Deconstructing Delilah, page 10
I’ve become something like a daughter to them and while Jasmine tutors me in anything I want the knowledge of, she also respects that there are boundaries due to my close friendship with Cookie and Fig.
Fig is Cookie’s enigmatic brother. He, on the other hand, would have no qualms performing any sort of debauched act in front of me. Or with me, for that matter. He relentlessly flirts with me, but never pushes me past my comfort zone.
Three years my senior and infinitely more worldly, Fig has become a confidant. A friend who watches my back with the same fervor as his sister. Fig was my first kiss. Only because I asked him to teach me before my first date with Andrew, but still. I know I’m safe with him and that’s worth its weight in gold.
He’s brought a plus one tonight as well. Damian March, his best friend and partner in crime. They’re practically attached at the hip. Opposites in so many ways; where Fig is smooth, Damian is hard edges. When Fig is boisterous and laughing, Damian can often be found almost sullen. But they balance each other well in their odd pairing.
They come to sit at the bar, Fig offering up a smile for me, so I move to serve them.
“Hey guys, what can I get you?”
“Waters, please. It’s Dame’s first time here, and I’d like to keep him sober enough to remember it,” Fig says with a laugh. His friend shoves him, amusement in his eyes even if it does not reach his lips.
“If Damian gets wasted on three drinks, he’s a bigger lightweight than me,” I say on a laugh.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Shut up, Fig. I’m not that bad,” he says, turning to me. “I promise I can hold my liquor. I just don’t drink much.”
“I get it, I’m the same way.”
“Are you doing okay?” Fig asks.
“So far, so good.”
“It’s not weird for you? Being here?” Damian asks with genuine curiosity. He’s in graduate school for sociology, his focus on fanatical cults. Someday, he’s going for a PhD. I’m like a shiny toy for him, but I don’t mind that he peppers me with questions; it’s grounding and helpful for me.
“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “It’s beyond weird and the night has only just begun. But I’ll get through it. It’s a good job, great pay, interesting work. I’m not one to pass any of those things up.” I set two bottles of water in front of them.
“Yeah, I can see that. You’ve said before that financial independence means more to you than almost anything.”
“Yep. Keeping the flock dependent keeps them scared and in place. I’m not giving that kind of control up, ever. I can handle a sex club if it pays all my bills.”
“Good for you, Delilah,” Fig says with a nod.
“Thank you.” I smile at him. “You two be good… or whatever.” They both laugh at that and stand to leave the bar. But Fig pauses.
“He stares at you a lot, you know?”
“I think he’s just protective.” I shrug, knowing who he means. I’ve confided in Fig about the infatuation I used to have with Pope.
“So am I,” he enunciates slowly. “If you need me, you holler.”
“Noted. But I’ll be fine.”
Jasmine and Fabienne enter just then to a round of soft applause and loud well-wishes. The people outside of here may look at this place as sinful, but all I see in front of me is a community of support. Well, except for maybe Sybil who still pouts while she side-eyes me. Pope has his arm draped around her, possessively, so I don’t know what she’s so upset about.
Fabienne begins speaking about the refurbishing they’ve completed in the inner sanctum. Jasmine joins in to tell everyone about future plans. Not only for the club, but the charity foundation they’ve set up to help marginalized communities in New Orleans and the surrounding area.
“We’ll hold a fundraiser each year, starting with a bachelor auction which we will send details on very soon.” This is met with more applause and no small amount of laughter. When my bosses first told me of the idea, I was somewhat horrified by it resembling the bride market within the polygamist community.
The more they explained it, the less apprehensive I became. They both assured me it’s all in good fun and the men of the club would support it wholeheartedly. Based on the reaction, I see they were right. Several men in my vicinity are already volunteering themselves.
“With that, my darlings,” Fabienne says. “Welcome back to Lupus et Agnus. Enjoy!”
