Naoya-san nods.
“Tonight.”
That man’s gaze slides to me, then. Makes my shoulders twitch. He steps closer, circles me once.
“Doesn’t look like your usual type,” he says, and I tense. “But he’s got some wild energy. Mouthy, I bet. Did you tame him?”
I’m about to sayfuck you, but Naoya-san’s hand tightens just enough around my waist to make the message clear.Behave.
“That’s not the goal.”
The man hums.
“Will you share?”
There’s a pause.
Naoya-san’s expression doesn’t change, but his hand tightens subtly at the small of my back.
“I’m still considering it.”
What the fuck doesthatmean?
The guy chuckles and disappears into the room again, leaving me stiff as hell and staring at Naoya.
“Shareme?” I hiss under my breath. “What the fucking—”
“Not here,” he says, low. “Come.”
We slip past the edge of the tatami space, down a narrow hall to a door I hadn’t noticed before. He opens it, and a dark stairwell yawns below.
“Where the hell are we going?” I ask, even as I follow.
He doesn’t answer.
The stairs spiral down, lit only by soft red sconces. The deeper we go, the thicker the air gets, and I can hear music now, like it’s being muffled by many soundproof walls. He opens a door and the sound gets a little more persistent. We walk through a neon lit corridor and then there’s another heavy door.
And I realize I followed him down intoanother world.
The moment the fucking door swings open, it’s like Tokyo just flipped inside-out and showed me her dripping, throbbing, depraved heart.
We step into the heat first. Thick, humid, sex-laced air that hits my skin and surrounds me with smells like leather and latex and sweat and cum, all wrapped up in the sweet burn of alcohol and something that might be blood. Or maybe I justhopeit’s blood.
It’s not one big open room—it’s like walking into a maze. Velvet curtains hang from the ceiling to section off spaces, but none of them are really closed. Some are cages. Some are platforms. Some are glass cubicles. Some are fucking stages. And every one of them is dripping infilth.
The ceilings are dark like a cavern, crisscrossed with steel beams and hooks and suspension rigs. Rope is everywhere: threaded through eyelets in the walls; wrapped around people, holding them, forcing them spread open. But it’s not just rope. Chains clink from everywhere, too, and scary looking objects and toys I’ve only seen in videos and some I’ve never even fucking dreamed of. I catch the scent of hot wax, and just a few feet away, a thick candle drips down the belly of a tied-up man who’s whimpering like he’s begging for it.
Most of the lights are low and colored, deep red and bruised purple, green, gold, pink, but there are white spotlights too. In one, a woman with long dreadlocks and a face full of piercings is riding a bound man’s face like it’s her fucking throne. He’s strapped down, arms and legs spread wide, and she’s grinding so hard I think she might suffocate him.
Another spotlight shows a trio. One sub on all fours, two Doms—one with a flogger, the other with a crop. They alternate strikes, hitting him with rhythm, and he shudders under every blow, drool slicking the floor under his face. His back looks likea fucking painting, all red streaks, purple bruises, swollen skin. Gorgeous.
Everywhere I look, someone’s being used. Stretched. Fucked. Tied. Choked. Worshiped.
Thisis what I always thought this kinky shit was supposed to be. And Naoya-san really pretended he didn’t know what I was talking about.
My dick’s already hard in my pants and I don’t even give a shit. No one here does.
Naoya-san is watching me, a small smile playing on his lips.
