41. Chapter 41
Justin
The inside of the club matches the reception area in style, but it’s a lot darker, both in decor and lighting.
We enter what looks like a bar area with private seating nooks.
At first, I feel painfully out of place since most guests look dressed for a black-tie event, but then I spot several people who are as naked as me.
Well, a few of them are wearing leather harnesses that cover exactly nothing, and one woman’s body is encased in an intricate rope lattice that makes her breasts jut out, but those can hardly be considered clothes.
Some of the naked men are wearing cock cages, and judging by the stiffness of their movements, plugs, too.
When a man bends the tied-up woman over a chair, I gasp at the gashes on her ass and thighs. Some of them look like they were bleeding not too long ago. “Bullwhip,” Cameron notes as he follows my look.
I swallow around the lump in my throat, suddenly grateful that Cameron is my Master and not whoever did that to the woman.
Cries and desperate pleas for help make me whirl around toward one of the seating nooks. A group of men in suits is passing around a girl who looks barely legal. “Please, I want to go home,” she begs.
One of the men slaps her, then shoves a cock down her throat until she gags. “If you bite me, bitch, I’ll cut you into pieces. Now, suck.”
The girl squirms as she tries to breathe.
A muffled scream escapes her as another man roughly shoves his cock into her ass.
It causes a round of hoots and laughter from the group.
That’s when I realize not all of them are men.
A woman in a sharp pantsuit fits in perfectly with the group, not just in appearance but in expression too.
There’s something wild and cruel in her eyes as she watches the crying girl helplessly bounce between the two men fucking her.
The woman sips amber liquid from a glass, then sets it aside and leans closer to the girl.
I don’t see what she does, but the girl screams again.
A sharp yank on my leash makes me realize I’ve subconsciously moved closer to the group. As if I could possibly help that poor girl. As if I had any power in this world.
“Stay by my side,” Cameron hisses, wrapping the leash around his hand to reel me in.
“I’m sorry, Sir. It’s just… She looks so young.”
“She’s an adult,” Cameron replies.
Before I can ask how he could possibly know, he steers me into an empty seating area and signals to an immaculately dressed waiter. He doesn’t have to give his order. The waiter simply nods and disappears toward the bar.
Cameron sinks into a plush armchair, much like the one I imagined when I first suggested this was a gentleman’s club. A tug on the leash sends me sinking to my knees beside him.
“It’s Sin’s rule,” he says.
I’m momentarily confused, thinking maybe he’s talking about the kneeling, even though not all the naked people I’ve seen here were kneeling. Not all slaves. I should probably call them by the right name, especially since I’m one of them now.
The waiter sets two glasses on the table before disappearing again. There’s water, which I hope is for me, and dark brown liquid. Probably some priceless, fancy alcohol I’d hate the taste of even if I were allowed to drink it.
“The girl,” Cameron says, jerking his chin in the group’s direction.
I can’t see them from my position, but the girl’s screams have turned into whimpers.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. “She’s an adult,” Cameron repeats.
“Indulgence only has two rules. No fighting, and no minors. Sin enforces both with an iron hand.” He nods toward a burly man dressed similarly to the bouncer in the reception area.
The security guy ignores the girl’s broken sobbing and pleas for help, but gravitates toward a table where three men argue, their raised voices drifting to us over the noise in the bar.
With one stern look from the guard, the men immediately quiet down.
Glaring at each other, they finish their drinks, then leave in different directions.
One seems to be heading toward the changing room and the other two further into the club.
“No minors,” I repeat quietly to myself.
It’s poor consolation for all the terrible things happening here, but I’m still absurdly grateful that the mysterious Sin drew this line.
I don’t know what I’d do if I saw a child being raped here.
I don’t know if I could ever look at Cameron the same way if he sat by and allowed it.
The girl’s sobbing turns into gurgling and desperate wheezing, like someone’s choking her. I try to ignore the noise, but it’s impossible.
“What about murder?” I ask Cameron. “Is that against the rules?”
Cameron smirks. “There’s an extra fee.”
“For killing someone?”
“For Sin to get rid of the body.”
“Jesus.” The air is cold here, but that’s not what makes me shiver. This place is fucked up, and Cameron looks like he fits right in. How can I willingly submit to someone like that?
All my doubts disappear when Cameron gently cups my cheek.
“If you’re worried about the girl, they’re not going to kill her tonight.
A pretty thing like her must have been expensive.
They’ll want to enjoy her for longer. She’ll probably wish she were dead when they take her in the back, though.
” He vaguely gestures to the doorway past the bar.
There’s an occasional scream coming from that direction, punctuated by sharp cracks of the whip.
I think I hear some grunting and moaning too, but it’s difficult to tell over the noise in the bar and the low music.
A classical string quartet piece, of all things.
Cameron fidgets almost imperceptibly in his seat.
I only feel it through the taut leash between us.
He wipes his hands on his slacks, checks his phone, looks around, then wipes his hands again.
It’s impossible to miss the looks the other patrons are casting in his direction.
Some are curious or even friendly. A lot of them are downright hostile.
