Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: Prologue

Seven Years Ago

Musa

"So I had a fistful of her hair in my hand, and we were both right there in the moment when I looked her dead in the eye and said, 'Suck my cock like a good little girl.' Next thing I knew, she pulled back her fist and hit me right in the face."

"Eish!" Lucky curses with a grimace.

"Yoh!" Sifiso bellows.

Across the table, Thuli, the only woman in our group, looks horrified.

I wince, poking at the raw purple bruise growing around my eye socket.

"I don't think she liked that," Thuli adds with a light chuckle before taking a sip of her white wine.

"You think?" I burst out, grabbing my beer and holding the cold glass against my face to quell the throbbing ache pulsing around my eyeball. It hurts only half as much as my pride. The humiliation of getting my first real shiner from a pretty little thing I had been flirting with for weeks and was beyond eager to stick my dick into being the worst of my injuries.

"I mean…I thought we were getting along great. She seemed kinky enough, and she definitely appeared into it, but I guess I was wrong. Not a fan of a little sexy degradation, apparently."

The table goes quiet for a moment. My three colleagues and I have made these Thursday night drinks at the bar a bit of a tradition. We collectively hate the events company we work for. When we took these jobs, we did it for the excitement and the love of the industry. Now we meet for drinks once a week to rant about how we'd run the company differently and how much better we'd do on our own. But we're all talk. None of us are ready to leave steady positions to start over.

And more than occasionally, we talk about sex, each of us dishing out our dirtiest bedroom secrets like a bunch of old men swapping war stories. Even our modest Thuli joins in. Aside from Sifiso and his long-term girlfriend, Zinhle, we're all single, and we all intend to stay that way. One of the perks of working in events is that we work nights, parties, and drunken functions, which means we get laid fairly consistently, giving us ample conversation topics, so we don't have to spend all of our time together moaning about the company we work for.

"Fuck, man," Lucky replies with a contemplative look. "It's nonsense that there isn't a way to match people up by the kinky things they like to do in the bedroom."

Immediately, the table breaks out in laughter. Because this is what Lucky does. He makes jokes and expects a roll of amused reactions after every sentence that comes out of his mouth, something we've come to anticipate.

"I'm serious. How nice would it be if you could meet up with someone who likes the same twisted things you do? You wouldn't have to hide it or be embarrassed by the kinks that get your panties wet."

"You're mad, Lucky," Sifiso replies, but by the time I set my empty glass down on the table, I can't get the thought out of my head. Why don't dating apps match people by their kinks? Or better yet…what if you could hire someone to fulfil those desires?

And a safe place to indulge in them.

It dawns on me at that moment that a group of people with experience in events might have exactly the right skills to pull something like this off. If only we had the guts to take the leap. It could start as a dating service for more than just booty calls and hookups — something serious, where people didn't have to feel so ashamed of what they enjoy.

It could only grow from there. An app to a service…and then someday, a real kink club.

"I am not mad," Lucky argues. "Who here doesn't have some freaky bedroom desire you've always wanted but were too scared to ask for? I mean, obviously, Musa isn't scared to ask."

They laugh again, and Sifiso elbows me in the ribs, but I don't reply because I'm still turning this idea over.

"Come on. I'm serious," Lucky says. "Out of everything you've done, what is the one thing you wish you could ask for? You know you've got something. So let's hear it."

"You first," Thuli replies with a smug grin. As the only woman, and a slightly reserved one at that, Thuli has mastered the art of spinning conversations back around on us, keeping the attention off herself whenever she can.

"Fine," he says.

I tune them out for a minute while they each share their deepest, darkest fantasies because, just like Lucky predicted, everyone has one. And they're not all that strange, really.

It has me thinking…if everyone at this table has a specific kink they're too afraid to talk about…then does everyone in this bar? Everyone in this city? The country? The world?

"All right, Musa," Sifiso says, nudging my shoulder. "Your turn."

"Oh, that's easy," Lucky cuts me off. "Didn't you hear his story? Musa likes to degrade and get punched in the face for it."

The table erupts, and I join in, but I don't respond. With a smile around my glass, I take a drink, and I don't indulge them any further. Because they may think degradation is my style, but that's not it at all.

The next morning, we get the call that the company we work for is going under. They're filing for liquidation and we're all out of a job, but before any of us can even think about the UIF queue, we have a business plan. I head the company. Lucky handles the clients. Sifiso works with the developers. And Thuli manages all of us. And it's that easy.

Zasha House: The Club is born.