“What is this place?” I whisper, looking around with wide eyes, no longer caring about giving Saint the silent treatment.
There’s a woman on all fours and a piece of glass that sits on top of her flat back. People are sitting on a couch surrounding her using the glass as a coffee table while her back supports it.
Another naked woman is on her knees and elbows in the middle of the room. Her legs spread wide open for everyone to see her ass and pussy. Cum leaks from it as if she was just fucked. Her wrists are tied together and behind her head, secured with the rest of the rope wrapped around her neck, forcing her forehead down onto the marble floor.
A set of hands land on my hips, and I jump. Saint leans his lips down to my ear. “This is an art show, sweetheart. An exhibit of sorts.”
“Of sex?” I question, mouth open.
He chuckles in my ear and then slaps my ass. “Come on. We’ve got a show to catch.” Grabbing my hand, I allow him to pull me down a hallway to a set of double doors at the end. He pushes one open, and we enter a room.
We walk down the aisle with rows of chairs on either side. A chill runs up my spine of how much it reminds me of the vow ceremony day when I gave myself over to him in front of the Lords. But I’m not the one on center stage this time.
We make our way to the front, and I sit next to Kashton on my right. Saint sits to my left in the aisle seat, and Haidyn is on the other side of Kash.
I look over the set that is center stage. There’s a red leather couch with a black curtain backdrop. That’s it. Nothing and no one are present. The lights are dimmer in here than out in the hallway.
I lean into Saint and ask, “What are they going to do?”
He places his right hand on my left thigh, and my eyes drop to look at it. My inkless skin looks out of place against his tatted knuckles. He squeezes my thigh before he slides his hand up my leg. I tense when it reaches the hem of my black shorts. Saint notices and looks over at me. The cocky smirk he gives me makes me nervous as if he knows what’s to come.
“You parade them around in front of their friends.” I pray this isn’t some sort of show where they take volunteers from the audience.
A man walks out onto the stage, and all chatter ceases.
“Hello, gentlemen.” He claps his hands once, and I notice that he makes no attempt to acknowledge the women in the room. Giving a quick look around, I count several. But I get a sickening feeling in my stomach once more, reminding me that it’s like the night of the vow ceremony at the cathedral where we willingly gave ourselves to our Lords. The women here are to be put on display, not respected.
He continues to address the men in the room, and I tune him out as I look him over. He’s attractive—dark hair, clean cut, and shaven face. He wears black slacks and a matching button-down with his sleeves rolled up his tan and muscular arms. I see no wedding ring—just a watch on his right wrist.
He looks familiar, though. Something about him…
A woman gets my attention sitting on the red leather couch. When did she get there? She wears a black silk robe with a matching sash secured high on her stomach. Her dark brown hair is slicked back into a perfect bun. I never can figure out how to get mine to look so flawless. She has one leg crossed over the other and has topped off her look with red heels that match the couch.
She sits perfectly still like a doll. The only thing that shows she’s real is her eyes. They follow the man on stage like a hawk. Wherever he stands, her eyes follow.
Two men walk onto the stage, and she gets to her feet. The main guy turns to face her. “Remove your clothes,” he orders her.
With her eyes on his, she reaches down and unties the sash, then she slowly pushes the robe off her shoulders, and it pools on the stage at her heels. She’s naked underneath like I expected.
I’m as bad as the men I sit with because my eyes shamelessly look over her naked body. She’s gorgeous. Her boobs are fake, larger than mine, so at least a double D. She’s got a thin waist and long, lean legs. Not a single blemish to be seen. No tattoos, no scars, not even a scratch on her freshly spray-tanned skin. She has a Barbie-doll-shaped face with big pouty lips that I envy. Long, dark lashes fan her cheeks when she blinks. I can’t look away. She’s what any guy would drool all over.
“Hailey is a BDSM model,” the familiar-looking man announces to the crowd as the other two begin to tie her up. “She has experience and knows her limits. What we’re about to do is not something I’d recommend for a beginner.”
