The Things We Hide at Home

  The Things We Hide at Home

  By Nem Rowan

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2020 Nem Rowan

  ISBN 9781646562602

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission from the publisher, with the exception of excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  In Loving Memory of Eva

  * * * *

  The Things We Hide at Home

  By Nem Rowan

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  I felt my phone vibrate but I didn’t hear its ring-tone; the combined din of conversation and music smothered it beneath the fabric of my trouser pocket. I squeezed through the mass of writhing, rhythmic bodies, holding my beer bottle high like a flaming torch as I made my way through to the other side, the many people around me bouncing and undulating to the bassy pop coming from the speakers. I could feel the bass thumping through the soles of my boots and it unsettled my insides, the sensation almost nauseous. The low ceiling of this dark little club further enhanced the atmosphere of being in the bowels of an underground cave, the walls constructed from blocks of stone and with black iron candelabra trembling in the waves sweeping from the speakers near the stage. Everywhere there was laughter, smiling faces, and leather collars. An acquaintance clapped me on the shoulder as I passed and I turned to do the same in return, shouting against his ear to ask him how he was doing as he pulled his nearly naked servant behind him on a chain. I knew quite a few people here; I guess that’s what happens when you visit the same environment for nearly an entire decade. I swigged from my bottle and headed through the arched doorway, turning sideways to shoulder through a group of people loitering on the steps as I descended the stone staircase into the room below. The music was still loud, but down here, the garbled clamour of conversation became distinguishable to the ears.

  Dark wood bondage furniture stood in rows along one side of the large space and plush leather sofas created an audience on the opposing side, the seating populated by many more familiar faces and even some new ones. Groups of people stood here and there, women in latex dresses, kneeling men in dog masks, and androgynous humans whose style of dress was neither male, female, nor both. A genderless person head to toe in shining rubber, their head hidden beneath a gas mask, knocked my elbow as they headed up the steps in the opposite direction, and when they turned to apologise, I heard a muffled man’s voice through the filter. I turned to the left and meandered past a cluster of leather-clad men surrounding a St. Andrew’s cross as one of them put pegs down the back of the willing slave chained to it, where eventually I reached the sofa where my friends were sitting together, drinking and observing the activities around them. A few people had come over from elsewhere to watch Vanessa as she put on a show.

  Just over six feet of merciless black dominatrix, Vanessa stood out amongst most of the club attendees; she augmented her already alarming height with a set of stiletto heels, which served to enhance the sleek length of her long, slim legs. She stood in front of the polished chestnut pillory, the cane in her hand poised for the next strike, enjoying the attention she received from the strangers who lingered with drinks in their hands and questions on their lips, gaping in awe each time she brought the cane down with a crack over her slave’s already pink-striped buttocks.

  “I’m gonna go out for a smoke. You coming?” Growler distracted me as I leaned against the side of the sofa, and I looked down at him, finding him sitting there in his immaculate suit with one leg crossed over the other. Like Vanessa, he was tall and slender; they had met many years ago when they were assigned to each other as partners for a ballet they were training for.

  “Why didn’t you ask me before I went to get a drink?” I smirked at him, lifting one leg over the arm over the sofa so I could slide onto the seat beside him.

  “Because I didn’t fancy it then,” he reasoned with a shrug.

  “Well, it looks like you’re going on your own then.”

  He rolled his chartreuse eyes and climbed to his feet, pausing to pat down the wrinkles in his neatly starched black trousers; he always dressed like he was going to a funeral, the darkness of his clothing making his fair skin and long platinum blonde hair seem even more luminous.

  I drank from my bottle, my eyes following him out of sight before I turned my attention back towards Vanessa to discover she was looking right at me, and I smiled at her as she smiled back.

  She wiped a hand over her shaved head, raking her claw-like fingernails across her shorn scalp as she turned to talk to one of the women standing near her.

  My phone vibrated again and I remembered my notification earlier, reaching into my pocket to slip the flat piece of technology into my palm. The loud swat of Vanessa’s cane startled me as I hadn’t expected it to be so loud. Sighing, I lifted the phone to my face and sank into the cushions as I swiped at the screen to unlock it and scroll through my notifications. At the top of the list were multiples of the same note:

  CordialSin is nearby.

  I looked around the room, but couldn’t see anyone else on their phones. Whoever CordialSin was, they were lurking in this building at this very moment. I touched the notification and it took me to their profile in the ChainLink app, but the profile was empty. No photo, no details, nothing. They had even hidden their location so I couldn’t pinpoint precisely where they were. All it said was that they were online and close to my present vicinity.

  Feeling curious, I tapped the tiny hand icon in the corner of the screen and a box popped up saying “You said Hi to CordialSin”; maybe that would get their attention. I had met a lot of people on ChainLink just by saying “Hi,” so why should this person be any different?

