Chapter Text
Jude lets out the softest moan, heart racing in his chest as he waits for the next sting of flesh on flesh. It comes, sharp and unforgiving on the softest part of him, and a louder whine is drawn from his throat as he shifts and tries to ignore the desperate throbbing in his cock.
"Twenty-two," he chokes out, and there's an approving hum from above him. He takes a deep breath, lashes fluttering against the soft fabric across his eyes, and waits.
Another biting slap over his ass, and Jude is afraid for a moment that it might send him over the edge.
"Twenty-three," he counts, and it takes everything in him to keep his hands behind his back and off of his aching cock.
There's another loud slap, and Jude can't hold back a louder moan. His mind is hazy, and he thinks he might be close to slipping under.
"Please," he gasps, and the hand that's rubbing the soreness of his ass stills. Jude freezes, knows immediately that he's fucked up.
"What did you just say? That wasn't a number."
Jude trembles, tries to remember the name of the guy he's been with for the past half an hour and can't. David, Darren? No, maybe Dylan.
"S-sorry," Jude whispers. "Didn't mean to, ''m sorry."
"I asked you a question." The man — Dylan, Jude decides in his head — drifts one hand up to Jude's neck, forming a light, careful circle.
Jude swallows. "I said please," he admits shamefully and sucks in a breath.
Dylan's hand tightens on the sides of his throat. "And what gives you the right to ask me for anything, slut? All you have to do is count, and you're so fucking dumb that you can't even follow a simple instruction. Only thinking about getting yourself off, is that? Do you think you even deserve to cum now?"
The calloused grip around his neck loosens, and Jude inhales a deep lungful of air. "No, sir. I'm sorry, sir."
"Good. And what number are you at?"
Jude can't remember for the life of him. "Um. Twenty-five?"
"Wrong."
There's another slap, angry and unexpected and too high up from the fleshy parts of Jude's ass, pain radiating from the spot when Dylan's palm strikes. Jude gasps with the contact, tears rising, but Dylan sighs condescendingly.
"You can't even count. Pathetic slut. Get the fuck up," Dylan barks, and Jude climbs off of his lap hurriedly. "Against the wall, now. I'll show you a real punishment."
Jude stumbles to where he thinks the wall is, and the blindfold slips right off his face, the knot loose and the fabric almost damp with sweat. Maybe tears, too, Jude can't be sure. The place where Dylan had last hit him still smarts uncomfortably, and it feels all wrong.
He turns around, hoping Dylan hasn't noticed yet that the blindfold's come off. He's lucky; Dylan's back is turned as he rifles through the trunk in the corner.
Jude's fingers fumble with the blindfold, trying to undo the knot. His gaze drifts to the room around them, which he hadn't gotten much of a look at before his eyes had been covered.
He spots a red pinprick of light in the corner above Dylan's head, almost laser-like and disconcertingly bright in the dimly lit room, the only other source of light being soft yellow strips all around the floorboard edges. It's one of Jude's favourite rooms in the club. He finds it serene, almost relaxing, and it makes it easier for him to fall into subspace in nearly any scene.
But he's never noticed the light before, and it almost makes him smile. He wonders just how many people have ever set off a fire alarm in a BDSM playroom, he wasn't even aware the club allowed any sort of fire-related play.
The light stares at him, and Jude squints. It's not blinking, and he frowns, blindfold abandoned in his hands. He steps to the right, closer to the door, eyes never leaving the light, and he swears he sees a glint in that corner.
The realization settles like icy water in his bones, and he takes a sharp breath.
"Is that a camera?" he asks Dylan, praying that his voice doesn't shake as he pushes the question out.
Dylan spins around, metal handcuffs falling from his hands to the floor with a clatter. "What the hell are you doing, why is your blindfold off?"
"Stop, I'm serious!" Jude can feel his heartbeat picking up again, a different kind of fear taking over. "Did you get a camera?"
"So what if I did?" Dylan leers at him, moving closer. "You're such a whore, I expect you'd like putting on a show."
"It's in my profile, that I'm not okay with it," Jude says, trying to keep himself as calm as possible. "You know that, you had to read that to match with me today. And I put it in the contract, we signed off on it!"
"And you said what, that you don't like exhibitionism? Baby, this is nothing, there's nobody here! Stop being so overdramatic."
