The Shaded Parlor

Chapter 1Allen and I sat at the table in the conference room going over the list of items that had been donated for the auction we were going to hold in three weeks. The other members of our team were there, too. “We have quite a lot of things to auction off. I think we’re going to be fine,” Allen said. “All total, this may be worth forty thousand.” “But we don’t have something big that will draw a crowd,” I reminded him. Allen still didn’t have his expectations set high enough. “I want to give the clinic more than just forty thousand. There are so many things they need. Come on, people. We can do better than this.” The Pride Clinic served the entire l***q community here, treating both medical and psychological illnesses and conditions that plagued this community. They also had a very good junior division, to treat kids dealing with coming out to family and friends and to community prejudges and injustices. They deserved more than forty thousand. I could have given that to them myself. But I know we can raise more than just this. This auction and the advertising would bring more support to the facility. I had hoped we’d raise at least a hundred thousand. The clinic wasn’t floundering but were simply making payroll. There were so many other items they needed. “I’ve been looking around, I did persuade Roy Hempfield to donate one of his paintings,” Charles, our head host added. “Yes, that will bring a lot, but he only paints men. That leaves out all the women and their money.” Roy’s erotic paintings were always a major hit when we posted one on the wall above the bar at The Shaded Parlor. I personally wished he’d do more women as his male paintings were absolutely breathtaking. If he painted women like that, I might buy one or two for my own home. Many days I wondered what it would be like to wake up to the picture of two women doing what some of his men appeared to be doing. I might never get out of bed. His twenty-two by thirty-four-inch oil paintings brought in the five-figure range. In fact, I believe one had sold for over thirty-three thousand a few weeks ago. He was becoming better known every year. “We do have those three-day vacations down at Jilly’s Playhouse.” I had called my old friend, Jillian Jessup, who ran the private guest house-dungeon, and she offered a couple three-day/two-night stays at the place. It was in sunny South Carolina, on the shore of a sandy river inlet. You could enjoy the beach atmosphere but not have to fight the high waves of the open ocean. There were several regular suites and rooms that were just guest rooms for anyone, but there were also private cottages and a large building in back that housed a well-equipped dungeon. Up to ten people could play there comfortably, and it was available to guests who made prior reservations. The space between the cottages and the dungeon was fenced with a high stockade fence, so if you needed to have your sub walk back to the cottage nude, or you wanted to play outside, you couldn’t be seen from the main house. “Now are you positive you want this on a Friday night?” Charles asked. “Yes, before people have spent all their money over the weekend. Most people already have plans for Saturday night, they leave Friday night to relax and let out all the tension. That’s why we have our biggest nights on Friday.” “Did you read the suggestion on The Shaded Parlor Community Page today?” Debby, my administrative assistant asked. We had quite a website so we could get feedback from the whole leather/l***q community. We could also advertise any happenings we were having. My bar, The Shaded Parlor, sponsored many things within the community. “No. What’s it say?” “It says that you two should offer yourselves to bottom to the winner. Listen to this: The best thing I’d bid for, and I’d pay the highest price for would be for a session with either Mistress JuliAnn or Master Allen…but with them as a bottom, not a Top. I think there are a lot of people who would bid on it. I might even pay a couple thousand for that!” “Who the hell wrote that?” I exclaimed. Debbie squinted at her laptop. “It’s from someone named FoxyBit. They didn’t add their real name.” Allen and I both chuckled as we sat back. “FoxyBit, or FoxyBitch?” I suggested. Whoever wrote that had their head up the wrong hole. “I haven’t bottomed in years!” Allen laughed. “I’m not sure I even remember how,” I said. “Oh, come on, you guys. This is for charity,” Kay, our advertising specialist said. “You wanted a big pull? You can be the big pull! I imagine that there would be a hundred out there who’d bid on a chance to flog one of you. When I saw that this morning, my mind started the advertising for it. We can call it the Flog-a-Dom! Or we could even turn that into a raffle. I bet we could sell hundreds of tickets at fifty to a hundred dollars apiece.” “It would take more than a thousand to get me under a flogger again.” I shook my head. It had been almost fifteen years since I’d felt that. Yes, there were days I almost thought I’d like to feel it again, but those were very, very few: I almost considered it, but not quite. It was nice to go to the pool or the gym and not worry about someone saying something about the scars or bruises on your back. “How long has it been?” Debbie asked. “Fifteen years.” Fifteen…the thought came back to me. Yes, that was the time I almost died. I really didn’t want to remember it. “It would be a wonderful advertising gimmick, though. We could auction off a flogging, then, the seats to watch it. We would make thousands!” Kay bounced back with enthusiasm. “Hell no, if I ever bare my breasts to get flogged again, it will be in private! No voyeurs allowed.” “At least you wouldn’t have to take your pants off.” Allen jested. The entire room was in titters now. “You’ve shown your t**s in public in a lot of places,” Allen kidded me, elbowing my arm. “I’ve shown them in appropriate places.” Including a Pride Parade or two in other cities, but it has been a few years. I have to admit that they’re not as perky as they once were. Oh, the losses of being older than forty. “I’d been to nude beaches in seven states and in four European countries, but those didn’t count because everyone else there was naked, too, including you!” The beautiful beaches of Barcelona, the Italian and French Rivera’s and the Greek islands always tried to draw me back. Those were some