Another couch has two women pressed together, dresses pushed down, tongues devouring each other. A third crouches behind them, face buried between their thighs, her fingers slick and pumping into their pussies.
I take a step back and hit solid muscle. Priest’s chest against my spine, his breath warm against my ear.
“See something you like?”
My throat tightens as heat crawls up the back of my neck. My stomach knots, revulsion and curiosity fighting for space. I’m no stranger to public sex. Sometimes dancers at the club would get off in the middle of the floor or let out-of-control parties fuck them with objects. But this…this is different.
A stage dominates the center of the room. I watch, mesmerized, as a woman walks out wearing black boots and a sheer corset, carrying a riding crop. Another woman and a man follow her out. The dominatrix shoves the girl onto a padded bench and begins binding her wrists, ankles, and thighs. Even a strap across her torso, locking her down completely. The man is fitted with a leather collar, his cock already hard.
“They’ll use her. Just the way you like being used.”
I jerk before I can stop it. My body betrays me with the heat that shoots low in my belly. I hate the reaction. Hate how he knows.
Priest chuckles. “Good kitten. Keep watching.”
The dominatrix gestures. The man steps forward and starts roughly fucking the girl’s mouth. She gags around him, throat bulging, while the dominatrix spanks her. The woman’s cries are half-pain, half-ecstasy.
“They’ll take her every way,” Priest whispers. “Throat. Pussy. Ass. Until she’s sobbing. Until she loves it.”
My knees threaten to buckle.
“Enjoy the show.” His tone slides into a smirk. I catch only his broad back and black shirt as he walks away.
What is wrong with me?
I’m acting like a scared little girl, and I fucking hate that. But I’m so aware of my body. Every beat of my heart. Every inch of my skin. The way my lungs seem to struggle to take in air.
I can’t look away. I don’t know how long I’ve been watching, how many times they’ve changed positions, but the woman on the stage is wrecked. Her face is streaked with tears and ruined makeup. Her hair is matted, stuck to sweat, spit, cum. Her body is trembling, painted with bruises and bite marks. She’s still being used. Her hips twitch. Her throat is raw from screaming.
And still, she moans.
The wetness between my thighs is impossible to ignore.
Shame burns under my skin. I don’t understand what’s happening. Why is my body reacting? I hate the thought of Priest doing that to me. Hate that he’s the only man who’s ever touched me and the only one I think of as I watch them. That alone makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
I don’t realize how close I’ve gotten until my knees bump the edge of the platform. The woman sobs. But her hips still lift to meet their thrusts.
“Curious little kitten.” The words melt against the shell of my ear.
I flinch hard, pain stabbing through my side. I clutch my ribs, staggering back. Priest’s arm clamps around my waist, hoisting me clean off the floor. I’m nothing in his grip. A doll in the arms of a fucking monster.
“Stop!”
“Shhh,” he breathes into my hair.
I writhe in his hold, but he doesn’t budge. My legs dangle as he pins me to the edge of the stage, his chest to my back, his breath hot against my neck.
“Let go.” I fight against his hold, but it’s useless.
His fingers find my waistband. His hand slips under the fabric, his fingers rubbing the outside of my underwear. He’s barely touching me and it’s enough to make my legs shake. The warmth between my thighs is spreading and I hate it.
“No, don’t…” I start, but it dies when he presses harder on my clit. I try to twist away again, but he’s already moving. Lowering me to the ground only enough to spread my feet apart. One of his hands clamps around my wrist and I hear the soft whisper of something sliding tight. A tie. A fucking restraint.
“Wait—what are you?—”
Too late.
My wrists are bound, secured to the stage’s anchor loops. I tug, but the more I pull, the tighter they get.
