Chapter 23 Monroe #2
I watch as the procession of women filters into the blood red Ceremony room, kneeling in two parallel lines.
Anxiety churns in my stomach – a different anxiety than I felt at the beginning of the last Ceremony.
Something tonight feels off balance. Men wearing different masks sit on cushioned chairs in the back of the large room, partially hidden by a curtain hanging from the ceiling.
These masks are markedly different from the demonic goat masks worn by all the other men in the room outside of Kieren.
They are full-faced, completely black save for the same gold Sigma symbol in the middle of the forehead, with longer, black, demonic horns.
Maybe the different masks are meant to signal a different status of fraternity member?
Maybe they are worn by other seniors? But why then, wouldn’t Jace, Barrett and Harrison – Kieren’s core group of henchmen – be wearing them as well?
The last woman in line enters the room and kneels.
Kieren, in all his glory, stands from his elevated position on the dais to begin his opening address.
I remain kneeling beside the ornate throne as his voice booms over the otherwise silent space.
The straps of my own mask feel tighter tonight, digging into the back ridge of my head.
I fight the urge to fidget as Kieren speaks.
His words sound similar to the proclamations said at the last Full Moon Ceremony, but this time, he acknowledges the return of already initiated Sinners, now called Sigma Little Sisters.
We repeat after him in a cohesive mumble, agreeing to never spill Sigma’s secrets, and if we do, to accept we must pay for our sins with blood.
I wonder, is there any weight in these words?
Kasey and the other two women admitted that people outside these walls are aware of the Sigma Little Sisters tradition, and even if one of the women did talk, what secrets, exactly, are we keeping?
I keep coming back to the notion that the word ‘tradition’ is just a glamorous title for ‘massive orgy.’
Kieren ushers in the start of the night, and, like last time, the lights dim, drinks circulate, and the room transforms into an underground sex club.
I can tell improvements have been made to the setup of the basement.
Curtains hang with purposeful organization from the ceiling, partitioning off sections and areas to create semi-private rooms within the room.
It’s difficult to discern exact detail from where I kneel, but I think I see beds, cushioned chairs, and various BDSM props tucked within each alcove.
My vantage point affords a direct line of sight into one of the nooks.
A woman wearing a blood red silk bra and matching underwear straddles a masked man sitting in a chair.
She writhes seductively on his lap as he fondles her breasts.
Adjacent to the chair, a woman’s torso hangs half off the bed, the tips of her fingers skim the floor.
Her legs are spread impressively wide as another woman feasts on her pussy while simultaneously getting fucked from behind, doggy style, by a man in a mask.
Both women, especially the one hanging off the bed, moan loudly enough to be performative.
A semi-circle of voyeurs has formed around the bed, some stroking themselves, some with a partner.
My own arousal pulses between my legs, and I look up at Kieren, wondering if I can go ahead and climb onto his lap or if I need to wait for his signal.
To my disappointment, his gaze appears fixed on the hedonistic entertainment.
The last time I touched myself without his permission, I was bound, chained, and edged until I almost passed out.
Not that I didn’t love every second of it, but I prefer to receive that type of punishment in private, and it doesn’t seem like leaving to go upstairs is an option.
The sight of two women being led to the last partition, where men with the special masks sit, catches my eye.
“Monroe,” Kieren barks. I crane my neck like a servant looking up at her king. “Get up here,” he commands without turning his head. I climb onto his lap, facing him, but I can’t shake the icky feeling occupying my mind.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, stroking the side of my ribcage with his thumb. His gravelly voice is as intimidating as it is provocative, yet I can’t seem to jumpstart my body.
“I don’t think the molly you gave me is working.”
Kieren calls the name of someone I don’t know, and seconds later, a masked man is at his side, handing him a small cup that reminds me of the ones used for mouthwash.
“Put this under your tongue,” Kieren says, placing the small lozenge in my hand.
“What is this?” I ask.
“It’s safe, just take it.”
“Kieren…” I protest.
“Now is not the time, Monroe.”
