The two agents regarded each other for a second. This wasn’t any kind of therapy session Ella had ever been privy to before.
Pistol drawn, Ella gave Paige the nod. She grabbed the handle, pushed the door open then backed off to give her partner first glance.
And it wasn’t the glance Ella had been expecting.
Her eyes jumped from monstrosity to monstrosity, unable to rest her eyes anywhere out of fascination – or revulsion – of what she might be missing.
Weapons. Exposed body parts. Torture devices. Portions of decimated flesh. Implements designed to inflict very specific types of pain. She felt like she’d invaded Satan’s personal chamber of amusements.
“Well…shit,” was all she could muster.
Paige joined her side, slowly lowering her pistol as she analyzed the scene staring back at them.
There was a unique embarrassment that came with seeing a stranger’s genitals, especially when such observations came about by accident. A bathroom intrusion. A changing room malfunction. Catching someone urinating in public.
Or gatecrashing a BDSM session.
Calvin Hammerstone was bent over what Ella’s aunt would have called a pommel horse bench, only this one had been modified with wrist restraints, stirrups, and a little step for the detainee to rest their knees. Very considerate, Ella thought. Calvin’s head was locked in place so he couldn’t move, so she could only imagine the whirring thoughts running through his mind upon a sudden intrusion by complete strangers. Calvin’s backside was fully exposed, his cheeks red raw with impressively symmetrical bruises on either side. And there was something girthy, cylindrical, and purple inserted between them.
The woman that stood over him considered her new intruders with a stern, unwavering eye, maintaining her air of dominance even in full view of two armed special agents. The woman, a tall, buxom brunette clad in a PVC bodysuit, slapped her paddle against her palm. She was indeed a therapist, but a very specific type of therapist.
“Which one of you wants to go next?” she asked.