The two men walk off the stage, leaving her standing naked with her arms now secured behind her back. The way they tied her up reminds me of how Saint tied me up on the day I sucked the dildo in his office. It’s not identical, but it’s similar.
“This particular form of Shibari is known as a box tie,” the guy states, running the tips of his fingers along the rope wrapped around her large breasts. “Turn around,” he tells her, and she places her back to the crowd to show how her arms are secured behind her back. “This should be comfortable enough that your partner can spend a long time restrained in this position. If done correctly, it should feel like a snug hug.”
The rope is wrapped around each breast and cinched tight in the middle. It wraps around her upper shoulders to where her arms are tied parallel to her back. He walks over to her and grips her neck. Her eyes go heavy as he yanks her into him. Nothing but devotion in them. Pure lust and the need to please him.
I get it.
Some of us are just wired differently than others.
His free hand drops between her legs, and she begins to pant, her nipples hardening.
“My whore is soaked,” he states, and a few men in the audience laugh. Letting go of her neck, he slaps her pretty face, making her whimper. His hand goes back to her throat, and he squeezes. Her pouty lips fall open, but nothing comes out. His hand between her legs picks up, the sound of him fingering her fills the room as her watery eyes remain on his. Her hips buck as she rocks on her high heels, riding them.
He pulls them free and places his fingers into her mouth, pushing them down her throat. She doesn’t even gag. Instead, you see her relax her jaw as his fingers disappear down to his knuckles, spreading her mouth wide open.
“You’re such a good girl, princess,” he praises her, and she blinks. The tears spilling down her mascara-covered lashes leave a trail on her once flawless face. She has a full face of makeup on with black shadow, thick winged liner, and red lipstick. I’ve never understood the appeal when Saint would have me get all dolled up just to mess it up. But I do now. She looks even prettier with the black running down her cheeks.
He removes his hand from her mouth, and she takes a deep breath before swallowing. “Let’s get started.” He walks over to the far corner and grabs a box and pulls a rolling cart that I hadn’t seen before to the center of the stage.
One of the guys from earlier rushes onto the stage and places a set of carpeted stairs in front of the cart. He then undoes a few locks on the clear box. The top and each end are removed, leaving both sides remaining upright. He steps aside, placing them at his feet, and waits.
The man in the black button-down takes the woman’s upper arm and helps guide her to center stage. He assists her up the stairs, and when she gets to the top one, she comes to a stop.
“On your knees,” he commands. “Spread them wide. I want everyone to be able to see how wet you are.”
She slowly gets to her knees and positions her ass and heels to hang off the back edge of the box. His hands go to her tied arms, and he helps her get into position with her legs spread wide as he instructed so her chest is flat on the bottom of the box. I realize there are also two holes, and part of her boobs hang out of the bottom.
The main guy, with his hand on her back, looks at the other guy and motions for him to bring the other glass pieces. He helps him put the top on, fastening it to the two standing sides. The height is so short that it smashes her tied arms to the glass, keeping her chest pushed down to the floor of the box.
I shift in my seat, the panic gripping my chest of being confined in such a tight space. The feel of Saint’s fingers digging into my thigh makes me whimper. I can feel his eyes on me, so I avoid him by watching the woman on stage. She wiggles her body, but she has no luck in moving whatsoever. Even the sides of her legs are pressed against the sides of the glass.
The man takes one of the end pieces and places it on. There are two half holes on the bottom for her ankles to hang out and a hole in the center to allow him access to her ass and pussy. The sound of the locks has her breathing picking up. He walks to the front, and the man hands him the other piece of glass.
He places it on the opposite end, where a hole at the bottom allows her head to hang out over the edge. He locks it, securing her naked and inside the box.
The man holding the glass pieces holds out his hand, and the guy takes what he offers. “Open wide,” he orders to the woman, and she obliges greedily.
He shoves a large black rubber ball gag into her mouth and then proceeds to place the harness over her head. When I see it has a blindfold connected that he slips over her eyes, my heart races.
She can’t move, see, or speak. It makes me feel like I’m suffocating. It’s my worst fear, yet my hard nipples press against the spikes on the inside of my bra.
