Hunting Truth (Orion the Hunter Part Four)

by J. D. Chase

  Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next. We went through a heavy steel door and the sound of loud music, throbbing with bass, hit me. The immediate area was quite dimly lit but across the room there were various brightly lit stages. Men and women in various stages of undress were engaging in different sexual acts in the glare of the spotlights. There was lots of different equipment in use from tiny hand-held objects to large items of furniture, including stocks—most of which I couldn’t begin to describe, never mind name. The whole place reeked of sex.

  Some couples or ménages were on beds or couches on the stage, some were suspended by ropes and chains above the stage—there were even two women locked in a large suspended cage, I quickly turned away when I realized that they were engaging in cunnilingus in front of the crowd. I prided myself on not being a prude and on being open-minded, but I wasn’t used to blatant sexual acts being committed in public. In my mind, sex was a private act. I found myself looking down at my feet.

  Scott led me to the center of the enormous room. I noticed there was a large bar with various types of seating all the way around it. That looked better. Safer. We reached the dimly lit bar and Scott advised me that most people didn’t drink alcohol here. He explained that it was either because they didn’t want to dilute the sensation of pleasure with alcohol or because it could have safety implications, depending upon the activities they engaged in. Therefore, drinks were logged so that if you wished to engage in some of the more risky activities, you could prove how much alcohol you’d consumed, if any.

  As we weren’t planning on engaging in any kind of activity, Scott bought us both a drink and we sat on a sofa near the bar that afforded a good view of the room. Within minutes, I realized that this area that I’d thought ‘safer’ was in fact, not. On the sofa to my right, a man was resting his feet on the back of a woman who was prostrate on the floor while another woman gave him a blow job.

  And right in front of me was a woman that I think would best be described as a dominatrix. She had a man wearing a collar and leash and nothing else licking her shiny black boots as she hit him with a riding crop. Sometimes she lashed it across his buttocks, sometimes she slid it against his scrotum or flicked it at his erect penis. He grew visibly more excited every time she touched him with the crop.

  Scott sat quietly sipping his drink and allowing me to take in all there was to see. I was too embarrassed to let my eyes linger anywhere. Just about everybody was engaging in sexual activities and nobody seemed to be bothered that there was a room full of people around them. Mind you, most people seemed to be engrossed in their own pleasure and not taking much notice of anyone else. The people on the spotlighted stages seemed to be drawing some attention but I guess that was why they were there. Two men who’d been leaning against the bar kissing when we got our drinks now began to have sex against the bar—very noisily and very aggressively. The barman shouted for them to go get a room and then laughed loudly when one of them flipped him the bird without breaking stride.

  I turned to Scott and widened my eyes. He laughed. “So,” he said. “Was this what you were expecting?”

  I shrugged. I hadn’t known what to expect. “I hadn’t expected it to be so . . . out in the open. People acting out their desires and fantasies in full view of everyone else. I thought there’d be private rooms.”

  “Oh there are—upstairs. You can hire rooms that are equipped for different purposes. I’ll take you on a tour in a little while but I can only show you the rooms that are unoccupied unless people have left their doors open. I’ll also show you the dungeon.”

  My mouth gaped and I closed it hastily. “The dungeon?” I looked at the floor. “You mean . . .?”

  He nodded. “Yep. Down there. Underground. That’s where the more hard core acts take place. There’s a communal area but most are private rooms. They’re insulated a little but you can still hear people’s cries and screams sometimes.”

  I wasn’t altogether sure that I wanted to hear people screaming. Scott saw my face and took my hand. “Don’t worry, Issy. Anyone who’s down there is there of their own free will, engaging in practices that are entirely consensual. There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain and many people find pleasure in pain. I don’t necessarily mean severe pain, although there are many masochists who come here. Pain can be as little as a light pinch to a nipple, a gentle nip of the teeth, a scrape of a nail, through to serious pain like caning. People only do what they want and what they like. Some people have to feel or inflict pain to get aroused. So don’t judge until you’ve seen for yourself.”

