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He shifted behind her. They were next to one of the pillars, the lights from the images flickering over her skin. He leaned against the iron spiral as he gripped her waist. “Close your eyes. Open them slow when I tell you.”
The mashup hadn’t yet started, so she could hear what the music had covered. The movement of people was like a wave, the rustle of their clothing, their hushed whispers. She jumped a little as a sharp crack split through that wave, followed by a gasp, a moan. More cracks. Rhythmic thuds. The clank of chains. Then the speakers started to fill in the composition. With words.
“Lift your ass. Don’t hide that beauty from me. It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Yes…yes, Master.”
“Tell me you want more.”
“Please…”
More gasps and sighs. A tearful plea for more, for mercy. Followed by a teasing reminder that only a safeword brought mercy.
More spoken commands. Listen. Bend over. Spread for me. Take it. Give this to me. Loving reassurances. You please me. I love seeing you like this. Love seeing you beg.
Whenever she became apprehensive, unsure about the noises or cries, her body communicated it to Brick. He gave her the whispered reassurance she needed, the information to fill in the blanks.
“That snap is a single tail whip… that thud is a paddle or an impact toy like it. The whistling sound is a cane. That’s the one causing the shriek. It stings.”
He paused at a smacking sound, measured out like a precise drumbeat. Her hand tightened over his at her waist. “That’s a bare hand,” she said, her throat dry.
“Yes, it is. It tells me a lot, that you recognize it.”
He slid his other hand under the skirt, his thumb passing over the crease between thigh and sex. She started to shift into the touch, but he held her fast.
“You don’t direct me. I direct you,” he said. “When you hear submissives moaning, crying out, gasping, they’re telling their Doms if they’re okay, or if they need a minute. That clank of chains is when they pull against their restraints. If you listen hard, you can hear the vibrator as a Dom treats his sub to forced orgasms…”
As he drifted off, she detected the grinding buzz, the staccato wailing cries of a woman getting closer to climax. The desperate plea escalated into a hoarse, full-bodied scream, giving it center stage over the rushing undercurrent of all the other sounds.
Les’s hands white-knuckled Brick’s forearm, his arm banded high on her waist. He was cupping her breast. When he ran an easy fingertip over a nipple, it was so aroused beneath her thin bra the reaction zinged through her chest and lower belly like a weighted pinball. He kissed her shoulder, then pushed her neckline down with a thumb, reaching under the bra cup to bring flesh to flesh.
“Oh…” She leaned against him, pulse pounding between her legs and in her throat. Her body was shuddering.
“I bet if I put my hand between your legs, you’d come right here, wouldn’t you?”
Her throat worked as she nodded against his rough jaw. What she was hearing was threatening to spark her reaction to pure flame. A shocked little moan came from her as a mic somewhere picked up his voice, making the question reverberate through the club. The echo of her moan was overlapped by other words, cries and sounds of pleasure, coming from elsewhere in the building.
“Oh my God.”
“Open your eyes. Look at what the world around you has become.”
She saw people rooted to the spots they’d been when the signs lit up. Many were doing intimate things like she and Brick were. It was a primitive forest of sexual response, swaying with the winds of need.
“How can someone…force an orgasm?”
“In this case, he’s using a vibrator. He puts it against her cunt, binds her so she can’t stop or adjust it, do anything to mitigate the sensation. You know how you stop when the vibration gets so overwhelming? She can’t do that. It’s excruciating, a sensual torture. He might leave it on her for a while, so it will take her up as many times as he wants her to endure it.”
She thought she could still hear the hum. Though the woman’s cries had died away, a quiet keening amid the currents of noise might be her, her Dom keeping her strapped to that relentless vibration.
“Will he grant her mercy when she begs for it? Even if she doesn’t safeword?”
“Depends on what he knows about what she really wants and needs. He’ll push her to a certain point beyond when she begs for mercy, just to remind her he’s calling the shots, unless she safewords. Because she wants that reminder, too.”
The Quiet lights went dark, the music returning. She was glad for Brick’s arm around her, the time he gave her to steady herself after he took his hands away from her most flammable points. When he did move her forward, he did it at a slow stroll. While it was intended to let her take in all she was experiencing at an easy pace, it was still…so much.
The people who seemed to be milling in groups were actually grouped around stations, the source of some of the sounds she’d heard. Les saw a metal frame at one, big enough to hold a man and a woman. They were bound in rope and suspended in the air a few feet away from one another. Her ropes were purple, his black.
The woman’s rope Dom or top—Brick murmured that either term could be true—was still adding to the design. He adjusted the woman’s foot so her heel was bound more securely against her buttock, her arm behind her, back arched. She looked like the figurehead on a boat’s prow.
