Chapter 6
Rosomon
My heart is pounding so loudly I’m certain everyone in this club can hear it. And based on the few details Zogar has told me about the heightened perceptions of vampyres, it’s actually possible they can.
As for me, I can’t hear a thing above the thumping sounds that also vibrate through me.
Zogar claims it’s music, but it’s not very melodious, and I see no musicians.
The club’s ceiling pulses with lights and so does the floor.
And yet, the room is dim. It’s as if this large ballroom is illuminated by a single low fire—but that fire is somehow flashing all around us.
This space is not only dark and loud, it’s crowded.
And in spite of Zogar’s many warnings, I can’t contain my shocked expressions.
Most of the patrons—the women in particular—are in various states of undress; I’ve only seen one female fully clothed.
Then again, I wouldn’t call what I’m wearing fully clothed.
But unlike many women here, my breasts and sex are both covered, making me grateful for the thin, metallic-like dress Zogar picked out for me.
Everywhere I look, exposed body parts are on view, many of those parts being fondled—or penetrated—out in the open.
To my right, a woman is stroking a man’s rod as he kneads her breasts.
Taking hold of her nipples, he twists them as he pinches, and the pain on her face is undeniable.
But instead of screaming, she moans and tightens her grip on his rod.
My mind flashes back to Tynan doing something similar to my paps, and arousal slicks inside me.
Zogar pulls me against him so firmly it’s difficult to move, and he bends toward me. “We’ll leave as soon as possible. I don’t see the king, but there’s a back room.”
I smile up at him, certain my expression looks forced. I’m too shocked to process my emotions, but know they don’t warrant a smile. The streets of this city were alarming enough, but the level of indecency in this room is another. And yet, I can’t help but feel aroused. It’s confusing.
To my right, a woman cries out. She’s bent forward over a padded rail, and a tall male, presumably a vampyre, is rapidly pounding his cock into her body.
Her cries grow louder, and I can’t tell if they’re in pleasure or pain.
Before I can decide, her sounds are muffled.
Another vampyre grips her head and forces his stiff rod into her mouth.
I gasp at the sight. The second vampyre forces her to swallow so much of his hardness he must be going down her throat.
Tears dribble from the corners of her eyes as she gurgles, but she looks up toward him with glassy eyes, and her expression gives me some assurance that she’s a willing participant in this act.
Or, at least, she isn’t actively trying to be freed from it.
If she were in real danger, Zogar would intervene. I hope.
We pass through a large group of people, all moving to the thumping beat of the strange music and writhing against each other in ways that simulate sex.
I suck in a breath. Not all of them are simulating sex.
We pass by a woman between two men. Her arms above her head and gripping one man’s neck, she leans against his chest, while the other man holds her bottom as he drives into her far faster than seems humanly possible. I remind myself that the man is likely not human. He’s a vampyre.
Zogar told me the majority of the males in here would be vampyres, as well as a good portion of the females. But I don’t know how to spot a vampyre unless they’re feeding—which is something else on full display in the dark corners of the room.
Another woman makes eye contact with me and smiles softly as her dance partner rubs against her and gropes her body from behind.
Her dress is even skimpier than mine, and his fingers toy with her exposed nipples as she grinds her backside against his bulge.
An unexpected pang of desire shoots through me.
These public acts are surely wicked. Some of them cruel. Why do I find them so titillating? Zogar’s hand slides on my arm, and his touch resonates deep inside me.
At the back of the club, Zogar leads us through a curtain of beads hanging on threads. I blink, as my eyes adjust to the almost non-existent lighting in the passageway we enter. At its end, a large vampyre blocks a door, his thick arms crossed over his chest.
“I am Zogar,” my husband says, as we approach. “Lucian is expecting me.”
The man nods, and then opens the door, barely stepping aside to give us room. As we pass, the man slides his fingers under the hem of my dress.
Startled, I look up. Based on his expression, this man wants to eat me, and I lean closer to Zogar, who clearly didn’t notice the man’s hand on me. If he had, he’d have killed him.
As I turn away from the large vampyre who groped me, all my attention is swallowed by the sights in the room—some of which take a few seconds to recognize.
