Chapter 16 #2
I glanced around the theater. Many of the patrons were now engaged in more open displays of intimacy.
A couple shared an oversized armchair beside us—a pretty blonde and a businessman still in his suit.
She straddled him, facing the stage, her skirt hiding most of the movement, but it was clear that she was riding his cock.
His hands slid under her top, gripping her waist and setting the rhythm, lifting her high before driving her back down as her fingers dug into the sides of the chair.
And just like that, the present fractured, and Madrid slammed into me without warning.
The first time I’d walked into a sex club there, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I’d barely been able to breathe. Everything had felt too loud, too carnal.
I’d told myself it was temporary.
I’d told myself I had no choice. It was either work here or starve. I had no papers to work in Spain and no legal right to live there outside the monastery.
When I first learned about the value of my virginity at the club’s annual auction and how much I would be paid, I was torn.
I wanted out from under the charity center.
I wanted a place of my own. I tried calling my father from borrowed phones because I didn’t have one, but he never answered or returned my messages. Not until a few weeks ago.
By then, I’d already slipped into a world of drinking, sex, and debauchery.
I’d done my best to steer clear of it, but survival meant pleasing the boss.
I traded a silent prison for a louder, dirtier one, full of neon nights and men who mistook access for ownership.
And even knowing what it cost me, I didn’t regret escaping the suffocating control of the convent—not for a single minute.
I shivered as I recalled the man who’d bought my virginity—fat, with a bulbous belly that pressed into me, his breath sour and hot against my face. I remembered how roughly he’d grabbed me, thrown me onto the bed, and shoved himself inside me from behind without warning.
The pain and humiliation blinded me, pushing past what my mind could take.
I’d gone somewhere else after that. My mind had left my body because staying would’ve destroyed me.
When I came back, he was licking blood from his fingers—my blood—and smiling as he told me that the blood of virgins tasted sweeter than the most expensive wine. That it was worth every cent he’d paid.
He’d thrown cash at me and walked out half-dressed, pants and shirt in hand, leaving me shaking and aching between my legs.
I hated myself for it.
But what choice did I have?
I’d fled the monastery with nothing but my passport and a stack of papers.
No money. No immigration documents. No way to work legally.
Then, I’d trusted the wrong woman—Dolores “Lola” Alcaide—because she ran the charity the other sisters and I had once fed the poor with, because she’d recognized that I was a runaway with nowhere to go.
She’d used it.
She’d threatened to send me back.
She manipulated me after spending so many years away from the world.
And the men who ran the club hadn’t cared that I hated working there. They’d taught me how to perform. How to make them money.
And survival had cost me everything.
Applause and a shrill whistle snapped me back to the present.
Sofia’s moans and cries of pleasure cut through, loud enough to reach the back wall.
Her voice was raw, needy, and unashamed, capturing my attention. She was right there, on the edge of what would clearly be her first orgasm of the night, her body responding naturally to the knight’s touch, the way bodies made for pleasure were supposed to.
I swallowed.
If only it were that simple for me.
Since my mother died, nothing in my life had come easily. Everything had carried a price.
But watching Sofia—really watching her—made something else clear.
I wasn’t judging her. Not for loving the attention.
Not for opening herself to it so freely.
Maybe this was her kink. Maybe it was the thrill of being seen, or the power of choosing it, or the simple joy of surrendering in a space where the rules were clear and consent wasn’t negotiable.
Same for the people around us—the ones watching, touching, taking what they wanted, and giving back just as willingly.
There was nothing wrong with that.
And there was nothing wrong with me for wanting something different.
I’d never had sex just for the pleasure of it. Never been pursued or gone on dates. Locked away for years, I was then thrown into a world that demanded access instead of desire. I’d never had the chance to learn what I wanted—or who I might want it with.
Seeing Sofia’s pleasure without fear, Margaretta’s flushed curiosity and delight in a place designed to protect choice, reminded me that sex didn’t have to be currency or something stolen under threat—it could be desire freely claimed, the kind people were willing to risk everything for.
I wasn’t closed off to having sex, and of course, watching the performance and those around me affected me, even turning me on. But I wanted—no, needed—someone to care about me. To care about how I felt, understand my scars, and want to please me as much as themselves.
