The others must be in similar straits because she wasn’t the first marching outside with a crate of supplies. As she hefted hers into the rear of the van, she pictured the pile of bills and past due notices waiting at home.
No matter what kind of crazy shit went on at this ultra-exclusive event, she planned to be there, sporting a smile with her lips sealed as tight as Fort Knox. She could stomach the awkwardness for the right price.
She’d sunk low, all the way to rock bottom. But tonight would help her rise.
***
Upon arrival, Regina led them through the caterer’s kitchen—sleek appliances, gleaming cookware, and patio access so seamless, it made Emily’s inner chef ache with envy. It was a setup she’d only seen in glossy magazines, not in real life. Even the air here felt polished and expensive, a world she didn’t belong to but desperately wanted a piece of.
Regina rattled off expectations, pointed out the service zones, and made one thing crystal clear: everything else was strictly off-limits. Then, stopping short of saying, “chop-chop,” she released everyone to work.
Near the end of her shift, Emily went in search of a bathroom—strange that it hadn’t been on the tour. But the sounds drifting from the back hall—moans, sharp rhythmic thwaps, and music pulsing like a heartbeat—pulled her in more than any plumbing. Heat, leather, and a thin thread of sweetness seeped through the corridor, inviting her closer.
She intended only a quick peek through the first door but slipped inside, curiosity overwhelming restraint.
The space unfolded before her, lit by only a handful of spotlights. Behind velvet ropes, carnal, shocking, wildly explicit acts played out. Emily stood rooted to the spot, unable to blink—let alone move.
Her lips formed a soundlessohas her attention locked onto a woman splayed on a tall wooden cross along the back wall. Her flushed skin glistened, thick leather cuffs secured her wrists and ankles, and she wore nothing else. A tall, impossibly fit man in a molded-on black T-shirt and matching trousers teased her with the business end of a riding crop, each flick and slap echoing through the sprawling room as fifty onlookers watched in rapt silence. The contrast between her vulnerability on display and the absolute control in his movements made something coil low in Emily’s belly.
She’d never witnessed anything so raw, exposed, and unapologetically erotic. Her pulse fluttered, cheeks warmed, and she became aware of how tightly she gripped the edge of her tray. But it wasn’t embarrassment that rooted her to the spot.
Shock, yes. Curiosity, absolutely. But more than anything, her body hummed with arousal when the leather square connected with the underside of the woman’s breasts and flicked lightly across her taut nipples.
Her first thought wasouch. But she focused on the man. He moved with the precision of someone who understood his power and knew how to wield it without crossing the line. He didn’t raise and drop his arm; he snapped his wrist, each stroke controlled and deliberate. The woman’s answering moans held no pain, only pleasure. Imagining the soft kiss of leather on her own skin, Emily felt certain of it.
When he paused and leaned in, his lips traced from her shoulder up to her ear. Whatever he whispered made her smile and nod. His laughter—low, sexy, intimate—drifted to the crowd forming a half-circle around the large wooden X.
He stepped back, letting the crop trail down her body. Every so often, the leather would land with athwap, drawing a collective breath from her and the audience.
Slender but shapely, and beautiful even with a blindfold obscuring half her face, the woman arched against the cross. Each soft cry and evocative moan ended with the slow sweep of her tongue along her scarlet lips.
When the crop traced her inner thighs, her body bowed away from the wood. The man in black released a low satisfied hum and adjusted his stance. His wrist angled before he delivered a series of short, crisp strokes directly to her pussy—precise, teasing, achingly deliberate. The woman didn’t shy away from the contact; she leaned into it, as much as her bound limbs would allow.
Emily didn’t flinch. A hurricane could have made landfall, and she wouldn’t have moved while the couple under the lights carried on. His control, the intimacy threaded through every touch, the way his rumbling approval met her breathless sighs, felt more like a language only the two of them spoke.
He resumed his tracing of her thighs. “You’re glistening, all the way down here. Does my princess want more?”
The submissive answered without a tremor. “No, dammit. You’ve got me so worked up with your teasing, you diabolical dom—what I want is your giant cock inside me.”
Her words cracked through the room, bold and brazen.
Emily jerked in surprise. The woman’s audacity—especially bound, exposed, and vulnerable—hit harder than the crop.
The audience erupted in delighted laughter, unsurprised by the outburst. The dom, equally entertained, flashed a slow, devastating smile—an expression his blindfolded submissive couldn’t see, though she’d deserved to.
“Careful, my love. Your Brooklyn is showing,” he warned, stroking the supple square over her glistening nether lips before smacking them firmly.
“You’re a devil to torment me so,” she gasped.
“Yes, but you knew that when you agreed to be mine.” He leaned in again, lips nearly touching hers. “Is any of this up to you to decide, little one?”
“No, sir. But after the warm-up blow job I gave you, I hoped you’d be open to suggestion.”
He smiled as laughter rippled through the crowd.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he asked, rhetorical, then covered her mouth in a kiss so searing, Emily half expected smoke to rise around them.
After several rapid thwacks, the last few delivered directly to her clit as he spread her open, he dropped the crop. Kneeling, he pressed his mouth to her splayed pussy, soothing with his lips and tongue any sting he’d wrought. It was deliberate worship, and that realization punched something loose inside Emily.
