Each section was marked off cleanly, tape lines on the floor, clear boundaries, everything intentional. One space had a tall wooden frame with restraints built into it, another had a padded bench, another a setup with ropes already laid out neatly, tools arranged in a way that looked like someone took time in presentation.
“This is where people run scenes,” she said quietly. “Everything here is negotiated beforehand. What you’ll see tonight is mostly demonstrations, but the structure stays the same.”
I nodded, taking it in.
“It’s monitored,” she continued, gesturing subtly. “Red shirts. If anything goes wrong, they step in.”
I followed her gaze and spotted them, people positioned just outside the sections, watching without interfering, and something about the way they stood there—present but unobtrusive—settled into me as a quiet reassurance that this place ran on rules I didn’t fully understand yet but could feel, safe and controlled in a way that kept repeating in my head as we moved a little further in and she slowed.
“Actually,” she said softly, slowing beside me. “That might be a good one to watch. He’s one of our more experienced members, and he’s good at talking people through things without turning it into a spectacle.”
I followed her line of sight and froze.
Jonas.
He looked so right there it almost made me mad. Black pants, black shirt, sleeves pushed up just enough to show hisforearms, black gloves already on like this was as natural to him as putting on a watch before work. There was a black paddle in his hand, and every now and then he tapped it lightly against his palm while he talked, the sound soft but sharp enough to make me notice it every single time. He wasn’t trying to look the part. He just did, calm and grounded in a way that made the whole scene around him feel sharper.
A woman was bent over a padded bench in front of him, secured in place with leather cuffs, and even though everyone was fully clothed it didn’t make the scene feel any less intimate. If anything, it made it feel more charged, because there was nothing casual about the way she held herself there, relaxed and open like this was exactly where she wanted to be, willingly vulnerable with her body on display and every bit of attention in that space fixed on what was happening to her.
Jonas was explaining something, his voice low and even, the same tone he used with me when he was correcting me at home, except here it hit me hard.
“Don’t rush it,” he said. “You’re not trying to get somewhere. You’re reading her. If you’re more focused on what you want to do next than what she’s giving you, you’re already behind.”
The man nodded, and Jonas handed him the paddle, and the first thing that hit me was relief so quick and selfish it almost embarrassed me. At least it wasn’t him doing it. At least whatever this was, whatever they had going on, she wasn’t his.
“Pay attention to how she responds,” he said. “If she stays with you, you can build. If she starts to drift, you slow down and bring her back. Keep her in the moment.”
The man struck her, controlled but not tentative, and the woman made a soft sound that went straight through me. My stomach tightened so fast it almost hurt.
Jonas didn’t even glance at the paddle after that. He was watching her face, her breathing, every shift in her body like that was the part that mattered. And I wanted that. I wanted that kind of attention from him. The man struck a couple of more times. Each one harder than the last.
“See that?” he said quietly. “She’s still with you. She’s taking it, not disappearing into it. That means you can keep going. Remember check in's, don't have to stop the tension.”
He stepped in then, close enough to make my breath catch, and slid one gloved hand into her hair before fisting it gently at the nape of her neck and pulled her head back.
“You still with us?” he said.
“Yes,” she breathed.
I felt that answer like it had landed somewhere under my skin.
Jonas let her go and tipped his head at the man. “Again.”
The paddle came down, and I could not stop staring. I should have looked away. I should have remembered why I came here and why this had been a terrible idea from the start. Instead I stood there watching him guide another man through touching a woman I suddenly wanted to trade places with, and the jealousy that hit me was so sharp it almost made me nauseous.
Because that should have been enough to disgust me, and it didn’t. All I could think about was how easy he made it look, how natural he seemed there, how much that steady voice and those gloved hands and that quiet control fit him in a way that made everything at the apartment make more sense.
And worse than that, all I could think about was what it would feel like if he looked at me that way.
If he told me to stay still in that same calm voice and expected me to listen. If his hand was in my hair instead of hers. If all that careful attention was on me instead of some woman lucky enough to already know this side of him.
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening at my sides, because I was not supposed to want that. I was supposed to be standing there horrified or at least weirded out, not wishing I were someone else, someone he could touch like that without either of us having to pretend it meant nothing.
If I had met him here instead of at the apartment, if I wasn’t just the daughter of the man who dropped me on his doorstep for a few weeks, if I were anybody else in this room, maybe I could have had that version of him.
That thought sat heavy and hot in my chest, and I hated how much it hurt. Then his head lifted and his eyes found mine, and for a second everything else seemed to fall away. Something flashed across his face before he locked it down, something sharp enough to make my pulse jump, but it happened too fast for me to name it. I just knew it wasn’t nothing, and that alone was enough to make panic crawl up my throat.
“I need to go,” I said quickly, already stepping back.