  I gulped some more beer and contemplated taking Growler up on that cigarette after all. Someone’s torture subject on the other side of the room cried out in agony as a peg was whipped off of her nipple. I began to get the overwhelming feeling that someone was watching me; that’s when I looked up to discover that someone was watching me, his lone figure lurking against the wall nearby. I put my phone in my pocket and lifted my bottle, pressing the neck to my lips as I made eye contact with the stranger. He stood out from the crowd, but not in the way Vanessa did. He wasn’t dressed for the occasion like everyone else here, either.

  I waited to see if he’d come over, but he didn’t. He was probably shy. I’d be too shy to c
ome over and speak to me if I saw Vanessa standing there like a dark-skinned Valkyrie, but even so, that meant I would have to go to him if I wanted to sate my curiosity. Was this CordialSin? It wasn’t the first time I had been in the vicinity of the app user, but this was the first time I had seen anyone that might actually be them. My impatience began to get the better of me; I hauled myself to my feet.

  “You ain’t leaving as well, are you?” Vanessa grabbed me by the arm as I motioned to step away.

  “I ain’t leaving! I’ll be back in a sec!” I laughed and she growled playfully as she pinched my cheek. And here I thought she was putting on a show for the people standing around her, not me.

  Raking a few strands of my glossy black hair from my forehead, I prepared myself to approach the stranger. It didn’t matter how many years it had been since I had finished my transition from female to male; it didn’t matter how many times I had spoken to people I didn’t know; it didn’t matter how many hours I put in at the gym; always, in the back of my mind, was the niggling fear that people would look at me and instantly clock me as transgender. Living stealth was hard work. I puffed out my chest and put the swagger in my step as I approached, giving all the signals of a strong male, from the way I adjusted my watch on my wrist to the motion of my hips, all of these signs of utmost importance to ensure this stranger saw me the way I wanted him to see me. In my self-centred focus on my own fears and anxieties, I didn’t realise he was a hundred times more self-conscious than I ever had been.

  “Hi there.” I put on the suave smile. I felt like such an idiot. Maybe he wouldn’t notice; they usually didn’t. Just bullshit the confidence until it comes true.

  “Hi,” he replied, and I saw his Adam’s apple contract as he swallowed hard. He looked at his feet, unable to gaze into my eyes.

  “Couldn’t help but notice…you were looking at me,” I began as I supported myself against the wall, my arm outstretched beside him.

  “Yeah…sorry…” he murmured, his hands behind his back as he shuffled his feet.

  “I’m Tristen Fleetwood, but everyone calls me Tenny. Nice to meet you. What’s your name?” I inquired, his evasiveness only fuelling my desire to know more about him. I had never seen him here before, and he was dressed like a fuddy-duddy in his green woollen jumper and plaid shirt, a pair of slate-grey slacks covering his legs and brown leather brogues on his feet.

  “David Ormerod,” he answered, turning away his head like he was face to face with a blazing fire, the heat stinging his blue eyes.

  “You’re new here?” I asked, and he nodded. “Well, that’s okay. Everyone’s really nice. Are you on your own?”

  He nodded again.

  “Why don’t you come and sit with me and my friends?” I suggested, the narrow half-moons that were my hazel eyes hopefully twinkling as I smiled at him.

  “…Okay,” he agreed after a pause.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?” I grinned, unable to stop myself from leaning closer to him. He was such an anomaly amongst the run-of-the-mill visitors that came here, looking more as if he belonged in a library or an antique store rather than a fetish nightclub.

  “Sorry,” he apologised, seeming embarrassed by my observation.

  “Come on,” I coaxed, gesturing that he should follow as I started toward where Vanessa waited for me. Amazingly, he did.

  Unfortunately for him, Growler reappeared just as we were nearing the sofa and he stopped beside it, one hand in the pocket of his trousers. Despite the feminine beauty Growler possessed, which enabled him to work as a male model in his day job, his insides weren’t quite as attractive and his rudeness often scared away potential friends and play-mates. We didn’t call him by his nickname for nothing.

  “Who’s this?” he questioned as he spotted David hovering at my shoulder. He had the expression of someone who had just been presented with his meal, only to discover a gnarly pubic hair garnishing his fresh calamari.

  “This is David. He’s here on his own so I said he could sit with us.” I could tell from the way Growler curled his lip that he didn’t much like this idea.

  “You’re always picking up strays.” He seated himself and sipped from his cocktail as he checked his phone, completely ignoring our guest.

  Vanessa was unlocking tonight’s servitor from the pillory, so she didn’t notice I had ushered David into sitting with us until she reached for her half-empty pint of cider on the table between us. Her brown eyes opened a little wider at first, then they looked directly at me and she put two and two together before turning back to her submissive, who waited patiently as she undid the latches keeping him restrained to the planks of wood.

