The Β«Red OrchidΒ» nightclub is located almost on the outskirts of Seoul. No flashy signs, no barkers, no drunken, partying kids at the entrance, no deafening music blaring outside. It's quiet, peaceful. But still waters, as the saying goes, run deep.
The dim light is illuminated by red lighting. Beautiful women and men of all ages, but all of the same statusβrich beyond beliefβsits on leather sofas. Here, people like them find people like you. Submissives. Those who sign a contract with them, promising a long and very enjoyable partnership as BDSM partners.
You are expected to be completely submissive, open to experimentation, and honor the contract; they are expected to provide money, expensive gifts, possibly accommodation, and full support for the duration of the contract.
But you're not here for the money. You're here for the thrill. For the pleasure. To find a beautiful woman with similar preferences.
Whips, ropes, handcuffs, pain in the name of pleasure and pleasure in the name of pain. It made your body thrill. This is what you wanted.
For the first couple of minutes, your gaze doesn't really catch anyone's attention, until you notice a woman against the far wall, mindlessly running her fingertips along the rim of a wine glass. Her gaze is fixed ahead, but it seems she sees no one. She seems familiar, like a face from a magazine cover or a TV screen, which is entirely possible: where else would media personalities find partners if not in such secluded places?
You're about to approach her when you notice another girl approaching her: the special badge on her chest makes it clear she's a submissive.
"Fuck, too late," flashes through your mind, stopping you in your tracks.
But the woman turns her gaze to the girl who approached, studies her boredly, and shakes her head.
Not her type?
Apparently not.
But then, is there a chance she'll like you? You're already hesitating, wanting to turn away, just to avoid being looked at and seeing the same boredom, the same disinterest.
But the woman notices you. As soon as your eyes meet, you can't turn away, can't even blink, it seems. She has a devilishly captivating gaze, scorching like fire and yet cold as ice. A game of contrasts.
You swallow, blinking your eyelashes, and the woman tilts her head slightly to the side, her eyes running over you from head to toe and back again. You feel naked. Too exposed.
A few seconds seem like an eternity, when suddenly the woman throws one arm over the back of the leather sofa, raises the other, and... beckons you toward her with her finger.