Chapter 6 Army
Army
When entering Hedon, members and approved guests are met by a hostess or host. Phones and valuables are secured in the locker rooms before going further.
From there, the locker rooms exit into the lounge area.
Here, people can linger if they wish, have a quiet drink with friends before they get to the main purpose of being here, while others use it as a quieter, calmer space to get to know a partner.
From the lounge, you can head to the main room, to the area with all the various kink rooms, or to the hallways where the private rooms are.
Since I came in through the back entrance, I use the staff hallways and exit directly into the main room.
It’s dimly lit, and the bass from the music thuds in my chest. I move slowly around the room, taking my time to survey the attendees.
Charles wasn’t wrong when he said tonight’s Masked Night was busy; the tables and booths are all full, and more people stand along the bar and throughout the open space.
On the stage, there’s a ‘multi-cast production’ occurring—AKA an orgy. A couple from one of the tables stands and goes to join in. Along with the music, the sounds of sex and uninhibited pleasure fill the room. People touching, licking, sucking, and fucking, while others openly watch.
A raised ottoman is against the wall on the far side of the room, the perfect height to bend over and rest your torso on.
There are ties on the wall to restrain the hands as well as down by the ankles.
Currently, there’s a woman bent over and tied up, and a man thrusts into her.
Her body is lean to the point of too-thin, just like Leeva had been.
Rage and confusion fill me as my mind thinks it’s Leeva, who I’m watching get fucked by another man in front of everyone.
Normally, I like watching people having sex, and I’ll fuck in the main room, out in the open for all to see, as well. However, my mind is thinking this woman is Leeva, and this is not fucking happening.
But before I can storm over there and yank the man’s dick out of her, the woman lifts her head. She has blonde hair, not raven hair. And once I see her face, twisted in pleasure, I can see it’s not Leeva.
Of course, it’s not Leeva.
She’s my pure and innocent dove. She would not be in a club like this.
Shaking my head and unclenching my fists, I settle down, my rage abating as my heart rate slows. But memories of Leeva won’t disappear so soon after mistaking that other woman for her because of her thin body.
After I had threatened Pierre, her head dance instructor, he had eased off about Leeva needing to lose weight, but she had continued to keep her caloric intake minimal and maintained her intense training. She had even continued with ballet after she became Guerilla’s old lady.
That is, until she got pregnant. Then she had eased off her training.
Being so thin, her pregnancy was noticeable early, and her little baby belly looked…
beautiful. It didn’t matter that the one who had put the baby in her belly was my bastard brother when it should’ve been me, because that child was Leeva’s, and I would’ve loved it as my own.
Pain rips through me, remembering the agony when Leeva miscarried, holding her as she shattered to pieces. More memories follow of when she discovered I had betrayed her shortly after that agonizing experience, and she ran.
“What can I get you, sir?”
“What?” I choke in confusion and on the pain of all my mistakes.
The memories of Leeva fade like ghosts back to my haunted past, and I see the bartender looking at me. I realize he’s asking what I want to drink. “Scotch, single malt.”
Like most MC brats, we started drinking before the legal age. And for some weird reason, Leeva had liked single malt scotch. Back then, I had grimaced but drank it because I was fucking whipped and would do anything when it came to her. Now it’s the only alcohol I drink.
The bartender holds his scanner to the removable band on my wrist to track how many drinks I’ve had. There’s a strict two-drink limit here, and no drugs are allowed on the premises. For the kinds of things that happen at Hedon, we need to ensure that consent is king.
After thanking the bartender for my drink, I turn back to the debauchery that’s unfolding in the main room.
Leaning against the bar, I scan the room, looking for my partner, or maybe even partners, for the evening.
The music drums in my chest, the sound and sight of sex make my blood thrum in my veins.
I’m at ease here, but no one is giving me that hit of carnal, primal lust.
And I need that tonight, with the memories of Leeva too raw and close to the surface and burning at the edges of my mind. I’m doing my damnedest not to think about her; she doesn’t belong in a place like this, not even in my head.
So I need to lose myself in my world of kinky, filthy sex to cope with the hole in my chest that’s been there for more years than I care to count.
A woman wearing a see-through black teddy and three-quarters of her face covered with a Venetian carnival mask catches my eye.
I watch as she sizes me up, her eyes raking over my hard body covered in a tailored suit.
Her smile is flirty and dirty as she licks her lips.
But I shake my head before she saunters over because there’s no buzz of attraction for me.
Yes, she’s beautiful, basically naked, and willing.
But she’s much too thin for my taste and what I need. I need curves…curves for days.
I need the opposite of my Leeva.
