by Cat Johnson
It’s possible I was the only one piecing together conspiracy theories. Me, and Chelsea, because of her concern over the missing Morgan.
Apparently all the others were here just to have a good time . . . A really good time, I determined as I watched one nearly nude female lick chocolate sauce off the nipple of a completely nude woman laid out on a table amid the desserts.
“Sanctuary is not a sex party,” Hargrove said as my eyes swept the scene. “It’s erotic theater. That’s an important distinction.”
The various states of undress of the females in the room didn’t exactly support that statement.
“Oh, yes. Of course. I can see that,” Chelsea agreed, just as a woman—completely nude except for a mask, cat ears, and painted on whiskers—crawled across the carpet.
The movement of her long tail caught my attention. I wondered how it was attached . . . until I got a look at the rear view. That showed me exactly how her tail had been attached—or rather inserted.
The sight of the anal plug had my cock stirring. Hating myself for that, I turned my attention to Hargrove, hoping anger over him and his organization would temper this unwanted lust.
It was clear that everything about The Sanctuary Club was designed to arouse. That didn’t make me feel any better about my burgeoning hard-on.
“As you can see, in keeping with the concept of a burlesque-style masquerade, among the guests are our performers.” Hargrove gestured to the female dessert buffet and the human house pet. His focus moved to Chelsea. “We’re always looking to hire. If that’s something that would interest you, I’d love to have you apply.”
“Me?” Chelsea choked on the question, while I was ready to choke out Hargrove for asking it.
He smiled as he swept her again with his gaze. “Yes. Just looking at you, I can tell you’d be a perfect fit.”
A perfect fit.
I scowled, knowing exactly what this guy was thinking about fitting inside Chelsea.
“How would I do that? Apply, I mean,” she asked, in spite of my tightened squeeze on her waist.
“It’s an open casting call. Applicants submit recent photos, one of which must be a full-length nude.” He pulled a card out of his pocket. “Call me.”
Chelsea smiled and took the black and gold card. “Thank you. I will.”
Over my dead body, she would. I plucked the card from her hand.
“Let me put that in my pocket for you, love. For safekeeping.” I smiled, but on the inside I was planning his death in my mind.
Strangling him with my bare hands had a certain appeal. But he deserved so much more than a quick clean death.
I always did have an affinity for old American westerns. Clint Eastwood in particular. Burying Hargrove up to his neck in the desert and letting nature take its time ending his life was a fantasy I tucked away to enjoy again later.
“Now, for the rules,” he interrupted my imaginings with a topic that I was most interested in hearing.
“Yes, please. I was wondering about protocol,” I said.
He nodded. “They are few but firm. Guests are welcome to remove their masks once they’re inside, but privacy is still of utmost importance so no photos or recording devices of any kind. Always ask permission before touching anyone, male or female. Permission can be withdrawn at any time if the participant chooses. Any breach of the rules results in immediate removal from this event and all future events with no refund. Otherwise, as long as it’s consensual among all involved anything goes.”
Anything goes. That left a lot of leeway.
Her shocked expression firmly in place, Chelsea had nothing to say.
I took over communicating for the both of us and said, “Understood.”
Hargrove smiled at Chelsea. “It’s all a bit much to take in the first time, I know. And observing the others is both allowed and encouraged until you feel comfortable participating yourself. I’ve found that most people who are shy at first are not likely to hang back for very long before they want to be part of the action.”
“Thank you. I think we will wander about and observe for a bit, if that’s all right. Just to get a feel for things.” I hoped he picked up on my unspoken dismissal. In case he didn’t, I grabbed Chelsea’s elbow and said, “Shall we?”
She glanced up at me as I steered her away from Hargrove.
“Excellent. We’ll chat later,” he called after us.
I nodded and kept walking, Chelsea in tow.
When we are out of earshot, I leaned in and said, “Forget the broken hand. If another man touches you, I’ll kill him. We’re not participating in any bloody thing these people invite us to do.”
When she didn’t say anything I steered us off into a corner and turned her to face me. “You all right?”
A crease wrinkling her brow, she raised her gaze to mine. “This place. I don’t know why. It’s . . .” She shook her head.
Strange. Surreal. So many words came to my mind.
“It’s what?” I asked to find out what she was thinking.
She glanced past me and her eyes widened.
I turned and saw what she did—the cat woman playing her feline role with one of the couples. She kneeled in front of them, taking turns laving any bare skin she could find with her tongue, including between the woman’s spread legs.
A third guest, a woman, took advantage of the kitty cat’s bare bum and her tail accessory stuck high in the air. The guest spanked the performer while telling her what a bad pussy she’d been.
Next to me Chelsea blew out a breath and said, “It’s making me . . . hot.”
My attention whipped from the scene playing out surreally in the center of the room, to Chelsea.
Now that I looked more closely, I took note of her dilated pupils and the heightened color in her cheeks.
Her gaze still on the group, her throat worked as she swallowed hard. Finally she looked at me. “Is it making you hot?”
If she reached down, my engorged cock would answer her question for me.
It might have to because I couldn’t bring myself to voice the truth.
