Naughty November

Chapter 1

ONE

MAX JENSEN

This was weird. Reid and I took the elevator up to the attic on the fourth floor, and we didn’t speak. He pushed the metal gate open when the elevator stopped, and I dug out my keys.

This space right here had been our coat check slash changing room before events for eleven years. The bathrooms were here too, same with a tiny-ass office where we kept members’ records and the community’s bookkeeping.

I unlocked the door to the main area, and we stepped inside…

The attic stretched along the length of the building, about a hundred feet, with a vaulted ceiling, window nooks that’d become seating areas, and a long line at the center with kinky furniture. Sawhorses, four-poster beds, a station for suspension bondage, two crosses, a rope web, and a pillory.

We had twenty-seven days to clear it all.

Smaller implements like floggers, whips, rope, paddles, and gags were stacked in boxes along the walls.

In two months, a graphic design agency was moving in .

I walked over to the nearest seating area, consisting of four chairs and a low table. Reid followed me, and we sat down and just looked out over the place.

Eleven fucking years.

The failure of shutting down weighed heavily at the same time as it felt liberating to finally walk away.

Our community hadn’t been thriving in…fuck, three or four years. It’d been one headache after another. One fight after another. So much goddamn drama. And Reid and I were done.

We had seventy-four members, and about twenty of them had listed themselves as attending the meeting tonight.

The rest would get a lengthy message on our Discord server first thing in the morning.

Old Town is closing. We thank you for these eleven kinky years…but now y’all can fuck off.

Okay, I wouldn’t be adding the last part.

I leaned back and rubbed my forehead.

Reid picked up a piece of paper from the table and eyed it.

“What is it?” I asked.

His mouth twitched. “The list of kinks members filled in. This is yours.”

Oh. I must’ve forgotten it here.

In an attempt to revive some of the old energy that once filled the space, we’d printed out a list of kinks to try out. We’d wanted a weekend-long event where members could explore something new and have fun.

Then I’d opened my email to find the monthly invoice for rent due, and I’d stared at it for the longest time. I’d called Reid, fucking exhausted, and asked what the hell we were even doing anymore.

The end had snuck up on us, but it wasn’t like we hadn’t seen it coming. Reid had renegotiated our lease two years ago, going from six months to monthly, because we’d known deep down there would come a day when we were just fed up. At which point, we wouldn’t wanna be stuck with this place for several months.

Reid’s forehead creased. “You listed primal/rough as somethin’ you wanna try? ”

Oh fuck.

“Gimme that.” I leaned forward and extended my hand.

He chuckled, confused. “You’ve taken part in primal events for years.”

Yeah, as a Top.

I’d been thinking lately… Or going through an identity crisis lately…

“I checked it as an example when we handed them out,” I lied. I crumpled the paper and tossed it in another chair.

Truth be told, I’d probably take a long break from kink after this.

Well, after our trip. Reid and I had our annual get-together with some friends coming up, but then I was done. Almost twenty years in the lifestyle, and what did I have to show for it? A string of failed relationships that’d never felt right in the first place.

I’d come to the conclusion that I wasn’t a high-protocol Master, I wasn’t a Daddy Dom, and I wasn’t a rope rigger. Three fetishes I’d tried to convince myself I identified with. But no more. I’d never had that feeling of… this is it, it’s clicking, this is who I am .

I’d turned myself into a case of projection. The years I’d studied and had very little structure and security in my life, I’d overcompensated in kink and claimed I was a Master. Because I’d needed the ground extra solid. Then my life had turned around; I’d become more comfortable, work had been great, my career taking off, and so I’d mellowed out and found something exciting in the world of Daddies and Littles.

I sighed and checked my watch.

Hopefully, no one was late today. I wanted to get this over with.

We had buyers for the furniture, and we’d let the members grab whatever toys they wanted.

I felt no emotional attachment to anything here anymore. As long as Reid and I didn’t lose touch, I was good.

He’d been my one and only constant. Once upon a time, he’d gone to high school with my big brother, and he’d been cool, calm, and collected even then.

At forty-six, he had his whole life written in stone, and he liked it that way. He’d been a Sadist and a Top for as long as we’d been in kink. Nothing had changed. He’d never doubted that part of himself. He’d observed others, and he’d explored to gain more experience, but he’d landed comfortably back in his own shoes. Sadist, Top, end of discussion. Not a Dom, not a Master, not a lifestyle kind of guy. He’d had more success with vanilla relationships.

I envied that.

A break would do me good. Partly because I wanted more vanilla in my life. If anything, that was when I was the happiest. There was less pressure. Sure, I’d probably miss the excitement of rough play and adrenaline rushes, but there were other communities. I could find someone to play with casually.

“Do you have plans later?” I asked.

“Dylan’s home for the weekend.”

Oh, right. I’d forgotten.

I was so damn proud of that kid. I was obviously proud of my own son too, but Dylan had done a 180 his sophomore year in high school. Now he was at NYU and wanted to become an architect.

His teenage rebellious phase had been…long. First losing his mother, and then his grandmother, had made him angry. He’d gone through a whole year of “You’re not my fucking dad” with Reid. But little by little, Reid’s steadfastness had left a mark. He’d let the kid get all the anger out of his system, while discreetly providing comfort and stability—a safe place for Dylan to land.

Reid’s relationship with Dylan’s mother hadn’t lasted that long—he did prefer men after all—but he’d understood early on that a bond with a kid couldn’t or shouldn’t be severed. After the breakup, he’d been an every-other-weekend kind of dad for a while, until Dylan had wanted to spend more time with him. No one had been happier than Reid, and they’d settled into the same 50/50 arrangement I had with my own boy.

Then when Dylan’s mother passed away from cancer, things had unraveled for a while. Dylan had pushed everyone away, he’d acted out, and he’d let his grades tank.

These days, they couldn’t be closer. Dylan took every opportunity to come home and visit. He could’ve waited till Thanksgiving like most college kids, but not him .

The sound of the elevator brought me back to the present, and I took a deep breath and exchanged a look with Reid.

Here we go.