He fastens the two buckles at the back of her head, then reaches into his pocket and removes something. He slides it into the silver ring where it buckled and then pulls it up. Her gagged moan fills the large room as he connects it to the top of the box, forcing her to arch her head back.
Going over to the couch, he picks up a box and opens it. He removes the contents and walks back over to her. Bending down, he plays with her breasts that hang through the two holes on the bottom. He pulls on her nipples, more of her breasts coming through the tight hole before he twists them. He’s not gentle in any way, and it has my pulse racing.
When satisfied, he places nipple clamps on each one and then stands. I watch them dangle back and forth and notice that they each have weights on the end of them, pulling on her breasts.
Her hands clench and unclench behind her back as her body wiggles the little amount it’s allowed. He turns to face the crowd and begins to speak. “There are many different kinks that go along with this scene,” he begins. “One is breeding.” Walking to the end of the box, he reaches out and runs his hand over her pussy that is on full display for all to see. “Women are strapped in, and men line up to wait their turn. The point is to fill them with their cum. To force pregnancy. Another is for humiliation or degradation. It can also be for punishment …”
I tune him out as I watch him finger her pussy as if he’s not talking to the crowd. Again, he’s rough as he thrusts two fingers. But even I can see from here that she’s wet. He removes them and slaps her pussy a couple of times, and it makes mine pulse. Then he’s shoving three into her this time. She’s breathing heavily through her nose, mumbled moans and whimpers come from her gagged mouth, and a line of drool has started to drop from the ball. Her red heels shake as she tries to move the best she can.
When he removes them this time, her body sags in the box.
He walks over to a table and picks up a syringe that is already full of clear liquid. Then something that resembles a butt plug. When he’s standing behind her once more, he presses the tip of the syringe into her ass and her body jerks, forcing the box to move just a tad. He slaps her ass cheek, making a popping sound and leaving his handprint on her porcelain skin. He plunges it into her and then places the now empty syringe on top of the box before pushing the butt plug into her now lubed ass.
A black tube hangs out with a ball on the end. He reaches down and squeezes it a few times. “This is an inflatable butt plug,” he informs the audience. “I’m going to leave it in fifteen minutes. Pumping it every five.”
I don’t know which is worse. The fifteen minutes she has to stay locked in the box or the fact he’s stretching her ass in front of an audience. I remember when we were at the house of Lords a few weeks after the vow ceremony, and Saint punished me by giving me an enema in front of the guys in his room. He then took me to the bathroom. Afterward, he tied me to his bed, and he let Haidyn and Kashton fuck my ass. It was humiliating and the most amazing night of my life. I wasn’t allowed to come unless it was with Saint’s tongue, dick, or fingers. Haidyn and Kashton were allowed to fuck me, but it was always for their pleasure, not mine. Once they finished with me, Saint would reward me for being a good girl.
But right here, right now? In front of strangers? I’m not so sure. I knew all the guys at the house of Lords. As stupid as that sounds, they had their chosens naked all the time. People were always fucking on any surface they could find. It wasn’t uncommon.
I wouldn’t mind if I was blindfolded from the beginning and hadn’t seen all the people sitting in the crowd. I’m breathing heavily, and my heart races just thinking about it, so I can only imagine what she feels like. The butt plug, the nipple clamps that rock back and forth, pulling on them painfully, the fingering…fuck, my clit pulses, and I shift in my seat. The room grows hot at the thought of being restricted so tight in a box. But the way he has her on display in front of everyone as he brings her to orgasm with his fingers makes me jealous. I want Saint to show me off. Be proud and show everyone what a whore I am for him.
Isn’t that what he said you do with a whore?
Why does his wanting to be proud of me make me the whore? He’s the one fucking me. He’s the one getting off on parading me around.
“Ash…”
Saint’s voice in my ear makes me jump to my feet and rush up the aisle and out of the double doors. I breathe in deeply, and it’s like the air is polluted. My lungs burn, and my legs shake. I’m all worked up now, and I’m not sure what to do. Goose bumps cover my heated flesh, and my mind races to what it would feel like to be her right now. Locked up tight and waiting for Saint to fuck my ass.
