13
THE REAL BLUE SUIT CLUB
Slash
Instead of standing in a hallway lined with private rooms, they stood in one large, open space.
An orgy playroom.
She peered up at Carrera. He met her gaze.
“Surprise,” he murmured.
An eerie glow from the red bulbs in the wall sconces and the recessed lighting kept the room cloaked in shadow. Naked and semi-nude couples and small groups were playing on couches, futons, tantra chairs, and the St. Andrew’s Cross.
Nearby, a long counter offered small whips, feather floggers, and nipple clamps. There were several varieties of condoms, and two baskets of black eye masks. One marked “Clean”, the second labeled, “Used”.
Carrera pulled two masks, offered one to Slash. They pulled them on, adjusted to fit.
Instead of blaring club music, classical music floated from wall speakers.
He pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, “We got this.”
Curious by nature, Slash clasped Carrera’s hand, and started moseying around. They passed a foursome—two men and two women—playing on a sheet-covered mattress. Both women danced at the club. One of the women was on all fours. She wore a thong, a collared leash around her neck. A man wearing nothing but a black eye mask held the leash while she gave the other man a blowjob. The second woman was using a mini-whip on his ass, smacking him repeatedly.
She and Carrera had entered an erotic underworld of kink play.
Just ahead, a man and a woman were sitting on a sofa. He wore leather pants, she a leather bra and shorty shorts. He was licking and sucking her toes.
Sexy.
As they approached the far corner and the dim red lighting brought everything into focus, Slash stopped. Seven masked people were playing on thick black gym mats. Most wore black eye masks, but one woman hid her face behind an elaborate feather mask, and one of the men wore a devil mask.
She leaned up toward Carrera, and he lowered his head, so she could whisper, “Welcome to hell.”
He smiled, sending a white-hot streak of desire thrilling through her.
This group was so entwined, it was hard to tell who was doing what to whom, but Slash spotted a man screwing a woman in her ass while another fucked her pussy. Two women were blowing a man, and three women were busy climaxing together.
“Wow,” she murmured.
The man who was butt-fucking the woman waved them over. Slash refused him with a simple shake of her head.
Next stop, a naked man was tied to the St. Andrews Cross. A dancer wearing only a G-string smacked him with her small leather whip while a man dressed in only a bra tickled him with a feather. He was yelping, then laughing.
Black gym mats took up floor space where a dancer from the club was performing an impressive yoga pose while a man feasted on her pussy.
Though the scenes were eye-catching and provocative, Slash was too surprised to feel aroused.
On another sofa, a bearded man wearing an eye mask sat with beside an unmasked woman. Both were clothed. He was caressing her hand while she spoke.
Slash spotted a tantra chair tucked into the corner, so she urged Carrera in that direction.
“I saw that bearded guy in Karen’s office,” Carrera murmured. “They might have been screwing.”
“She’s fucking the customers?” Slash murmured.
“Maybe.”