  I sat between David and Growler, turning so that I blocked David’s view of him. We had moved nearer to the stairwell so the music filtering from above partially distorted our conversation a little more than it had over by the wall. I had to raise my voice to get David’s attention.

  “So, are you, y’know, active or passive?” I inquired, watching his eyes as they flitted from here to there without blinking. It assumed he wasn’t that much older than me, but the way he dressed and the grey in his dark brown hair made him look like the gap between us was much wider.

  He glanced at me, seeming alarmed by my question. I noticed for the first time that he kept tucking his hands under the sleeves of his jumper so I couldn’t see them.

  “Well, I’m a Dom, and most of my friends are Doms. I kinda guessed you were a sub,” I continued to speak even though he hadn’t answered me. I didn’t want there to be an awkward silence that would end up making both of us feel like idiots so I just blabbed over it like I usually did.

  “Yes,” he spoke, nodding briefly.

  “You’re a sub? I knew it.” I grinned. Just as I’d suspected. A lot of subs always seemed shy and hesitant, waiting for a confident Dom to come and sweep them up; it didn’t always work like that, though. Then, there were always exceptions to the rule; I had seen plenty of exhibitionist subs who went out of their way to show off.

  “Guess who’s calling; only that fucking dick-bag Richard!” Growler suddenly exclaimed as Vanessa turned towards him to look at his phone.

  “Tell that piece of shit to go flush himself!” she replied with equal fervour.

  David seemed to quail almost immediately at the sound of their raucous laughter and swearing. I tried to ignore them but they were making so much noise.

  “So, umm…” I tried to continue where I had left off, but the uncomfortable look on David’s face made it difficult for me to find the words.

  “I—I have to use the bathroom,” he spoke before I had a chance to finish my sentence.

  “Oh, okay, I’ll wait here for you.” I smiled at him reassuringly as he got to his feet and wandered off. I turned toward the other two, watching Vanessa applying cooling cream to her trembling slave’s backside as he stood clutching his bundle of clothing to his chest.

  “Did we scare him off?” Growler inquired offhandedly, his eyes focused on the glowing screen of his phone and not on me.

  “No, actually, he’s gone to the bathroom,” I retorted matter-of-factly.

  “You know, that guy has been standing there for the last two hours staring at you,” Vanessa remarked as she glanced at me. Her dangling earrings swung as she moved her head.

  “Well, I didn’t notice him until just now,” I confessed. I felt slightly embarrassed that I hadn’t noticed beforehand.

  “Is he a creeper?” Growler wore an amused sneer.

  “No, he’s just shy.”

  “You’re such a knob.” Vanessa made a scoffing laugh and Growler complained when she kicked him in the shin. “I need a drink! I’m sweating like a bloody beached manatee here.”

  “May I get you a drink, Mistress?” the otherwise silent slave at her side piped up, and she gently stroked his head as she looked down at him. He was one of her regular customers; Vanessa was the only one of us who worked professionally as a dominatrix. Like most of her clients
, he was a white middle-aged man, probably married, probably small in the dick department.

  “Good boy. I want another cider,” she told him, collecting his folded bunch of clothes and allowing him to go free. He looked rather funny hurrying off in his y-fronts with nothing else on but his socks and a collar.

  I turned and looked over the back of the sofa, wondering how long David was going to be before he came back. The truth was, it had been three months since I had broken up my last BDSM relationship, and maybe I was just on the rebound, but I was craving a submissive man to make mine. Vanessa had had to hold me back from throwing myself at every unsuspecting single man on the premises, reminding me that I had standards and that it wasn’t a case of “anyone will do.” She had taught me a lot over the years, being my friend and my guide, coaxing my self-esteem and nursing me when I was wounded, so naturally I deferred to her when I felt I was making a mistake.

  “So what was his name?” she questioned as she perched on the edge of the coffee table and examined her fingernails for chips in her black nail varnish.

  “David. That’s about all I got out of him really. Well, he said he’s a sub, so I guess he’s looking for someone to play with,” I told her as I checked the contents of my beer bottle.

  “He looks like he’s cosplaying Mr Bean,” Growler commented.

  Vanessa completely ignored him and instead pointed to where David had been standing earlier. “Literally, he was standing there two hours ago and he didn’t move from the spot. I think you got yourself an admirer.”

  “Really? What did you think of him?” I grinned, sensing that Vanessa appeared to see David in a different way than Growler, but that was no surprise really.

  “I don’t know, I guess I’ll chat to him when he gets back.” She shrugged, clasping her hands atop her knees after having adjusted her short skirt.

  I waited and waited. Some friends of Vanessa’s came over and we spent a while chatting and swapping stories. My phone vibrated and I checked it, discovering another notification from CordialSin. They had responded to my greeting with a greeting in return, but that was it, no private message. The app still said they were present. I looked over my shoulder, wondering where David had got to. Half an hour had passed and he still hadn’t come back. Maybe Growler and Vanessa really had scared him away.