Rule #31: Sex club

When I reach the throne room, where I once sat before it was finished, I pause. There are people in it. Three people, unless I’m missing one. It’s dimly lit from the inside, enough to see vague figures and movement but not really enough to recognize faces. I then realize that this means we can see them, but they can’t really see us.

My gaze still bounces from the dark hallway to the people in the room because, even though I know it’s made for watching, it feels strange and wrong to just keep staring.

Plus, there’s the awkward sensation of being aroused…in public.

My thin, cotton thong is currently soaked, and every slide of friction when I walk sends sparks up my spine. I have a strong urge to touch myself, which I’m obviously not going to do. Not because it wouldn’t be appropriate here, I mean…look around. But I just can’t. I couldn’t. No. That’s too weird.

Still, I stop at the throne room and force myself to look. I don’t know what to do with my hands as I stand here and stare, so I lock my forearms together at my waist.

There’s a woman sitting on the giant throne, and another is kneeling in front of her—just as Garrett illustrated for me. She’s definitely doing what I think she’s doing with her face buried between the other woman’s legs.

My mouth goes dry. It feels so wrong to be watching this, but I can’t look away.

There’s someone standing next to the throne, but I can’t quite make out if it’s a woman or man. They’re just stroking the woman in the chair’s shoulders and head. Every few moments, the woman covers her face or lets out a giggle so loud I can make it out over the sound of the music in the main room. She looks almost euphoric, full of smiles and moans, shifting back and forth between embarrassment and pleasure.

The intensity between my legs has grown painful, and I feel myself starting to sweat. I squeeze my thighs together, briefly wondering if I could make myself come without actually touching myself at all. My thighs rub together subtly, and it’s like trying to scratch an itch through three layers of wool.

“Enjoying yourself?”

I let out a gasp and move to jump away, but a strong hand wraps around my middle, hauling me against his body, his lips next to my ear.

“Relax, Charlotte.”

“You scared me.”

“You seem a little jumpy,” Emerson replies with a teasing grin.

I feel like I’ve been caught masturbating or watching porn. Shame washes over me like being doused in ice-cold water.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be back here,” I whisper without turning toward him. He’s holding me in place, so we’re both watching the threesome in the throne room.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t allowed to. I was hoping you’d find this area.” So he did gesture to the bouncer to let me in. I figured, but I’m curious as to why. Last time we were here, Emerson wanted me nowhere near this lifestyle, but now it feels as if he’s urging me into it.

“It feels so strange to watch,” I whisper.

“They want you to watch.” His deep, velvet voice warms me right back up.

We stand in silence for a moment, watching the show in the throne room, my body still humming with arousal.

“No one can see you here, Charlotte. Doesn’t it feel liberating? To know you can do anything you want.”

My lips part and I try to force in a breath, even though my chest feels like it weighs a ton. My body has turned into a ticking time bomb, ready to explode, and I want to scream with this need I’m feeling.

Emerson’s body is hard against mine and he’s still holding me around my waist. In the dark room, the man has moved to the front of the throne with the ladies. He leans over and kisses the kneeling woman. Then, he keeps moving until he’s standing behind her.

A subtle gasp escapes my lips when I realize what he’s doing: pulling up her dress and undoing his pants. And then even in the darkness there’s the unmistakable motion of his hips as he enters her.

I turn my head, trying to look away. But a strong hand holds my chin gently, turning my head back to the window.

“Watch them. You know you want to.”

I do want to. But the ache between my legs is almost unbearable. My knees begin to buckle, and Emerson holds me tighter.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers in my ear.

“Nothing,” I stammer, forcing my voice to stay level.

“You can touch yourself back here, Charlotte. No one can see you.” “No,” I snap. “I can’t.”

My hips shift, and I feel something hard against my lower back. As I brush along the length of it, he groans and squeezes me tighter, driving his hips into me.

I take in a sharp inhale, my vision growing blurry. He’s hard. Emerson is hard, and he’s rubbing his erection against me. “You feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me.”

Me? Not the display of sex all around us? The orgasm cries and sounds of bodies slapping together?

Knowing the effect I have on him drives me to shift my hips back just slightly, and he responds with a growl in my ear.

Maybe because it’s dark or because this is just how his business is, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels… right. We’re not crossing a line…just sharing an experience. It’s natural and normal, and I’m not ashamed. His hand glides down my arm until he catches my fingers in his hand, and I’m confused by what he’s doing until the other hand gathers my dress, pulling it up until I’m exposed. I can hardly breathe or think

when he leads my own hand to the front of my panties. “Touch yourself, Charlotte.”