  I nodded, absorbing his words. Then I had a very educational half hour or so whilst Scott described what various people were doing, what the equipment was called, and what it was used for. My eyebrows rose steadily higher and higher. I’d had no idea that most of this existed. I gradually relaxed and found myself deliberately seeking out dominant males with submissive female partners and discreetly watching what they were doing. I fleetingly pictured myself here with Lucas. He’d promised to take me to one of these clubs after all, but I chased the image from my mind.

  I was totally entranced by some of the things I saw upstairs. Some of the rooms were occupied and the doors closed. Some were unoccupied and I had a good look inside a few. Some were pretty much like ordinary bedrooms or hotel rooms, but I noticed that the bed frames were always sturdy and suitable for attaching cuffs and other objects to. Other rooms were for particular fetishes: I saw one couple galloping around engaging in pony play, according to Scott.

  I saw a few kittens, complete with ears and tails—the tails were attached to butt plugs apparently. That triggered a few memories. As did a large cross like the one Lucas had tied me to, which Scott informed me was called a Saint Andrew’s cross. I saw several threesomes, some same sex, some mixed sex. Everyone seemed to be having a very pleasurable time using a range of different clothing and equipment. And I got the general feeling that this floor was a mostly playful one.

  Next was the dungeon. To get into it, Scott informed me that we had to go back into the reception area as access was strictly controlled and monitored. Scott told me that if I wanted to leave at any time, I just needed to squeeze his hand and we’d leave. That was reassuring, given the thoughts that were running through my head, mostly thanks to his mentions of pain and screaming.

  We passed back through the heavy steel door and into the reception area. As we passed the security monitor room, I noticed Scott peer in. He then quickly steered me away towards the desk.

  “I think you should give the dungeon a miss tonight,” he said. “You’ve seen most of what the place has to offer and you look like you’ve had enough.”

  I felt a little relief at the avoidance of any possible visions or acoustics from painful activities so, although I was a little confused by his sudden change of mind, I didn’t question it. He signed us out then deftly released the security door and propelled me outside. I drew in welcome lungfuls of fresh air and welcomed the lack of noise as we walked to Scott’s van.

  As we were pulling out of the car park, I noticed a black Lexus SUV that looked like Lucas’. I could only see the end of its registration plate but felt sure it matched. I asked Scott to stop so I could peer more closely at it but he appeared not to hear me and continued to drive on to the lane.

  “Scott, there was a car there that I could have sworn was Lucas’.”

  “Hmm. What? There are loads of Lexus SUVs, Issy,” he said dismissively.

  “At a sex club? I don’t think so,” I said with a snicker.

  “Issy, don’t be so judgmental. If you saw the list of members for that club, you’d never believe it. Some of the most influential, well-respected professionals and politicians in the state frequent Odyssey . . . and some from neighboring states. Kink isn’t something that discriminates by class or gender. And yes, some people spend their lives denying their true desires, but not everyone does or even can.”

  I lowered my eyebrows as I abso
rbed his words. “Well, I didn’t see any,” I said, a little sulkily.

  “None that you recognized. The most famous or infamous members use a private door and private rooms. But the club has links to some very scary people so I doubt that anyone would say anything if they were out in the general areas.”

  I turned to him, intrigued. “Scary people? How so?”

  “The security guys mean business for one thing, but the ownership of Odyssey is linked to some very serious gangster types, or so I heard. I’m not sure how or who and, as far as I’m concerned, the less I know the better.”

