by Kate Allure
She began to suspect, to hope, that the real action all took place behind closed doors in those private suites.
Diana took a sip of her martini before setting it down. “Hmm. What do you want to see? Peep shows? BDSM? The orgy?”
“Oh!” Tori imagined multiple strangers caressing and fondling her all at the same time. It should disgust her, but instead her body tingled, tightened. She took a gulp of her gin and tonic.
Diana watched her, smirking.
“You wanted to shock me, didn’t you?” Tori accused.
“You asked.” Diana leaned closer, a soft smile lighting her face. “I love this club. Every kinky nook and cranny of it. But for tonight, I think we should stick to this floor. It’s tamer than downstairs, where the playrooms are located.”
“Playrooms? Isn’t the entire club a playroom?”
“Let’s keep it simple tonight,” murmured Diana, giving her hand a squeeze. “Hey, there’s my most recent friend.” She waved him over.
Smiling beneath his half mask, the obviously hunky specimen walked over to them. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he said.
Tori wondered how Diana had recognized him with his elaborate mask. Based on their full-body lip lock, they were more than friends.
Tori jerked upright on her chaise, suddenly worried that everyone greeted each other here by plastering their bodies together and thrusting their tongues deep. Ready to scurry behind the chair to ward him off, relief washed through her when Diana began introductions—all very formal and proper.
“Let’s dance,” Diana’s friend suggested.
Hooking one lady on each arm, he led Tori and Diana down Bush Walk to Drumbeat, the club’s disco. Loud, pounding music and shimmying, sweating bodies filled the square room. Dim recessed lighting, like everywhere else, lent anonymity to the black-and-gray-painted space, while swirling, flaring, multicolored laser lights danced around the pulsing bodies.
They made their own little circle on the floor, and Tori began to relax. She loved dancing, and this room seemed almost normal, like any other nightclub—if she ignored the fact that many dancers were partially undressed. Just when she thought she was getting used to it all, Diana scooted backward against her male friend and began rubbing her ass against his crotch.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Tori called over the loud music.
She could barely hear Diana’s response. “It’s the grind. Another fun import from the States, but it’s not catching on here—at least not in normal clubs.”
“I can see why,” Tori called back before declining with a wave of her hand a stranger’s invitation to join him in the lewd dance.
The man smiled again and stepped closer, ignoring her polite refusal. Reaching out, he attempted to draw her closer.
She yelled a strong, clear, “No,” and stepped closer to Diana.
The man nodded okay and moved on.
It looked like the entire party had gone native, everyone writhing and rubbing their bodies sensually against each other, sometimes as couples but often in threes and fours. Earthy and carnal, the dancers created a wild, erotic pantomime.
Not wanting to look like a wallflower but not ready to rub her body against a complete stranger, Tori danced by herself. Turning in place, she allowed her body to undulate to the sultry beat, swaying and moving as if she had a partner but rotating often to make it difficult for anyone to slide in behind her.
As she turned, she noticed a well-built guy by the door. Leaning casually against the wall, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his formfitting black jeans, he watched her. Even in the dark, a mask covering half his face, his full lips and strong jaw drew her attention and made her glance repeatedly at him.
Their eyes met, and her breath caught.
Wow!
Strangely fascinated by his observation of her, she danced facing him.
Ever so slowly, his eyes traveled insolently up the length of her body, from her stilettos up her calves and thighs, to pause on her full, swaying hips, then higher still along her rounded curves, until he concentrated on her generous bosom. His intense gaze on her body became a sort of intimate caress, the wicked grin on his handsome face telling her he liked what he saw.
Unused to such open sexual perusal, she startled, feeling cornered. Turning away, she yelled into Diana’s ear. “That guy over by the door’s watching me.”
“Of course he is. You’re gorgeous!” Diana rotated into her partner’s arms and they kissed.
Tori glanced back at the wall, the spot now empty. She looked around, but the hunk had left the disco. Relief filled her that he was no longer ogling her. Or was that flat, dull weight in the pit of her stomach really disappointment…?
It didn’t matter. His tight physique and trendy jeans and T-shirt told her he was probably in his twenties. Way too young.
And she wasn’t here to fuck a stranger, anyway.
Her resolve remained strong, even though her body refused to listen, continuing to react to everything around her, from the erotic atmosphere to the undulating bodies, and most especially, to the memory of the stranger’s visual caress.
A hand on her arm roused her out of her trance. “Dahling,” Diana yelled over the music. Her partner, wrapped around her like a blanket, rubbed his crotch on her ass. “I need a few minutes to relieve some…tension. I’ll be back.”
“What? No!” Tori gaped at them, fear gripping her. “But I’ll be—”
“You’ll be fine. You’re completely safe here. Get yourself another drink. I’ll meet you in the Watering Hole in a few minutes.”
Her friend was already pulling her from the room as Diana called, “You’ll be fine. Remember the staff are all in white.”
She disappeared, leaving Tori alone among the pulsating throng of half-naked strangers.
Chapter Twelve
The mass of dancing, writhing humanity, thundering house music, and palpitating strobe lights rapidly overwhelmed Tori. Through the small holes of her face mask, she glanced about frantically, seeking safety.
