Tonight, the heavy doors to The Playroom really do feel like the jaws of hell. The knowledge of the depravity that awaits me behind that gaping portal has been weighing heavily on me all week. The more I’ve stewed, the more these doors have felt like the point of no return.
I wish I could view things as simply as Maddy. In her eyes, they signify nothing less than the pearly gates. The gateway to paradise.
I haven’t touched her all week. Not since she came apart on my desk on Monday. My self-control is pissing her off; she’s made that clear at work. She also made it known in the office yesterday that she was here the previous night, and that pisses me off no end.
But there’s nothing I can do about it. She’s single, and she has needs, and she’s perfectly within her rights to slake those needs at Alchemy if the guy she offered her body to is perverse enough, or stupid enough, to refrain from dabbling.
Still, I don’t like it, and I harness that hot flash of jealousy to the bonfire I’m stoking somewhere deep within me. Because when I think about Maddy being touched by other men, it only adds to the yearning I’m allowing to build. And I know that will only make the purity of our release, when it comes, all the more sublime.
I know Alchemy will live up to its name, to its promise, tonight and deliver a transcendental experience, if I can only let myself go sufficiently to be a conduit for its particular brand of magic.
I have to admit, The Playroom does resemble heaven more than hell tonight as I stand in the midst of the room with Cal. The space is huge and classically featured, dimly lit in pale pinks and whites. None of us wanted that clichéd black and red den-of-sin vibe. This evening, the decor is enhanced with enormous white drapes suspended from the high ceilings. There are tall wrought iron candelabras everywhere, and I have to admit it’s atmospheric. The pulsing music plays its hypnotic beat.
Slave Night’s drawn a good crowd, and it’s all for a worthy cause. I haven’t seen The Playroom this full before. Not that I’ve frequented it often, but it’s far more full than it was last week.
Fuck, I hope Claire stays away tonight. For once, I don’t want to feel the presence of my late wife. I only want to indulge my basest, most primitive side.
I recall Maddy’s seductive voice in my ear earlier, when we had a moment alone at work.
‘I hope you can afford me tonight,’ she whispered.
It was a fucking solid point. I do very well for myself, but Alchemy members are an inordinately wealthy bunch, and they’re all too willing to pay through the nose for the particular experiences only we can deliver. There’s a significant chance I’ll get outbid, especially once the hungry patrons set their sights on Maddy.
‘What if I can’t?’ I asked, just to see how she responded.
She shrugged and looked me in the eye. ‘I’ll have a good night no matter who wins me,’ she said matter-of-factly.
The real fucker was that I knew she was right.
What a way to galvanise a guy.
I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure it’s me thrusting into her tonight. Because, God knows, I have an itch that only she can scratch.
One of our staff members, Izzy, pauses in front of us, a beautiful blonde in a short white dress that leaves little to the imagination. ‘Would you like a paddle, Zach?’ she enquires with a knowing smile.
I grin at her. ‘Absolutely.’ She’s well-liked among the team. I don’t know the hosts in The Playroom that well, for obvious reasons. Let’s say Rafe and Cal know Iz far more intimately than me. But we’ve done enough team outings and parties and brainstorms for me to be familiar with her and the other hosts who will circulate discreetly tonight and ensure our members’ needs are being met.
‘Here you go. Press the button to illuminate it if you’re bidding, okay?’
‘Got it.’ I hold down the button and the number thirteen lights up. Lucky for some, hopefully.
‘Let’s take a good look at lot number one,’ the auctioneer says. He’s a member who belongs to one of the big auction houses on Bond Street, and he’s doing an admirable job of stoking the crowd’s excitement levels. You don’t mess around when the bids are this high.
Not that the audience needs much help from him to get amped up. The lots—the slaves—are doing that all by themselves.
I am morally horrified by this entire concept, yes.
I am also already hard.
My cock is straining against the fabric of my black trousers as I survey the line-up on stage. I’ve gone for all black tonight. I suspect Lucifer would approve.
A dozen members have volunteered to be slaves. I count seven women and five men. Each has a handler, mostly of the opposite sex. I’m aware from the exhaustive conversations in the run up to this evening that the handler denotes the sexual preference of the slave. A couple of the guys have male handlers, and one woman has a female handler.
They’re all blindfolded and in various states of undress ranging from bondage gear to expensive-looking lingerie to full-on Roman gladiator dress, porno style.
But there’s only one slave up on stage who consumes me.
The others may as well not exist.
She’s wearing only heels and underwear and has so much bare skin on show that I’m simultaneously horrified and revoltingly aroused. I know how excited she’s been about tonight, but honestly. She’s gone too far, because she’ll have every person in this room bidding on her.
Fuck.
Her long, dark hair is in big, bouncy curls, subdued only by the black blindfold tied around her head. She’s gone for exquisite black lace lingerie that shows off far too much. Delicate lace scallops rise up from the cups that support her breasts, but they stop shy of her perfect, pink nipples. Nipples I finally get to feast my eyes on.
From my vantage point I can see how hard and tight they are already. It doesn’t surprise me that she’s turned on. She’s mentioned enough times that it’s her ultimate fantasy to be auctioned off like this, sold to the highest bidder and claimed by her predatory new owner.
Believe me, it’s quickly become my ultimate fantasy, too.
Worse than the bra is the tiny thong she’s wearing. It’s partially obscured by her hands, which are tightly bound together at her front with black fabric, but it looks practically see-through, and if I was closer I bet I could see that tidy strip of dark hair I encountered here last week. Her legs go on for days. Under the dim light, every inch of her skin has a lustrous sheen. My eyes trace over her taut stomach and down those toned thighs I’ve had the pleasure of stroking.
But they keep coming back to her nipples.
I’m salivating. I already know how it would feel to pop one into my mouth and suck. Hard.
It’ll be the first thing I do.
Actually, I have no idea what the first thing I do will be, because I’ll be so fucking lightheaded with desire.
The only thing I know for sure is that I understand the appeal of crafting a persona tonight. Of being someone else for a few hours. Maddy’s not Maddy in her own mind; she’s some poor slave girl who’s about to get sold and violated to within an inch of her life, because that’s what she fantasises about, and this is the perfect safe space to do it.
I’m not Zach tonight.
I can’t be.
I can’t let myself go, can’t abandon myself to mindless fucking and God knows what else if I’m holding onto all the shit in my real life.
Tonight I’m the man Maddy needs me to be. The man I need to be.
A predator who has a single objective.
To get my money’s worth.