Jude thinks he might be sick. He pictures the club guidelines in his mind, tries to remember the wording exactly.
"But that includes all forms of recording or surveillance unless stated otherwise. Those are the fucking rules, you can't do that."
"It's not like I'm gonna share the footage with anyone if that's what you're worried about," Dylan sighs derisively, and he's close enough now that Jude can see the way he rolls his eyes. "You don't want anyone else to see you on your knees moaning like the slut you are, desperate for me to spank you? They won't, it's just for me."
Dylan's voice is taunting now, and Jude can't help the way his eyes well up. "Red. Red, please, red, red, fuck."
"What?" Dylan sounds almost incredulous. "Okay, jeez, I'm sorry. I'll stop the camera now."
He turns, but Jude grabs his arm. "You have to delete it."
"Sorry?" Dylan stares at him. "I have nobody to send it to anyways, nobody knows I'm into this shit. Calm your tits."
"I'm fucking serious!" Jude drops the blindfold, swiping the back of his hand against his burning eyes. "I didn't agree to this, you need to delete it."
"Do you know how much extra I paid for the camera?" Dylan looks angry now, and Jude remembers those veiny hands around his neck and feels his breath getting shorter.
"We didn't even fuck," Dylan goes on obnoxiously. "You're being ridiculous."
Jude thinks he might be moments away from a panic attack. He knows it, actually, and his fight or flight mode kicks in. Frantically, he runs to the door. He grabs a robe off the rack next to it, no time to get his actual clothes, and slips the silky material on.
"Whoah, hold on, fucking chill out, yeah?" Dylan moves to block him from the door, but Jude is quicker, fingers on the handle and pushing before Dylan can stop him.
Jude stumbles out, tying the robe up tight as he goes, and immediately darts between two giggling women on the right.
The air is hot and smells refreshing compared to the suffocation Jude had felt seconds ago, a mix of bergamot and cedarwood from the club's diffusers that do just enough to mask the constant sweat and sex dripping off its patrons. The purple lighting is doing Jude's head in, but he's grateful that he knows his way around the place. To the right, he hurries, and he tries his hardest not to let another tear slip out.
He feels humiliated and pathetic in his robe, in his memories of Dylan and the way he kneeled for him, in the whole fucking club. He makes his way to the service counter, relief rushing through him when he sees there's no line, only one person in front of him.
The man in front is tall, blond, and dressed in a suit with a little bow tie. His hair is partly done up in a low bun, the rest of it long down the back of his neck. Jude realizes with a start that he's not another patron but a club worker, and he hesitantly steps forward, clearing his throat, unsure how to start.
"— just a handful of towels for Room 12, and water for Room 15. Oh, hey there, hold on, you look rough. Are you okay?"
The man turns, and Jude is struck with the most beautiful face he's ever seen, in this club or anywhere else. He feels even more embarrassed now, fingers anxiously tugging the ties of his robe tighter, and he checks over his shoulder to make sure Dylan hasn't found him yet before turning around.
"I'm okay," Jude says, and then shakes his head. "Fuck, sorry, I mean. I'm not. I was in Room 10, sorry. I just—"
He hiccups a little, voice catching as the man continues to watch him, no judgement at all in his overwhelmingly kind eyes.
"Hey, hey. What happened? We can help," the man says reassuringly, and the sweetness in his voice makes Jude feel even sicker. He feels ashamed of himself for some inexplicable reason.
"Hey," the blond man turns to the woman behind the service counter. "Darla, can you grab a water for him? And check who's signed into Room 10 right now. Something's happened."
"On it, Earl," she says with a nod, leaving the counter and Jude behind.
Jude spots the name tag pinned to the man's suit jacket, spelling Earl in messy black print. He's never seen Earl working at the club before.
"Do you want to sit?" Earl asks him softly. "Tell me what's going on? If someone did something unsafe or violated any part of the contract, we can help."
He reaches out to touch Jude's arm and then seems to think better of it, retracting quickly. Jude wants the touch and doesn't, is scared of how a man who speaks so gently to him would touch him. With tenderness, surely. Something Jude doesn't deserve.
Darla's back now, pushing the water bottle across the counter in their direction before turning to her computer and typing quickly. Earl picks the water up, twists the cap off, and passes it to Jude.
