Dirty Bad Wrong(28)

I made my approach without speaking a word. She sensed my presence, turning to look up at me with hungry eyes.

“Masque, hi. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Hello, Violet.” I took hold of her chin, forcing her face from side to side as I checked her out at close quarters. “You look good.”

“Not for long, sir, I’m sure.”

I tipped my head to the main floor, to the cuffs hanging down from the ceiling centre stage. “I’m going to hurt you in the spotlight, Violet, for the whole club to see. Do you consent?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

“I’m going to fuck you up bad, Violet, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Her eyes lingered on mine, dark as night in the shadowy hollows of my mask. “Please, sir, if you would, please bruise me bad. My regulars would like that, sir, very much.”

“And where would your regulars like to see these bruises, Violet?”

“Everywhere, sir.”

“Tell me where, Violet. Where do you want me to hurt you?”

I watched her gulp, her chin still tight in my grip. “My ass, sir, and my thighs.”

“And?”

“And my tits, sir, please... and please hurt my pussy, too.”

“The regulars want to jack-off to your gaping, bruised cunt, do they Violet?”

Colour bloomed right across her cheeks. “No, sir, that’s just for me.”

“Good girl, Violet. Good girl. Let’s get a drink.”



***





Lydia

Crazy, crazy, crazy, I’m fucking crazy.

I’d officially lost my mind, leaving the Dev at gone midnight to trail along with my new weirdo friends to their weirdo-wacko sex bar. All I really knew was that it was located in Soho. We took the Northern Line to Tottenham Court Road station, and I followed them in silence, my mouth dry as parchment as I tottered along behind in crazy high stilettos. I’d been the subject of a total makeover, dressed at Rebecca’s whim for my debut appearance at sex club central. She’d laced me up tight in black leather, fastened me into fishnets and suspenders, then turned her attention to my make-up; sweeping flicks all the way out from my eyes, burgundy lipstick and false lashes, with just the slightest hint of rouge. I didn’t look like the usual fit-for-the-office Lydia Marsh at all, and I’d felt strangely well for it. At least I had back at the apartment. A change is as good as a rest, so they say.

My guides stopped outside a pair of unmarked wooden doors, and my nerves jangled around my stomach so hard I considered running, but Rebecca had my elbow locked tight in hers, no hope of escape. She knocked and two huge men stepped out, smiling in recognition once they caught sight of Bex and Cara.

Bex pulled me forward. “This is Cat. She’s my guest tonight.”

They waved us on through and I was in, just like that. We stopped at a shadowy red reception bar to leave our coats, handing them over to a skinny little creature with so many piercings I could hardly make out her features.

Rebecca grabbed my hand tight as she climbed the main staircase, stopping dead before we stepped through into the main club. “Remember your name, Cat. Lydia doesn’t exist in this place.”

I nodded, then followed her in, looking this way and that as I struggled to orientate myself. It was a bigger space than I’d imagined, a gulf of standing area lined with dimly lit seating: plush booths lined with rich scarlet brocade and occupied by small clusters of people, some of which appeared to be particularly well acquainted. I tried not to pry, forcing my eyes to remain on Raven alone as she led the way. The main bar was a crazy spectacle, flashing bright in a neon hue - all pinks and greens and electric blues, with bar staff to match. I sat down beside Raven, noticing Cara following up the rear, saying her hellos to the groups in the booths.

“Well?” Raven asked. “Are we staying?”

“Yeah. But I’ll need a large glass of something.”

“I’m sure we can sort that out.” She leant in close, breathing into my ear and directing my gaze with a finger. “Toilets are over in that corner. There’s a ladies’, a mens’ and an anybodies’. So take your pick when you go. There’s also a wet room off to the side, but I wouldn’t recommend you head in there unless you want a face full of piss. It’s where the edge players get it on.” She gestured further along. “Main stage area. They have a selection of cuffs from the ceiling, with an electric wrench for suspension play. There’s also an X-frame propped at the back and sometimes they’ll set up a flogging bench if it looks as though it’s needed. Mainly the stage is for the hardcore players, so be warned, things really can get fucking hardcore up there. You’ll soon know about it if someone’s starting up a scene, they’ll fire up the main spotlights and turn it into a show. Don’t be surprised to see people getting it on from the sidelines, it’s like real-time porn, only better if you’re into the whole pain-pleasure thing. Nothing like the sound of a screaming sub in live audio.”