The woman knows how a place like this works; there’s no shortage of people willing to play with you however you desire.
As she turns her sights on a new target, I spot a woman with a voluptuous body and a lioness mask scanning the room.
Anais. My eyes move on from her, not lingering.
Not only because I feel no attraction to her right now, but because I’m pissed at what Riveria told me she had done.
I’ll deal with her antics, but not tonight.
Because I need to forget, not just the memories of Leeva, but what I had to do to Grinder. All because he chose to dip his dick into forbidden pussy, knowing full well the risk to himself, but not giving a shit if he could have the woman he loved. The reality of it all hitting too close to home.
Lifting my glass of scotch, I drain it. The voice modulator built into the mask sits low and flat, leaving my mouth unobstructed.
As I set my empty glass on the bar behind me, I see that two men are approaching me.
I give them a slight shake of my head to tell them I’m not looking for male-on-male.
I don’t explicitly engage in that kind of sex; however, in the past, during ‘multi-cast productions,’ when there are several bodies in close quarters, you don’t always know, or care, which hole your dick is slipping into.
And I can’t claim that I’ve never come inside another man’s mouth or ass before.
However, that’s not the experience I usually look for.
The two men, like the woman, aren’t offended and move on, looking for a different willing partner. That’s the thing about clubs like this—there are plenty of options that fit your specific desires and needs. If something or someone isn’t doing it for you, there’s no need to waste anyone’s time.
Taking a deep breath, I turn, about to request my second drink, but the words never make it out of my mouth.
Because I’m struck speechless by the woman who just walked into the main room from the lounge area.
Fuck. Me.
I can’t breathe as I drink her in. She’s ravishing.
She stands there alone, gazing around the room. Her mask hides most of her face, stopping just above her mouth. It’s white, with flames painted on it in such a way to make it appear like the flames are dancing. It’s a masterpiece.
She’s a masterpiece, with her full, pouty lips, tapered jawline, and long, graceful neck with unblemished, creamy skin. Her breasts are high and full; her curvy body wrapped in black silk knotted around her neck. The sinful fabric drapes exquisitely over her, leaving your imagination to run wild.
It hasn’t even been fifteen seconds of seeing this woman, this siren, and my cock is steel, ready and wanting to fuck her.
Then she turns, and I groan deep and low in my chest.
What a fucking ass. Beautiful, pert, curvy.
I want to sink my teeth into it. Mark her, make her scream and writhe.
Her black hair falls in tumbling waves down her bare back. The silk of her dress pools so low that I can see two dimples at the base of her spine, where the curve of her luscious ass begins.
My god, this woman is a stunner.
And with those curves, she’s my personal brand of kryptonite.
What will she look like naked? What will she sound like as I fuck her raw and filthy?
What will her tits look like, covered in my cum?
Lust roars through me unlike ever before. I’ve never wanted a woman more. And I don’t just want…
I need this woman.
As she stands there, a man walks up to her and drags his finger down her arm. And I swear to the devil, if I had a gun, I’d blow his fucking brains out, right here and now.
Mine, my possessiveness flares and roars.
Which is a complete mindfuck, because I’m not possessive. Whenever I come to Hedon or any place like it, I fuck and move on. I’ve never felt possessiveness over any of my partners. Ever.
I narrow my eyes as I study the man standing beside the exquisite siren. Are they together? Hooking up?
But I need and want her. So, if she’s interested and into me, and if I have to share her with another man—even though that’s screaming all sorts of wrong—then so be it.
Or better yet, you can kill the son of a bitch in private and have her all to yourself.
If I were more clear-headed, without the all-consuming lust roaring through me, I’d be alarmed at the level of my possessiveness, but instead, I’m planning how to propose a three-way.
She seems…shy and hesitant about being here as she glances around the room before turning back to the man beside her.
He drags his finger down her arm again, saying something to her, and she takes a subtle step back.
Which tells me she’s not likely here with him and that he’s making her uncomfortable, yet she isn’t telling him to leave her alone. Almost like she’s too nice. Or maybe she’s too new in a place like this to be comfortable saying no.
Just because you walk through Hedon’s doors doesn’t mean you’re open game for whatever the more confident, bolder members want. No one is to be coerced or pressured; everything is consensual, even in the consensual-non-consent play.
It’s clear to me that she doesn’t want the man brazenly touching her, and I suspect that she’s new to Hedon.
A new level of possessiveness rises within me, and inside, a war chant pounds in time with the bass. Mine. Mine. Mine.
She’s all fucking mine, and no one else’s here. Because somehow, I know that no one here has tasted her, had her before.
I stalk over toward the exquisite siren, my new prey.
Let the filthy games begin…