"Here, have a bit," he says, and Jude takes it gratefully.
"Thank you," he manages to say, and Earl smiles. It's so soft and kind, and Jude has to close his eyes as he drinks the water in large gulps, nearly choking.
"Easy does it," Earl says quietly, and he takes the bottle back, recapping it, when Jude has had his fill.
"Sir," Darla looks up from her computer. "Are you Mr. Jude or Mr. Devon? And can you state your complaint?"
Devon, oh. Right, Jude thinks.
"I'm Jude," he says, and he's surprised at how steady his voice is now. He sees Earl nod encouragingly in his peripheral vision and finds some sort of strength to keep going. "Uh, Devon broke our contract? I mean, I have in there some boundaries, and, um. He did something that I clearly say I don't consent to?"
"Okay, thank you, Mr. Jude," Darla's fingers clack against the keyboard. "Can you please provide more information on what part of the contract was broken?"
The embarrassment comes back, and Jude feels heat rise in his cheeks. For some reason, his eyes jump to where Earl stands.
"Oh, sorry," Earl steps back awkwardly. "Have you got it, Darla? I can go."
"No," Jude says quickly, and Earl stops moving instantly, eyes snapping back to Jude. "Sorry, I just mean, it's okay. Obviously you can leave, you have stuff to do. I just meant that I don't mind."
"Stay I shall then," Earl says, stepping closer again, and Jude doesn't understand why Earl's presence calms him so much, but he's thankful that, for whatever reason, Earl is sticking around.
"Right," Jude takes a deep breath. "In my part of the contract it says I don't consent to any form of exhibitionism, including any form of recording. And that's in my profile too, so Devon would've seen it when we matched even if he just skimmed the contract."
"Okay," Darla nods for him to continue, and Jude breathes out.
"I didn't notice until like, halfway through, that he had a camera up. He was recording us."
"Fuck," Earl whispers quietly.
"And I stopped everything and asked him about it and, I don't know, he got mad? He really didn't want to delete the recordings. I was scared, I panicked and came here."
"Okay, Mr. Jude, thank you. You did the right thing. Our patrons normally have footage transferred to them before checkout, so we'll delete it then."
"Oh," Jude breathes out in relief, and then pauses. "But he paid to use the camera. And I know they're a pretty expensive add-on to a room."
"That's alright, sir," Darla tells him. "We can refund him, that won't be an issue. I know it's up to the involved parties to read the contract and ensure they understand everything, but whoever checked you in also should have noticed that Mr. Devon had added something to the package that contradicted your part of the contract. We apologize for that."
"Sorry," Earl interrupts. "But did you say you're gonna refund that prick? He doesn't deserve that money back, he should have read and respected Jude's boundaries. And he stood by that instead of realizing he was in the wrong. I'd actually revoke his membership, if it was up to me."
Jude feels a rush of gratitude at Earl's words, defense that he doesn't understand what he did to deserve, and he turns hopefully to Darla.
But she only gives him a sad, sorry smile. "I'm afraid I can't do much more than delete the footage. He has a valid argument in asking for his money back for something he can't use, and it also seems like Mr. Jude stayed in the room for more than half of the time, so—"
"What the fuck is going on here? Jude?"
Jude turns around and steps away from Devon's towering figure, the marble counter cold and hard against his back, heart slamming heavy against his ribcage. Devon had taken the time to get his clothes back on, and it makes Jude feel even smaller in his robe.
Before he can even get a word out, Earl steps between them. "I take it you're Devon. I'm gonna need you to take two steps back right now, sir."
"Excuse me, who are you?" Devon asks, voice full of disdain as he does so, taking two tiny steps backwards. "Look, I don't know what the hell Jude told you happened, but it's probably a load of shit. I didn't know he wasn't okay with recording stuff. And it's not like I'm going to send anyone anything, but I have a right to the video I paid for."
"It is our understanding," Darla says, "that Mr. Jude asked you more than once to delete the footage after letting you know that he's not okay with it, and you refused his requests. Is that correct?"
"Fuck off, you make it sound so much worse than what happened," Devon says flippantly. "Jude's being a little bitch about it, I'm sure."
