, especially not here, and his stomach dropped.
Harry took the open seat and forced himself to turn his head and look at McGonagall.
“You passed basic training three months ago.”
That did not sound like he was being fired, or worse. “Yes, ma’am.”
“As you know, we run a background check on all our employees, even the tech team. In your history, I understand you have experience with the BDSM scene.”
Oh gods. Was he really discussing his kink with his boss? “Yes, ma’am,” Harry said weakly.
“I also understand that you had a bad experience with your last partner.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I am very sorry to have to ask you this, but our experienced submissive field agents are all either on current jobs or out of commission. There is an op that requires a two-person team posing as a couple in the scene. This is Tom Riddle. He’s a field agent and an experienced dominant.”
Harry turned to face Tom stiffly. “Sir,” he greeted.
“Mr Potter, my pleasure to meet you.” His dark eyes bore into Harry.
“I understand if you need to say no, but we need an experienced submissive,” McGonagall said.
Harry thought about it.
He didn’t say no.
“What’s the job?”