Men and women, their naked bodies painted white, are standing or kneeling on pedestals and platforms around the room. Somehow, they are lit in a way that makes them glow, and they’re posed like statues—many in lewd positions, their sex organs exposed.
Some of the vampyre patrons are absent-mindedly fondling the live statues, barely paying attention to what they’re stroking or probing as they consume drinks and chat with each other.
I suck in a sharp breath. One vampyre just forced his entire hand inside a posed statue.
The impaled woman is on her knees, the side of her face pressed down against a raised platform, and her body lurches forward each time the vampyre drives his hand.
Her fingers slip over the edge of the platform, and she grips it tightly, trying to prevent herself from being propelled headfirst to the floor.
The vampyre punches into her particularly forcefully.
Her legs straighten in reaction, and he slaps her ass with his other palm, smacking her several times, all while leaving his hand inside her.
Then he signals for one of his friends to brace her shoulders.
Once she’s secured, he continues to plunge and twist, her body taking in far more of his upper arm than seems possible.
Zogar’s cock emits something that makes my body open more easily, and I wonder if vampyres can do that too. I hope so. Her hole is stretched so wide it seems unrecognizable as typical female anatomy. Is that how I looked to Saxon and Tynan when Zogar was inside me?
Thinking back to that moment—how stretched and full I became, how aroused Tynan and Saxon became watching us—my body heats with desire, and my wet insides clench.
I scold myself. What I’m seeing here is an abuse of power, at the minimum, but as I watch this woman’s body accept the thick intrusion, I can’t help but imagine my husband’s huge rod moving inside me.
We reach the edge of another dance floor, and I spot more human sculptures, but these ones are mounted on the back wall. Four women are suspended, exhibited on plaques, almost like hunting trophies.
Two have their arms bound behind their backs, and the arms of the other two are stretched above their heads, their wrists cuffed to the wall behind them. Both positions force the women’s breasts forward.
Their legs are bent, thighs up next to the sides of their chests, and their lower legs are encased in something that could be mistaken for stockings but are clearly clamps or cages.
Whatever is around their legs is immobilizing the women, securing them to the plaques, and keeping their legs spread with their sex fully exposed.
Their upper bodies are similarly strapped into corset-like cages that push up and pinch their breasts together.
Two of the women are blindfolded, and one is also gagged. The eyes of the two I can see are glassy and unfocused. One is writhing within her confinement—but not as if she’s trying to escape—as if she’s aroused.
A spot a fifth woman, mounted lower on the wall.
A huge, cock shaped object plunges in and out of her.
And the cock is driven by some kind of machine mounted in front of her.
The machine’s repetitive drives speed up beyond comprehension, then they slow down.
The woman moans and her slickness coats the plunging object.
“Don’t look at them,” Zogar says.
But I can’t help it. The women’s exposed clefts are swollen and red, glistening with arousal, and one has what must be a man’s seed dripping out of her.
“I see you’re enjoying my club, little girl.” A jovial male voice pulls my attention. “Would you like a turn on the fuck machine?”
A handsome man stands before us, gesturing toward the woman with the faux rod plunging into her. He’s tall, with a light complexion, and pale, yellow hair flops across his forehead above flashing blue eyes. The man’s so attractive he almost glows from within.
“Lucian,” Zogar says gruffly. “This is not a little girl. This is my queen.”
The vampyre nods toward Zogar, then winks at me. “You can still try the fuck machine if you like.”
“Your message said the apartment is no longer safe,” Zogar doesn’t try to hide his annoyed impatience.
The vampyre king shifts, drawing my attention to the prominent bulge that seems to have been purposefully arranged for maximum effect.
Under leather trousers, I can make out the full length of his erection pressing out against the tight fabric.
His clothing was clearly tailored to fit his body within a hair’s width of his proportions.
“Suspicious demons were spotted watching that building,” the vampyre king tells Zogar, but he keeps his gaze fully on me.
“We require alternate accommodations immediately,” Zogar says gruffly.
Looking deeply into my eyes, the vampyre licks his lips, and it’s as if I’m trapped by his gaze, unable to move. I’m not sure I want to. My arousal has grown even more intense—but it’s Zogar I want, not this handsome vampyre, or his fucking machine as he called it.