by Roxy Harte
“Do you wish to come, Gigi?”
“No, Master.”
Curious.
“Would you like to listen to me bring Lin to orgasm?”
“Yes, Master.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Lin
Back at George’s place only a few minutes, I have to take a call from my publicist. It doesn’t go well and I get too emotional—so unprofessional—but also, George hears my side of the entire conversation and my refusals to come back to the tour. When I hang up I’m crying. I force myself to meet his gaze. “I’m not sorry I left my tour, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He doesn’t say anything, which causes me to pace and fret. “And I don’t regret last night…at the hotel…with you and Gigi.”
He doesn’t utter a sound.
“Damn it, George! Will you say something?”
He makes a small grimace. “I can’t imagine how saying anything is going to make you feel better.”
I shriek with frustration and storm through the house and into the garden. Thank God Gigi isn’t here to see me like this!
I strip and dive into the pool, staying under until my lungs feel like they are going to explode, and when I surface it is only to swim laps. My brain is as manic as my body.
I had to come back and try to make this work with George.
I had to…
I try to imagine the rest of my life in a series of scenes like the one that took place at the hotel. Me. George. Gigi. God, why did I agree to do that? I easily imagine George and me together, just the two of us, Gigi completely out of the picture, but other women, nameless, faceless women, maybe even men, begin taking her place. Would it be better? Worse? Can I tell George that I don’t like Gigi? Can I convince him that my not liking her has nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with mistrust? That I feel like there is something wrong with her!
I’m afraid of her.
Terrified, but still I came while her tongue licked my clit.
Can I face letting that happen again?
I stop swimming because I’m exhausted and cling to the side of the pool just trying to remember to breathe. I’m sobbing too, and I can’t seem to remember how to make myself stop.
When George suddenly grabs my wrists and pulls me from the pool, I’m thankful he does because I don’t know that I could have gotten myself out under my own volition.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asks. He pulls me into his arms and my wet skin soaks his clothing.
“I’ll be okay.”
“You could have continued your tour. I would have still been here when you returned.”
“I need to be here—with you.”
He sighs heavily and rubs my back. “I’ve made arrangements for us to go to Bedlam tonight.”
“The three of us?”
“Yes.”
Of course. Great.
“We should nap for a few hours.”
I don’t argue even though I don’t have a clue how I will sleep a wink, worrying about how much worse it can get. Did I make a mistake coming home? Would a few more weeks away have allowed me to miss him less and less until he no longer mattered?
George catches my face between his palms and lifts my chin to make kissing me easier. I don’t fight the attention. I love his kisses. I love him. My heart aches with the truth of it. That’s the reason I had to return home.
“I love you, Lin. I know that none of this has been easy for you.”
I sob against his mouth. “I love you.”
“I haven’t told you how happy I am that you’re here, but I am. I’m devoted to you. I cherish you. I appreciate every sacrifice you’ve made to be with me. And as my primary, I want you to know that you hold all of the power, not me.”
Don’t say that!
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nod, even though I don’t, not really.
“Good. Because I won’t do anything that will hurt you—or us.”
What if I said right now that I don’t want you to see Gigi again? I don’t ask it. I’m perilously close to it when he kisses me again, scooping me into his arms as he does so, and carries me to a chaise. When he lays me down, he follows, covering me, and I become crazed—again. I tear at his shirt front, popping buttons. I unbuckle his belt and force open his pants.
I want him. I want him so badly, I can’t even fathom the depth of my own need or lust.
“Fill me, George, please!”
“Slow, Lin. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Spreading my legs, lifting my hips…like a whore…like a bitch in heat…I beg. What is wrong with me that I act this way around him? What is wrong with him that he thinks no worse of me?
“Fuck me, George, fuck me like an animal. I don’t care if you hurt me a little.”
His first thrust is so hard and so deep, I yelp, and then I take it. More. Harder. Deeper. Faster. It isn’t enough. I lift my hips and thrust back with equal intensity and ignore the pain deep in my womb. I want more. “Harder, George! Please!”
My screams aren’t from pain when they do breach my throat. Pleasure. Agony. Primal need coming to the surface that I don’t understand. Emotion. So much emotion.
“I’m yours, George! I’m yours. I want you to Master me. I need you to.”
He catches my chin and forces me to meet his gaze. “Who am I?”
“Master.”
“Do you believe that, Lin?”
“Yes, Master.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Gigi
The glowing sign proclaiming Bedlam comes into view, and it is almost blindingly bright in intensity against the pitch-black sky. I can’t believe he is bringing us here. Is it not bad enough that he is forcing me to spend another evening with his precious little angel, Lin?
Is it too obvious that I hate her?
I hate her voice, I hate her hair, I hate her slanty little eyes.
I really hate the way George looks at her.
“I can’t believe you’re taking us to your club.”
“Hold your reservations. I have a feeling you are going to be pleasantly surprised. Meeting Lord Farris and Mistress Morgana wasn’t too disappointing, was it?”
