Chapter 20 #2
The three headed to the edge of the room, and the two women lubed their own assholes, used baby wipes to clean their hands, and then made their way up one flight to Le Bacchanal Ballroom Magnifique — and then just stood inside the door and stared.
Red light bathed everything in a lush, decadent wash, as if the room itself had been soaked in blood.
Torches burned in sconces along the curved outer walls, their flames tall and elegant, smoke-free, casting flickering shadows that made the already-Baroque details seem alive.
Deep metal bowls sat on heavy, low tables scattered throughout, fire flickering above stones, long tongues stretching up and dancing.
The columns, all Corinthian grandeur, had been modified with blackened steel hardware, turning classical beauty into diabolical whipping posts.
Everywhere she looked, she was reminded this opening night was all about sadistic excess: a half-dozen pillories in a circle, so people in them could watch others being fucked and hurt, St. Andrew’s crosses scattered around the room, wooden ponies with ropes ready to bind victims onto them, bondage tables in sleek black and blood red.
Whips, straps, canes, and floggers were strewn around the room, draped over equipment and coiled on tables.
Cages of varying sizes were scattered around the room, many barely big enough for a human to stand, so there’d be no way to sit, but one in particular, low to the ground and shaped like a Halloween cat, looked designed to painfully bend the spine of anyone forced inside.
But it was the sound that set her off even more than the visuals: a low, thrumming bass. She felt it in her bones, a pulse beneath the skin. Her clit throbbed in time with the rhythm like her body knew it was being summoned. Her nipples tightened. Her breath shortened.
This wasn’t just atmosphere, it wasn’t just a setting. It was beyond theater — an infernal Hell waiting for the sadists and masochists.
The handbook said it was a playground for the richest vampires on the planet. She’d thought she understood what it meant, but this was more than she’d expected.
Felix touched her back, then put his arm around her. “It’s supposed to be scary before you even get into the room,” he told her. “Anticipation that’s both dread and lustful cravings. You’ll enjoy watching the rest of us being hurt, knowing you’re safe. It’ll be fine.”
A vampire dressed in a black skinsuit stepped forward with a tablet, scrolling through.
“Level one, you’ll start the night in a standing cage.
Find one and stand beside it. Level two, let’s put you in a pillory.
And for you, Mister Three, go stand beside a wooden pony.
” He glanced at his watch. “Twelve minutes until the vampires begin arriving. Someone’ll get you strapped on or locked in before then. ”
She found a standing cage, and if they aimed her the right way, she’d be able to watch a great deal of what was going on around her.
Within a few minutes, a girl in a black skinsuit who smelled of bear opened the cage and motioned her in. Emmy stepped in, facing the way she wanted, and the girl closed it and then reached down to flip a latch Emmy wouldn’t be able to reach. Effectively locking her in.
Wide metal pieces bit into her chest, pressing her boobs flat, so flesh bulged out obscenely between them. She felt bars pressing into her back, and the tops of her arms were compressed tight, pinning her arms to her sides.
She wasn’t just caged, she was held still by the iron bars, or maybe they were steel made to look like iron. Her entire body was trapped, standing straight with no way to move or to find relief. She couldn’t even stretch and arch her back.
And the sound coming from what had to be bass speakers under or directly on the floor threatened to undo her. A low, slow throb under her feet, a beat she felt in her bones, her teeth — and especially her clit.
When the vampires arrived, it was as if a horde had escaped from Hell. Some wore strappy leather, others in torn mesh. Many in skinsuits with holes to allow access to genitals. A few in body paint. Many wore horns as part of exotic headdresses.
A tall, lithe female vampire was literally draped in rubies around her neck, waist, wrists, and ankles — and Emmy figured they were all real.
Zander entered with massive wings folded behind his back, graceful tips rising high above his head.
He moved to a clear patch of floor, and with a slow, deliberate grace, his wings unfurled — black feathers stretching wide and majestic.
He wore nothing but towering boots, and his cock stood thick and tall, hard as carved obsidian.
She hadn’t seen his cock when he’d fucked Alistair, so this was her first view of it, and the entire package made her body hum, like a tuning fork struck deep inside her. He was all power and strength, more like a fallen angel than she’d ever seen him before.
Fuck, but she was glad for the name change. He was Zander now, no longer Abbott.
She focused on Spence, a lean figure in leather and straps, and cute little leather boy-shorts with his cock and balls sticking out.
Zander folded his wings and stepped behind Felix, clearly already in pain on the wooden pony.
Spence handed Zander a whip and stepped to Felix’s side, unafraid of the flying braided whip while Zander tore into the bound man’s back, and Spence ran his hand up and down Felix’s cock, speaking to him so softly, Emmy couldn’t hear what was said.
Around her, the room unfolded into a choreography of need and power.
Rhea was locked in a pillory fifteen yards away, her back arched, arms taut, the pillory’s thick wooden brace trapping her neck and wrists.
One vampire stood behind her, belting her ass in a precise, steady rhythm with a braided strap.
Another crouched in front, playing her breasts like an instrument, slapping and twisting, adding clamps and ripping them off.
And all the while, Rhea screamed and writhed, futilely trying to escape the pain.
Motion caught her attention, and she noted the original vampire in the black skin-suit, standing and watching. She looked around and saw more around the room in regular intervals, impassive and unmoving, watching every blow.
It was a reminder Zander had people ensuring the rules were followed. Her body eased a fraction, just enough for the fear to shift into heat again.
She let out a breath. Then another. The cage held her fast — her arms pinned, her legs locked, her bare skin compressed by metal. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t shield her clit from the relentless throb that matched the low, pulsing beat vibrating through the floor.
She was safe in this cage, but ready to be let out, bent over something, and then fucked until she couldn’t see straight.
But for the moment, all she could do was watch others being tortured and fucked. Every wooden pony held someone with a bright THREE across their forehead. She saw Maren bound face-out on a cross, a vampire alternating a whip between her tits and cunt.
The entire room was nothing but ritualized brutality, and her body reacted to the idea. Her breath hitched, and her pulse thudded under red and orange dye.
She felt small sounds — the leather strike of a strap, the breath of someone passing close enough to take her scent. She was painted and visible. Trapped. It was performance, market, and decadence all at once.
The air in the ballroom thickened, the rhythm under the torches turned from a pulse to a demand, and Emmy’s body answered with a restless, low ache.
Everywhere she looked, someone was being fucked or tortured.
Or both. Rhea’s body arcing in the pillory, Felix shaking on the wooden horse.
Vampires bent over painted flesh, their hips pounding out their pleasure.
The sound was a single organism: breath, cries, the wet slide of skin on skin.
Her turn couldn’t come fast enough. Every nerve in her body was ready for cocks in her holes, fangs penetrating her skin.