Each one is strapped upright against the far wall, heads bowed, wrists bound in silk and chains. Cruel theater. Some are crying because they finally realize what they’ve gotten themselves into. Some are too used to it to care anymore.
They sell their bodies for what feels like a lot of money. But what amount is high enough when the price is losing yourself piece by piece? Once they figure that out, it’s always too late.
Some stay because of money, others because they like pain, but most of them remain in this club because it’s all they know.
Contrary to what people believe, moneyisa good enough reason to sell your life. The girls here have the option to leave any time they want—in the end, they are nothing more than mere contractors. They almost never choose that option. Why? Because with no qualifications, any job outside of this place would feel like a punishment to them, monotonous and poorly compensated. Here, at least, they get rich.
The ones today are mostly new, my favorite type of toys. You can sense the tension in the room: excitement and fear blending into a delicious mix.
Vincent leans in. “The line has been newly conditioned. This is their test drive.”
Conditioned. He says it like he’s talking about the weather. This is why he’ll never surpass the level of a subject, he doesn’t understand the power of an untrained mind.
My eyes move down the row. Blonde. Too soft. Brunette. Too afraid. Redhead. Too dead.
Then—her.
Third from the end. Not identical but close enough to satisfy the purpose. Black hair like ink, slim enough to let the collarbones cut sharply through the skin. And that mouth—bitten raw and slightly parted.
I step toward her, and she doesn’t look up. Perfect.
I grab her chin with my index finger and tilt her head up. The glossy eyes prove she’s already lost in her own world, infected by the drugs she willingly asks for. At my touch, she flinches but doesn’t pull away. Her gaze flicks to mine. There’s still some fight in them. And desire. She will be hard enough to destroy, but not like my little ember. She’s not Victoria. She’ll lose.
“Her,” I say.
Vincent’s grin covers half of his face. “She gets off on pain.”
“She will not get the chance tonight.”
The room smells like bleach and copper, the effect of too many sessions in this place. Most people come here for a quick session—or as long as their old dicks allow them to fuck—with much younger girls, others come because this place has no rules whenit comes to pleasure. As long as both the product and the client agree, there are no boundaries.
A far too small portion comes here for what this place is really designed for—deprivation.
This is a place where forbidden desires are supposed to be fulfilled, sexual or not. Every kink, every single thing that brings pleasure, in any shape or form, is accepted. Actions that the rest of the world would catalog as barbaric and worthy of jail time, are considered normal here. A psychotic heaven. The only rule is not to kill—or better say, don’t kill the personnel—but everything else is game.
I take off my jacket and fold it neatly, leaving it by the door.
As soon as the guard leaves she starts to speak, pleading and begging, while dropping to her knees and playing with the zipper of my pants.
“Please punish me.”
This action would have meant nothing just days ago. But now? It’s repulsive. How could she beg so easily when Victoria barely cared if I were present or not? I shove two fingers in her mouth and press down on her tongue until she gags.
“Get on the table.”
Her eyes widened, full of excitement and eager for more.
I start tying her to the table with the ropes, watching her wetness roll down her thighs. Vincent didn’t lie. This bitch is craving pain. This must be her lucky day because I have no problem giving it, but it’s not the type she’s expecting, and this will leave marks.
After all her limbs are tied, I move a lock of hair off her face, bringing it to the side of her head. I watch her expression, but I can’t see the bitch in front of me. Her face is replaced by Victoria’s, the same one that made me lose control, that penetrated my skull and has refused to get out. But that doesn’t mean I won’t rip her from my thoughts.
I circle the table, moving to the corner of the room where my toys for tonight are waiting. There are vibrators, collars, bondage accessories, blades, scalpels, and many other torture instruments that deranged minds would fight over.
I grimace at the idea of using the first part of the items; they are the exact reason for my current mental state. In fact, I’ll make sure Vincent removes them from any of my future encounters. Focusing on the other tools, I choose a knife that resembles a dirk, sharp at both edges and a pointed tip that might just make my day better.
I press the long edge to her chest, dragging it down her body. I’m not sure if it’s from excitement or the cold of the blade, but her body jerks, and the way her eyes roll and a moan escapes her, makes me want to end her existence.Azrael, you’ve lost your touch.
Having a primal kink is one thing. Being under the control of a full-on psychopath is different.