I just hadn’t met the right man yet—the one who would want me as much as I wanted him. A man I could feel safe with.
And if that ever happened, I wouldn’t be afraid of it because I’d be at home in his arms.
Sofia’s cries pitched higher as the orgasm ripped through her, her back arching and her mouth opening on a broken whine. But before she could finish riding it out, the blonde knight shifted.
His hands locked on her waist, and he hauled her up the table in one smooth move toward him so that her head tipped off the edge. Her long black hair spilled toward the floor, swinging as he repositioned her, while the dark-haired knight between her legs rose to his feet.
He made a show of licking her juices from his fingers, eyes on the audience as he dragged his tongue along his knuckles, savoring it. The crowd responded immediately—hums of approval rolled through the theater.
The blonde knight stroked himself a couple more times, then pressed the head of his cock to Sofia’s lips.
She didn’t hesitate.
Her tongue darted out, licking him as if pleasing him was the most important thing in the world.
Margaretta leaned in close to me, her breath warm and champagne-sweet. “Goddamn,” she murmured, eyes glued to the stage. “That guy has a fine ass. And those tattoos, Lord help me, I’d climb him like a tree if he gave me the chance.”
I laughed under my breath. “You’re not wrong. He’s built like a brick house.”
Turning back to Sofia, the dark-haired knight reached for the small bag of toys on the table.
He pulled out a butt plug with a sparkly, jeweled base and held it up, giving the crowd a moment to take it in.
Then he tipped a little bottle of lube and let it run slowly over the plug before coating his fingers.
The blonde knight didn’t wait.
He shoved forward in one blunt thrust, filling Sofia’s mouth and throat all at once. She gagged around him, a helpless whine torn from her as her body jolted away from him.
Margaretta gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
It didn’t surprise me.
Typical guy, focused on his own pleasure. No control.
The blonde knight fisted Sofia’s hair and yanked her head into place. “Take it like a good girl,” he ordered loudly enough for the audience to hear, “or you’ll be banished from the kingdom.”
He pushed himself between her lips, sliding into her throat without hesitation. Tears streaked down Sofia’s face as she adjusted, her throat working as she took him again. Her fingers locked around the chains as she strained against their hold. The crowd clapped, and someone whistled in approval.
The King leaned forward on his throne, one hand wrapped around his cock as he stroked himself, watching with interest.
The blonde knight began to fuck Sofia’s mouth, slow at first, then harder, while the dark-haired knight pushed her knees up toward her shoulders and braced them there with his forearm. He shifted to the side so the audience had a perfect view of her tight, exposed hole.
Then he pressed the plug to her ass and worked it in.
Sofia’s hands clawed at the table, her hips lifting instinctively as the intrusion stretched her. She couldn’t stay still—she reacted to every touch. The dark-haired knight stayed between her legs, his thumb circling her clit in slow, merciless motions, keeping her right on the edge.
And then—
The music shifted.
A man dressed as a court jester skipped onto the stage, bells chiming softly as he twirled and bowed.
I recognized him instantly.
The man who’d been taken backstage earlier.
It was obvious he loved playing this part—loved being ridiculous. He blew kisses to the crowd, then skipped up the steps and into the audience at the King’s gesture.
He stopped beside a couple on a chaise in the row below us. The woman was on top, riding the man with his pants pooled around his ankles, her hands braced on his chest.
The jester brought the crop down—once, twice, three biting strikes against her ass.
She yelped at the first, but the man caught her hips, guiding her movements in time with each smack.
The jester grabbed another man’s face, pulled him into a hard, messy kiss. He spun away, vanishing deeper into the audience as Sofia’s choked whines grew higher and faster.
The entire room pulsed with sexual tension.
And I watched it all—fascinated, horrified, and powerless to look away just as much as Margaretta.
My attention was locked on Sofia.
She was struggling now—really struggling—to catch the occasional breath around the thick cock driving in and out of her mouth.
Her chest heaved as tears streaked down her temples.
Her body shook with the effort of it, with the pleasure, with the audience’s encouragement feeding every sound she made.
I leaned into Margaretta. “I’m a little—”
Before I could finish my words, a hand closed around mine and tugged me to my feet.