  He drove me back to my apartment in relative silence. I recalled Lucas’ words about attending a BDSM club in the past but not for several years. I wondered which club he’d frequented. I pictured him engaging in some of the acts I’d witnessed with some of the women I’d seen. I felt nauseous as I said goodnight to Scott. I was so relieved to find that Angel had already gone to bed. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget the black Lexus SUV in the car park or shake the images of Lucas with beautiful submissives at his feet. It was a while before I eventually drifted off into a restless night’s sleep.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, I felt like hell and hung over, although I’d only drunk a couple of glasses of wine at Odyssey with Scott. The image of Lucas and his imaginary sub was burned into my memory and I knew it was an emotional hangover that I had. I vowed to get him out of my system and fast. I had no work lined up now I wasn’t working on mini-Dakota, no office space and no opportunities to pursue. I needed to get my act together professionally.

  So all morning I worked on updating my portfolio and my website. Angel thoughtfully left me to it, knowing that I needed to concentrate. My involvement in the prestigious mini-Dakota project should attract some attention I thought—even if there were awkward questions to answer about why I’d left the project part way through. I didn’t want to cite personal reasons in case it made me seem unreliable. There was no way I could hint at issues with my working relationship with Lucas—again this could raise potential concerns about my professionalism. I decided to talk it over with Angel later in the day.

  As I uploaded photographs of the completed apartment, my heart constricted. I knew that it was my best work by far. I ached to be a part of it still and to walk around the completed development one day, knowing that I’d done it. The saying ‘never mix business with pleasure’ came to mind. What a shame I hadn’t borne that in mind at the time.

  A photograph of the elegant living room filled the screen and I remembered standing in there with Lucas only four days previously, anxiously awaiting his verdict on the first finished interior. And the feelings of relief and joy when he not only approved, but pronounced it perfect, exactly what he’d have chosen if he lived there. I smiled wryly at the knowledge that I’d designed that apartment as if it was for me. A single tear rolled down my cheek and plopped onto the keyboard.

  I was dragged from my self-pity by the ringtone of my cell. I picked it up and was surprised to see it was Daniel. “Hi, Daniel, what can I do for you?”

  “Hi, Issy, I just wanted to give you the heads up. Lucas has figured out that you’re no longer involved with mini-Dakota. He’s not just gone ballistic—he’s gone thermonuclear. I’m so glad that you’re not sat downstairs in your office right now. I don’t think he’d be able to keep away. He’s just ranted at poor Jenson, the architect, and demanded that he gets you back on this project pronto. So, at the very least you can expect a call from him.”

  I sighed. “Thank you for letting me know.” I was just about to hang up but I spoke without realizing. “How is he, Daniel?”

  He hesitated before replying. “When I came in early this morning and saw him, I was so relieved. He was showered and shaved, dressed in his usual work attire and although he looked haunted and exhausted, at least he was behaving rationally again.”

  Daniel continued, “But he is more ill-tempered than ever. Even before he’d figured out about you not honoring your contract, he was snapping at everyone and storming around. I’ve never seen him this bad. Something must’ve happened in between me leaving the office late evening yesterday and this morning. Even if it’s only just in his head. He’s like a man possessed. God help anyone who crosses him in this mood.”

  I pursed my lips as I listened. “Oh dear, Daniel. I’m sorry that you have to work with him when he’s like that. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  “Just come back. Even if not to Lucas or even to the building, just come back onboard the project. Mini-Dakota needs you, Issy. Please, just say you’ll think about it. You could deal with me and Jenson. Lucas isn’t really involved. He was only interested when Jenson told him that he’d not had contact from you. I’m sure if he knew you were back onboard, he’d be content to leave you to it.”

  I drew in a deep breath. I was torn. I wanted to work on the project more than anything but I’d vowed to myself that I’d make a clean break from Lucas.

  “Daniel, I can’t make any promises except that I’ll give the matter some serious thought. I’ll get back to you, okay? Please intercept Jenson and let him know that I’m considering it.”

  I was disconnecting the call when Angel flounced into the apartment with goodness knew how many bags of shopping.

  She beamed at me. “Right, missy, I hope you’re done because I’ve just managed to get us hair appointments at the salon for this afternoon. Then tonight we’re going to watch the boys perform at the bar. I’ve not heard them for so long, I can’t wait.”

