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“What do you see?” I repeat, watching her body for reactions.
“Um…” She pauses to lick her lips. “There’s a man and two women. They’re having sex.”
“They’re fucking?”
My bold words cause her to turn toward me. Her eyes are starting to glaze over. She’s becoming turned on. “Same thing,” she replies.
Filthy language makes my new little toy uncomfortable. She turns away, but I lean in just as her eyes lock on the threesome. The man is roughly taking the woman from behind while one woman is stroking the other’s clit with her tongue. “Don’t you think the word fucking is more convenient for what they’re doing, though? Is it just having sex? Do you think he’s being rough with her? Or are the sounds she’s making telling you she’s enjoying herself?”
Her hands are on her dress, wiping at her sweaty palms. She is too easy to read. With each breath she takes, it’s a struggle to remain unfazed by what she sees. “Wh-Why are you making me watch all this?” she asks, but still doesn’t pull away.
“I thought you were curious about what happens in a sex club? Are you curious, Jensen?” The fact that she still hasn’t taken her eyes off the scene before her tells me she’s more than curious. The sounds radiating from the room would heat anyone’s inner core. I would be lying if I didn’t admit I was getting turned on by her curiosity. I stand there in silence while we both watch the intimate scene before us. The way the woman laps away at her lover. The way the man takes exactly what he wants without shame. Three adults giving and taking until they’re content and sated. Just as the man begins to grunt out his release, I shut the door.
“Why’d you shut that?” She whips around to face me, catching herself the instant the question leaves her lips. Her cheeks are flushed, as I knew they would be. I’d bet both my balls her nipples are hard as fuck too.
“Because their orgasms are theirs. Not ours. Let’s keep moving.” I escort her to door number three. I don’t need to instruct her this time. She willingly places her face against the glass. Without asking, she speaks. “He’s spanking her.”
“What else?”
“He’s teasing her with a stick of some kind. She thinks he’s done, then”—she jerks—“he hits her again.”
I lean forward. “Do you think she likes it or wants it to stop?” I breathe into her ear.
She takes a few seconds to respond. “She likes it. She wants him to hit her.”
The strain in her voice turns me on so much, I could probably pound a hole in the cement wall with how hard I am. The purpose of this was to bend her into submission. I knew this would go one of two ways. She would be sickened by what she saw or turned on. I never expected her reaction to have such an effect on me. “Do you wish that was you being spanked by that flogger?” I ask, knowing it’ll bring her mind back to yesterday when I took my open palm to her ass. She enjoyed it. There was no hiding the way she couldn’t fight the grind of her sweet pussy against my thigh.
“Answer me,” I demand, needing to feed my own arousal with her response.
“Yes,” she confesses, barely above a whisper. My dick jolts. I should take my belt off right here and take it to her ass. Whip her until she begs me to give her what she really wants. She may be inexperienced, but that doesn’t hide the need. Everyone knows exactly what they want deep down. They may not know how to properly ask for it, but she wants to submit.
A sick smile creeps across my face as I lean in, shutting the door. I almost shutter a laugh when I hear her quiet sigh of disappointment.
“What’s next?” she asks, starting to walk away. I grab her forearm, stopping her and pulling her in the opposite direction where the fully-stocked rooms are. I don’t reply to her. I prefer to let the anticipation build. She’s antsy. Her hands are locked together. She’s fidgety. I stop at a full-length door and pull out my key ring. Inserting a large key into the lock, I open the door and instruct her to enter.
The room is no bigger than ten by ten. The deep plum color on the walls gives it an intimate feel, taking away any insecurities one might feel at the objects hanging from the ceiling. One, in particular, the hanging swing. I stand back and allow Jensen to tour the room on her own. My own curiosity piques as her fingers brush along certain objects. She finds the flogger and pulls it through her fingers, fulfilling the curiosity of how the tip feels.
