Vice(22)

The room is full of violence, shame and terror, all of which is thinly disguised by a grim patina of desire and lust. The woman on her knees, blowing a guy a few feet from me, is fingering her own *, palming her tits as she works her lips and her tongue up and down the guy’s shaft, but her moans are forced. She’s not enjoying herself, and she sure as shit doesn’t want to be here. Plato’s cock is rock solid as he uses it to pound Persephone in the ass, but I get the feeling there might have been some sort of stimulant involved on that front.

I stay exactly where I am, and I try to keep my head down. The occupants of the room all seem to be fairly involved in their activities at hand (or mouth, or ass, as the case might be), but I don’t want to draw attention to myself, so I stand perfectly still and I watch.

The blond guy with Plato and Persephone finally gives up the pretence and gives in to what he really wants. He grabs hold of Plato by the hair and kisses him roughly, jamming his tongue into his mouth. Plato responds, sucking on it and groaning while Persephone rocks her hips against his, the two of them still f*cking. The blond guy lets go of Plato’s hair and runs his hand down Plato’s back, until he’s reaching in between his legs and he’s cupping Plato’s balls. With his other free hand, he cups and squeezes Persephone’s tits, so that he’s touching and caressing them both while they writhe against each other.

The next twenty minutes are pretty damned uncomfortable. I lean back against the wall, watching the door, waiting for Ocho to return to see that I’m not enjoying myself, but he doesn’t show up. Instead, I’m treated to the vision of Plato sucking the blond guy’s dick. I know shit is going to get real when the blond guy strips off, but things don’t go as I expect. He doesn’t bend Plato over and screw him in the ass. He bends over himself, burying his face between Persephone’s thighs, and he has Plato f*ck him in the ass. Dark haired Persephone comes loud, and she comes hard. It’s a real orgasm, by the looks of things. Some of the other men standing around the edges of the room, quietly talking to other beautiful women in various states of undress, all stop their conversations to watch as Plato puts on the performance of a lifetime.

His skin is shining with sweat as he works himself in and out of the blond guy, who grabs handfuls of the thick carpet beneath him, head bowed, eyes closed tightly. A couple of the guys on the peripheries of the party subtly take hold of their erections through their pants, running their hands up and own themselves as the small space fills with the sound of Plato’s exertions.

“Goddamn he’s good,” someone mutters close by.

“The best.”

“Well, he’s had practice. Three years’ worth.”

Three years? Plato has been here for three years? That doesn’t seem as though it can be true. Surely not. How long can a party like this continue, after all? A night? Nothing more. People sleep. People have work. Responsibilities. Even if Plato is here against his will, the people who have paid to attend this…event have to return to their lives at some point.

One of the men watching the display before us steps forward. His pants are unbuttoned, his dick in his hand. He doesn’t even hesitate as he pushes himself into Persephone’s mouth. She accepts him; her eyes are clamped shut, and her hands are balled into fists, but she accepts him. The guy shudders pleasure as she licks and sucks at him. The blond being f*cked by Plato watches with stunned, wide eyes as the other well-dressed man f*cks Persephone’s mouth. He moans, a ragged breath of ecstasy escaping his lips, and then he’s coming, his dick pulsing as he spills his come everywhere into the carpet.

“Holy f*ck,” someone whispers.

“Quite the show.”

Next to me, a tall guy with a black button-down and black leather gloves turns to the woman kneeling naked at his feet and strokes a hand over her hair. “Do you see?” he whispers. “This is how it goes. This is everything. This is what is expected of you.”

The woman looks shocked. She can’t be more than twenty, and her bottom lip is wobbling. Her tits are small, less than a handful, and they look bruised, as if someone has been biting them. Small wheels of purple and black mark her skin on her stomach and on her shoulders, too. On the flesh between her thighs. She shivers as the guy wearing the gloves reaches into his back pocket and produces and short, rigid whip with a flayed leather tassel on the end. He runs the end of the whip down her back, between her shoulder blades, stopping short just above the curve of her buttocks, which look as though they’ve already been treated once or twice with the whip prior to now.

“Behave yourself and you’ll come to like this,” the guy whispers. “Misbehave, and it’s within my power to make your time here the most unpleasant thing imaginable. Unbearable, even.”

I have a rage inside of me the likes of which I have never experienced before. I am boiling. My veins are filled with bubbling battery acid, and if feels like my lungs are about to explode. I clench my hands into fists.

“Do you understand?” the guy whispers.

The girl looks up at him, and there are tears in her eyes. Her whole body is trembling. “Please. I just want to go home. Please. I swear I won’t tell anyone about this. I promise, I—”

A gloved hand flies out, cracking across her cheek, sending her sprawling out on the floor, and that’s it. I have had enough. I’m reaching for my gun before I even realize what I’m doing. It’s instinctual, and I’ve never been very good at ignoring my instincts. A loud crack splinters through the air, and then I’m staring at the naked blonde girl on her knees, because her face is splattered with blood and her eyes are bugging out of her head.