“Are they going to be playing with us tonight?” I try to hold back my enthusiasm. I did enjoy their attention, but only because they really knew how to cause pain.
Lin and I both step from the car at the same time, her from the front seat, me from the rear, and we are left standing uncomfortably close to each other. I can’t believe I had sex with her.
She shivers and wraps herself in her arms, whining, “I should have brought a sweater, Master.”
George hurries to her side and pulls her against his chest. “It will be warmer inside, love.”
I’ve died and gone to hell. I didn’t survive God, he’s sitting somewhere on his mighty throne, pointing and laughing at me right now.
“Oh! Master, look at the moon!” Lin points at the sky like a small, enraptured child, her face aglow with delight.
Really? George and I both look in the direction she’s pointing and the moon is large, huge even, and bright orange. I might agree it is a beautiful sight if I wasn’t in such a foul mood.
“It’s a witch’s full moon,” she whispers, lifting her lips to George. Predictably, he kisses her.
“And you are the little witch that has bespelled me,” he says.
I’m going to be sick.
Entering the club actually becomes an answer to a prayer. The music is so loud it drowns out their incessant lovey-dovey banter.
The crowd is wall to wall, and that comes as a surprise. I don’t know when I’ve ever been to a fetish club that was this popular. Couples dance and make out. Servers, sporting more bare skin than fabric, weave in and out delivering drinks—and condoms. At the bar there is more than just drinking and flirting going on. There are at least two submissives chained in place and suffering wicked punishments. Floggers. Canes.
Maybe I judged George’s little club too harshly.
George points toward an elevator. “We’re going up.”
I follow in step behind him and Lin. She has her arm around his waist in a possessive gesture. I wonder what she would do if I slid on his other side and held on to him in a similar fashion?
Probably nothing. She’s too timid for her own good.
We ride up in silence. George can’t seem to decide which one of us he wants to look at. Lin looks at the floor to keep from looking at me. If my voice would cooperate, I’d laugh out loud. I settle for laughing inside my head hysterically at the preposterousness of the situation.
The doors open to a long, brightly lit corridor.
“Welcome to The Asylum, ladies.”
On either side of the hall are a dozen avocado green doors with small, square peek-inside windows. The floor is gray tile, the walls also gray, but overhead blinding white light. It does feel eerily reminiscent of a psych ward, and a little tinge of excitement starts to climb up my spine, but I don’t want to get my hopes too high. I’ve been to fetish clubs before, and they always fall short of my expectations.
Even professional Dominants can only do so much.
“I’ve reserved a room for a private party,” George says as he opens one of the doors.
Party?
Lin is the first to see inside, and her eyes widen. I almost push her out of the way to see what George has up his sleeve. The room is decorated to resemble a biker bar and a line of men in all shapes and sizes are already bellied up and drinking their beers. There are two women in various stages of undress dancing on the bar and loud music blares from a jukebox.
In a corner several men surround a billiard table and shoot pool.
Okay, this isn’t what I was expecting.
In the opposite corner I see Lord Farris. He is dressed in jeans and a black tank top. He’s wearing a bandana, sunglasses and biker boots. I wouldn’t have recognized him except for the tattoo on his right biceps—and that body. God, what muscles. I smile, remembering how badly he hurt me. Too bad he hadn’t left a single bruise to sweeten the memory.
I know the exact moment he sees me.
One of the dancers hops off the bar and drops to her knees in front of Lord Farris. She unfastens the big, shiny brass buckle, unbuttons and unzips him. She pushes his cock into her mouth and starts to suck.
His face is smug as he keeps looking my way.
Is this why George brought me here? To end any delusion I might be having that Farris wasn’t already spoken for?
“What’s going on, Master?” I turn to face George, but feel Lin’s annoyance streaming off her. Hey, it wasn’t my idea to call him Master. I send her a glance that I hope she reads as “Fuck you, bitch”.
“This is our Public Humiliation Room. Privileged members by invitation only who have joined Club Bedlam are allowed to behave badly here and enact fantasies that outside of our closed doors would be frowned upon. Each night a submissive or two are asked to participate.”
“Participate, Master?” Lin asks, sounding absolutely terrified.
Actually, I’m glad she asked. Saves me the degradation of pretending I care what might or might not happen to me once I agree.
“Usually humiliation in the context of bukkake, gang rape, but we leave it up to the members to do what they want without a script—as long as they adhere to certain rules.”
Lin is as pale as a ghost. I think she might faint or be ill. I’m not sure which would be most laughable. Doesn’t she realize it is all just a game? I try to not laugh as I ask, “Rules?”
“No one is allowed to do anything that would cause true physical damage. We don’t want to have to call emergency services, right?”
“Welts? Bruises?”
“It happens,” he admits.
“I’m in,” I say, smiling broadly. “Let the party begin!”
Lin backs away and is corralled by George. He leans nearer to whisper, “I don’t expect you to participate, my love. We are just here to watch.”
He just plans to watch? We’ll see about that.
George pushes me forward. “Your victim, gentlemen…and ladies.”