"You asshole," Earl seethes, voice dropping low and quiet in a way that sends chills down Jude's spine. "It was in the contract, and you have no excuse. Our club is very clear with our definition of exhibitionism, and recording and cameras fall under that umbrella for us. I'd ask you if you denied Jude's request to delete the video, but you've gone and denied it here again so there's no point.
"Earl." Darla's voice is a warning, and Earl backs off, stepping aside so that she can see Devon but still keeping himself in the space between Jude and Devon.
"Alright, I'm sorry I didn't understand the contract properly. Okay?" Devon looks even more pissed than before now, and Jude inches his way closer to Earl so he's at least somewhat covered.
"Okay," Darla sighs. "I'm going to check you out now, and I'll be deleting all footage."
"This is honestly insane," Devon spits. "Are all of you guys pussies? For God's sake, I didn't even get to fuck him! I expect a full refund, not just on the camera but my entire half for the room. What a fucking waste of my time that slut was."
They're drawing looks from other people passing by now. Jude wants the ground to swallow him whole, wants the sky to open up and send a lightning bolt his way.
"Don't talk about him like that, what the fuck is your problem?" Earl snaps.
"Oh, if we're so keen to talk about the contract, trust me, he loves it," Devon says, a cruel smile on his face. "Fucking loves when I call him a whore, you should've heard how he was moaning for it."
Jude feels raw, exposed, utterly mortified. He whimpers, soft, but Earl still hears him and draws himself to full height, stepping fully in front of him again.
"Shut the fuck up," he snarls, loud and venomous, and then spins around to Darla. "Give his refund if you have to, but you can't let him keep his membership. He's violated a shitload of rules, and we can't let him be an example of disrespect for any other cocky fuckers here. He has to go."
"Ahem," Darla clears her throat. "Earl is correct here, Mr. Devon. You've more than violated another patron's boundaries, and your disrespect for Mr. Jude and the establishment's workers are enough to void your membership. I'll have your money transferred back, but I need your card."
Devon sputters incoherently for a moment and then scoffs. "What the fuck, fine. Fine!"
He pulls a sleek leather wallet from his pocket and then throws a gold card in Darla's direction. It hits the countertop, and Jude flinches.
"Fine," he says again and walks up to the counter, sneering at Jude when he sees him. "I won't keep wasting my time here when all the subs you have are sluts scamming me out of my money anyways."
"That's quite enough," Darla says sharply, picking the card up and snapping it right then and there. "I need you to sign your release forms, and then you will be escorted from the premises. Earl, can you help Jude back to the room so he can gather his things? I'll go ahead and check him out, I expect he's not looking to stay any longer tonight."
"Of course," Earl agrees easily, and the softness in his voice is so different from the red-hot anger that had saturated his words just moments ago. "Come with me, Jude?"
"Okay," Jude nods, and he follows Earl without a second glance back at Devon.
Those last words still ring in his ears though, and it makes him feel slightly ill as they make their way all the way back to the corridor and down to Room 10.
"I'm so sorry, Jude," Earl says quietly as he holds the door open for Jude to go in. He turns around, allowing Jude to shake off the silky robe and put his own clothes back on.
He hates what he wore to the club, now that it's back on him. A white crop top and tight, ripped black jeans. He wants to hide every inch of his skin, feels shame like a razor blade in his throat.
"All good?" Earl asks, and Jude just nods. He rubs his bare arms and wants to cry.
"Are you cold?"
"A little," Jude answers. It's not the cold that's bothering him, but he doesn't know how to say it.
"Here," Earl says, shrugging off his own jacket. He takes the pin with his name off and then passes it to Jude.
Jude blinks, doesn't take it. Feels so disbelieving in the face of Earl's kindness, now and the whole night since they met.
"I can easily get another one, don't worry," Earl reassures him, holding it out, and Jude gingerly takes it.
"Thank you, Earl," he says as he slips it on, doing up most of the buttons. He feels better already, stomach and arms safe under fabric.
"Of course. Actually, my name's not Earl, not really," he laughs awkwardly, a hand coming up to smooth out the tail of his blond hair. "It's Erling."
"Erling," Jude says. He isn't sure why this man, Erling, is telling him this, but it feels important in a way he can't understand. "That's a pretty name. Thank you, Erling."
