Chapter One #2
He's black jeans and a leather jacket are replaced by black slacks and a neatly ironed black button-up. And there's a slim red tie hanging from his neck. I'm tempted to take a picture just so I can show it to him every time he pisses me off.
But I don't. I still want that tour.
I wait for him so that we can go together, but he passes me without giving me a single glance.
And then he has the audacity to look back over his shoulder and call out, “Coming or what?”
There’s a special place in hell for people like that.
I take a few long strides and catch up with him just as we enter one of the hallways on the right.
It stretches to no end, just like the main hall. Woody scent hangs in the air. “What's that smell?”
“Sweat and sex.” His eyes dart at me, and he shoots me a short glance. I hate that he's an inch taller. “In your case, mostly sweat.”
“Are you a professional asshole, or is it just a side hustle?”
He doesn't even flinch when he says, “Fuck around and find out.”
“Hard pass.”
We reach the end of the hallway, and there’s another giant door, much like the one in the main room. He opens it without as much as a deeper breath and lets me through.
I'm about to throw some snarky comment in his direction, but when I walk into another slightly smaller room, my mouth snaps shut, and I freeze.
If I felt I was in the wilderness before, now I'm in a fucking jungle.
Piles of clothes are scattered across the floor, between the same square leather sofas, and half the people here are naked.
Naked and fucking going at it.
On the largest sofa in the middle, a guy lies flat on his back, a girl riding his cock, while another woman sits on his face, kissing the first one.
A few people are standing around them. One Group. One couple. And one guy, with his hand in his pants, staring at the action unabashedly.
I look to my left and see more or less the same thing. People swarming around. Fucking. Exchanging partners.
The music is almost inaudible now, overshadowed by moans, groans, and curses. There’s a row of booths to my right, heavy curtains around them, stretching from the ceiling to the floor, some open, some closed. And every fucking booth is occupied.
“Did you want a tour, or do you plan to stand here forever?” I turn my attention back to Sawyer, who stands by my side, looking utterly unaffected. I guess he's used to this.
“How big is this place?” I swipe my gaze across the room and notice several doors leading to God knows where. “How many people are in here right now?”
He looks like he's trying to hide his amusement. “Two hundred is the capacity.”
Two fucking hundred people screwing in the same place at the same time. “Are you kidding me? Are you often at capacity?”
He tilts his head and looks at me like I’m from a different planet called Innocence. “We're always at capacity.”
I have to muster actual physical strength to follow Sawyer as he saunters through the room as if nothing unusual is happening until he reaches one of the doors.
I stumble over my feet, my eyes darting left and right as I follow him, taking mental snapshots of the action. Xander will never believe me when I tell him about this place.
We enter yet another room, and apart from the colors of the furniture, which turn to graphite, nothing changes. A threesome fucking in one corner. Someone getting a blowjob in another. Someone else watching the action.
I must already look comical as I try to take everything in, but I fucking yelp out loud and stop on the spot when my eyes land on a naked chick with her legs spread wide, getting head. From another girl.
Subconsciously, I know I am now one of the creeps, staring like a fucking voyeur, but I can't force myself to move. How often do you see something like that? The right answer is never.
I lean to the side for a better angle and my head bumps into something solid. “Sorry,” I mumble before I realize the solid object is Sawyer. He eyes the girls, his expression stoic like it doesn't affect him, just like the rest of the action here.
“That your thing, huh?”
“Isn't it everybody’s?” I ask, and he chuckles.
We stand here for a few minutes, and I'm starting to feel a familiar tingling in my groin, something I'm not exactly eager for Sawyer to see.
I shoot him a discreet glance. Fortunately, he looks bored.
“We can move on, I guess.” I'm not sure my tone of voice matches the scenery, but he shoots me a look as if to say Finally.
I follow him as he leads me through the room, and then the next, and the next, and then I stop counting, entrapped by the images, the sounds, and the omnipresent sensation of desire coming from every corner in this godforsaken place.
We wander like this for what feels like hours, although it’s more like minutes. And by wander, I mean me following Sawyer, stumbling over my feet, bumping into him occasionally when something grabs my attention.
And then, I find myself in a new reality altogether. I halt abruptly at the sight of a couple of guys getting it on in the middle of a large leather cube.