A man angled toward her, and she shrank back. She had to get out of the crowded room. Rushing past him, she hurried out the door and kept walking in the nearly pitch-black hallway, trying to find the club exit, more than ready to go home.
How could Diana leave her alone like this?
At the first opportunity, Tori would have a serious talk with her. Tell her it was bad form to abandon a friend, all alone, in a wicked sex club.
Just as soon as she could find her.
She skulked about the now-crowded hallways for ten minutes, avoiding eye contact with the milling members. Many eyed her with interest from behind their masks, both men and women, and the androgynous, as well. Most were in some state of undress, or sometimes dressed to serve, wearing slave collars or harnesses.
The recessed lighting was too dim, the doors leading every which way but out. She finally conceded that she’d become lost, even though the club wasn’t that big—only two town houses combined into one building and connected inside by doors.
She found an elegant restaurant through one door, but the menu was not to her liking—sushi, served upon the naked body of a woman stretched out on a long, linen-covered table. A private party of tuxedoed men sat around the banquet table…eating off her body. A liveried waiter started to approach her, but she backed out and shut the door.
She leaned against the wall. Panting and wary.
The next door opened onto a couple happily fucking in a private suite. She shut it quickly, ignoring their sultry invitation to join in.
Distant groans and shrieks coming from the floor below made her shudder. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, staring at the wide stairs that led down to the basement. She’d stay the bloody hell away from that, whatever was down there.
Trapped at the end of a hallway that led nowhere, she leaned against the wall, trying to calm down.
Get a hold of yourself, for bloody sake!
Then
, as if by magic, Miss Devine appeared at her elbow. In silky, cultured tones, she inquired, “May I be of assistance?”
“Oh. Yes, please. I seem to have got turned around. Dia—” She barely stopped herself from blurting her friend’s real name. “My sponsor left me all alone.” The statement came out sounding way more plaintive than she’d intended.
“It would be my pleasure to escort you wherever you would like to go.”
“Um… That’s part of my dilemma. I’m not sure where I should go while I wait for her to return. Maybe I should just go home.”
“May I give you a brief tour of all we have to offer at the club? You might see something that suits you. If not, our car is at your disposal to take you home.”
“Thank you. That would be wonderful.” But she still wanted to see the whole place just once, since she definitely would not be returning. “I would enjoy a tour.”
Regardless of what she’d told Rupert about needing more exciting sex, this place was too exciting for her. These uninhibited, glamorous people were like gods and goddesses in a mythical world of sex, and she a mere novitiate—overdressed, underexperienced, and ready to bolt like a scared gazelle.
As they walked, Miss Devine pointed to a door. “We call this small bedroom Fletcher’s Lovebirds, after the owner who, it is rumored, particularly likes to watch.” She indicated a large window with curtains on the other side that were closed. “It’s for exhibitionists, and usually the curtains are open to allow members to watch the activity inside.” She reached for the doorknob.
Tori stopped her hand. “I’ve seen that room already.”
“Ah. Would you like to see the Animal Training Reserve downstairs?”
“No. Thank you. I don’t think…” She laughed, embarrassed. “Maybe something else?”
“Let me show you a spot where you can watch the fun without feeling an obligation to participate, and it’s less in-your-face.”
“Uh, sure. Sounds good.” It didn’t really. Watching strangers having sex wasn’t really her thing.
Miss Devine led her to a long, dark gallery that overlooked a large room a half story below. The deep wing-back chairs and plush sofas on the gallery looked inviting. Safe.
Gesturing her forward to the railing, Miss Devine said, “This is called Observation Point, for our patrons who enjoy voyeurism.”
Tori walked to the edge of the balcony and looked down into the shadowy darkness.
Oh my god! A small orgy churned below her, only a few feet away. A real-life, bloody, blooming orgy!
An enormous platform bed at least fifteen feet wide lined one entire wall, with smaller beds of various sizes and shapes filling the rest of the space. While most were empty at this early hour, five of the satin-encased mattresses held sweating, thrusting, panting bodies intertwined in every possible permutation of human congress. Music, piped from the disco across the hall, added a driving beat and made the lovers’ movements look like some sort of primitive ritual. Slow-moving multicolored spotlights aimed on various couplings and trios turned it into an earthy, raw spectacle.
“It’s like erotic performance art,” Tori murmured, stunned by how unexpectedly compelling she found the scene.
The house manager gestured toward the people below. “Officially, it’s called the Bonobo Pit, after those primates that can’t get enough sex, but everyone refers to it as the Pit.”
Devine’s serene smile, as if it were the most normal thing to be talking about an orgy, mystified Tori, her own racing pulse and fast breathing anything but serene.
The animal chorus of grunts, moans, and passionate cries drew her attention back to the Pit.
There were a few employees mixed among the throng. They wore the ubiquitous white of club uniforms but styled differently—linen swathing their hips and male and female alike, bare-chested. They were there and, at the same time, not, casually observing but not participating, elegantly draped about like living art. When a threesome departed a large, round bed in the center, the statues rose, efficiently replacing the sheets and refilling the bowls of Durex condoms, before retreating to become nothing more than scenery, again.