I whipped my head around and found the jester grinning at me.
Margaretta laughed. She was running on liquid courage and bad judgment. “Go,” she insisted, pushing my shoulder. “Do it.”
I shouldn’t have.
Every instinct told me to stay seated and pull away from the jester. To stay out of sight in case someone recognized me. Not that it was likely—made up like this, dressed like this—but you never knew. But I also didn’t want to make a scene by refusing.
So I went.
The jester led me straight down to the stage, spinning me once for the crowd before depositing me in front of the throne.
I didn’t bow.
I stood there, chin lifted, spine straight, refusing to kneel to anyone.
The King smirked.
He reached out, grabbed my forearm, and yanked me into his lap.
Before I could register the strength of his grip, there was a wet sound beside me.
The blonde knight pulled out of Sofia’s mouth, his cum jetting in ropes over her breasts and stomach. She gasped, wrecked and shaking, as he leaned down and claimed her mouth in a slow, indulgent kiss.
At the same time, the dark-haired knight reached into his bag and pulled out a thick dildo, holding it up to the lights like an offering. A charged murmur rippled through the crowd.
The jester danced around the table, bells jingling as he snapped his crop down in a wicked, fast smack on one of Sofia’s hard nipples.
She cried out and jerked.
“More!” someone shouted.
The jester laughed and gave the dark-haired knight’s ass a smack too. The knight jolted, spun, and seized him by the throat. The jester caught his face and pulled him into a long, greedy kiss that drew another ripple of reaction from the room.
Meanwhile, the blonde knight lavished Sofia’s breasts with attention.
I was absorbed by the action when the King slipped his hand between my thighs.
My head jerked up, meeting the audience’s gaze.
So many eyes.
The attention crawled over my skin. I preferred sex behind closed doors. Not this—this spectacle.
But here I was on the lap of a wannabe sex king, his fingers sliding inside my panties.
I told myself it was just acting. Just a show. That this was the role, and I went along with it. I could stop this right now if I chose to—I just didn’t.
Too bad he wasn’t my type.
He was big and muscular, sure. But he was too preened and oiled. He looked like a porn star who’d cry if someone punched him hard enough.
And I couldn’t tell if he was arrogant or bored underneath it all.
I squirmed, trying to angle away from his touch, and he grunted, mistaking resistance for encouragement.
His middle finger slid between my folds and pushed inside me.
I refused to look at him.
He didn’t look at me either—his gaze stayed on Sofia—so I did the same. If he was going to pretend I didn’t exist, I’d return the favor.
The dark-haired knight shoved the jester away and returned to Sofia.
This close, I heard the low hum as he turned on the vibrator.
The King lazily stroked my clit as the knight gently worked the vibrator into Sofia’s swollen pussy.
Her whines rose again, and her hips rocked with each stroke.
The King added another finger inside me and began pumping them in and out, matching the rhythm of the knight’s dildo working Sofia.
Other than his hand, neither of us moved or looked away from Sofia.
I could tell he didn’t give a shit about me—his touch was careless, mechanical. I was just another prop.
Fine.
I gave him no reaction.
He hadn’t earned it.
He didn’t know it, but I was stubborn and hard to please. Especially when I decided to be.
He tried harder, speeding up, pressing wet kisses down my neck.
I rolled my eyes, earning a boo from a man sitting on the second terrace.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was him. Either way, it wasn’t working.
I turned slightly, closing my legs as I trapped his hand, forcing him to stop. I refocused my attention on Sofia.
That’s when Sofia screamed, and her body shuddered as yet another orgasm tore through her.
The dark-haired knight slid the dildo free and held it aloft, glistening, sacred, as the audience erupted in applause and filthy praise.
The King’s grip tightened, but I refused to open for him, so he yanked his hand from between my thighs, scooped me up with brutal efficiency, and dropped me onto the table beside Sofia.
His mouth brushed my ear.
“Behave,” he murmured irritably, “and put on a show. Or we go rougher. More painful—for you and your friend.” He clamped down on my thigh just enough to make the point. “Good thing you signed the waiver.”
That wasn’t how it worked—and he knew it. This wasn’t the Ledger’s rule. It was his.
I didn’t flinch as he reached for me.