Prince Bertold sat at the big table in the dining room. Across from him yet another heiress his parents wanted him to meet. With something bordering on desperation he listened to Queen Ottilie, his mother's, comments.

In public he was always Bertold, in private just Bert. But the private dinners with his parents were more often than not in the last two years converted into a sort of bride market. Almost every week he met a different candidate, selected by his parents. The women were mostly nice enough, but he couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life with one of them. They talked about the right things, knew the etiquette and were polite, that wasn't the problem. But they didn't look like they would enjoy the things in bed that he did. Of course he knew that no one had BDSM-Lover written on the forehead, but he also refused to give up such an important part of himself. No marriage could work if he resented his wife. The dinner was leaning towards the end and before long he was able to excuse himself without being rude. Especially because his parents knew that he had a recurring appointment on Fridays. Of course they didn't know where he went. That saved all of them a great deal of embarrassment. He went to change into normal clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, before leaving the house. His equipment waited in a locker at the club for him. After arriving at the club and changing into his leather trousers, he went into the public area and sat on a bar stool. After ordering a coffee he let his gaze wander around the room. There were the regulars; some mingling while others played out a public scene on the cross in a corner of the open space and then there were the newbies; the first-timers, people whose interest was still new. They always seemed a little awkward at first before they settled in. Then, his gaze landed on you.

He set the cup down and crossed to your table, hands where you could see them.