Bradley opens the door to the hallway, allowing members to start their trek inside. I stay put at the bar with Martin and the dozen or so clients not yet ready to move further inside.
“Are you on the menu tonight?” a deep voice asks to my right, where I find a broad man, perhaps in his late forties. A salting of hair on his otherwise dark head sprouts at his temples, and there are just the beginnings of age around his eyes. A handful of clients are without masks tonight, this man and Pope included. It wasn’t a requirement, more suggestion to keep some air of mystery to the evening.
“N-no,” I stammer. The man is handsome, almost intimidatingly so, but it’s the direct stare that makes me fumble over the tiny word. “I’m working tonight.”
“Oh, did I suggest there wouldn’t be work involved?”
“Enough, Halston. She’s not here to play,” Pope interrupts the conversation. “Let the lady do her job.”
“You used to be fun, Blackwell,” the man says before walking off, sending me one last look.
“Water, please,” Pope directs to me. “For future reference, I like my whiskey on the rocks.”
“What?” I ask, annoyed. “Your girlfriend specified the opposite.”
“Fucking Sybil,” he mutters barely loud enough for me to hear.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll remember if I’m ever back at the bar again.” I sigh, handing him a bottle.
“Good,” Pope says, then he, too, leaves through the door. I wonder if I’m ever going to gain enough courage to walk through it.
Half of me wants to witness what sexual freedom looks like. How people interact with each other when it’s not a burden, not forced or coerced. I want to witness women enjoying the experience just as much as their partners. There is a need for me to believe that exists.
On the other hand, I’m so utterly terrified of it all. My fingers tremble slightly at my side with my mixed emotions.
“Hey.” Fig suddenly appears behind the bar next to me. His hand takes mine, soft but reassuring all the same. “I’ll go with you when you’re ready. If you want?”
“Did your mom put you up to that?” I ask, turning my face up to his.
“Not really. We did discuss keeping extra watch over you, but I would have done it anyway. Cookie would cut my balls off if I let you have a breakdown. And I’d never forgive myself anyway.”
“I just don’t know how I’ll react. You know?”
“I understand. If something bothers you, we’ll work through it, or I’ll get you out of there. Okay?”
“You’ll explain if I have questions?”
“You know I will. You’re like a sister to me, kid. One I’d fuck, but still.”
“Stop it!” I laugh and cover the full smile on his mouth with my hand. It skews his silly plague doctor half mask, making me laugh more. This is why Fig is good for me, he has helped me get comfortable with talk like this. When I first met him, I would have flushed at the word and the tease. That’s not who I am anymore. “Okay, then,” I say with a heavy inhale. “Let’s go.”
Fig doesn’t release my hand as he leads me to the door out of the salon, Damian joining us before we go through.
“Not the White Room,” I whisper.
“Got it,” Fig responds, pulling me past the first room. Plenty of patrons linger in the hall, taking up their positions as spectators to the show. Many must have already made their way into the rooms or up the stairs, as it isn’t overly crowded.
The two men flank me as we walk further, me surreptitiously peeking into the windows as we go. A woman is being strapped into the swing, several bodies tangle together in another room as they shed each other of their garments. The sounds of kissing and soft moans come from every direction. My chest hitches with anticipation, a neediness starting in belly. Desire and pleasure aren’t so unfamiliar to me anymore. I recognize them for what they are, and they’re difficult not to feel in a place where the air itself is heavy with sexual tension.
Fig’s thumb rubs over my knuckles. I think he means it to be calming but it heightens my want to be touched on other parts of my body. If he were someone else, would I pull him into a room? Place his hands where I want them to be?
Could I be so bold? With the right man, I think I could. I think I would.
“What do I do with liars?” I stop at the voice coming from inside the next room. The door is ajar, making it easy to hear Pope pose his question.
“You punish them, Sir.”
“Do you want to watch?” Fig asks next to me, and I realize I’ve stopped moving. I run my self-check, making sure I’m in control and aware. Then I nod. Damian and Fig move with me to the glass that will let me see into whatever scene Pope is playing out inside this room.
