Near the pulpit and the mesmerizing ballerinas dancing to Tchaikovsky, Kingston stood in his trademark all-black priest attire, his dutiful votaries kneeling before him. When I passed, I caught his low, commanding voice.
“Your God is pleased with your behavior. Recite your prayers, and you will be free to play in whatever manner you wish for two hours. But when I come for each of you, I will not have mercy. Your God is a jealous God, and he will reclaim your flesh exactly how he sees fit.”
Before I could make it too far past them, Kingston stopped me. “Not staying for the show, Nova?” he asked.
I turned. Kingston looked at me, but his subs still gazed up at him like he was the giver of their every breath.
“What show?”
He smiled, waving toward the second story opposite the sanctuary. The rest of the room slowly turned their attention to the three women dressed as angels at the railing above us.
The orchestral music grew darker and louder. Men hoisted all three angels up onto the railing, and my breath caught in my throat. What thefuckwere they doing?
I stepped forward, about ready to scream, as if that would stop them.
The angels floated in the air the minute they stepped off the railing, dangling above the nave.
My mouth fell open in horror, noticing the metal hooks pierced through the angels’ skin and attached to a metal rod above them like demented human marionettes. One of the angels had them all over her back, tilting her like she was midflight. Another hung vertically, the hooks piercing her chest and arms. I quickly looked away, feeling sick.
“What thefuck?”
Kingston walked toward me slowly. His icy Scandinavian presence was undeniably powerful. “Flesh hook suspension,” he explained calmly. “An extreme form of masochism and performance art. If it’s too much, you don’t have to watch, dear.”
His tone was surprisingly gentle, his features shifting from frightening Dom to concerned in an instant. “You look pale. Do you need to sit down?”
I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks,” I mumbled. I glanced up at the angels one more time, their concentrated, calm features. As soon as they began to glide forward, my stomach lurched, and I rushed out of the nave.
“You all right?” an older woman in red latex asked in the hall.
“I’m great,” I said as I nearly gagged, sweat breaking out on my forehead.
“Flesh hooks?” she asked.
“Yep,” I whispered, catching my breath as I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall.
She chuckled. “They have to keep pushing the limits, you see,” she said softly. “Sex parties are mainstream now that everybody and their mother has been to one. On their own, they’re boring.Common.What’s going to be left to do when everything’s been done?”
“I shudder to imagine,” I muttered.
She laughed at this. “I’ve been in the scene for decades. I’ve seen it all. I’m here for business, not pleasure, but I will say… it’s nice to see old school kink happening in such a large group here in the city, where space is scarce. It’s a strange mix, but there are quite a few gems in the rubble. At least people are beingweirdagain.” She sighed wistfully, stroking the flogger in her hand. “I don’t want to blabber on. You enjoy yourself, and stay safe.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I watched her strut away in her Louboutins, fascinated as always by the varied experiences within The Circle. I briefly wondered what Wes would’ve said if he were here, but the thought stung. If he didn’t care about me coming tonight, then I wasn’t sure he ever cared about me at all.
My stomach was settled enough to forge on, so I continued my meticulous search for Lorelei. In one room, a man was inside a vacuum bed, latex hugging every inch of him, leaving only his mouth uncovered as a female Domme monitored him. Next to them, a man was creating huge latex balloons for giggling women to crawl inside of.
No Lorelei in the latex bondage room.
I forged on.
She wasn’t in the more sensual rooms either, where men watched an orgy of women get each other off under the twinkling lights.
I tried the basement next, where several rope scenes were happening. Rope suspension, I could stomach. In a smaller room in the basement, a woman pissed on a man in a golden bathtub, his mouth duct taped and wrists bound.
I jumped when a woman suddenly screamed, and I watched masked men drag her deeper into the darkness.
It wasn’t Lorelei.