  I groaned and protested that I should be working but, after a quick lunch, we were walking through the doors of the salon. Tyler, my usual stylist, shook his head at the regrowth of my blue streaks. “Your mood doesn’t have to match your hair, darling,” he complained. “But your hair can lift your mood.”

  An hour and a half later, we left the salon. My black hair was now minus its blue streaks around my face. Instead it had deep red ones. The effect was even more striking than the blue had been. Angel dragged me into a diner. She said that, although she rarely ate them, she’d been craving a proper cheeseburger whilst at her parents. I laughed but I had to agree afterwards that she had a point—the cheeseburger and fries were very good.

  A couple of hours later, we were bathed, dressed and primped to perfection. We were both sporting the rock chic look, all in black. I’d applied scarlet lipstick and nail polish, and Angel gave a whistle when she saw me. She joked about it being unfair to the whole male population as we headed down to our waiting cab. James told us that he wished he was twenty years younger and we giggled as we got into the cab. “More like forty,” whispered Angel as she slid along the seat for me to follow her.

  The bar was buzzing although it was a Tuesday night. If it hadn’t been for the boys taking their usual table near the stage, we wouldn’t have got seats at all. Ethan jumped up and hugged Angel, saying he’d missed her. Chad and Scott went to get the drinks in. There was still a little time before they were due on stage.

  There was no sign of Travis. I asked Ethan where he was and he pointed across the room. Angel and I looked then exchanged glances. He was sat next to a girl who looked quite prim and proper compared to the way most women in the bar were dressed. He didn’t have his hands all over her or his tongue down her throat, but seemed to be hanging on to her every word. I was desperate to meet her but Ethan said she was shy and that it would be better to wait for Travis to introduce her.

  I really enjoyed sitting chatting with Angel and the guys. I felt my tension begin to drain away and, when the boys got up on stage and began to perform, I forgot about the drama in my life and sang my heart out. They were awesome, getting better each time I heard them and their confidence was so high after their festival appearances. I just knew that they had such a good chance of making it to the big time. I really hoped that something would come from the upcoming tour as a support act. I felt that they deserved it.

  One th
ing that was very different was Travis. He looked the same but he was quiet and reserved as he played, looking totally absorbed in the music except for when he looked across at his girlfriend; then he looked totally absorbed in her. I never thought I’d see the day. Ever! Angel said that if Travis could settle down with someone then there was hope for everyone. Everyone except me, I thought with surprising bitterness. I’d had my fingers burned once—there was no way I was going to risk that happening again. I felt the increasingly familiar ache in my chest.

  I felt my eyes begin to burn as tears threatened. I widened them and blinked rapidly to drive back the tears but it didn’t work. Thankfully, Angel’s eyes were fixed on Chad as I whispered that I needed to visit the bathroom. She barely acknowledged me as I slid out of my seat. I crossed the bar and walked down the corridor to the bathroom.

  I was relieved that the bathroom was empty as I crossed to the mirror. The threatening tears had smudged my mascara so I closed my eyes and wiped under my eyes with the side of my finger. When I opened them again, I did a double take. Lucas was standing just inside the door! I spun around to face him, convinced that my eyes were playing tricks on me. But no, he was definitely there. The tingles on my skin that I got whenever he was near convinced me that he was very real. My heart began to hammer in my chest and I found it difficult to breathe properly.

  “Hello, Issy,” he said; his tone nor his expression giving any indication of his mood. His voice was its usual velvet-coated self that made love to your ears.

  I opened my mouth but no sound came out so I closed it again. My mouth was dry and my throat appeared to have closed up. I just stared at him in shock. He was wearing black jeans (wait! were they those black jeans?), and a black shirt open at the neck. His hair was as sexy as always. His eyes were darker than their usual color but not as dark as I knew they could be. I knew from past experience that meant that he was either a little angry or a little horny. I reasoned that it must be anger and I began to feel somewhat disconcerted. His brother had told me I was in grave danger. Am I?