Screaming and laughing get louder as we go, and Flidais looks at me with smile on face. She enjoys anticipation too.
We turn corner and find selves in another hallway going both directions. There are doorways but with no doors in them on either side. Is like maze.
“Which way?” I ask, and Flidais shrugs again.
Choice is made for us when very large and broad man emerges from doorway to our right and charges, yelling battle cry. Is bigger than me, and is naked except for black mask around eyes and black leather around groin. His body is oiled and jiggles very muchly, and his arms spread wide like he is coming for crushing bear hug. We run away but join the peoples we hear laughing. In place where good times are to be had, is fun to be chased and not know what is happening.
Flidais darts around corner into twisty passage and I follow. After three turns it is dead end and we turn around, smiling. We take two or three steps back the way we came, sneaky moving, thinking maybe running oily chubby man will pass us by. But then he turns corner and crashes into fluffy wall, out of breath.
“There you are!” he says, straightening up. He does not have Scottish accent. Sounds more American. “Thought you’d lose me, eh?” Flidais giggles at that. If she had not wanted him to see us, he would not have. “Why’d you run? I just wanted to dance for you.” He makes oontz-oontz-oontz noise, puts hands behind head, and thrusts hips in time to his own music. His flesh ripples and flaps around and is so unexpected we lose our good manners. Flidais laughs so hard she sinks to floor, unable to stand, clutching her middle and her eyes all scrunchy and teary at the edges. I am almost same, roaring louder than I have in many years: I have to stagger back and lean against wall for support. I know Flidais has never laughed so hard since being with me. Cuddle Dungeon is already worth price of admission.
Funny dancing man finally has mercy and stops thrusting hips. “Right,” he says, smiling very big smile at us. He is not offended by our laughs; is what he wants. He takes couple of deep breaths. “I’m Paul. I’m going to be your guide and take you to the shop in case you need any last-minute items, and then you can go from there to the main play area. While we walk I can go over the house rules—even if you already know them—because failure to abide by them will get you thrown out.”
We flick tears away from eyes and thank him, and I hold out hand to Flidais to help her to her feet. She is wearing tight thing called corset under her coat and cannot bend so well.
“Please lead on, Paul,” she says.
“Right! This way, please.” Once we turn corner behind him, he says important rule speech from memory over his shoulder and is very serious now, no more smiles.
“Consent and safety are of prime importance in everything we do here. Do not touch anyone without their express verbal consent or you will be asked to leave. Likewise, if someone touches you without your express verbal consent, report it and they will be asked to leave. Do not talk to a sub without their domme’s permission. Watch all the scenes in the dungeon you like, but if you want to play yourself and be watched in turn, make sure you have your safe word settled and, of course, red is the universal one. If either of you says that, a dungeon master will come to make sure everything’s okay.”
He says more things like this, but I am already unsure what he is talking about. I hope Flidais knows. He says “dungeon” a lot and says no pictures are allowed but nothing about cuddles. At least is easy to remember not to touch other peoples. I am here for Flidais only.
Soon we go through door and white marshmallow walls end. We enter room with black walls that must be shop. There are many things on walls made of black leather and metal, and there are shelves with items I have never seen before and do not know what they do. But there are peoples there who know these things and also know exactly what they want. Like us they wear not much clothes, except they do not have coats covering them up. Paul points to right side and says the counter there is coat-check area, and door past cash register is entrance to play area; then he tells us to enjoy our evening.
A man with many piercings in face and chest stands at the coat check, with bands of spiky leather around his neck and wrists. He also has tattoos on most of his skin; these disappear beneath tight pants like rock star wears.
We take off coats and hand them to him. His eyes linger on me more than Flidais, so I assume he must like men, because Flidais is goddess in all senses. Other eyes in shop see what I see: She is most beautiful. But since I am also god I get my looks too. I am very hairy and not so beautiful, but peoples have different tastes and some of them like muscles. I am told American word for me is beefcake, though I am not made of cow flesh and am also nothing like frosted sugar pastry.
I am wearing collar with a metal ring in front. Flidais takes chain out of coat pocket before man hangs them up and clips one end to my collar. Tonight, she says, I am her pet. She also takes small money purse from pocket.
Coat-check man asks for our phones and we say we have none. He does not believe at first, but Flidais points to her clothes and mine. She has black corset under bust and nothing above it except fulgurite talisman dangling between breasts to protect from my lightning—when I am excited my touch can be electric in literal way. Below hips is thin bikini underwear and then thick-soled boots with many buckles up to knees. I have harness across chest and back that makes letter X under my collar and then a leather jock with front that opens as needed. “Where do you think we’d be hiding them? I don’t even have a place for my purse.” Man admits we have zero pockets and no phone-shaped bulges and gives her ticket for coats.
We turn and see many heads in shop look away from either my backside or Flidais’s. We both chuckle at this. But I think we are both excited too. There is much skin on display, many curves and cleavages, silvery studs and spikes on black leather wrapped around so many soft lines and hard edges, attractive on all shapes and skin colors. These clothings are made to be seen.
Flidais leads me to place on wall where different whips are hanging. She buys a kind called a riding crop, with money from purse, but nothing else.
“Crop is for what?” I ask, but she does not answer question. Instead, she says for rest of evening I should not speak unless she gives permission first. Is part of the experience, she explains, and so I do not ask about all the other things I see.
We go through door to play area and the music changes. Is not slick thumping electric pulse anymore but loud angry metal guitar. And this is where the screaming is.