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I walk away before she finishes, striding inside and into the main reception area. The music is loud and vibrates through every cell in my body. Heightens my cravings. All around me people are dancing—grinding to this deep and hypnotic bass—while giving in to their baser desires.
The room is dark and open with a winding staircase off to the left. It’s all wooden floors and paneling, floor-to-ceiling windows, and the deep red drapes they use to accent them. It’s high, stoned arches and intricate carvings—gold antique fixtures and expensive furnishings.
Old Victorian meets debauchery.
A few dominants, a group of three, stand off to the left of the dance floor with leashes in their hands and a naked submissive at their feet. Across from them, a couple is fucking while those on two long couches watch.
There are moans and whimpers. Commands and guttural growls of pleasure.
However, nothing calls to me outside of my destination. My oasis. A quiet room where a reward awaits me.
People look at me—some try to pull me into their conversations as I make my way through the crowd, but I don’t stop. My body is wound so fucking tight, the blood in my veins a volcanic rush of hunger that pulls me deeper into the mansion.
I’ve never felt this kind of rush before, at least, not at this level, and it’s euphoric. Almost maddening as I give in to the pull, an almost palpable magnetic chord that’s guiding me toward my sanctuary.
I don’t stop until I’m outside the door three floors up. There, I pause and take in a deep breath while reaching down to palm my cock. Give it a hard squeeze that does very little to alleviate my almost violent yearning to come.
Sliding the key into the door, I crack my neck while waiting for it to unlock. This room is owned by me. Never to be used by anyone else.
A private gift given by the asshole that owns the club to pacify a personal debt.
“Fuck,” I spit out, teeth clenching as my dick throbs against the zipper of my pants. Another stroke of my hand, and the green light blinks to signal it’s open.
A rough exhale leaves me as I turn the knob and open the door to a room the size of a master bedroom. Two steps and I’m inside. The lights are dim, and the heavy riff of a guitar plays in the background on low.
The large room is empty except for my chair and a small stage with a metal pole that runs from floor to ceiling. There’s nothing sexier to me than watching a woman dance—lose herself in her movements while the tension mounts. Watch her become needy with each inhale, the shakiness of her limbs as I command her to spread her thighs and slip a single finger inside.
How her thighs quake.
How her pussy clenches in need of more.
How she begs for me to fuck her.
Something that will never happen, and it’s in my denial that I find a release.
I’m a voyeur. A killer.
A depraved son of a bitch that can take a life with no regret, and then come from pulling pleasure from a willing whore.
Striding across the room, I stop at my throne. An antique chair with its intricate wooden carvings and velvet upholstering—it holds this dark tone of both goth and sex that I love.
The hint of depravity hidden behind an expensive price tag.
The music within the room grows louder and I turn, humming the tune as the stage becomes illuminated. Adrenaline—the high that comes from killing that asshole—and the anticipation has me throbbing.
Desperate for a release.
Taking my seat, I sit back and press the small red button atop a table to my right. Not twenty seconds pass when the door at the other end of the room opens, and then closes with a muted thud.
Picking up the bottle of gin from the glass table beside me, I pour a few fingers into the tumbler while ignoring the performer. There’s an electrical current flowing through the room, an energy that unsettles me as much as it excites.
“Come forward,” I demand, yet don’t look up. Instead, I take a sip from my glass and enjoy the spirit on my tongue. Close my eyes as the crispness, with just a subtle hint of citrus, pleases my palate.
“Where do you want me?” a delicate voice asks, and my heart thumps harshly inside my chest. Tries to claw its way out as my eyes snap open.
“Fuck.” It leaves me on a pained groan as the music fades and all I see is her.
She’s not one of my regular girls.