He stands in profile, a woman is kneeling at his feet. Not Sybil. She’s across the room, the man from the bar with her. Halston, I remember the name Pope called him. He’s buckling leather cuffs to her wrists. Her mask now gone, I see the consternation on her face, perhaps even a sadness in her eyes.
“That’s right. What punishment do you hate the most?” Pope asks as Halston reaches for a bar on the ceiling with one hand and pulls up Sybil’s arm with the other. He follows suit with her other arm so that she’s attached securely to the ceiling. She raises on her toes to gain balance.
“When you deny me,” she says, her voice sounding small.
“When I deny you what?”
“Your cock.”
“Right. I think I’ll give it to Sarah instead,” he says, peering down at the woman at his feet. Sarah smiles up at him as she undoes Pope’s pants. “If you behave well enough while Mr. Halston paddles you, perhaps he’ll fuck you instead.”
“Yes, Sir,” Sybil says, the sadness finally showing itself.
“Can he do that?” I ask Fig. “Give her to someone else?”
“If she’s given consent to it beforehand, yes. It’s called consensual non-consent.”
“It’s quite common,” Damian adds. “In lesser forms like this, and in more taboo ways. Like, when people want to play out a rape fantasy.”
The gasp that escapes me isn’t intentional.
“It’s not something you ever have to witness, Delilah,” Fig assures me. It’s the mere thought that people want to role play such a thing that shocks me. I try not to judge others, it isn’t fair for me to. Nor is it my place. But having witnessed rapes, it’s… well, it’s a lot to think about. “It’s not something that happens here at the club.”
Sarah releases Pope from his pants, her hands encircling his length with both hands as she moves them in slow rhythm from base to tip. I remember with great clarity the two times I saw him before. Yet I hold new appreciation for him now. There is no longer a skittish need in me to divert my eyes and I don’t flashback to childhood memories.
I watch. With rapt attention.
“Take me in your mouth, Sarah. Halston is going to give you a swat every time Sarah gags or chokes, okay, Sybil?”
“Yes, sir,” Sybil confirms.
“You’ll think about your lies while you hang there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, Sarah.” Sarah opens her mouth wide. Without warning, Pope thrusts forward, instantly making her choke. A hard slap sounds and I bounce my eyes to the wood paddle Halston holds in his hand. The same continues for several moments, until Pope takes a step back to shed himself of his clothes. “You can play with yourself,” he tells Sarah as she waits.
Her hand dives into her panties and her hips sway forward. Halston moves, drawing my attention as he, too, sheds his clothing. Pope steps back into my line of sight and I still. He’s been fit since the day I knew him but he’s more defined in a new way. I had noticed new tattoos on his left hand earlier, some simple symbols that I couldn’t decipher. Now, I see another new addition.
Along his side, just above his hip, is a giant moth. It stretches to reach his back and lower abdomen in beautiful shades of browns, blues, and dark reds. I would have noticed it the first time I saw him naked, if he’d had it back then. Hope, or maybe vanity, wants me to believe it’s symbolic of the conversation we had so many years ago.
Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves breakthrough and steal.
Pope Blackwell, the corrupter.
“You ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Sarah purrs. Pope steps closer to her, his hands tangling in her hair as begins pleasing himself with her mouth again. This time he’s in full control of the tempo and the depth as Sarah’s hands fold behind her back.
“Do you want to stay?” Fig’s voice is barely a whisper in my ear. I nod instead of voicing my answer. Damian moves behind me, his breath tickling the length of my neck, causing a shiver to run down my spine.
“It’s exciting, isn’t it? Watching and wanting.” Damian places a hand on my stomach, pulling me into his chest. I feel his hardness against my back. “You can imagine it’s you. Feeling the pleasure, giving the same to your partner. But you get to see it all from this vantage.”
“Yeah… yes.”
