Ask the bartender about downstairs
From Create Your Own Story
The condensation on your beer glass drips onto the polished mahogany bar as you lean in, lowering your voice just enough to be heard over the murmur of early evening chatter. "So what's the deal with the basement here?" The words tumble out before you can stop them, half-expecting the bartender to shut you down.
The old man—his salt-and-pepper beard neatly trimmed, his hands rough from decades of wiping down counters—pauses mid-polish. A slow, knowing grin spreads across his weathered face as he drags a calloused thumb along his jawline. "Downstairs," he says, voice dripping with implication, "is where all the *real* fun happens."
You arch an eyebrow, waiting. He chuckles, leaning in conspiratorially.
"Anything goes down there," he continues, wiping his hands on a rag before tossing it over his shoulder. "Well—*almost* anything. Rule number one: consent. We enforce that strictly. But beyond that?" He gestures toward the dimly lit staircase in the corner. "Private rooms, a fully equipped play space—bondage rigs, swings, you name it—and dress code? Optional." His smirk deepens as he taps the bar. "Place is quiet now, but trust me, once the crowd picks up? That basement turns into something else entirely."
Your pulse jumps. Every whispered rumor you’d ever heard about this place—the underground reputation, the unspoken thrill of it—was true.
sit at the bar and finish your beer