I rush over to a door that reads women on it and practically run into the bathroom. A cry of surprise leaves my lips when I run into a woman. “I’m so, so—”
“Brittany?” she squeals. “Oh my God, girl. It’s been too long.”
“Hey,” I say, trying to calm my racing heart. “What are you doing here?” I ask the woman. She worked with me at Kink back in Vegas. She was only there for a few weeks before I heard she quit.
“I got a job here at Kink in New York,” she answers, and I frown.
“There’s one here too?” I didn’t know that.
She nods. “Oh yeah, Hooke started it.”
Hooke? Can’t be…
“He’s in the performance room right now.” She rolls her eyes. “With his protégé.” Scoffing, she adds, “She was a ballerina for like fifteen years. Flexible and gorgeous.” Turning to face the mirror, she replaces her lipstick, and the puzzle pieces start to fall together. “Anyway, I’ve missed you. You should come visit sometime.”
“Yeah,” I say, knowing that’ll never happen. I have a tracker inside me. I won’t be going anywhere without supervision for the rest of my life.
“Here.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out two pills. “Just like old times.” Winking, she hands them to me and then zips her purse. “I have to go. I’m on stage in ten minutes and have to stretch.”
SAINT
I exit the room and see her standing by herself in the hallway. Rushing over to her, I grab her upper arm, and it makes her jump. “Saint,” she gasps.
I push her back into the wall and grip her chin, forcing her to look up at me. I can feel her pulse racing under my fingers. Her lips are parted as she pants. My eyes drop to watch the rise and fall of her breasts, and I smile at the thought of the spikes digging into them.
“Did you enjoy the show?” I ask.
Her eyes narrow at mine, and she takes a deep breath but doesn’t answer.
“Let’s see.” I drop my hand to her shorts, and I unbutton them.
“Saint,” she squeals, trying to pull away, but I have her back pinned between me and the wall. “Stop.” Her hands slap at mine.
I grab hers and pin them above her head, crossing her wrists with one of my hands. She softly whimpers, and I use my free hand to cup her chin. “Look at me, Ashtyn.”
Slowly, she lifts her lashes, and her eyes meet mine. “Are you wet?”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbles on it nervously.
Reaching down, I squeeze her breasts, and she cries out as I growl, “I asked you a question.”
“Y-yes,” she answers, shoulders shaking.
“Yes, what?” I arch a brow.
Her wrists fight me as I easily hold them in place, and I know she’s doing it on purpose loving the way the spikes dig into her sensitive breasts. “Yes…I’m wet.” She blinks, and tears fill her eyes.
Satisfied, I release her and step back. I wasn’t going to fuck her right here and now. Way too many eyes are watching. I don’t mind Haidyn and Kashton watching, but they know she belongs with me. Other men won’t understand that, and the last thing I want to do is piss Hooke off at his show because I kill some rich bastard for watching her come. But I wanted her to think that it wasn’t out of the question. I want her to think that I will fuck her anytime and anywhere I want.
The doors to the room open, and I look up to see Kash and Haidyn exit along with others. “You missed the best part, sweet cheeks.” Kash winks at her.
She drops her head and wraps her arms around herself.
“How about we put her in a box when we get home?” Haidyn offers, and her breath hitches.
I could hear in the room while we watched the show. The way her breathing picked up. The way her body tensed as I had my hand on her leg. She got hot and bothered and also scared. Fear is good. She’s always liked to be scared. Chased down and taken by force.
But there was also more than that. I know her greatest fear is being buried alive. And the fact that Hooke’s sub couldn’t see and was secured in a box brought that fear to the surface.
I want to see that fear in her eyes, knowing that I can do whatever I want to her. That if I want to secure her in a box with her ass, cunt, and mouth out, I can. And I’ll keep her there as long as I want.
We’ve all been there. Haidyn, Kashton, and I know what that kind of hell feels like, and I want to hear her desperate voice beg for freedom.
