Under the Stars

Waves of déjà vu hit me as I walk around the room unrecognized by anyone. It’s two rooms connected by an open wall. In the main one are several hard couches with thin cushions, making it easy to have sex. The décor is the usual black, red, velvet and curtains. Small tables hold finger foods and champagne. It’s very warm, and the scent of sweat and come is in the air.

When I walked down the narrow hallway on the main floor above, the doorman was confused. I didn’t have an invitation. I was at the wrong door for the girls, but I acted like I knew what I was doing. I flirted a bit, which didn’t work, and when I threatened to call Brisbee, he caved and let me inside.

I’m confused by what’s happening, though. It’s not what I expected based on what I’ve seen or what Joshua said I’d find.

The girls are topless, and most are wearing thongs or lace boyshorts and heels… but I don’t see Brittanie anywhere. The women are my age, and the men are bound. They’re clearly getting off on this, moaning and begging… but it’s more of a dominatrix scene.

One man is handcuffed to a chair with a black leather mask over his eyes. A topless woman is on her knees in front of him massaging his dick aggressively fast. Her large breasts sway over his come-covered thighs and lower stomach. He’s moaning and writhing, begging her to stop… then he comes again.

I’m relieved most of the participants are already paired, because I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do. It’s some kind of sex-torture. Not wasting time trying to figure it out, I drift through the room looking for Molly, looking for a way to get out—or a way to let Mark in.

Low grunts turn to loud moans, and the women actually seem to be enjoying this experience. I don’t relate to the exhibitionism—it’s not my style. Still… I suppose if what is happening here is legal, if people are into it, I’ll walk away and never think about it again.

Only, that’s not what we know happens in this place. There’s got to be another room, somewhere where…

“Come with us.”

I recognize that voice.

“Are you ready, Daddy? We want to share.”

Her breathy sighs, her soft voice. It’s the same sickly sweet Marilyn she uses when she’s luring them to their deaths. I freeze at the back of the room watching.

Molly isn’t a teen.

She’s no virgin.

She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’ll lull them into a dream state, a false sense of security. I search her barely clothed body for signs of a weapon. She’s nude except for the red satin boyshorts and black, opera-length gloves.

“Massage or mouth?” She drops to her knees looking up.

The man in front of her is older. He’s not fat like the other ones. He’s lean, a silver fox. “Suck me, and after I come, use your hands.”

“My favorite.” Her voice is playful, and my stomach turns.

Her hands trail up his thighs, and I do my best to stay back, still as a statue. I’m not sure how I’ll get her out of here. I’m not sure what she’s planning to do. Will it be a bloodbath? Does she think she can get away with it?

“I’m so happy it’s our turn to play.” She’s between his legs, getting into position. “What changed?”

She’s fishing. “Brisbee’s coming tonight.”

Ice filters through my veins.

“Just like you’re about to?” She grins, leaning forward to lick her tongue up the shaft of his erection.

Her redheaded partner clicks the handcuffs to the legs of the chair, and slides her fingers down the man’s hairy chest, tweaking his nipples.

He lets out a low groan, adjusting in his seat. “He prefers torture to teenage virgins.”

A younger man passes behind them. His erection wags as his female partner pushes him down on the couch.

“I hate this night,” he groans as she ties his wrists behind him. “I want tight, thirteen-year-old pussy.”

His tone is teasing, and my stomach roils.

Fire sparks in Molly’s eyes, but she emits one of those fake, insipid giggles. “You won’t see me next time. I’m not thirteen.”

“Or a virgin.” Her client leans back against the wall as if succumbing to her spell. “Do it.”