Okay. I was not prepared for that.
I should probably move past them, but something about the scene makes me… curious.
The people gathered around them make for an odd combination.
I’d expect to see an all-male crowd, but it’s not the case.
he action seems to appeal to all kinds of people, much like the chicks I had ogled before.
There are single guys and gals, mixed couples, and same-sex couples, and I’m trying to comprehend what exactly draws them to this particular scene, but then again… I’m standing here myself, aren’t I?
The smaller guy straddles the bigger one, just as I’d have imagined, but the power dynamic between them defies my expectation.
They’re both half-dressed—shirtless, with their pants lowered to their thighs. The man on top seems on a roll as he grinds his hips over his—partner?—while their hard cocks are aligned, rubbing against each other, disappearing and reappearing from their palms wrapped tightly around them.
Jeez. That’s a lot of cock. Way more than I bargained for.
Yet still, something about the image, about the exoticism of it, makes me shoulder my way to the front so that I’m standing directly in the line of sight.
The guy on the bottom has one hand on the other’s waist, the other hand working their cocks. His head is dropped back, his eyes closed, and mouth ajar, expression blissful.
Damn, it must feel nice. For him, that is.
Soft moans from both of them filter through the background noise and somehow make their way into my ears. Or maybe I’m just tuned in to their frequency.
The movements of their hands pick up the pace and I’m captivated by their effortless glide.
I’m biting my bottom lip and school my features as soon as I realize. I hastily scan the space for Sawyer—the last thing I need is for him to think… whatever he might think.
Fortunately, he’s nowhere to be found. He probably got bored and moved on.
I should scram and follow him, but my legs refuse to move. What’s the harm in watching for just a bit, anyway? It’s not like I’ve ever seen two guys getting it on. Naturally, I’m intrigued.
And then, like in a kaleidoscope, the scene changes, as the guy on the bottom puts both his hands on the smaller man’s ass and somehow simultaneously rolls them over and shifts so that now he’s on top, with the other’s back—well, ass—leveled with his hips.
Damn, that was smooth.
A series of events follow swiftly. Pants slide down even farther. Sound of a lube bottle uncapping. A moan, a groan, a curse. And then an index finger making its way into the bent-over ass.
That’s a lot. It’s just… a lot.
My breath quickens as the guy in the front rests his cheek on the sofa, facing me.
His eyes are closed, his expression focused, and I can’t tell if he’s enjoying it or fighting off the pain.
Logically, I’d imagine the latter. But then again, there’s something about how his mouth opens and closes, how his brows furrow, and when he lets out a strained gasp, the sound goes straight to my cock.
Okay, that was weird.
I shake my head and focus back on the action, but with every shove of the other guy's finger, a strange heat washes over my balls. Why? It’s not like I’m attracted to this in any way, shape, or form. I’m not even remotely turned on, but why am I sporting a semi all of a sudden?
This would be the perfect time to bolt and cross it off my bucket list. Not that it was ever on my bucket list.
And yet, I stay. Maybe I just want to know what comes after.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s not like anyone here is going to judge me.
I gaze over the crowd gathered around, all their eyes glued to the scene in front of them. Some kissing, some touching—other people or themselves.
And then, I almost stumble when I see him on the other side of the sofa. Sawyer.
A soft smirk across his face, head tilted slightly, just like mine was a second ago, his eyes running wildly over the working bodies between us.
My heartbeat quickens, and molten lava flushes through me. Fuck, what if he notices?
I adjust my disobedient cock to make it less noticeable, and I’m just about to turn around and get the fuck away from here when I gaze down Sawyer’s body to—
Jesus fuck.
His hand, palming a pronounced bulge stretching the fabric of his black dress pants.
What—? How—?
I had no idea he was… into guys, I guess?
I shouldn’t be so shocked. It’s not like it makes any difference, but still. It’s news.
He presses the heel of his palm to his, what looks like a sizable cock, and runs it up and down his length, unabashedly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Like it’s an everyday scenario. Like he’s not surrounded by strangers. Like he doesn’t give a fuck who’s watching. Well, that doesn’t shock me as much—Sawyer never cares.
My eyes dart between his face, his wide eyes, and his palm kneading, tugging, massaging.