His dark eyes, the only part of his face not concealed by his terrifying, god-like demon mask, are cold and unforgiving.
“Fine,” I mutter, and put the tablet under my tongue.
“Let it dissolve,” Kieren instructs as he tucks two fingers under the base of my thong. I exhale a soft moan and will the tension in my shoulders to slacken. I swivel my pelvis in small circles, feeling myself grow wet.
“Good puppy,” he praises. I increase my pace when a commotion directly at my back thwarts my progression.
“The show’s starting,” Kieren says. “Turn around.”
His hands around my waist indicate he wants me to switch my straddle to face outward.
Once I’ve changed my position, I see onlookers have loosely gathered around a low table now stationed horizontally in the center of the room.
If it weren’t for the black leather padding affixed to the top, it would be an average coffee table.
A woman waltzes to the center of the room, hand-in-hand with a masked man, and climbs on top of the table.
At first, she leans back onto her elbows and plants her feet on the tabletop, seductively spreading her knees apart.
The man shakes his head, and in a movement that makes me gasp, flips her onto her stomach and pulls her ass in the air until it’s flush with his crotch.
My breath hitches when I realize… he’s going to fuck her. For a heartbeat, those watching are transfixed. He unzips his pants, pulling out his hard cock to align it with her pussy.
The heat between my legs throbs. Pinpricks of sweat form along my temples and collarbone while beads of moisture form under my breasts.
Kieren’s hand fumbles with his dress pants under my base.
I lift myself up to give him more space.
His stiff erection grazes my ass, and I reach between my legs to move his cock into position.
I sink down just as the masked man in the center of the room spears the woman’s pussy from behind.
She screams in pleasure. Every merciless ram of her pussy feels magnified by the power of ten as I bounce myself on Kieren’s length.
Whatever tablet Kieren gave me has kicked in, and my entire body is on fire.
It’s like I’m starring in a twisted porno, where I watch myself get fucked while feeling myself get fucked at the same time.
The woman’s clipped screams have turned primal as she begs him to fuck her harder.
I wish it were me. I would give anything to feel what she’s feeling in this moment.
I increase my intensity, but it’s difficult at this angle, which feels more tantric than raw, and I don’t want tantric right now.
I want Kieren to bend me over the arm of his throne and fuck me like an animal until I scream for mercy.
I place one of his hands under my bra, hoping he’ll get the hint that I want him to pinch my nipple, and his other hand at my clit.
The woman pants a warning to her partner, and I want to come with her.
I want to explode when she explodes. The tightness of my release has been building in my core since this show started, but I need more stimulation or I won’t get there.
My fingers press against Kieren’s, squeezing his together, and as I draw my next breath, he pinches my swollen clit like a savage.
I gasp and hinge forward so quickly, I almost fall off the throne.
My climax breaks free and ruptures down my core.
My thighs struggle to hold me upright as my body shakes with waves of aftershock.
Slippery cum coats the inside of my thighs from Kieren’s release, and truthfully, I had forgotten he was under me.
I inhale and exhale with intention to slow my racing heart.
Edges of surfaces and people blur like I’m looking at my surroundings through a filter.
The blood-red room somehow looks more vibrant.
Bodies and colors coil together like a medieval painting – a painting that I’m either admiring from afar or participating in like it’s the Last Supper. Reality feels fluid. Time is suspended.
I rise on my knees and pause at the absence of pressure.
Cum leaks from my pussy and coats my fingers when I slide my thong back in place.
Not being able to see Kieren’s face makes me feel adrift without an anchor, lost, and I awkwardly reposition myself on his lap so I can curl into his chest. He’s tucked his dick back into his boxer-briefs but his pants remain unzipped.
Neither of us speaks. The arm he has around my waist is the only tether that grounds me, but his body has gone rigid like a stone statue.
I’m not even sure it matters to him that I’m still here.
He looks straight ahead, his gaze locked on the back of the room, and the notion of rejection clouds my consciousness.
But at the same time, I’m also not sure if my observations are simply a warped manifestation of my mind from the psychedelics I took. Is any of this real? Am I real?
