The people fascinated me. I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d expected, but the reality included everything from fresh-faced college students to portly grandmas in tight leather corsets. Except for the outrageous clothing, the main area resembled nothing so much as a cocktail mixer without the cocktails. The atmosphere was genial, people chatting and laughing as they gathered in small groups.
I gathered that the scandalous stuff was happening in the side rooms and on the other floors. Still feeling completely out of my depth, I led Rans to the edge of the large space, out of everyone’s way.
“I want to see what’s happening in some of the rooms,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Get more of an idea of how it all works, you know?”
When no answer came, I shot my eyes sideways to my companion. He was looking at me through his fringe, a glint of amusement in his eyes. And, yeah—I’d been right earlier. He was definitely smirking at me.
I sighed, realizing my mistake. “You may speak, slave.”
Rans lifted his chin, breaking character. “Thanks ever so much, Mistress.”
“Dick,” I muttered.
“Only if you order me very nicely,” he shot back, the corners of his lips still curled up. Then he seemed to shake off his air of devilish mirth at my expense. “Shall we make our way downstairs to the dungeon, in that case? I’m afraid we’re not really dressed for ageplay or mashing cream pies in each others’ faces.”
I... didn’t even want to know.
“Dungeon it is,” I said gamely.
Back in character, we made our way to the basement. In distinct contrast to his current veiled amusement, Rans had asked me very seriously yesterday whether I thought the play-acting version of a torture room would bother me after my experience at Caspian’s hands. Since I couldn’t know the answer to that without trying it first, I’d promised to tell him immediately if I started feeling panicky.
In reality, though, SL2’s nod to a medieval dungeon bore no resemblance whatsoever to the hollowed-out tree cell where the Fae had tried to yank the succubus magic out of my body by the roots. Instead, it was—in a word—cheesy.
Mind you, a lot of what was going on in said dungeon was not cheesy. Some of it was, in fact, kind of disturbing... at least until I took in the figures wearing black ‘Staff & Security’ t-shirts, scattered around the space and obviously keeping an eagle eye on everything that was happening. My tense shoulders relaxed.
It’s about that safest place you can be while still being surrounded by a crowd of randy people lusting after you, Rans had said, and I understood now what he’d meant by that. SL2 could only make this business model work by flying under the cultural radar. All it would take was one disgruntled member taking to Twitter with a horror story, and a legal firestorm would rain down on the organizers. It was very much in their interest to make sure that didn’t happen.
Rans shot me a questioning look.
“I’m good,” I promised him. “Let’s go.”
The dungeon was informally broken up into various areas, usually with some kind of a centerpiece in each area, like a whipping post or a cage or an oddly shaped piece of furniture with shackles attached. Some were empty of people, while others were in use. Spectators gathered around whatever scene interested them most, staying respectfully out of the way of the players. The audience spoke in low voices, if at all, making the place surprisingly quiet except for the rhythmic sound of leather on flesh and the occasional groan or cry from a submissive partner.
An odd itchiness took up residence under my skin at the combination of pain and pleasure behind those intermittent noises. It wasn’t... unpleasant, precisely—not like the feeling of invisible spider legs crawling on me when I was too close to Fae magic. It was more like restlessness, as though there were currents wafting through this converted basement that I could almost see, but not quite. I thought if I could just look a little harder...
“Still doing all right?” The words were uttered so quietly that no one besides me would be able to hear them.
I nodded absently. “Yeah. Just feeling a bit weird. It’s like... I can almost sense some of the energy flying around this place, but I can’t quite...” My words trailed off.
“Grasp hold of it?” Rans suggested.
“Yes,” I agreed. “That’s it, exactly. Still, it’s got to be a good sign that I’m aware of it at all, right?”
For lack of any better idea, I led the way toward the biggest crowd and found a spot where we could see what was going on. Then I had to force myself not to stare open-mouthed at Rans as he silently folded himself into a kneeling position at my side, wrapping an arm around my leg and resting his hand high up on the inside of my thigh.
Holy. Shit.
My heart sped up; fresh beads of sweat popped out beneath my ridiculous latex dress. His thumb caressed the sensitive skin, and if he wasn’t careful, there was going to be a different kind of wetness soaking my thighs before long. Especially since he’d insisted earlier that wearing underwear would ruin the line of the skintight rubber clothing, using an innocent tone I should have known better than to trust.
Bastard.
I buried my fingers in his unruly dark hair and gave a warning tug. His thumb stilled its maddening little circles, at which point I made an attempt to drag my attention outward, where it belonged.
C’mon, Zorah. Focus on the naked girl hanging from the ceiling by ropes, not on the fact that if Rans slid his hand up another few inches, he’d be fingering you in plain sight of at least fifty people.
It... sort
