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.

He turned sidewise, glancing upward for the barest fraction of a second, and Tori got the distinct impression he’d done it for her.

Almost against her will, she found herself leaning forward to get a better view. Her chest grew tight and her palms sweaty. Never in a million years would she have thought a threesome would interest her, but she was too honest to pretend she hadn’t become aroused. She squirmed restlessly on her seat.

Fletcher’s cock stood boldly out from his body. He tugged the standing woman against him, grasping her buttocks and rubbing her crotch against his erection. He lowered his mouth to her upturned faced and kissed her, fisting a handful of her hair to lock her in place, and thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. Then he let go of her, and she slid down to kneel before him. His large erection waved in front of her face. She gazed up at him and parted her lips, smiling. Ever so slowly, she sucked his shaft deep into her mouth, not stopping until her face pressed into the nest of curls at his groin.

Behind him, the other woman was still kneeling, caressing his calves and thighs. He turned his head and said something too low for Tori to hear, but the woman immediately rose up onto her knees. He moved his feet apart, arched his back, and shoved his ass into her face. The woman in front kept herself locked on his cock while the woman behind spread his ass cheeks and licked him, rimming his hole. His face tilted up, and the spotlight caught him—his expression twisting with raw, primal pleasure.

Tori watched, almost disbelieving, as the two women pleasured him, like supplicants. Like slaves. One literally kissing his ass as the other polished his knob.

He grabbed the head of the sucking servant, urging her faster. She worked harder to please him, bobbing in and out rapidly and thrusting her face all the way into his crotch.

Tori gasped. Unbelievable! Were all women here supposed to serve as sex slaves?

But no, that wasn’t it. Both women were clearly enjoying the experience, seeming proud of the way they made Fletcher shudder and groan.

Diana had told her everyone followed the rules, even the owners. If the women wanted to leave, they were free to do so at any time. But even a novice like Tori could tell that these two wanted to be exactly where they were.

Word must have spread among the members that the Pit was the happening spot tonight, because many more masked revelers raced down to join the fun, the raucous din growing louder as the pace sped up. Even the music seemed louder, faster, and more pounding as the orgy blossomed, becoming a wall-to-wall sweaty, naked bacchanal.

Tori’s personal ménage a trois performance had moved onto the large, round bed. Fletcher grabbed one woman and kissed her deeply while his hand fondled the other’s sex. From the sound of her loud moans, his fingertips had found her clit. She snatched a condom from the bedside table and put it on him while he continued to nuzzle and suckle the other woman’s breasts. All three seemed delirious with lust.

Tori took several quick breaths, trying to quell the dizzy, hot sensations flooding her. She didn’t wish to join them, not really, but the entire sybaritic scene aroused her. As if the ghost of that man’s touch trailed over her body, too. Her sex grew wet, and her pelvis clenched with need. The sounds, sights, and even smells of the place flooded her senses, immersing her in sensuality and affecting her like an aphrodisiac. Her entire being hummed with arousal.

But she had no outlet for her lust. She no longer had a lover and didn’t want to bang a stranger.

Below, Fletcher gave directions as he lay there on his back, and the two women hurried to comply. One scrambled over his head so he could bury his face in her wet snatch. The other straddled his pelvis but waited poised above his cock, as if needing permission.

He nodded, so subtly Tori almost missed it, and then the blonde slid onto him. “Yes!” she cried.

Or was that Tori’s own voice crying out? She wasn’t sure.

Squirming, she forced her hands to remain calmly in her lap when she really wanted to run them across her body, slide them under her dress and between her legs. The tickle between her thighs had grown to a drumming ache. She wanted to fuck. No sweet lover this night, she wanted no-holds-barred, energetic, doggy-style banging.

She jumped to her feet. Her hands gripping the railing, she stared hungrily at the hypnotic scene below. From corner to corner, every individual became part of something bigger, a commune of lovers, connected and interconnected. Sharing and giving and taking pleasure. Suddenly, she understood an orgy’s appeal, understood why the participants seemed to lose themselves in carnal madness. It called to her, as well. Screamed for her to join in. The orgy, like a living thing, wanted her participation, too.

Could she actually join them?

She desperately wanted to. She moved toward the stairs. Then stopped, unable to make such a leap—from mundane, lights-out sex with Rupert to…this?

She remained rooted to her spot along the banister. Unable to join the fray. Incapable of walking away. She devoured everything with her eyes, wanting memories for later.

The woman on top of Fletcher began to move, a rolling, leisurely undulation, while he continued to lick the other woman, his hands fondling them both. The threesome had begun a moaning and writhing dance of their own, like the mass of humanity surrounding them.

“Faster!”

It could have been Tori’s shouted command—so urgently did she want what they had—but this time she was sure the command had come from the man beneath the two women.

Tori ran along the gallery to stand at the top of the short staircase, silently willing the trio to fuck faster. She wanted it hard, rough, the way she’d often dreamed of it. The female rider began to race in a grinding, pumping motion, as if her life depended on it. Fletcher seemed to momentarily forget his second lover, as he murmured encouragement, urging her to rush toward the big finish.

Tori longed for it, too, her thighs pressed tight together. Longed to see the woman’s rapture, to live it vicariously. The frenzied crowd, intertwined and wild, screamed its pleasure. Yearning to feel what they all felt, she burned with the need. Finally, the blond woman came, crying out in pleasure as she rocked furiously, seeking every last glimmer of joy.

Now the other moved to take her turn, and Tori coveted her spot.

I want to join them!

They would welcome her, she knew.

More and more people joined the fray and were immediately subsumed into the undulating mass. But years of conservative conduct battled with her need for physical relief, for the brilliant ecstasy spread before her. The pull of the tribe was immense. Overwhelming.

Ripping herself from the railing, she turned away. And fled.

It didn’t matter that she yearned, nor that she would be welcomed. She simply wasn’t free enough to go down there. Wasn’t free enough to find fulfillment in this wondrous way.

She needed to get out of here!

But where was out?

In the hallway, not caring where it took her, she ran.

Twenty minutes passed in mindless wandering, and she found herself right back where she’d started.

Lost. Alone.

In a sex club, but frustratingly unsexed.

“Damn you, Diana,” she muttered and took off down another dark hallway.