I step forward but I needn’t have bothered. Everything moves quickly. I’m grabbed, tied in rope and forced onto my knees. I feel the initial rush of adrenaline through my veins that always makes me a little frantic, but as two men fondle my breasts through my shirt I remember this isn’t real. It’s staged and there are rules…and I hope I’m not yawning with boredom in an hour.
Someone gets the bright idea of trying to rip my shirt off, but it doesn’t really work and so scissors are located, the kind that are safety tipped and used in hospitals. Wouldn’t want my skin cut by accident now, would we?
A cock is shoved into my face and I open my mouth. I make the mistake of looking up and see that the guy is young, younger than me, probably a good kid, from a good home who will get up and rush to college classes tomorrow because he overslept from exhaustion caused by his wild night at Bedlam. I can imagine him telling his friends over lunch about the dykey blonde with the raspy voice that he throat-fucked.
He pushes deeper and deeper until I’m gagging.
Okay, I’m not so bored. I do like to gag on penis. But this still isn’t real, no one is going to get hurt.
Behind me someone is lubing my cunt and my ass. I’m surprised and irritated. I hate the feel of lube. I hate having the passage of flesh eased. Just stretch me, rip me. That’s what I want. But I can’t tell anyone what I want because Kid Co-ed still has his cock down my throat.
Two fingers slide into my pussy. I can’t see who is finger-fucking me from behind because my face is being held in place by a third, and besides my eyes are starting to water. My mascara is stinging my eyes.
Someone starts slapping my ass with their bare hand.
I gag as he pulls out and I vomit a little as he sprays my face with semen. I close my eyes but they still burn. Tears, mascara and now semen are effectively blinding me.
A second cock is slid against my cheek. “Suck it, bitch.”
I open my mouth and take in a large, thick cock. “That’s good, mama. Suck me good.”
I suck while I’m fingered and spanked from behind. The cock in my throat is too big, and it’s hard keeping my mouth open so wide. My throat is throbbing. This might not have been such a good idea so soon after my recovery. Damn, I just learned how to swallow sherbet again a week ago. Meat is still off limits…
I look up at the man fucking my mouth. He is a fat black man with a blinding white smile. He is smiling from ear to ear as though he is having the time of his life. Who knows, maybe he is. Maybe this is as good as it gets for him.
Someone jerks me up off my knees and bends me double. I manage to keep the penis I’m blowing in my mouth. A second cock fills me from behind. It isn’t as large as the one in my mouth, and I wish I could ask them to trade places.
I hear someone moaning and only belatedly realize it is me. I am moaning.
Someone starts smacking my clit. I look to see who and discover it is one of the women. She smacks my shaved mons and then my clit, setting up a pattern I can’t escape from. No, no, no. I don’t want to come!
I try to tell her to stop it around the cock in my mouth, but my voice isn’t worth shit even without the obstruction. My brain trips over itself as I realize I’m about to orgasm. Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.
The vortex of pleasure lifts me and spins me around.
The black man ejaculates in my mouth. “Swallow it, bitch.”
I spit his load back at him, and it lands on his stomach and cock.
He slaps me hard but then he is gone, pushed aside by someone who has been waiting a turn with my mouth.
Whoever was fucking my pussy stops, and I don’t even know if they came or not.
My mouth and asshole are filled simultaneously. I fight not to scream. This is too much. Too fucking much. How many are there waiting a turn?
; I start to panic. Suddenly Farris is kneeling beside me. He has a vibrator in his hand and presses it to my clit.
No, not Farris. I don’t want Farris to make me orgasm. I like thinking of him as my pain man. I can hear myself panting. It’s going to happen. I’m going to orgasm again.
For the most part, the participants have been relatively well-behaved but something has incited them.
Someone says excitedly, “She’s squirting, man.”
A chant rises, “Squirt, squirt, squirt.”
Liquid slides down my thighs and I rise away from it all. In my own head the room noise disappears and I can hear my own heartbeat exploding in my ears. I go on to some kind of autopilot, sucking cock, taking cock in my twat and in my ass, one after another, all of my holes at the same time. The who, the how many, ceases to matter.
* * * * *
I realize I am untied and lying on a table. Someone threw a glass of water in my face to get my attention. I look up into the eyes of the man currently fucking me. He wants me to acknowledge that he is doing a good job.
“Take it, cunt. Like you’ve never taken it before. You like that?”
He thrusts hard and fast while two others hold my legs apart. My body has opened as wide and deep as it ever will for him and he tries to go deeper. I am bruised in places I’ve rarely been bruised, and with each thrust I feel like nails are being driven through my pelvic bones.
“You like that?” he repeats.
“I like it.” I’m not lying. As long as I focus on the pain, there isn’t a chance I’ll orgasm again.
He laughs.
The men watching egg him on.
A woman leans over my face and kisses me. She is the woman who gave Farris a blowjob. God, where is Farris? He’s been strangely absent.
The man finishes, pulling out to spray his cum on my stomach. Someone pulls the woman kissing me off my face and forces her down over my stomach.
An anonymous voice demands, “Lick that cum, bitch.”