Cameron keeps a stone-cold expression, pretending like he’s not bothered by people openly glaring at him, but I can see through his pretense.
His eyes dart around the room as if searching for a distraction, and I know they find one when they land on me.
I take a deep breath that does nothing to calm my racing heart.
Yes, I came here to support Cameron, to distract and comfort him, but this place is so much worse than I thought.
We haven’t even been to the back, where most of the screams are coming from, and I already want to bolt.
I can’t, though, not with Cameron holding my leash.
And that’s the whole point, isn’t it? He’s in charge here. I just have to trust him.
A grin tugs on the corners of his mouth. “Bend over.”
I gulp. Is he for real? I’m naked. If I lean forward, everyone will see… Well, everything.
He tugs on the leash, reminding me that I don’t have a choice. Fine, then. It looks like a bunch of rich criminals will get a great look at my asshole.
My cheeks burn as I slowly move into position.
With my hands cuffed behind my back, it’s not as easy as it looks.
I don’t want to embarrass myself—and Cameron—by smashing face-first on the floor.
I expected a plush carpet, but it’s all hard tile.
I guess it’s easier to clean, not just after spills, but from various bodily fluids that must inevitably end up on the floor in a place like this.
Like blood. The thought makes me shudder.
Cameron squeezes my ass. “Relax, pet. You’re safe with me.”
I’m safe with him. It’s not in my power to help anyone in this room. It doesn’t quite sit right, but I let the feeling go and allow myself to sink into that space where nothing matters. Only Cameron.
“Good boy.”
God, yes. That’s what I needed. I just about melt into the cold floor, but a smack on my ass brings me back to the present. “Ass up,” Cameron reminds me. The position is uncomfortable, with the tile pressing against my knees and cheek, but I hold it. I want Cameron to praise me again.
He slaps my ass a few times. Not for punishment, it barely hurts. It’s probably to distract himself from the meeting.
Oh god, the meeting. I won’t be forced to stay in this position while he talks business with that super powerful criminal, will I? I’m suddenly grateful for the cold floor when my cheeks heat up with embarrassment.
Cameron opens the bag he brought along. I never saw the contents, but I assumed there were toys. I just thought he’d wait to use them until after the meeting.
A click of a bottle cap. Cold lube drizzling between my cheeks.
It looks like I’m about to squirm through Cameron’s meeting with some infernal device up my ass.
A plug, judging by the shape pressing into me.
I wince, still sore from the sex marathon the previous night, but the plug isn’t asking, it’s demanding entrance, and my body obeys.
It burns. Not just the stretch, but the entire plug.
My entire hole. Fuck, it must be the lube.
It’s warming up, burning, not painful, but distracting enough to make me whimper and squirm.
My cock twitches, a drop of pre-cum slipping from the tip.
Cameron chuckles. Coating his fingers in that terrible lube, he spreads the burning to my shaft.
“Please, don’t. Please,” I beg, quietly but insistently.
“Quiet. Stop squirming.”
His hand moves up, and my cockhead starts burning too.
I whimper and yank on the cuffs, desperate to wipe the devilish substance off.
The cuffs hold, and the only thing I earn myself is a few sharper smacks on my bruised ass.
Oh, and laughter. Not from Cameron, but from someone behind me.
Multiple someones. We’ve gained an audience, and it makes my face burn almost as hot as my cock.
There’s a metallic clink as Cameron pulls something else out of his bag of horrors. The audience hums appreciatively. A feminine voice notes that this is her favorite. Some men laugh, calling her a mean bitch.
Cameron squeezes my balls. The lube doesn’t burn quite as badly on them as on my cock and ass, but I certainly feel it.
I fight not to squirm as he pulls my balls back between my legs, the skin of my sack growing painfully taut.
The pain grows worse. Then cold metal touches my sack, clicking around it and securing it in position.
My balls are squeezed down on the very bottom, and it feels like they’re about to burst through my skin any moment.
What’s worse, whatever Cameron attached to my sack is long enough to rest against the backs of my thighs, making sure my balls stay pulled all the way back.
Even bent over like this, it's uncomfortable. I can’t even imagine straightening up, which must be the point of the whole contraption.
I yelp when Cameron’s hand sharply lands on my poor balls. They’re so fucking sensitive I nearly piss myself from the pain, even though the strike wasn’t all that hard.
“That’s when you break out the cane,” the feminine voice says. I bite my lip not to start crying. What the hell is wrong with these people?
To my relief, Cameron stops making my position even more precarious. “Maybe later,” he says to appease the torture-hungry audience. At least I hope it’s just to appease them. If he takes a cane on my balls, I’ll pass out.
I remind myself that I trust him. He said he’s not into hard torture and has given me no reason to doubt that. The position he put me in is humiliating and wildly uncomfortable, but I wouldn’t exactly call it torture. Definitely not compared to other things happening in this place.
As if sensing my thoughts or seeing my body relax, Cameron runs his hand down my back in a gentle caress. He squeezes my bound hands, the simple gesture letting me know he’s there with me and I have nothing to worry about.
I’m safe with him.