“I was impressed by how it was handled, honestly. You’d be surprised how many people either don’t call, call too late, or withhold important details from us because they’re scared of the consequences.”

Clover nods solemnly in response. “I can’t even imagine. But you can be sure that won’t happen here. Safety is one of our primary concerns, and I’d rather the club get shut down than have someone be harmed because we didn’t do enough to help.”

“Good to know.”

With that, the conversation shifts to business.

Clover gives him the rundown of the club. He learns that there are four levels, each catering to different demographics. The ground floor is mostly professional, with a bar, lounge, and dance floor; nudity and any sexual acts are forbidden on this floor, as it helps ensure anyone who may enter from the street isn’t exposed to anything untoward, even though members need to check in at the desk upon arrival.

The second through fourth floors are for sexual acts, with the second floor being open to everyone, the third open only to female-identifying members, and the fourth to male-identifying members. Each floor has its own full bar, several small lounges, a bathroom and locker room, playrooms, and recovery rooms. To Rowan’s surprise, each floor also has an area off the lounge specifically for exhibitionists. He makes a mental note to investigate the one on the fourth floor.

Clover is thorough in her explanation of the club rules and membership perks, though Rowan has already read through them all several times. When prompted, he tells her he’d like to try the Silver membership for the month and gives her his license, credit card, and copy of his test results.

Multiple signatures later, he’s a hundred bucks poorer and officially a member of the Menagerie.

He shakes Clover’s hand as she pages her sister to come get Rowan and show him around.

“The layouts are all pretty much the same, but which floor would you like to tour?” Camilla asks once they are back in the hallway.

“The fourth.”

She nods and leads them to the elevator.

“You picked a good night to join, Rowan,” she tells him conspiratorially.

“Why’s that?”

“Malcolm is here tonight.”

She says the name like it’s supposed to mean something to Rowan. When he stares at her blankly, she makes a small ah sound and explains.

“He’s… hm. He’s basically a god around here. VIP, you could say. Been coming for years. Everyone who sees him in action wants him, even some people not usually into men. Gorgeous, confident, incredible scene partner, etcetera, etcetera.”

“He a top?” Rowan asks. Because god or not, if he’s not a bottom, Rowan’s really not interested. He didn’t exactly come here to be the one getting fucked, despite the fact that he does get an itch for it once in a while.