beautiful memories. “Come on, Jules. I bet the seats would go for five hundred or more, just to catch a glimpse of the Greatest Mistress of the Ages taking a few whacks.” Allen wouldn’t let it go. “Greatest Mistress of the Ages? I’m not sure I’m anywhere near that.” No, I could name at least one from my younger days who had taught me a lot. That was the one I’d never measure up against. I wonder…no, don’t bother. That’s just asking for trouble. I swore I’d never go back to her. Debby laughed softly. “There are several who would dispute you. You have quite a reputation out there.” The rest of my crew agreed with her. “All hearsay! What else do we have?” Allen looked at his list. “Some smaller things like jewelry from that woman who carves them out of seashells and fish bones, two hand knitted sweaters, a gift card for clothing from the store around the corner, a dental appointment for a cleaning. We also have two dinners for two at Sunset Seafood, and two dinners for two at the Hilltop Steakhouse.” “Are you going to put up a couple dinners at The Flaming Table?” Kay asked. Allen looked at me. “Two?” he asked. “No, two is just one table. Let’s do four, two tables of two. It would be better. We can afford that.” The Flaming Table is one of our other business ventures. It is a very private five-course gourmet dinner for only one or two diners at a time. It has to be reserved at least a week in advance. Allen is the managing chef. The food is served by two or three nude servers, who not only brings your food to you, but will feed it to you in a very sensual manner if you desired. Of course, your servers are of your gender-preference and your dessert is served on the server of your choice. The price for that is five hundred and fifty dollars a plate. We had Adam and Eve dinners, Adam and Steve, and Madam and Eve with the appropriate servers. We didn’t open it often, only once or twice a month. It was a fun way to spend a Friday or Saturday evening. It had been Allen’s dream to open an “alternative” restaurant. Mine had been to open a leather bar, so we compromised and put his restaurant on the top floor of my bar. I had spent the last decade growing this business and my own reputation. The bar didn’t turn out like I had originally envisioned it; it turned out much better. I had started thinking of your average leather bar, where gay men and lesbians could bring their subs to get a drink and maybe dance or play pool or darts. Maybe even play a little. Then Allen and I went to Europe and our ideas changed. Now we had a very exclusive private club that advertised itself as a Purveyor of Libations, open to all genders and lifestyles. The sign outside read: “If you find any walk-of-life offensive, please go elsewhere.” People knew they would be welcomed no matter how they lived their life. All kinds of people came to the Shaded Parlor. We had the best alcohol money could buy and we always served small portions of the appropriate snacks for each drink; no “barrels of salted peanuts for everyone.” In addition, Allen and I had personally chosen each of the labels we served. Even our beer wasn’t what you’d be able to buy in a six-pack at your local convenience store. Our prices, however, did draw the more affluent crowd. We had garnered a five-star rating. The Shaded Parlor took up the first floor with its sky-high ceilings. The second floor contained our offices. Upstairs on the top floor, however, was Allen’s domain: The Flaming Table. While the basement, was mine: The Stone Cold Cellar: a membership club with b**m dungeons and meeting spaces. There was a smaller bar down there that sold mostly soft drinks, but the prices were lower and dress a lot more relaxed. In fact, you didn’t have to dress at all. I occasionally presented classes down there about different b**m activities, plus there were demonstrations almost every weekend. I owned the entire building: The Flaming Table, The Shaded Parlor and The Stone Cold Cellar each paid for themselves and gave Allen and me a very good living. It hadn’t started that way, though. “I would set the opening bid at seven fifty for a table of two.” Allen nodded. “Great, that will bring in at least another fifteen hundred.” “Okay, how does this sound?” Kay said, reading from her notebook. “Auction Special: Flog-a-Dom! A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: maybe your only chance to strike back. Master Allen Fortren and Mistress JuliAnn Clayton will bare their backs to the highest bidder. Help the Clinic and live your wildest fantasy. Opening bids start at five thousand dollars. Seats to observe these phenomenons will also be sold for two hundred and fifty dollars each.” “Can we make that three hundred?” Debbie asked. “No, leave it at two fifty. Most of the people will have spent all their money already.” Kay said. Everyone nodded or murmured in agreement. Everyone, except Allen and me. “My Lord,” exclaimed Charles, “With the observers, that could get as high as ten thousand each!” “Oh, Jules,” Debby burst out, “you’ve got to do it! This will bring in thousands, even without observers.” I glanced over at Allen. “Kay said it best,” he said, “It’s a once in a lifetime happening. I can’t see why not. A few minutes of discomfort, leading into several hours of endorphins, for thousands for the clinic? And you can always get Shelley to treat your back afterwards. Aftercare is always soothing.” He grinned at me and gave a knowing wink. I had to smile. Dr. Shelley Wade is the head of the clinic. She and I have one of those ‘whenever’ relationships. We are vanilla lovers any time one of us was horny, and I have to admit, she does know more about human anatomy than I do. She has even taught me a thing or two. Neither of us wanted a committed relationship, but we’d call one another a couple times a month, sometimes just to cuddle after a particularly difficult day. “Yes, I probably should make an appointment to be checked out by my doctor after the flogging. No sense in letting anything skirt by unattended.” So, I made the decision I hoped I wouldn’t grow to regret. “Oh hell, all right. I’ll do it.” The team all applauded me, and we continued to make plans and offer suggestions. Maybe this auction would really pay off. So why was I even considering letting myself be flogged? It had been years since the last time that happened. Yes, in another place and with another identity.