"Is there anything else I can do to help you, Jude?" Erling asks. "I'm so sorry about everything, really sorry. I promise everything will be deleted, I'll check myself. And that piece of fucking scum won't be back in here, I can guarantee that."
"It's okay," Jude lies easily. He doesn't want to look any weaker, not for this man who's done too much already for Jude. "I'm okay. Thank you, I really appreciate everything you've done already. And can you thank Darla for me, too?"
"I will, of course," Erling smiles at him. His hand reaches out, as if to touch Jude, but he withdraws it just as he had the first time.
Fuck it, Jude thinks, and steps forward with open arms.
"Oh," Erling exhales, and gathers Jude up tightly in his arms, holding him close. Even his hug feels so tender, so caring, Jude can't stand it.
Erling's grip loosens a bit, but he doesn't let go, lets Jude stay as long has he needs. His big hands are rubbing gentle circles across Jude's back, and in all Jude's time in this fucking club, nobody's hands have ever touched him with such care.
He has to break from Erling's embrace eventually. He feels selfish and gross, like he's somehow contaminated Erling by letting them touch for so long.
"Thanks," Jude says shyly, and Erling smiles at him, rubbing a hand on his shoulder.
"Of course, Jude."
It's strange, how Erling acts like care is the natural choice when it comes to handling Jude.
"Will you get home alright?"
He's so sweet, Jude decides he can't be real. "Yeah, I will."
He takes his phone out and then groans at the flashing battery sign winking up at him when he tries to turn it on.
"Shit, my phone's dead," Jude sighs. Of course, as if his night could get any worse. "I need to call an Uber."
Erling fumbles in his pants pocket for a moment and then pulls his phone out. "I use Uber, you can just book a ride on my phone."
He unlocks his phone and passes it to Jude, who takes it with a quiet thanks. "I'll pay you back for the ride," Jude tells him as he puts in the address of a park a little ways from his building.
"Don't worry about it," Erling says with a shake of his head. "I'm more than happy to. Come on, I'll wait with you until your ride gets here."
Together, they make their way through the club, Erling leading the way although Jude thinks he's probably walked the path from Room 12 to the exit more times than he could count with both hands.
The door is quiet as it closes behind them, and the cool chill of the summer night is welcome on Jude's warm skin. The club had been stifling, and outside Jude feels lighter as he inhales and exhales deeply.
"I really can't thank you enough for everything tonight," Jude says quietly as they stand and wait, tugging the jacket tighter around himself.
Erling hasn't shivered once, despite his short sleeves in the cold. "I'm just really happy I was there to help."
Jude moves closer to Erling, unsure how to ask to hug him again, how to let himself ask for the grounding touch that Erling would surely gladly provide. But Erling seems to sense him coming nearer and drapes an arm over Jude's shoulders, pulling him closer, no words needed. His right hand massages and rubs gently, every press more affectionate than Jude deserves.
"Will you be okay?" Erling murmurs to him. He doesn't stop rubbing Jude's shoulder and holding him close.
"Yeah," Jude breathes, eyes fluttering shut. "Yeah, I will."
"Good," Erling says softly, and nothing more. Jude soaks the silence up. It feels strangely comforting to him.
Soon enough, the Uber arrives, and Jude takes a reluctant step away from Erling.
Erling grabs his hands, holds them between his own massive ones, and looks Jude right in the eye. For a brief, insane moment, Jude imagines those hands on his face, on his waist, doing more than just holding him. He blinks quickly, chases those thoughts away.
"You get home safe, okay, Jude? Promise me you'll be safe."
Jude has a feeling it's not just the ride home that Erling is talking about, but he nods anyways. "I will. Thank you, Erling. For everything."
His hands feel so cold when Erling lets them go. Even colder still as he climbs in the Uber and it pulls away.
He looks back, sees the club sign in neon purple above Erling's head. Clairvoyance, it reads in looping letters. Erling gives him a little wave.
He can try to be safe, he always does his best. But there's a sick part of Jude that looks forward to the next time that he comes crawling back to the club. The next time he puts himself in the hands of the cruelest man he can find.
He keeps his jacket as snug as possible and doesn't let himself think of anything kind. He doesn't let himself think of that soothing voice, those gentle hands. He doesn't let himself think of Erling at all.