Tori watched with interest to see who would take over the vacated spot.
Two lovely blond women rose from a chaise lounge and moved to the circular bed. As they dropped their silk wraps, they looked upward, and their gazes paused on her before moving on. They were looking for someone else. The women reclined on the mattress facing one another and gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment. One leaned in and kissed the other full on the lips, her hand rising to caress a bare breast.
Everywhere in the room patrons were touching and kissing each other. These people owned their sexuality with a freedom that enthralled Tori.
What would it be like to be one of those lovers? Uninhibited. Freely giving and receiving pleasure.
What would it be like to be unrestrained by the wishes or censures of a spouse or partner? Rupert had tried to restrict and define her, but here—if brave enough—she could do anything she wanted, be anything she wished. Here in this strange but somehow magnificent place, she could become the sexual goddess she’d long desired to be.
If she could find the courage.
Watching, she discovered a previously unknown penchant for voyeurism, becoming so mesmerized by the spectacle, she didn’t hear a man approach. She barely registered his exchange with the house manager, who still stood next to her. But she did hear his teasing question.
“And who do we have here? A new initiate?”
Whipping about, Tori gasped. The man stood too close, nearly touching her. Like seemingly everyone else in the place, his looks were breathtaking, with jet-black hair and intense dark eyes. But this masked man had an added edge the others didn’t.
Danger.
This awareness came to her as strongly as if it had been spoken into her ear. Words failed her, and she took a step backward.
The gentle pressure of the house manager’s hand on her lower back kept her from backing farther away, and Miss Devine stepped into the breach. “It is my pleasure to introduce you to Michael Fletcher. In partnership with his brother, he owns Club Exotica.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
Tori managed only, “Likewise,” before falling silent again. His warm, strong grip made her skittish.
What was it about him? He exuded raw power, and something…darker.
“Sir,” Miss Devine murmured, “may I present a guest of Madame Bovary?”
“You come well recommended, then. Madame Bovary is a stellar member of the club,” he said.
Tori chortled. “Madame Bovary, is it?”
“I hope Miss Devine is taking good care of you?” The deliberate look he gave the other woman spoke volumes—Tori just didn’t know what he’d said.
“She’s been very helpful, truly. Showing me around.” She didn’t understand her impulse to shield the house manager from this man. He was her boss, after all.
“Wonderful.” Fletcher tilted his head, observing her, a slight smile turning up his lips. “But I must advise you, direct participation rather than observation is the best way to experience the club. I’m heading down to the Pit. Would you care to join me?”
“No, thank you.” She giggled. “I’ll, um, stay here and watch.”
“I hope you will. Watch.” His head tilted and an eyebrow rose.
A tingling sensation swept down her, traveling from her hairline all the way to her toes, and she blushed. “I meant, I’ll watch the whole thing.” She gestured expansively out to the space below.
“Whatever brings you pleasure.” Fletcher bowed elegantly. “Good evening, ladies.”
“Good evening to you, too, Sir,” said the house manager brightly as he turned away.
Tori surreptitiously watched the club owner as he sauntered to the stairs leading down to the Pit. He wore a blazer and dress pants that fit him perfectly—bespoke and expensive—but his masculine aura
intrigued her the most—urbane, powerful, authoritative, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Whatever it was, Miss Devine had certainly responded to it.
He slowed for a moment, perusing the scene below, perhaps choosing his target for the evening.
“Why don’t we take a seat?” Miss Devine said, interrupting Tori’s musings.
Reluctantly, she lowered herself onto an ornate chair, her gaze flicking back to Fletcher. She had to lean forward and squint to see him in the dark. He strode down to the steps purposefully, and two blond women, the ones from the round bed, eagerly approached him.
“This should be interesting,” Tori murmured, curious to learn how one went about acquiring a partner for anonymous sex. Not that she had any plan to use that knowledge.
For a few minutes, Miss Devine relaxed in the chair next to her, but when her mobile buzzed with a text, she rose. “I do apologize. There’s a matter I must attend to.”
Tori wondered if she should follow her back to the front room. She didn’t want to be left alone again. But…she found the imminent tryst too tantalizing to resist. “Thank you for the tour. If you see Madame Bovary, please tell her where to find her stray initiate.”
“Of course.” With a slight tilt of her head, Miss Devine departed.
A laughing couple sauntered by, heading down to join the growing party below, momentarily distracting Tori. While everyone seemed to be having a good time, she doubted she would ever feel free enough to have sex in public, let alone with multiple strangers. Her eyes trailed the couple down the stairs to the scene below.
She couldn’t believe she was actually watching real, live people having sex. But strangely, the idea didn’t shock her quite as much as earlier in the evening.
She looked for the threesome and found them in front of the round bed. Fletcher stood calmly with his back to the gallery as the naked women undressed him, one undoing the buttons of his dress shirt while the other knelt at his feet to remove his shoes. The women didn’t talk as they worked like servants, removing his clothes while also worshipping his body. Not a single inch of his bare skin went untended as the women caressed, kissed, and licked him, and all the while Fletcher stood there unmoving, accepting their attentions as if it were his due.
