Thoroughly Whipped

Bunny led me through another door. As I entered, I squinted through my veil. The room held a few women dressed just like me. There were two men there too, dressed in leather pants and nothing else. If my mythological knowledge was correct, sirens were traditionally perceived as female. Then again, we were in the twenty-first century and men could damn well be sirens too if they wanted to be. NOX was clearly progressive. That was a tick in my book.

“Sit down here,” Bunny said. I dropped to my knees, sitting back on my haunches like the other sirens were doing. Bunny spoke to a man at the front of the room. “She is the last,” Bunny said and walked away.

The man at the front of the room was dressed in PVC pants, his torso bare. A floor-length cloak with a large hood was wrapped around him. The hood covered half of his face, but I could see the mask he wore, of the Venetian variety. Gold, with short red feathers adorning the edges. “In NOX no one will use their names. It helps us protect our identities.” I caught sight of his rippling abs. “In your role as a siren, you must always answer with “Yes, sir” or “Yes, ma’am” when speaking to members. That includes me.”

“Sir” moved back to the front of the room. “Soon you will enter the main body of NOX. We have an array of members here. It is not only singletons who gain membership. Many of the people who attend NOX are couples too. We scout and invite sirens into the club for those wishing to experiment, to add other members to their sexual endeavors. And for your own pleasure too.” I could hear my heart beating in my ears, nerves swooping in my stomach.

“As a siren, your experience in NOX could be vast. You might find yourself playing the part of a submissive, or a sexual pet to a master. Or the person or persons you join may want you to be in charge, they might desire to serve you. We all have different sexual preferences and needs and that stands for you too. As a siren, you hold a great power. You are desired here, practically revered and worshipped by our members. You can refuse any advances, of course. And you are in the lucky position where most of the members’ pleasure will be focused on you.” I was getting hot. The air seemed to crackle around me.

“Whoever you partner up with, it is up to you to decide what you will do with them, what you like and what you don’t. NOX is everyone’s greatest sexual fantasy come to life. We want it to be yours too. You are not less than because you do not pay a membership, on the contrary. We want all our members to feel safe and to enjoy themselves.”

He paused and began walking up and down the room. Like the changing rooms, this room was dark with low lighting. “If you do not want to participate with someone, politely decline. No one will argue. If they do, they will be removed. Everything we do here is one hundred percent consensual.” When he stood at the top of the room again, he said, “Now that has been said, we are ready.”

A door opened and immediately the low dulcet tone of trance music came pounding into the room. Screams and moans of ecstasy sailed on those heavy beats and slammed straight into my chest.

I got to my feet and followed the other sirens into the main room. I glanced up through my veil and, even with hazy vision, my eyes widened at the sights before me. I could only describe it as a vast basement of debauchery. Men and women writhed in every part of the space. Dim red lights seductively kissed both naked and clothed bodies. A pit at the bottom of the room swirled with enraptured bodies like a moving oil painting being crafted by an erotic artist—kissing, oral sex, fingers and toys, intercourse, and heads thrown back, mouths screaming out in pleasure. My mind raced at the thought of being in the center of that pit.

What would it be like to be touched by that many people?

I jumped in shock as a hand skimmed up my leg. I looked down, under my veil, to see a man in a cloak and mask lounging on the floor, with another man kissing along every inch of his bare stomach. “Join us?” he asked. He smiled at me under his red demonic-horned mask.

“Sorry,” I blurted, my nerves taking over. “I’m just window shopping for now.” I winced at how pathetic I sounded.

I stepped away and quickly searched the room. As Bunny and Sir had said, all faces were covered with masks—cats, bunnies, masks in Egyptian and Venetian styles. Demons, angels, and multicolored carnival facades. Vibrant pink, red, and black eyes stared at us as we passed through, contacts disguising the members’ only distinguishable features.