Chapter 47: Club Hydra

“Dom Markus is out, Johanna. But I’ve found a replacement rigger. The show is still happening!”

Luca Dillmann told me about two hours before the show. He was the manager of BDSM Club Hydra, where I’d done a show with Markus Trost back in February. I’d known Markus for about half a year and had already performed with him several times. Now he’d suddenly come down with the flu.

Markus was an experienced rigger, a bondage artist. He’d also taught me a lot that I could use in my own shows one day. We’d never had sex, even though we clicked perfectly. But he was in a committed relationship, and that was taboo for me. Having to work with a complete stranger on such short notice was normally a no go in my line of work. But I was in debt and needed the money, so I only shrugged.

“Who is it? Do I know him?”

Luca shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He introduced himself to me last week and did a trial show. He seemed good. His name is Gerold Vetter.”

“What about his own model?”

“He doesn’t have one right now.”

That happened, but it was extremely rare with experienced riggers. They could find willing models easily.

“When will he be here?”

“Any second. You can start getting ready!”

“All right. Send him backstage as soon as he’s here. We need to run through the show!”

“Sure! You’re amazing, Johanna!”

“Good, then add a few extra bills to my fee,” I shot back.

Luca pulled a face. So his gratitude wasn’t quite that great after all.

Shrugging, I went to the wardrobe and changing rooms. I hadn’t expected anything else from him. He was pretty stingy.

I’d just stripped down to my underwear and started doing my makeup when there was a brief knock and the door was yanked open immediately.

A tall, black haired man came in with a gust of cold winter air. His coat was wet from snow, and mud clung to his boots. He could at least have wiped them off.

“Hey, are you my slave tonight?” That was his greeting.

I disliked him from the very first moment.

“Hi. I’m Johanna, a bondage model. If you’re the rigger, I guess we’ll be performing together.”

“Okay, Johanna, let’s make this clear right away. To you, my name is Dom Gerold. That’s what you will address me as from now on, every single time.”

He took off his wet coat and searched for an empty hook, completely ignoring my stunned expression.

I pulled myself together. Fine. He was one of those assholes. I’d met his type before. Compensating for a lack of confidence with authoritarian posturing. Wannabe Doms, usually sadists. But I wasn’t squeamish. He could still be a skilled rigger.

By now he’d also taken off his boots and shoved them under his coat. Then he turned back to me.

“On stage, I expect you to kneel at the beginning and the end of the show and kiss my feet.”

Without the coat, he revealed himself to be noticeably overweight. Alcohol fumes drifted from his mouth. Well, maybe he’d needed a little courage. I only ever drank after a show, even if it was far too much then. Fair enough, my residual blood alcohol was probably still pretty high as well.

“Yes, Dom Gerold,” I answered, without a trace of deference.

He looked me over for a moment and seemed to weigh whether he should ignore or comment on my sly undertone. He chose to ignore it. Lucky for him.

“Right. Let’s get to the show. You were recommended to me as a tough masochist. True?”