Molly's POV-
My jaw dropped as Jean-Pierre stepped aside, and I finally got my first good look at the club. Nothing that he told me in the taxi could have prepared me for the reality of what I was seeing.
I had never seen a club like it.
I was not an innocent child and had been sneaking into clubs since I was sixteen. That was when I finally managed to score my first fake I.D. I had tried before then, but the person who was making them refused. He said that my short stature and baby face would make every bouncer send me away without giving me a chance to show my I.D. off.
Between fifteen and sixteen years old, I finally finished filling out and grew my last inch. I still never looked my age, but I did manage to fool enough people that I was able to get into the clubs on the weekends.
That was until Scott caught me one night and took my I.D. away. My senior year of high school was boring indeed.
But none of those clubs looked like this one. While there were normal club official items like tables, chairs, barstools, and even a small dance floor. But most of the free space was taken up by so many different pieces of equipment that I was in awe of their ability to maximize the space.
But that admiration quickly went to the back seat to the shock of so many naked bodies. Not to mention what all those naked bodies were doing.
I was in no way a shelter, innocent woman. Not like my friend Becca who had only kissed a boy once... and that was to fulfill a dare. However, this was so far beyond me that I felt my entire body blush.
NOW, everything Jean-Pierre said in the taxi made sense.
"Keep your eyes down. When I take my seat, kneel at my feet. Do not speak unless you are spoken to and ONLY when I give permission. Once we enter the club, you may only call me Sir. Do not use my name. You will not be allowed to as my property."
Jean-Pierre had taken me to a BDSM club.
I took a step back. Not sure if I wanted to run away or start looking around just to see what was there. I was just as shocked as I was intrigued.
But Jean-Pierre grabbed my hand and pulled me forward again. "Do not run, ma belle. I've been dreaming of bringing you here to show you off since I first saw you."
"Jean-Pierre-"
He growled to remind me of his rule.
I gritted my teeth a moment but relented. "Sir, I'm not sure if I'm completely ready for this. "
Jean-Pierre scoffed. "You have made it clear that you like it when I am in charge. So, stop fighting and let me be in charge."
It was a struggle to let him take charge. Not because I didn't want to try this, though. Ever since I had first learned there was such a thing as dominance and submission, I had wanted to try it and learn more. I just didn't know of anyone in my life that I would trust enough to let take control.
No, the problem was that I didn't know if I trusted Jean-Pierre enough to surrender so much to him.
I didn't know a lot about submission, but I knew that most of it relied on trust.
When I still didn't move, Jean-Pierre stepped in front of me and put his finger under my chin.
"Ma belle, I know you wish to be a good girl. So let go and let me show off what is mine," Jean-Pierre told me.
Yours? I thought with a wince. I didn't recall agreeing to that. But maybe he assumed I had by agreeing to come here.
I looked around once more, trying to decide what to do. Despite my initial shock, I was exceptionally intrigued by the whole atmosphere and scenes that played out in front of me. However, this was one place that I was certain that I did not want to wander around on my own.
I had two options: leave and risk never coming back. Or allow Jean-Pierre to take charge and get the opportunity of a lifetime. Instantly, I knew what my answer would be.
I dropped my eyes and relaxed in Jean-Pierre's grasp. "Yes, Sir.”
I felt rather than saw Jean-Pierre's reaction to my submission. I had pleased him and, for some reason I didn't really understand, it gave me a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I LIKED that I pleased him.
I did not want to examine that feeling too closely.
Jean-Pierre pulled me through the small sitting area to a couch right in the middle of the room. With a quick snap, he pointed down to his feet. I looked at him with confusion that seemed to exasperate him.
"That means to kneel, slave," he stated with a roll of his eyes.
I felt that roll of his eyes in my gut. How dare he act so frustrated with me! I couldn't read his mind to know what his gestures meant! Wait... SLAVE!?
I gritted my teeth and counted my breaths before finally being able to speak with a modicum of patience.
"Sir," I ground out his preferred title. "Maybe next time, you could just tell me instead of assuming that I understand your intentions."
"Get on your knees, girl," he brushed off my suggestion as if it was nothing more than a comment on the weather.
I growled under my breath but slowly lowered myself to the ground. My short skirt slid up my legs, and I quickly pulled it down, realizing the error of my decision immediately. This dress was barely appropriate to sit or bend in. Kneeling was completely out of the question. I kept my legs pressed together tightly and a death grip on the bottom of my dress. Even with my struggles, I could still feel my heels pressed against my bare backside. I suddenly regretted my choice of a black thong as underwear. I should have worn my granny panties, at least my bottom would have more fabric to cover it.
"Spread your legs." Jean-Pierre put a nail into my coffin of modesty.
My eyes flew up to meet his, unable to accept that he was serious. "I'm sorry. What?"
"You heard me, girl. Spread your legs! You are kneeling wrong! Do you not even know how to kneel properly?" Jean-Pierre demanded.
I gapped him for a moment, then leaned forward. "Sir, this dress is not really designed for—"
"I do not care, slave! Do as I say!" he growled and pressed his foot between my legs, shoving one knee then the other.
My dress jerked out of my grip and slid up so high that the lace thong was on full display. Jean-Pierre finally gave me a pleased smile and sat on the couch right behind me, like a king lording over his property.
My cheeks flushed bright red with fury and embarrassment. I was so deep into whatever this was that I didn't know how to get myself out of it. I was terrified that if I moved, I would end up showing off more than just my underwear. The last thing I wanted to do was make a scene in the middle of an unfamiliar full of people embodied the meaning of bondage. They would probably think I was throwing a tantrum to get Jean-Pierre’s attention. They wouldn't understand that I was acutely uncomfortable and needed to leave.
I looked up to speak to Jean-Pierre when a figure moving through the crowd caught my attention. The darkened room made it difficult to really see the person, but my gut tightened, screaming at me that I would know that figure even in the dead of night without a single light on.
As he stepped into one of the few lights that showed off the area where couples were playing with what looked like modified sawhorses. My gut was proved right. Shock, horror, shame, and arousal warred inside me as our eyes locked.
He was mad… angrier than I had ever seen him, and for a moment, he looked like a warrior walking through a battlefield, ready to claim his woman. The look of possessiveness on his face hit me straight in my chest, and every part of me cheered.
“Scott,” I whispered in awe as he moved closer and stopped right in front of Jean-Pierre and me.
He barely spared a glance at Jean-Pierre as he addressed me directionally. “What the FUCK are you doing here, Molly?”