“Do you see how Pope’s muscles ripple with every thrust?” I nod, it’s all I focus on. His magnificent body. “And how Sarah’s getting so worked up she practically bounces on her knees? She wants his cock somewhere else. Lower. Inside where she can feel it giving her the same sensation he feels.” Damian drags his nose up and down my throat as he speaks. My legs weaken and I’m thankful for the arm he still has wrapped around me.
“What do you want?” For you to fuck me, my mind answers the question Pope poses to Sarah. Her words mimic my thoughts.
“What do you want, Delilah?” Damian asks. Turning my face toward where his rests on my shoulder, I see Fig staring at us both. He’s not upset or concerned. Rather, he looks curious. “Do you want to watch him fuck her? Or do you want to experience…”
“Something else,” Fig finishes. “Something of your own, maybe.”
Damian leans forward and presses a quick, but deep kiss to my mouth. It’s amazing. Dizzying and the best thing I’ve ever experienced, but I know it’s because I’m here and that it has more to do with being face-to-face with Pope again than anything else. Maybe that isn’t fair to Damian. Maybe he doesn’t care.
But I do.
When I raise my vision back to Pope, it’s clear he cares too as he shoots daggers at me and the men at my side. I hadn’t thought they could see out to us. Clearly, I was wrong. It’s stupid of me to care what Pope thinks about my activities tonight. He’s currently repositioning his partner so he can sink into her in other ways. His feelings about what I do don’t matter.
Except they do. They do to me and that makes me angry and sad. It makes me want to rage and to wail because I should be stronger. Deep down, what I really want to cry about is that I want to be Sarah. I want to be worthy of Pope’s attention.
“I think I’ve had enough for tonight,” I say to the man in the room, yet only loud enough for Fig and Damian to hear.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In the past week since the grand opening, I’ve witnessed everything my naïve mind could imagine. And then some. Each day I pushed myself a little further into the club. Eventually, I made it up to the second floor. Fig was with me again that night, keeping near along the wall while I spectated. He’s been an almost constant fixture here. Some nights he hangs out with me, others he doesn’t. A few times, he’s booked a private room, careful to pick Fabienne’s, not mine or Jasmine’s. I’ve kept mine blacked out anyhow.
I don’t know what he does when he’s not schooling me, I don’t seek that out as it’s a line I don’t think either of us are ready to cross.
Pope has been back every night I’ve been working. I’ve even checked the logs to be sure. I rarely catch glimpses of him, but his presence is felt regardless. As if he’s always near and watching. It’s both unnerving and comforting.
Damien is back tonight as well.
“Full membership?”
“Yes.”
“Did Fig tell you the cost of membership?”
“Yes,” he answers. “I’m already vetted, and Jasmine has waived the waitlist for me. The only thing left is for me to pay you.”
“Correct. I just want you to be sure. You’re still in school.”
“I’m sure. School is paid for. I know you don’t know this, because it’s not something I talk about. But I have more money than I can spend in my lifetime, Delilah. Let me in.” He grins boyishly and goofily. It’s so different than his normally quiet, unemotional way.
“I’m not barring you. This is a friendly discussion, Damian.”
“Is that what we are? Friends?”
“You know more about me than most after so many hours of using me for your thesis. I’d go as far as calling us good friends.”
“We could be so much more,” he says with a dramatic sigh.
“Now you sound like Fig.” I laugh.
“Where you’re concerned, Fig and I agree.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m sure, Romeo. Give me your credit card so I can kick you out of my office.” Damian laughs now, too, handing me his card. I enter it into our system and give it back. “Go have fun.”
“Come down and have a drink with me when you’re done here,” he says on his way out.
Damian’s kiss plays reruns in my head often. The list of men I’ve kissed is short, making Damian’s unexpected one even more memorable. It was a heat of the moment type of kiss, something he desired so much he couldn’t resist. Or so I tell myself. Because believing that evokes powerful feelings in me.
