Captain Everett Palmer sat at the bar, still pressing a finger into his bandaged, throbbing hand. Even though the cuts were fresh, they still weren't supplying what he needed or wanted. But then again, he was practically three sheets to the wind—on his sixth beer. He was wasting his time, he told himself. He didn't want to be numb from alcohol, he wanted to feel something, feel it all.
He had heard of this club before, if only in whispers, but had no idea what to expect. He was shocked they'd let him in at all, but obviously many Americans from the base were steady clientele, from the amused look given him by the doorman. He knew guys did this for sex. And he would take that, as long as it came with pain. It wouldn't be pleasant, but the agony would be. He cringed at what Janelle would think if she could see him in this place.
What shocked him was how open it all was. Sure, he thought there would be bondage, whippings: all the shit he craved. But he hadn't expected it to be done publicly. The smoke-laden, neon-drenched interior looked like center stage at a three ring circus: nude and semi-nude men bound to posts at all four corners of the pulsating club and leather-masked bad-ass dudes wielding whips, giving their charges exactly what he himself secretly wanted, but...
He was drunk, but not that drunk. No, he'd have to go somewhere private... perhaps a room in back, or home with one of them. And he just might have to get rough with them as well. He knew the dangers involved, but was it really more dangerous than what he did for a living every day? He highly doubted it.
Everett had been approached five times in the past hour. The first guy had seemed okay—at first—until he learned about the man's fetish for inflicting body piercings prior to dealing out the desired punishment. The second and third men had wanted to be whipped by him. No fucking way. He'd never messed with a whip before, and that wasn't what he was into. Then there was the old fart who'd repeatedly called him my boy and had tried to win him over with a new Rolex if he ran away to Vegas with him for the weekend.