“Luckily you’re in the right profession to surround yourself with characters who seek only to be the best at whatever they’re doing and can keep their cool in unusual situations.”
I didn’t answer, instead I listened to hard strikes landing on flesh. They were coming from the booth next to ours and sounded particularly evil and were accompanied by muffled, agonised cries.
“What do you think of Sean and Balko?” I asked.
He was silent for a moment. I wasn’t sure if he was also listening to the noises next door or if he was considering his answer. “I think Sean has something to prove to the world, he has a reckless glint in his eye, and Balko, he seems like a man who won’t be shaken easily.”
“Really? You think that already?”
“Yes. Maybe it’s because Balko’s a fraction older, he’s got a few more years in the force under his belt. I just get that impression.”
“So Sean is the one to watch?”
“I’d say so.”
More strikes from the booth next door. A deep, stern voice accompanied them.
“That sounds really painful,” I said, sitting forward. My body had become mine again. My heart rate normal and my breaths steady.
He frowned. “Yeah, it’s extreme.”
“You worried?”
He helped me to standing. “Get dressed, we’ll take a peek on our way out. It’s my responsibility as a Master member to make sure no one is in trouble, though there should be security staff discreetly keeping an eye out.”
I stood, then slipped into my underwear, dress and boots. Before we stepped out of our booth, I reached for the collar. I undid it and it slid from my neck. “Here.” I held it out.
He stared at it for a second, then took the strip of leather and pocketed it. “Until next time, boss.”
I nodded. Playtime was over.
Chapter Seven
We stepped from our booth into the main club wearing our masks again. I’d pulled the strap of my purse over my head so it sat securely.
On a stage were two poles with girls dancing around them. A large mattress to the right was hosting an orgy and in a cage a man was bound and gagged and it appeared his Dominatrix was taking bids for him.
But I barely noticed any of this. The muffled cries from next door were becoming one long groaning, pain-soaked wail.
Jonathan, also dressed again, frowned at me, then flicked his head. “Come on, let’s check this out.”
He pulled back the thick velvet curtain.
In the booth was a naked woman spread-eagled on a wooden cross. Her head was twisted towards me and she wore a leather ball gag. A heavy silver chain appeared to be clamped from her nipples, around her waist, down the cleft of her ass and to her clit. She danced on her toes as a thick cane sliced over her buttocks.
And it really did slice. Her bright red cheeks were striped with wounds, some of them dripping blood. No. They werealldripping blood.
I stared at her tear-stained face again as Jonathan pushed into the room. Her eyes were wide and pleading. Her cries were real—her pain not sensual but obviously miserable.
“Hey,” Jonathan said, stepping up to a guy with a short brown beard and wearing a black cap. His eyes were thin slits and he wore a dark roll-neck despite the warmth.
“Stop,” Jonathan demanded. “Drawing blood is against the rules.”
“Who the fuck are you?” The cane landed again.
The woman jerked and squealed behind her gag.
“Stop now.” Jonathan set his hand on the cane, preventing the man from delivering another blow.