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There was more extreme-looking bondage equipment down here as well as a long row of large, sturdy wrought iron cages. They looked like giant old-fashioned bird cages. A few were empty, but most of them held a nude woman, each wearing a collar of a different style. Their hands were bound behind them, and they knelt inside their cages, legs spread. They were each blindfolded.
Others, mostly men—but a few women as well—approached and stroked them through the cage bars.
“There’s a bit more,” Quill said, taking her hand and leading her past the bird cages.
Saskia looked back over her shoulder and saw a man giving money to another man beside one of the cages.
“Come along, Saskia, that’s none of our business.”
Surely, if they were doing it out in the open, it was everyone’s business.
He took her to another door and another hallway. But instead of pictures on red walls, this one was painted solid black and had nothing but doors. “These are the theme rooms.”
The first door looked like a school room and had paddles and rulers and spanking furniture. Shackles came out of a desk so one could easily be bent over and fucked. In fact, someonewasbeing bent over and fucked. She had dark blonde hair pulled into pigtails with red ribbons tying them in place, a white cropped top, and a short plaid skirt. She wore white socks that climbed to her knees and Mary Jane shoes. A pair of virginal white panties were down around her ankles.
On the blackboard, she’d written lines: “This girl will be a good slut for Sir from now on.” They were numbered down the board in two rows, to fifty. There was still chalk dust on her hands.
“Kane,” a well-muscled blond man said, not bothering to pause his thrusting. He looked a bit like a Viking. Did no one here have any shame?
“I apologize. This door wasn’t locked,” Quill said.
The stranger laughed. “It’s not locked on purpose. She likes to get caught, don’t you, precious?”
“Yes, sir,” she said breathlessly.
The man thrust once more hard into her and groaned as he came. Saskia looked away, too uncomfortable with the display to stare openly.
“May we?” Quill asked, when the man pulled out of her and zipped up his pants.
“Be my guest. My slut is your slut.”
The man stroked her back, and she mewled in response. He stepped away, and Quill led Saskia to the bound woman.
“Touch her,” Quill said.
Saskia glanced up and saw a camera in the corner of the ceiling, angled right down on them, a red light flickering—leaving no doubt that it was on and recording. Everyone knew cameras didn’t need to have a red blinking light. This wasn’t 1970. There were plenty of modern cameras that worked just fine without any blinking. Yet this camera sought to announce itself—either to warn or to thrill she couldn’t be sure.
Saskia pointed at the camera. She didn’t have to ask the question that was on her mind.
“There is a screening room. I’ll show it to you when we get finished here.”
The stranger tossed Quill a key. “Unlock her hands, I want to watch them together. If that’s okay with you.”
“My slut is your slut,” Quill said, as if this were the club motto.
Quill unlocked the woman’s wrists from the shackles and held her steady. “Step out of the panties. We don’t need those in our way, do we?”
“No, sir,” she agreed, stepping out of them.
The stranger approached, and Saskia took an involuntary step back. She was beginning to privately think of this man as The Viking.
“She’s very skittish.” He turned to Saskia. “Is this your first time at a place like this, doll?”
“No, sir.”
Quill’s eyes widened a fraction, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she’d called the mansirwithout being prodded or because she’d been to a place like this before. Well, not really like this. This place was more intimidating and impressive. The few parties she’d been to had been amateur hour next to this. High production values was the thought that came to mind as her gaze panned involuntarily up to the camera again.
“I rarely see you here with your own girl,” he said.