FIFTEEN
Seeing the look in her eyes, the need so evident in her—I was ready to lift Chelsea up onto the grand piano I’d backed us up against and take her right there.
I bit back a curse and stepped closer, pinning her between my body and the black lacquered instrument that no doubt had set the homeowner back tens of thousands of dollars. Drop in the bucket, I supposed.
Words still didn’t come but I didn’t need words. We were past that as I answered her question with action.
I crashed my mouth against hers none too gently, not thinking twice about where we were or who was watching as I plunged my tongue into her mouth.
At least my weakness fit with our cover of a randy couple at a sex party. That was my only solace as I ran my hands down from her waist to cup the cheeks of her arse.
Fisting the fabric in my hands, I wished I could hike that dress up to her hips, drop to my knees, and play cat for a little bit myself—sans the tail anal plug.
I was considering how far I’d allow myself to go here and now before I wouldn’t be able to live with myself afterward, when Chelsea pulled back and broke the kiss.
Thankful for her good sense because I was on the cusp of losing my mind, I eased back a bit. I drew in a bracing breath and tried to level my breathing back to some semblance of normal.
I was doing a good job of regaining control when she said, “Can other men watch us without you killing them? Because I think they’re going to.”
Her gaze cut to the side.
Frowning, I dared to follow her glance and saw there were already a few people, men and women both, idly standing by, watching us as they sipped from fluted glasses.
“Fuck.” I breathed out the curse.
“I think that’s what they’re hoping we do. She giggled, sounding giddy—almost manic.
It was insane . . . and I was hard as steel. Worse, Chelsea’
s excitement was palpable and did nothing to help the situation.
Her gaze cut to the grouping with the kitty cat again. Her lips fell open as her breath quickened.
I angled my body and saw the action between the performer and the guests had gotten more intense, and more naked, as the guests began to get comfortable.
And Chelsea was completely enthralled by it all.
What was it about the scene that had her eyes narrowing with desire?
Was it the performer on her knees, subservient to the man she performed oral sex on? Had it been the spanking? The tail that a second man grasped as he kneeled behind the cat woman and thrust his cock inside her?
Or was it just the public nature of it all?
My having to consider any and all of the choices of what could be turning Chelsea on was more than I could handle.
Grabbing the back of her head, I fisted her hair and pulled her in close, kissing her hard to satisfy some feral need to claim her in front of these people. They needed to know she was mine and they could never have her.
I searched for a solution that would give us both some relief. That my brain was still functioning at all was a miracle since a good portion of my blood had headed south.
We’d had sex in the car once. I was more than willing to go outside and do it again. Take the edge off, come back in and then look for clues with a clearer head.
That was my plan when a hush came over the crowd in the room, followed by applause that had both Chelsea and me pivoting toward the doorway.
Apparently there was more to the show than the women playing at being a chocolate dessert and a frisky feline.
Two new performers had entered the room. From their costumes I guessed we were keeping with the animal theme.
A black haired beauty with piercing light-colored eyes and mocha skin sported a unicorn horn and a long horse-like tail but not much else. Her companion, a blonde with pale skin, wore white bunny ears and a round pink fuzzy tail—and yes, both tails were attached like the cat’s tail.
A bad part of my brain wondered where I could buy one of those plugs for Chelsea before I swatted the thought away.
Next to me, Chelsea drew in a sharp breath. “Oh my God. It’s Morgan.”
Her comment was exactly the nudge my blood-deprived brain needed. It reminded me we were here for a reason—and it wasn’t to have sex in someone’s parlor.
“Which one?” I asked.
“The unicorn.”
Now that I knew which woman we were here to rescue, I needed a plan to get her over to us.
I knew we had to talk to Morgan and do it without tipping our hand to management in case she was here against her will.
In a crowded room filled with people, Hargrove among them, all watching her and us, that could be difficult.
I wanted to see if she was drugged. I needed to hear her speak. Answer questions. Get a closer look at her eyes. And I needed to do it all while I was sporting the hard-on from hell in front of a crowd of onlookers who were hoping I’d fuck my date in front of them.
Leaning closer, I whispered to Chelsea, “We need to question her but no one can know.”
She nodded and I hope she truly understood because the next part was going to go very badly if she didn’t.
Luckily, the animal parade had circled the room, giving all the attendees a good view.
When they strutted near enough to us, I reached out to grab Morgan’s hand but stopped when I remembered the rules—always ask before touching. I couldn’t risk getting thrown out.
“Excuse me.” When they both paused, I said, “I do love a unicorn. Can you come closer?” I asked.
“Of course.” She smiled as her companion hopped over to another small group of guests. Morgan’s gaze moved from me to Chelsea and her mouth fell open. “Chelsea?”
Chelsea was sporting newly red hair and a mask, but for anyone who knew her well—like Morgan did—she was still recognizable.
A look of panic showed in Chelsea’s eyes as Morgan said her name much too loudly.
I leaned in and with my lips close to Morgan’s ear, said, “Shh. Hargrove can’t know it’s Chelsea. Don’t react, but we’re here to get you out of here. Tonight.”