In my periphery, I see a billowing black robe stalking toward us in slow motion.
A monster. The full-face mask is satanic – black with the gold Sigma symbol like the others but with swirling gold details like those on Kieren’s mask.
And those horns... Terrifying gold horns curve in toward each other like a demon bull.
Its decorations differentiate it from the rest in a way that signals higher stature.
I sense Kieren’s muscles tense as this figure approaches, which confirms my fear – that this isn’t a hallucination, but real.
I stare, frozen but hyper-aware.
“Are you sharing your pet?” a deep voice rumbles.
It sounds almost inhuman. My eyes flick across the ceremonial garb in search of skin.
Black gloves peek out from under long black sleeves, and I spot a large, black and gold ornate ring nearly identical to that of Kieren’s.
My gaze drags up his strangely covered body.
Does he also have on a balaclava under his mask because I can’t find a millimeter of bare skin?
In my haze, I try to focus on the eyes and recoil. Demon red.
What the fuck?
Wait, am I hallucinating?
He’s wearing colored contacts, right?
“No,” Kieren growls, and I exhale a shaky breath of relief because I’m not a fucking object to be passed around. It’s fine if anyone else wants multiple partners, but I don’t.
“We will talk about this,” the voice scathes. “It’s time.”
The figure turns abruptly, flowing toward the back of the room until it stops at the wall and…
opens a door. A door I didn’t even realize existed.
The figure slips behind the gap and disappears.
I can’t tell if I’m imagining things, but did the lights in the room get dimmer and the music get louder?
“I have to go take care of something,” Kieren says, and without explanation, moves me off his lap.
“Kneel here and wait for me,” he commands, pointing to the floor beside the dais.
“Why? Kieren, where are you going? Why can’t I come?” I stammer, stepping in front of him as he zips up his pants.
“Move,” he says in a jarringly harsh tone, pushing me aside like I’ve done something wrong.
“Kieren, wait!” I protest, grabbing the waistband of his pants.
His dark, scornful eyes flick from my hand to my face as if I’m a filthy beggar who dared to touch the body of a royal.
I feel my hand drop to my side even though I don’t remember letting go.
Hurt fills my heart like lead, radiating its heaviness outward with each sorrowful beat.
I watch his backside as he walks away, stopping in front of one of the partitioned, private areas.
A few seconds pass before a disheveled masked man comes into view.
Kieren points toward me, and the man nods.
Kieren continues his march toward the back of the room, opening the same hidden door the others went through, and flags down another masked man I see standing against a wall.
I think this second masked man is Jace because not that many men in this fraternity have light brown, tattoo-covered skin.
Jace moves to follow Kieren when one of the black satanic figures suddenly appears from behind a curtain and grabs Jace’s arm.
I narrow my eyes at the odd exchange. Unlike the others, this one isn’t wearing a shirt and has a very large, singular tattoo on his abdomen.
My eyes are unable to focus on the design, but I see that this figure is holding Jace back, shaking his head.
If words are spoken, I can’t hear them. Kieren watches the exchange and barks something at Jace and the other man. Jace whips his head in my direction.
“Barrett,” I hear Jace boom over the moans and music.
Barrett turns around, already a few steps away from my position on the dais.
Jace says something I can’t discern, but I assume it has to do with switching places.
Barrett walks quickly to the back of the room.
Stupefied, I see a woman, blindfolded with her hands bound in front of her, emerge from behind the last curtained area with two fully clothed satanic figures on either side, guiding her through the hidden door.
Barrett slips in behind them, and the door closes as if it were never there.
“Let’s go, Monroe.”
My attention snaps to Jace who now stands in front of me.
“You’re coming upstairs with me.”
I hesitate. Did anyone else see what I saw? Am I imagining things? I don’t trust my brain to convey an accurate depiction of reality.
The room continues churning like a sick carnival ride. Jace grabs me by the elbow, and I’m forced to follow. Dizzy and nauseated, I give the back of the room one last glance, but see nothing. They’ve vanished without a trace.