either event. White
leather sofas and wingchairs, casually arranged around the periphery of the
room, provided an excellent view of what was in the center. A platform upon
which stood a four-poster bed with sheer panels draped over the top and
cascading down each side. From the middle of the canopy hung velvet-covered
cuffs. At the head and foot of the bed were more shackles—both menacing and
exciting—resting on the frosty linens. Nikki made a wild guess. “The performers
simulate a virgin being taken?”
“She’s bid on and purchased first to create the ultimate
experience, with simulate being the operative word. If the patrons want more
reality, they can always look at the film.”
“In one of the guy areas downstairs?”
“In here.” She flicked another switch.
Projected onto the back wall was one of Connor’s movies.
Nikki’s mouth sagged open. She stepped closer. The images had a dated look
about them, not exactly black-and-white, more brown-and-cream. There was no
sound. It wasn’t necessary. Connor had used close-ups of the virgin’s
lust-glazed eyes, her lips parting in expectation to tell his story.
She wore feathers and glitter on the top half of her face, a
kind of mask to obscure her features. The sheer cape Nikki had seen in the
dressing room covered her, though not for long. Nude and defenseless, she
submitted dutifully as a servant dressed in period garb positioned her on her
knees, thighs parted, her wrists secured to the overhead cuffs, reducing her to
a chaste captive offered to the men. They wore way-back-when clothing and
raised their hands to bid on her.
A particularly good-looking dude won and disrobed. Nikki
forced down a swallow. The guy was really hung, his cock simply beautiful,
thick and rigid, rising proudly from a nest of dark curls. On the bed, he
settled himself beside her, his weighty balls tight to his body, hands on her
thighs, parting them even more, exhibiting her to the men who’d lost the chance
to use her flesh. With arrogance befitting a winner, he cupped her breast in
one hand while his other sought her cunt.
Whatever the girl thought or felt at his bold move, it
didn’t matter. There was no escape.
The camera zoomed in on her mound, her blonde pubic hair
trimmed short so her new master and the audience could see her plump vaginal
lips, the silky moisture streaming from her channel. Her master bent down to
suckle one of her nipples while his fingers teased her opening, traveling the
length of it, sliding inside her—
“Whoa. What happened?” Nikki blurted as the film went off.
Shoshana murmured, “It’s time we moved on to the Garden
Room.”
Nikki bit back a protest and followed Shoshana down the hall
to another set of double doors the color of honey.
Lush plants, ferns and flowers adorned this new area. It
smelled of rain, damp earth and vegetation—as primitive as the Virgin Room was
frothy. There were green and gold candles in a variety of sizes, a gurgling
fountain and long couches in amber-colored leather wide enough to hold several
people.
On the room’s back wall another of Connor’s films played,
this one in full living color. The performers in it wore gold body paint and
glitter with green leaves pasted to various parts of their anatomy, making them
look like a Vegas version of Adam and Eve. In this scene, three men were taking
one woman, their cocks filling her mouth, cunt and anus. In another shot, two
women were tending to one man, the dark-haired girl licking his sac, the blonde
his meaty rod.
Air hissed through Nikki’s teeth.
“We only allow couples in this room,” Shoshana explained.
“They can play on the couches with whomever they want. Another couple or
several couples.”
“What about the staff?” Did they join in?
Shoshana grew serious. “The staff gets involved only if
they’re here on their nights off and with a date. While they’re working at
Wicked, they stay focused on their jobs—serving the patrons’
leather sofas and wingchairs, casually arranged around the periphery of the
room, provided an excellent view of what was in the center. A platform upon
which stood a four-poster bed with sheer panels draped over the top and
cascading down each side. From the middle of the canopy hung velvet-covered
cuffs. At the head and foot of the bed were more shackles—both menacing and
exciting—resting on the frosty linens. Nikki made a wild guess. “The performers
simulate a virgin being taken?”
“She’s bid on and purchased first to create the ultimate
experience, with simulate being the operative word. If the patrons want more
reality, they can always look at the film.”
“In one of the guy areas downstairs?”
“In here.” She flicked another switch.
Projected onto the back wall was one of Connor’s movies.
Nikki’s mouth sagged open. She stepped closer. The images had a dated look
about them, not exactly black-and-white, more brown-and-cream. There was no
sound. It wasn’t necessary. Connor had used close-ups of the virgin’s
lust-glazed eyes, her lips parting in expectation to tell his story.
She wore feathers and glitter on the top half of her face, a
kind of mask to obscure her features. The sheer cape Nikki had seen in the
dressing room covered her, though not for long. Nude and defenseless, she
submitted dutifully as a servant dressed in period garb positioned her on her
knees, thighs parted, her wrists secured to the overhead cuffs, reducing her to
a chaste captive offered to the men. They wore way-back-when clothing and
raised their hands to bid on her.
A particularly good-looking dude won and disrobed. Nikki
forced down a swallow. The guy was really hung, his cock simply beautiful,
thick and rigid, rising proudly from a nest of dark curls. On the bed, he
settled himself beside her, his weighty balls tight to his body, hands on her
thighs, parting them even more, exhibiting her to the men who’d lost the chance
to use her flesh. With arrogance befitting a winner, he cupped her breast in
one hand while his other sought her cunt.
Whatever the girl thought or felt at his bold move, it
didn’t matter. There was no escape.
The camera zoomed in on her mound, her blonde pubic hair
trimmed short so her new master and the audience could see her plump vaginal
lips, the silky moisture streaming from her channel. Her master bent down to
suckle one of her nipples while his fingers teased her opening, traveling the
length of it, sliding inside her—
“Whoa. What happened?” Nikki blurted as the film went off.
Shoshana murmured, “It’s time we moved on to the Garden
Room.”
Nikki bit back a protest and followed Shoshana down the hall
to another set of double doors the color of honey.
Lush plants, ferns and flowers adorned this new area. It
smelled of rain, damp earth and vegetation—as primitive as the Virgin Room was
frothy. There were green and gold candles in a variety of sizes, a gurgling
fountain and long couches in amber-colored leather wide enough to hold several
people.
On the room’s back wall another of Connor’s films played,
this one in full living color. The performers in it wore gold body paint and
glitter with green leaves pasted to various parts of their anatomy, making them
look like a Vegas version of Adam and Eve. In this scene, three men were taking
one woman, their cocks filling her mouth, cunt and anus. In another shot, two
women were tending to one man, the dark-haired girl licking his sac, the blonde
his meaty rod.
Air hissed through Nikki’s teeth.
“We only allow couples in this room,” Shoshana explained.
“They can play on the couches with whomever they want. Another couple or
several couples.”
“What about the staff?” Did they join in?
Shoshana grew serious. “The staff gets involved only if
they’re here on their nights off and with a date. While they’re working at
Wicked, they stay focused on their jobs—serving the patrons’
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