She pulled back and frowned at me. “Why?”
Why? The question threw me.
Was Morgan here willingly? Or, as I feared, had she been drugged, or so indoctrinated by Hargrove she didn’t realize she’d been cut off from the outside world?
As I braced for Morgan to put up a fight and all hell to break loose, Chelsea leaned in to whisper in Morgan’s ear, “I’ve been texting you for weeks. Why didn’t you reply?”
“I don’t have my cell,” Morgan answered.
Chelsea’s eyes popped wide. “And you don’t think there’s something strange about that? That they won’t let you have a cell phone or any contact with anyone? For weeks?”
Morgan’s mouth opened and shut again. “I don’t know. I didn’t think much about it. Between the spa treatments, and the new clothes, and wads of money they’re paying me.” She lifted one shoulder.
“And you told me there was no sex required,” Chelsea said, tipping her head to indicate what was happening between the performer and guests just two meters from us.
“There isn’t. It’s not required. But we can choose to if we’d like. It’s all in good fun.” Morgan’s surreal statement had Chelsea’s shocked gaze cutting sideways to me.
Without words I knew what Chelsea was thinking. We needed to get Morgan away from here.
My ever present hard-on from what I’d seen here aside, this club and the company running it was too cloaked in shady behavior.
Sex for money was one thing. But combined with everything else—the apparent political manipulations, the level of security, the lack of outside communication for the girls employed, the Angel Escort office surveillance and psychological survey questions—it all added up to trouble in my mind.
Morgan could do whatever she wanted for a living. She wasn’t my responsibility, but Chelsea was and I knew as long as Chelsea was worried about her friend she’d keep putting herself in jeopardy. That alone was enough motivation for me to get Morgan out whether she wanted to be rescued or not.
“Are they keeping you here against your will? Can you leave if you want to?” I asked Morgan.
“Yes, of course I can . . . I think.” For the first time, Morgan began to look as if she doubted that fact. “We’ve just had a lot of events back-to-back so . . .”
“It’s been weeks. Weeks with no cell phone. Have you had no days off?” Chelsea asked, her voice getting louder.
One glance at the room told me though a lot of the guests were occupied watching the human cat performing all sorts of feline-inspired sexual acts on the three guests in the center of the room, there were still a few people keeping an eye on our little grouping, probably hoping for some naked action from us.
I palmed the back of Chelsea’s head, drew her closer and said low and close to her ear, “This needs to look more like foreplay and less like an interrogation or we’re going to raise suspicion.”
Morgan too glanced around us. “He’s right. They do watch what we do closely. I’m supposed to be entertaining the guests.”
A brief flash of fear crossed Chelsea’s face. Her gaze cut to me and then to Morgan. “So what do we do?”
“This.” Morgan leaned in and pressed a soft brief kiss to Chelsea’s lips
Christ.
My cock jumped behind my zipper in reaction.
Morgan turned and ran a finger up the front of my lapel, smiling and proving herself a convincing actress as well.
She pressed closer and ran her tongue along the whorls of my ear. Morgan was putting on a show for whoever was keeping her here and not actually coming on to me.
My mind knew that her attention was staged, but her hand and tongue on me was very real and my cock was enjoying it.
As fucked up as this situation was, I drew the line even
if my body hadn’t. It might be a small distinction that I’d momentarily considered having sex with Chelsea in front of a roomful of strangers, but doing it with Morgan wasn’t on my agenda.
She continued to explore my chest with her hands, she whispered, “You can request I accompany you both to a private room. There’s always security at the events, but we should be able to talk freely there.”
Brilliant. Time to put an end to our faux sex show and move our happy little threesome somewhere private so I could concentrate on getting us out of here.
“Leave circumventing the security to me,” I said, low so only Morgan and Chelsea would hear.
Once we were out of this room and away from the eyes watching us, I’d deal with whatever security Hargrove had set up. I’d come prepared. Even Chelsea didn’t realize how much so, because while she’d been making herself beautiful for the evening, I’d been in contact with Zane.
Even though I hated when he called me James Bond, I felt like the character tonight. Zane’s comm unit was in my pocket. All I needed to do was turn it on and put it in my ear. He was monitoring the frequency in case I needed him.
More than that, I came equipped with a signal blocker so I could disable all communications between Hargrove and his security team. My gun was in my leg holster, as usual, and various other equipment—including lock picking tools and a hidden camera and bug detector—were scattered about my person.
I traveled much lighter than a SEAL in full kit. Tuxedos didn’t allow for quite as much tactical gear as an operator’s vest, but I was fine with that. I had the essentials.
Now to get somewhere I could use them.
“How do I do that? Request a private room?” I asked.
“We just ask Mark. Let me handle it.” Morgan turned to leave and I reached out and touched her arm.
“No, I’ll ask him. You stay here with Chelsea.” Call it paranoia or instinct, but I didn’t quite trust Morgan. If she were drinking the Angel Escort Services Kool-Aid, so to speak, she could tell Hargrove the real reason we were here.
I shot Chelsea a glance that I hoped told her what my words didn’t. She needed to keep an eye on Morgan.